Archive of Our Own

As my ride approached the cabin that you had rented for your visit, I was full of giddy energy. I’d been anticipating this visit for so long that it had ceased to feel real. I had to continuously remind myself that it wasn’t a fantasy—wasn’t the fantasy—but was reality; you actually had come to fulfill my deepest desires.

The area was rural but not quite remote. There were a number of small farms that I’d spotted on the drive and I made note of a roadside stall selling local honey that seemed like it would be a promising source for a treat tomorrow morning. The fields themselves were snowed in, a blanket of harsh white reflecting a near-painful glare that discouraged close inspection. Occasional copses of trees cast wells of darkness, drawing the eye through the relief from the assault of aggressive blankness surrounding them.

The cabin itself emerged from around a bend in the road perched on a low hill abutting a field. There was nothing to distinguish it from the other farmhouses in the area other than the small banner that you had told me to look for, fluttering in the low wind and sparkling urgently.

Arriving at the chain-link gate securing the driveway leading up the hill I tipped my driver and stepped out into the slush. My feet were immediately chilled in the open top flats I’d chosen as a compromise between aesthetic and practicality. Accepting my small travel case from the driver I bade him goodbye and set off towards you.

The gate opened with a lonely creak, chilled metal cold against my bare fingers. Following the rough footpath on the other side I made my way up the hill, careful not to slip. It would be excruciatingly embarrassing to show up covered in mud and slush—not to mention what it would do to the velvet of my dress.

As I approached the building I noticed a porch protected from snow and a light on in the window. In the afternoon gloom of the setting sun it shone a beacon of color against a monotone world.

The porch creaked underfoot, but the door opened silently on well oiled hinges. Inside, there you were. Sitting at a rough hewn table as casual as ever. Lurking in the threshold I took in the lines of your shoulders under a casually creased silk button down, the arch of your brow furled in thought, the tapping of your foot against scuffed wooden floorboards drawing attention to your thighs straining against dark slacks. You were as effortlessly graceful as the last time I’d seen you, seemingly untouched by three years apart.

You looked up at me and smiled that same smile that even after all this time still sent a thrill of anticipation through me. You always had that selfsame expression when everything was about to go your way. I loved and feared it equal measure.

“Tessa. You made it on time. Good.”

You still spoke in that same way as always. Short statements leaving no room for ambiguity.

“Merry. Hi! Yes, uh, no problems. The driver followed your instructions perfectly. Are you sure you want to cover the fare? A taxi trip all the way out here can’t have been cheap.”

You waved it away. “It’s no trouble.”

I shuffled uncomfortably at the way you so casually decided for me. The way you paid for everything…I didn’t like it. I hated feeling indebted. You eyed me with an amused look in your eye, knowing my feelings as well as I did. Shyly pleased at your attention I looked to my feet, only to look back up when you addressed me.

“Come, sit with me.”

I sat, of course. I could do nothing else.

“Your phone and wallet.”

I stared at you. My... Phone and wallet?

“On the table. Come on Tessa! Put them on the table.”

“Oh! Uh, yeah! Right, sure.”

Pulling my purse up to the table I took them out and placed them flat before you, not quite sure what was going on. You took them, as I suppose I could only have expected. With a nod towards my suitcase you continued as if it was of no significance.

“That’s everything?”

“Um, yeah. Just some clothes and toiletries. I know you said I didn’t need anything but—”

“Sure, fine.” You looked at me, meeting my eyes seriously. “You sure about this Tess? It’s not going to be fun. Or, well. It’s not going to be fun for you. Worse than before since I’m proper pissed with you by now.”

I felt myself blushing—out of shame? Embarrassment? I’d done something wrong and I hated to do something wrong—but I refused to let it affect me.

“I’m sure Merry. I’ve been sure for a really long time. I know that I said I was done after last time, but I was wrong, you know I was wrong. Just let me prove it to you, okay? I’ll show you. Promise.”

You just looked at me. I could tell you didn’t believe me. You never believed my promises. But that was no matter; in your mind I’d gotten myself into this mess and it wasn’t your responsibility to get me out of it. Exactly as I liked it; I didn’t want you to hold anything back.

I wanted it all.

“Okay. And you remember your safeword?”

“I still don’t think it’s needed. But yeah. ‘Amaryllis’, Yeah, I remember. Don’t worry about it though, I’ll be fine!”

“Hmh. Right. I won’t then. Come.”

You stood and I rushed to follow. Walking to the far side of the room, you pulled sharply at a sheet hung on the wall. It fluttered to the ground limply, revealing an old brick chimney, its fireplace long since removed. All that was left was a gaping pit in the bricks. Kneeling down next to it you looked over at me, eyes cold.

“In.”

It took me a moment to understand what you mean.

“In?”

“In. Now.”

“I—” I almost questioned you further but caught myself before I could. I’d agreed to this. I would follow through. I had to be obedient: it’s what you wanted from me.

Crouching down next to you I craned my neck to look into the dark absence in the wall. Everything of the fireplace itself was gone, only a metal plate in the floor and a hole in the brick signifying the absence of what had once been there. It was clean of soot as far as I could see, but nonetheless cracked and dark from a fire long since gone cold. The pale light of the cabin did not penetrate far and I could not see more than a dozen centimeters deep. Anything could be in there, just out of sight.

I looked at you.

You looked back, steady as ever. Unflinching, knowing exactly what this would do to me.

I looked back at the trap in front of me. My chest was tense. I put first one hand in, then the other. The bricks were cool to the touch. Under my knees the metal plate was colder.

First one elbow went in, then the next. I followed them up, twisting around to fit my shoulders into the cramped space. As my head made it past the bend I had one last look at your expression. There was an intensity to your eyes that I had never seen before. What it signified was beyond me, but suddenly I was afraid. What did you plan on doing to me? I thought I’d been prepared for anything, but you had changed in the past years and I only now recognized the possibilities in that. Were you no longer predictable to me?

And then my sight-line was past the edge and you vanished from my perception.

As I pushed deeper my breath echoed back to me from a surface not more than a couple centimeters from my nose. The susurrus filled my ears, the moisture whetted my cheeks. My arms were above me now and I could no longer lower them, elbows scraping against the abrasive surface when I tried.

My breathing was sharper now, harsh and deep. My heart raced. I faintly recognized that I was hyperventilating; I wasn’t even fully in. With one last ounce of willpower I lifted off my knees taking myself deeper into that empty hell.

Reaching up there was nothing but more of the same darkness, the same four walls pressing in around me. I could hear my breath, my heartbeat, the soft sound of my dress brushing against itself, and nothing else.

It was horribly cramped. The bricks were gritty and rough against my arms, my legs, the back of my head. It was small, too small, and I wanted to get out.

I wanted out.

But you said to get in. You told me to be here. I was supposed to be here, and I was panicking. I needed… I needed to stay, I needed to not panic.

I took one shaky breath and then another. I opened my eyes not having realized I’d closed them. I could barely see in the dim light. Tilting my head down only pushed my forehead into the bricks in front of me. Straining my eyes to look down I saw the low glow of the entrance I had pushed myself into. There was a shifting of the light—your feet moving?

Were you still there?

Then there was a loud clang and the light was gone.

It was black as pitch. I could not see the surface directly in front of my eyes.

I was alone.

I distantly noticed that I’d lost control of my breathing again, my lungs heaving to take in as much air as they could as quickly as possible. They burned with the strain. My fingers scrambled uselessly against the bricks. There was a wetness on my elbow, had I scraped it?

The walls were closing in on me.

With a jolt of nervous energy I kicked out, slamming my feet against where the entrance had been. It banged dully, the solid metal plate resisting my efforts completely.

I was alone. Trapped, entombed in this fucking chimney.

I was alone… but it was because you had made me alone. You had put me here. It was your power that held me here and that meant I was hardly alone at all.

I took one deep, slow breath, in through the nose and then slowly out though my mouth.

Another. And again, each cycle starting with the end of the last.

Slowly, slowly, I started to bring myself back under control. There was still an edge of panic to my thoughts, a hyper-real distortion making everything feel sharper, every thought holding a cutting edge. I knew that my pupils would be terrified pits pushing my irises to the edges of my eyes. I was still scared, still circling the drain of a panic attack, but now it was under control.

I’d said I could handle it and yet here I was not five minutes into the weekend freaking out without you ever laying a finger on me.

I wanted everything you had to give me. I couldn’t break now.

So I breathed and waited. You would come back to me eventually.

As I came down from my panic I started to feel the pains that the adrenaline had been suppressing. I had indeed scraped up my elbow and I could feel the blood slowly drown my arm towards my armpit. It tickled slightly and the sensation was intensely unnerving.

My arms were aching from being held up in an unnatural position. I tried leaning them against the walls, but there remained an unavoidable weight slowly bearing down on my shoulders, pulling at tense muscles. It only grew worse, never easing up .

My fingers were aching, covered in abrasions from my earlier mad scrambling.

Worst of all I was hungry and cold. The shivering started almost immediately when the adrenaline withdrew its grip and didn’t stop. The bricks leeched warmth from my skin, their neutral chill sinking into my muscles.

There was a pit in my stomach growing steadily, my body’s way of informing me that If I wanted to warm up then I would have to provide fuel.

Now I had no fuel, no food or water, and nothing to distract myself from my body slowly tearing itself apart.

Not even an hour ago I had felt fit as a fiddle, eager and giggly for what was to come. Now I felt as though I had run a marathon.

There was a different kind of panic creeping into my veins now, slow and viscous: how was I meant to make it through the night?

It was clear that you were planning on leaving me here. Probably all night if you really had left; if you weren’t watching silently in the dark room, listening with sadistic joy to my panicked breaths.

I couldn’t sleep, not like this. But I had to do my best.

For you.

In and out, my chest rose and fell. Concentrating on that cycle, I let everything else fade. In and out. There was no chimney. In and out. There was no pain. In and out. There was no hunger.

There was no light. The world didn’t exist. It was just me alone in a sea of darkness, the shadow of your power blotting out all else.

In and out, my breath came and went. This I could control, if nothing else.

I don’t know how long I meditated for. Hours at least. I fell in and out of that half-aware state, occasionally brought to the surface by a new ache or intensified pain.

My arms and feet were the most common culprits. I became intensely aware of them, their shape sharply outlined by the ever growing strain. They all but glowed in my awareness, a deep penetrating ache soaking through them.

The sensation filled my flesh to the brim and yet still grew deeper. No matter how utterly, excruciatingly, completely torturous they felt, it only seemed to deepen more and more. As though a pit had opened up inside my flesh only so as to be able to contain more pain. Little extra-dimensional pockets, just for me, just for my agony.

A pond whose surface was completely reflective but underneath the mirrored surface was a pit into the abyss.

The pain was so uniform and complete that I barely needed to try to become obsessed with it.

As I allowed the anguish to seep into my soul, the peculiar nuances of the sensation captivating me, I grew hard. The feeling of my cock pressing against the soft cotton of my underwear was shockingly pleasant. If I pressed my hips forward I could get just enough friction, my dress forming a perfect cushion against the harsh stone.

I rocked my hips back and forth in a daze. My shoulders screamed at the motion but I couldn’t help it. I needed something, some sensation other than pain and cold and darkness pressing in on me.

The motion wouldn’t be enough to make me cum. Even addled as I was I could tell that much. No amount of friction would get me off in this much discomfort.

I wanted it nonetheless.

It wasn’t edging, not even close. But the low simmering arousal helped me work through the discomfort, fall into it and relax, accept the discomfort and the isolation and the darkness. It was a teething ring for sore gums, and I sank into the blessed relief it provided to my tortured flesh.

I allowed it to sweep me away to that place where all barriers between me and the world disappeared and I ceased to exist.

At some point in the night I pissed myself. It barely registered.

A horrid scraping sound roused me from my exhausted torpor. I had never fallen asleep, but the combination of pain and pleasure, hunger and exhaustion had hollowed me out and left me hovering on the edge of consciousness. The screeching of metal against metal was overwhelming after the utter silence of my chimney. My nerves, raw from sleeplessness, cried out in protest. Eager to get out, I shifted my feet restlessly, seeking an escape. A hand, unbearably warm and soft, grabbed my ankle and pulled. I stumbled and fell, my arms scraping against the bricks on my way down.

You pulled me out of that chimney like a woodpecker tearing a worm from rotten wood. I squirmed on the floor in agonizing relief and wonder at the brightness of the lights and the warmth of the air. You were nothing more than a shape looming over me, the shadow of a hawk eying its prey wriggling on the forest floor far below.

I bathed in the sweet release from my prison, in the promise of sleeping lazily through the day, in the scars that would surely form where I had scraped the skin from my elbows and knees during the night. My feet still ached terribly; now out of relief in not having to bear my weight.

I had made it.

I was out.

“Me-,” I attempted to call for you, needing your attention, needing your touch. But the words caught in my throat and I started coughing. My throat was terribly dry and I realized anew how thirsty I was, how hungry. Then that line of thought reminded me that I was covered in my own piss and I blushed hot in shame and disgust.

You crouched down next to me and I could finally focus on your face, eagerly searching for the approval I so desperately desired.

It was blank.

There was no pride there, no satisfaction in my suffering. You looked at me with no more care than a scientist would have for its subject. There was no affection in your eyes, only a cold fascination.

Abruptly I realized that it wasn’t over.

You reached out and grabbed my hair, wrapping it around your fist firmly. Slow to recognize what was happening I scrambled to get onto my hands and knees. You started pulling before I was ready.

I screamed as you dragged me across the floor, my ruined dress under me the only thing protecting me from splinters.

You pulled me through the front door and onto the porch, leaving me splayed on my side groaning and clutching at my scalp. By the time I looked up you had a garden hose in your hands and were pointing the nozzle towards me.

“No no no no, Merry! I’m already cold I’m too cold please—”

The ice cold water sent a shock through me, needles of pain penetrating my skin everywhere you directed the spray.

“Strip.”

I sputtered in protest and you directed the water pressure to my mouth as I tried to speak. The feeling of water pressing against by face, entering my mouth and nose with violence, was overwhelming. Immediately giving up protesting I tore off my dress, the sodden fabric deeply uncomfortable against my raw skin.

“Underwear too. Off.”

Unable to see through blurred eyes, I obeyed. Naked on the porch, winter air harsh against wet skin, I shivered violently.

I shivered and ached, my stomach empty and my nerves jangling from lack of sleep and discomfort and fear. Fear of what was coming next. Fear that I would not be able to withstand it.

I knew that I could take anything you wanted to give me when well fed, warm, with a good night sleep. Now I was none of those things. Now I could feel my safeword lingering on the edge of my brain, ready for when I needed it.

Looking up at you as I shook like a leaf, I was increasingly sure I would.

You could see my fear—I was sure you could. There was a spark of heat in your eyes now, a twist of your lips signaling both disgust and a sadistic joy. You knew I was reaching my edge and you thought it was absolutely pathetic.

Even as miserable as I was, it kindled a warmth in me. You wanted me, I could tell. You wanted me, even when I was as bedraggled and grumpy as a wet cat.

Throwing the hose to the side you grabbed my arm roughly. A moan of pain tore out of me at the way it aggravated my sore shoulder as you dragged me back indoors.

Back to the table where everything had started I gasped as you shoved me against the table, the edge digging into the skin of my hips sharply.

There was a knife on the table.

I tried to look back at you but you wrenched my arm sharply, pulling it into a hold that forced my face forward, closer to the knife.

It was large, the kind of knife that was as much for show as any practical use. It looked sharp and well worn. Vaguely military. The blade was the dull silver tone of a good quality steel. It looked like it would slide through my flesh as easily as anything.

I noticed I was still shivering. Fear now, in addition to the cold.

What were you planning on doing to me?

The sound of a zipper answered that for me.

I froze.

Were… were you going to fuck me like this?

There was a shuffling sound of your pants hitting the floor. You leaned close to me and I felt the heat of your cock against my ass.

I didn’t want it. With muscles sore, cramping from the cold, a pit of hunger gnawing at my stomach…I was absolutely miserable right now and being fucked was the last thing I wanted.

But you didn’t care.

Or rather, you did care, you liked it that way. You liked me so utterly wrung out and exhausted that I couldn’t take any pleasure from it, not even any masochistic pleasure in suffering.

You spat once, twice, and I felt a pressure against my asshole. I knew what to do, I knew I should push and help you fuck me. But I didn’t want you inside of me. I didn’t want that too full feeling, the twinge of pain and faint nausea I always felt while being fucked in the ass. I knew it would be worse if I didn’t help, didn’t submit. But I just couldn’t make myself give in.

“Open up for me, Tessa. You’ll regret it otherwise. I promise.”

The threat made it easier and I relaxed into the pain, letting you ease in. I let out a slow groan as you settled fully into me, trying to lean into the sensation, trying to turn discomfort into pleasure.

I failed.

You pulled me up from the table, wrapping your arm around me firmly and holding me snug against your front. The cool silk of your shirt was a barrier between my feverish skin and yours, denying me the comfort of skin contact. Reaching around me you picked up the knife.

“Hold still.”

I froze, not daring to breathe.

“What… Merry, what are you doing?”

“You’ll see, Tess. Just hold still. Can you manage that?”

Without waiting for a response, you moved to rest the knife on my hip where there were indentations in my skin from being pressed against the edge of the table.

“Wait wait wait no Merry please don’t it already hurts enough I promise please don’t I already don’t like it I promise!”

You cut one short slit across my hip diagonally. Then another, right next to the first.

I muffled a fearful scream behind my lips, shivering in my attempts to hold still.

You cut again, forming a third neat line over where my hip bone protruded. I whimpered. The pain was not so intense yet but I knew it would grow. Even left alone it would grow, and I knew that you weren’t planning on leaving it alone.

Setting the knife down on the table transferred your hold on my arms to your other hand, maintaining them in a lock behind my back.

There was blood on the knife. Not much, but enough that I could tell you had cut deeply. Deeply enough to scar if not treated properly.

Then you picked up the knife with your right hand and cut three more lines into my opposite hip with three quick, efficient movements. I startled at the suddenness and the last cut ended up longer than the others as you failed to compensate for my flinching. You tsked at me but didn’t comment as you set the knife down in front of us.

“Ready?”

I whimpered. No, no I wasn’t ready, I would never be ready for this.

“Too bad.”

And with that you drew back and fucked into me, shoving my new wounds against the table.

I screamed.

The pain was intense. It hurt on my hips where the wounds impacted the table, my shoulders from your submission hold, and deep inside where your cock hit something vital.

But more than the pain was the revulsion, the deep sense of violation. I didn’t want it, it hurt, I hated it so deeply.

Again you withdrew and pushed back in, and again, starting to form a rhythm.

It was so intense. Too intense. It overwhelmed me and my breathing picked up. I couldn’t think, couldn’t rationalize it, couldn’t embrace the pain or the suffering. The sensation overwhelmed me and for the third time of your visit I panicked, adrenaline hot and familiar in my veins.

I thrashed senselessly, trying to escape. With a grunt of effort you shoved me down flat onto the table. My hips pressed hard against the table. With every thrust they dragged against the wood.

They were tacky with blood.

You tightened your submission hold, pushing my arms further up so I could not resist without leaning deeper into the pain. Beyond reason in my desire to escape, I did so regardless. You finally let go only to grab my head and shove it down onto the hard surface. My nose impacted the wood with a bounce but thankfully did not break.

“Stop. Struggling. I know you want it, you could stop this at any time if you really wanted to. Just lay there and take it like you’re meant to.”

It took me a few moments to understand what you meant, moments of you fucking into me with abandon, moments of my vision flickering in and out and my mind shivering in hate and disgust and fear of what you were doing to me. But finally I remembered, remembered that I could stop this, that all I had to do was say-

“Amaryllis! Amaryllis, safeword, red, stop, please Merry I need, you need to stop, please.” You froze. You froze, and I broke down crying, crying in relief, in a sheer desperate joy that you had stopped.

There was an eternal moment as you loomed over me, silent and still. Even your breath seemed to vanish into a silence broken only by my low sobs.

I was so tired. I wanted to sleep, to have something to eat, to curl up in front of a fire and never think about chimneys or hoses again.

But you had more important things on your mind.

“You’re safewording?” You sounded disbelieving, shocked. “You’re safewording because I fucked you, is that really…?”

I needed a moment to collect myself and reign in my tears before responding.

“Yes, yes I can’t, I’m sorry Merry it... it was just too much.”

“Too much? Too much! Tess, I’ve barely touched you!”

“I—I’m sorry, I just. The chimney, the cold, I’m hungry and... and you’re different. You’re not the same as before.”

There was an anger in your voice now, cold and empty as the winter air outside. “I came all this way because you wanted me to. I took vacation time, I traveled all the way out here to the middle of fucking nowhere because you convinced me you could take it. Could take whatever I wanted to do to you. And now you’re safewording because you can’t take a bit of a rough fucking? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“I—Merry, I don’t. I—”

I groaned as you drew out of me, the sensation an echo of the past minutes and interrupting my line of thought.

Letting out a disgusted sound, you released me as I collapsed to my knees. “I thought you said you wanted it. ‘Anything I could do to you, you would take.’ That’s what you said. Were you lying? What happened to all those promises of yours?”

I turned to look up at you pleadingly, needing with all I was to disprove your accusation, “No! I thought—you’re different now, Merry! I thought I could but you’re different!”

“Tess.” You stared at me icily as you addressed me with utter contempt, “It’s been three years. Of course I’m different, I’m not a fucking statue.”

“I, yes I know, I know it was a long time but…Merry I needed you, nothing else, nobody else got it. I’m sorry Merry. Just... just a little less intense, just leave me a little more room. I'll do better next time I promise!”

“Next time?” You laughed and shook your head. “Like I’m going to repeat this. Not again Tess. No more.”

“No! Merry no please I need it, I need you! It was just this once next time I can take it I promise! I promise that—”

“You promise, huh? I don’t want to hear it. How can I trust that, Tess? You said you could take it this time. Look at where we are now.”

“This time is different!” My voice cracked in protest and I felt tears welling up in my eyes.

“How many times have you said that now? Every time you promise, and every single time you break your promises. No, Tess. This is it. I’m done.” Your face, your expression… It was almost bored. But… that couldn’t be, could it?

“Merry please! Please I need you, nobody else is enough.” I was sniffling and my throat ached with repressed sobs. I rubbed at my aches, pushing down tears. You continued, merciless.

“You need me, you need me, on and on you go about this. It’s always about you, never about me. What about what I need, huh? What about what I want?”

Your voice was reduced to a whisper by the end, and I recoiled at the venom in it. I had thought you enjoyed playing with me, I’d thought you’d been enjoying your time with me. Had you really just been doing it for my sake? I’d been so sure…!

“Of course Merry! I thought, I thought you were enjoying yourself. Whatever you want, of course I want you to enjoy yourself!”

“And if what I want is to keep going? No, I don’t think so. You’ve already safeworded, you already proved that you don’t want this.” Despite your words, I could see your cock stiffening. You liked hearing that I wanted to please you. And I did! I really did, I would do anything for you, I would take anything you wanted to give me!

“No, I—it’s fine, we can keep going! You don’t need to stop, I can deal with it!”

You frowned at me, but your cock twitched at the idea. “You think that’s a good idea? You’re just going to safeword again.”

“I won’t, I won’t I promise!” I believed it too. If it was for you I could take anything. I needed to make up for what I did.

You looked at me like I was an animal too stupid to know its own capabilities. But then you rolled your shoulders in a casual shrug, and nodded. “Fine. One last try. But this is the last one.”

“Yes! Of course Merry, you’ll see. I’ll show you!”

Those hawk-like eyes of yours just stared down at me. But there was a glimmer in your eye now. Despite your assumed casualness, I could see your desire had returned—I knew you wanted it, I knew you wanted me. You were enjoying yourself again, anticipating what was to come. Something deep inside of me thrilled at the sight.

“Alright then. Up. And this time I won’t stop until I finish.”

A masochistic shiver went up my spine. You were going to go back to fucking me just like that? Like nothing had ever happened?

“Up!”

I scrambled to my feet. As soon as I was standing you moved with a heated passion, roughly forcing me around and wasting no time pushing into me once again. As you slammed your body against me, I felt my cuts reopen as they were pushed against the table with bruising force. A breathless gasp escaped me, air rushing from my lungs in shock.

It hurt just as much as before. I thought that I would be more prepared, but I was still cold, still hungry. I still hated being fucked.

But I couldn’t safeword. Already I wanted to, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t disappoint you, I needed you to stay, to be pleased with me, to want to play again. This was just discomfort. I could fight through it, I knew that I could!

But then you pulled out and slammed back in brutally and all I could think about was how terrible it felt.

Your hands roamed my body, taking their due. One landed on a nipple and you twisted it fiercely; the other grabbed my hair and pulled my head to the side, exposing my neck.

As I was bent further and further over the table your weight settled onto my back, suffocating me under your weight and heat. I kicked a leg only half intentionally, caught between conflicting impulses, but you ignored it other than to give an especially vicious twist to my nipple in retribution.

It felt like it went on forever, in and out, never ending. The moment stretched and stretched, never feeling like it was coming to an end. I began to feel that it might never.

But at long last you began to speed your pace in the way that meant you were close to orgasm. I tensed further in anticipation of the end, only exacerbating the overstimulation of your cock inside me.

It would all be worth it if it meant you were pleased with me

With a low groan, you bit deeply into my shoulder as you came.

I yelped in pain and shock, tendons and gristle grinding against each other under your teeth. The pain built and built as you bit deeper into my flesh until it blotted out everything else you were doing to me.

Then you slumped against me, cock sliding out of me with an easy motion of your hips. As you lay there against me, I felt no relief. No masochistic joy. Just a worn acceptance that it was done with and a dull pleasure in doing as you had told me to.

Your breath was warm against my cheek. The smell of your sweat surrounded me. It reminded me of the chimney and I was momentarily revolted. I felt a dripping down my thigh and shivered involuntarily in intense disgust.

You let out a long sigh. A pleased one, I hoped? I brought what was left of myself together, eager to hear your praise at how I had suffered for you.

You picked yourself up off me and I took a deep breath, refilling compressed lungs. Your scent was thick in the air.

“You really are pathetic, Tess. You’ll believe anything when you feel like you’ve failed. There’s such a thing as too predictable, you know.”

“Huh?” I replied intelligently, “Wha..?”

“When I said this was the last time, I meant it. I really can’t stand you, you know. A decent fuck, sure, but so deeply annoying. Even I get tired of the same thing over and over again.”

“M-Merry? Wha—”

“The constant chatter, the endless promises that never go anywhere. Do you know how exhausting it is to hear you mouth the same empty words, knowing that you never mean them?” There’s a flutter of fabric as you shake out your pants and begin to put them back on. You won’t even look at me. I’m not even worthy of your attention.

“I would say it was fun, but really the orgasm was the best part. What kind of a sub are you, why did I even bother hurting you? You’re supposed to please me, supposed to suffer for me. Here is your perfect opportunity to do both, and yet you back off as soon as things get difficult. Pathetic.”

“I thought! Merry, I thought—”

“Yeah, you always did think too much. Whatever. I gave it one last shot, just in case you’d changed in the last years. But no, if anything you’re worse than ever.

“What you don’t seem to understand is how unremarkable you are. You think you’re so special, so above all the others with your lofty promises, your eagerness to hurt, to be degraded. But when you have to actually push yourself? When you have the opportunity to actually prove that submissiveness that you’re so proud of?

“You fail. You back out, all your promises revealed as empty bragging. It’s disgusting.” You spat, and I felt a wetness hit my back.

I slid off the table, collapsing like a house of cards. This wasn’t what I’d wanted. I’d wanted to suffer for you, but not like this. Why? Why did you say such terrible things? I’d done as you said, I’d done everything you wanted. I’d stayed in the chimney all night, away from you, away from any source of comfort. Yes I safeworded, but I took it back didn’t I? Was…

Was I really that bad?

Looking down at your feet, I was still too absorbed in thought to notice when your boot came down between my legs.

I groaned, more out of reflex than pain, and watched as you smeared dirt against my naked body with your boot. At least you avoided the cuts you had made, that indicated some level of care, right?

I looked up and met your eyes for one last time. You looked down at me stonily, completely unsympathetic. There was a glow to your cheeks, still flushed with afterglow. I started to cry silently. Taking in the look on your face at the sight of my tears, I had to turn away.

You let out a long, satisfied sigh.

“Alright. We’re done. There’s a car coming for you, it’ll be here in half an hour. Your things are outside under the porch. I’d recommend a trip to a clinic, since there’s no chance those cuts are sterile. But whatever, do as you like. Not my problem any more.”

And with that, you walked out. The door closed behind you silently, and the porch creaked slightly under your footsteps. A few moments later, the barely audible sound of a car engine floated up through the windows.

And then you were gone, and I was alone.