Thread: A Devil's Game ::: {Ariamella & Prince of Smut}

RE A Devil's Game Ariamella Prince Slap, gasp, rub, moan. The pattern of pleasurable pain or was it painful pleasure? continued six times over-- six times his hand made hard contact with her sex, six times he calmed the tender flesh, and six times he made Macy feel the pervertedness of arousal mixing with pain. The punishment made her insides quiver at the numbing sting on her clit followed by the rubbing that brought the wetness to flow more freely, coating the swollen lips with the slick juices. Each slap brought a pain that made her tense up and jerk slightly, and each interval of hard rubbing only made the sensation that much more pleasurable. By the end of it, the pink flesh of her mound matched the flushed skin of her neck and cheeks, and she could feel the sensitive nub down below throb with a strong ache of need. Multiple kinds of anger hit her now, the first and most dominant being the hatred for Damien and the way he made her feel used, dirty and so inferior to him that she wasn't worth anything but a couple quick fucks. Then there was the other sort of anger the stemmed from the sexual frustration he brought. He was toying with her, making her slick with need, yet he seemed not to care for it at all. It was almost as if he was turning her on like one might turn on the copy machine or the coffee machine. And her body seemed to enjoy it, the immoral desires filling her even though her mind desperately wanted to say no. Her breathing came in short, shallow intakes of air as Damien's grip on her neck grew tighter, and then she was sent to the floor, barely catching herself as her hands flew out to stop her face from connecting with the carpet. Her body felt heavy without the support of his hands, muscles weak and flimsy as if laden with dead weights that prevented her from standing. And although the sudden fall was shocking, the distant sound of a clanking belt buckle made her head turn in alarm and she quickly brought herself to a kneeling position, eyes wide as she watched the black leather swing from back and forth from his closed fist. Then he was grabbing her carefully styled hair and pulling her along with him towards the black couch, not roughly but definitely not gently either. There was no other choice but to follow Damien's orders, and Macy started the shameful crawl, little moans subconsciously escaping her throat every now and again. Every sensation on her body was felt with absolute clarity Damien's hand around the base of her ponytail was strangely erotic, and her eyes closed at the tightness of her scalp pulling up her hairline and temples. It was almost relaxing, and if not for the fact that he was leading her around like a dog on a leash, it would have been almost enjoyable. Almost, but not quite. A tiny shiver went through the tail end of her spine, the cool air almost tickling against the juices that dripped down from her sex onto her inner thighs and coating the skin with the slick fluid of her body's betrayal. The crawl was agonizingly slow, no doubt an attempt by Damien to make her feel as low as possible, and to his satisfaction and her annoyance, it was working. She was reduced to nothing more than an animal on hands and knees, trudging along as the man pulled her forward. Finally she reached the couch, standing briefly to sink herself in the plushness of the leather seating. She stretched her arms out and grasped the back pillow in front of her, spreading her knees a fraction to get comfortable while the strong arm above her head forced her upper half to sink into the cushion. The action left her ass up and her swollen lips exposed, as well as a hint of the puckered hole that also glistened with the flow of her arousal. Macy was more embarrassed than she ever had been, and sounds of complaint came from behind the panties-- words of protest that were lost in sheer satin, black silk and heavy breathing. She dared to turn and look at Damien, eyes wide and flicking between the belt in his hand and the handsome face that carried a grin and a look of pure pleasure that served as an indicator of how twisted he really was.