Controlled Surrender

He did the same to her other breast, and chuckled as she cursed him. He leaned in to kiss her gently, and was pleased when she kissed him back. That's when he touched the Hitachi to her porcupine pussy, and she almost bit his lip.

"No!" she yelped. "No. No no no no no oh God. Oh Gawd."

He held the vibrator there until she was twitching with an orgasm, all the while staring into her face.

"Hold this, Cunny," he said, grinning, as he put the Hitachi in her still cuffed hands.

He walked to the table and picked up the lube, slathering his steel rod of a cock with it as he went back to her. He stood behind her and eased the butt plug out of her. Since he'd picked one that was roughly the same diameter as him, his erection slid home in her ass with no resistance. He pulled out long enough to add more lube to himself and her crack, then pushed all the way in so that his hips were pressed against her sandpaper ass cheeks.

The heat coming off her abraded skin was phenomenal, and he knew that no matter where he touched her, his fingers would be gripping already injured flesh. To emphasize this, he wrapped both arms around her stomach and leaned into her, pulling her back against him, and relishing her wince and grimace. He reached up and took the vibrator from her, then with one arm still loosely around her, he held the Hitachi against her clit and labia.

He didn't thrust, just rocked on his feet and swayed both of them back and forth. His erection as deep into her ass as it could go, he used the vibrator to make her cum. He felt the contractions of her orgasm, and savored her heavy shudders and moans. He, conscientiously he thought, tried to avoid touching any of the pins directly. But he supposed it didn't matter, since her whole vulva was one big pincushion, now swollen and irritated.

After her second orgasm he started stroking slowly; he was moving in her deliberately, making her feel every inch of him. He was delighting in the sensation of her sphincter tightening around him. He kept moving in long, almost leisurely penetrations as he pulled a third and a fourth orgasm out of her. She was sweating again. He dropped the vibrator and gripped her hips with both hands, now giving himself over to actually fucking her. His cock gliding in and out of the warm comfort of her tight asshole. They were making the most wonderful sloppy squishing sounds, and she was letting out little mewls that indicated pain and pleasure together. His hands were digging into her hips, and his hips and lower abdomen were slapping against her butt, where he'd concentrated a lot of his strikes.

He fucked her a little longer, a little harder, and a little faster, finally reaching his climax and unloading in her ass. She'd dropped her head back and he leaned forward to kiss her as he pulled out. He walked around and around her, looking at his handiwork, allowing himself to glide his fingertips over the welts, and to brush the tips of all the pins. She watched him, silently, in a world of her own. She felt beyond pain now. So many layers of pain and pleasure had folded themselves in on her that she couldn't have told him how she felt.

He circled a few more times, and stopped in front of her. Stroked her cheek and kissed her again; she kissed him back again.

He stepped back and gestured to her tits and vulva. "Now we've got to get those out."

She nodded, looked at the cuffs. He said, "No. I think it'll be easier if you stay there. I've got an idea."

He walked away, and when he returned he had the dish with the alcohol in it, and the magnet. He knelt down in front of her and held the magnet close to the pins. When several adhered themselves, he gently pulled away from her, thereby pulling a few out at a time without jostling them too much. She decided it was much more excruciating to take them out than it had felt putting them in. He kept repeating that process, carefully easing the magnet away from her and bring the pins with it. It mostly worked, but it seemed like an eternity until he pulled the last pin out of her tit.

She could smell her blood now too, and feel a little bead forming where each pin had been removed. The dull fire was back. While he'd been wailing on her, that burning had been eclipsed. Now that he was done whipping her, the pain from the pins reasserted a low counterpoint to the greater fire on her back.

He used the towel to mop up the floor, and took a dry corner to pat her inner thigh. She rattled the wrist cuffs again, but he undid the cuffs attached to the spreader bar and had her bring her feet together, just relieving some of the tension in her arms, but not releasing her yet. He told her he'd be right back. In a few minutes she felt something wet and cold wrap around her from behind. He'd soaked a couple of bedsheets in ice water in the tub. She shivered at first, but when he pulled the sheet tight around her, the cool damp felt good against her skin. He tucked the sheet over itself to hold it up while he undid her wrist cuffs.

With her arms free, he wrapped his arm around her and guided her to the kitchen table. Another wet sheet was spread over the chair, and he wrapped that one around her too, over her arms. He tucked the ends in firmly, so that she couldn't move, and then went into the kitchen. She didn't want to move. Just sitting on her ass was horrifying. She didn't want to think about what she'd feel like tomorrow.

At some point he'd put on sweatpants and a t-shirt, and she was a little jealous. He brought her a large glass of tepid water with lemon, and two ibuprofen. She felt herself drifting, sleepy, dazed, and then she'd shift, and a sharp pain would remind her of what she'd been through. He didn't talk, he just kept touching her face and hair. She freed one of her hands from under the sheet and clasped his hand. They sat like that until she started shivering from the cold, then he took her into the shower and used a soft sponge to wash her with cool water.

He slathered her back with antibiotic ointment, mostly to keep it from drying out. The he did the same with her tits and pussy. Then he got her a long night dress made of t-shirt material and put that on her. He helped her to the couch and she laid down on her side. He got more water and some food, and he sat on the floor in front of her. She didn't like that, and made him get on the couch with her. She laid her head in his lap and didn't let him feed her.

"I'm not an invalid. I'm injured, sort of. But only because I let you do it."

"I'm just trying to take care of you."

"I know."

They sat in silence for a while. There was a question he wanted to ask, but wasn't sure he should. Maybe it was a mystery better left unsolved. She snuggled in closer to him, and he put his hand on her the side of her hip. She winced at first, but when he moved his hand to the back of the couch she reached up and put it back.

"If you can't touch me now, Sir, how are you gonna fuck me tomorrow?"

"In that impertinent mouth of yours, I think."

"Excellent idea. Sir."

She was reminding him. It had always been her choice. He might own her, but she'd written the bill of sale herself. They'd haggled over the price, negotiated in piss, blood, screams, and laughter.

The rest of the week passed in a blur. He did fuck her impertinent mouth the next day, and her greedy cunt, and her tight asshole. And did it again every day. She started every morning by drinking his piss, with a plug in her ass. As he had throughout the week, each day with breakfast he asked her to repeat her safe phrase; it never otherwise crossed her lips. She took every meal kneeling next to him, from his hand. She didn't see clothes again, but usually wore those leather cuffs and collar.

One day he tied her down to the coffee table and casually fucked each of her holes, as one day wore on. In between bouts of sex, he used her as a foot rest and tried balancing his beer on her forehead. He teased her with vibrators, keeping her on the edge until she screamed in frustration. Then he used them relentlessly until she'd orgasmed so much she couldn't think.

During the days they had left, he called her every derogatory name he could think of; spewed a encyclopedia of insults and made her agree. Then spent the nights praising her endurance and ingenuity, her kindness and strength.

He spent one whole day practicing new rope bondage techniques, succeeding in suspending her from his favorite hook. He fucked her gently, using the motion of his hips to make her sway back and forth while he barely moved. She told him later than it'd been one of her most intense orgasms ever, because the only place their bodies touched was his penis inside her. Afterward, he left her hanging there while he read aloud from bad erotica. That's the only time she tried to ask him to stop, but she was laughing too hard.

He ran through almost the whole catalog of perverted fantasies that he'd dreamt up, and some she'd told him. They realized that at some point they'd obliterated every limit they thought they had. It was exhausting and exhilarating for both of them.

On the morning of their last full day, he woke her up early. They made love. When they were done, he gathered her in his arms.

"Ok, Cunny love," he said. "Today you choose. You'd wanted a day to just relax, be yourself, do whatever."

She was nodding, it seemed like a year ago they'd had that discussion. It had been two weeks.

"So, today's your day. Wear what you want, eat what you want. Sit wherever. No rules, for real. I'm gonna get up. All I ask is that you wait here for fifteen minutes, then I'll see you in the kitchen. I'm making breakfast."

He kissed her, and got out of the bed, getting dressed in loose sweatpants and a t-shirt. She laid still for a while. She stretched, pondered, running her hands over her still aching and healing skin. When she got up, she made the bed, brushed her teeth, washed herself in the sink. She saw that on the chair where he usually laid out her clothes, he'd instead put a small suitcase. She opened the case, rummaged around. It had several different comfortable outfits, as well as her Kindle and her phone.

She sat back on the bed, thinking, remembering. Touching herself lightly in all the sore spots, as well as the few unblemished areas of her skin. She hugged herself closely, feeling the ground shift again; seeing the new puzzle picture.

Then she found the collar and cuffs, put just those on, and went to the bedroom door.

She crawled to him in the kitchen, knelt down and put her head on the floor, hands behind her back. He owned her. They'd negotiated a price in pain, humiliation, satisfaction, orgasms and love. All sales final.

**** Epilogue****

They agreed not to talk about the events of the vacation until they'd been back in their normal lives for a day or two. They'd both decided that they wanted the intrusion of their usual responsibilities before they made any decisions. They drove back to the city in a companionable silence, holding hands, each ruminating on their experiences.

So he was surprised, when he got back from returning the rental, to find her sitting naked on the couch. Not in some formally subservient posture, but just comfortably nude. He opted not to ask. He was more surprised when the next morning, she followed him into the bathroom and knelt to drink his urine. He still didn't ask, but he wasn't about to turn her down. She didn't dress that day either, which he also didn't object to. He was shocked when, before she got ready for work the following morning, she again emptied his bladder into her stomach. Finally, after work that evening, they talked.

She was done crawling. She didn't sit on the floor or wait for him to feed her. But each morning, he peed into her, and then plugged her ass. He got a chair and put it next to her dresser; each evening when she got home from work, she dressed only in what he left there. Usually, the chair was empty. He made sure that every day he left a mark on her body somewhere. Every weekend she endured punishments for infractions real and imaginary. He rigged a way to string her up, and they got creative with implements.

At their jobs, with their friends, with their families, they were still the modern egalitarian couple. At home, in private, he owned her and she reaffirmed that every day. They'd never been happier.