I wouldn't do this, normally. I hate going to him, because he's such a smirky asshole, and he always, FUCKING ALWAYS has to take my arm off. I have no idea why it turns him on so much to have me cuffed to the headboard with an arm off, but it does.
He normally wouldn't do this, either. As he's told me, and as I've learned, there are plenty of women that are willing to sleep with him. And most of them are perfectly willing to play his games. The ones that aren't... well, even bondage gets boring, or so he says. Personally, I haven't found it yet.
You want to know what's sad? I didn't have to tell my brother about this. He was the one that pointed me towards the bastard. He saw me once jerking off, and he persuaded me to talk to him about it.
Okay, so he dragged me kicking, screaming, hissing, and spitting to the bastard. He still managed to get me to talk to him, though. It's a nice little arrangement. Whenever I feel horny and am in town, I let myself be tied up and disarmed. And then he has sex with me. It's actually more satisfying than I first thought.
And the reason is that I have a lot of control over him.
Like now. My arm feels stretched to its limit. I have two heavily lubed fingers up my ass, and a smirky bastard of a Colonel looking down at me. All around, it hurts. But I can look down his body, and see him hard. Impossibly hard, painfully hard, and just because of me. My body, writhing against his sheets, legs willingly open to allow him to violate me... I moan, forcing more passion and lust into it than I actually feel, and watch him swallow hard.
He wants to strip off his pants and fuck me. I know he does. But he takes it slowly, and pushes his fingers a little deeper into me. I respond by pushing my hips down as far as I can. My shoulder screams in pain, warning me that a little more and I would be shouting the safe word. But watching him move a little closer, his hand inch towards his crotch... it's worth it, it really is.
I lick my lips as the fingers slip out. It's relieving, but I know what's coming next. While it hurts more to have his cock in me at first, he can wield that thing well. He's not perfect (though he'll make you believe he is), but he can usually find the spot that has me screaming. If not, hey. He has a talented tongue, and doesn't leave me there after he comes.
My legs are hiked up over his shoulders, and my shoulder protests as I try to shift into a more comfortable position. It's useless, and I know it is. Sex isn't comfortable. It's wet, hard, satisfying, but never comfortable. I start moaning out little curses. Things like "Fuck me" and "Now" and "Hard." It's amusing to watch him swallow hard and his cock jump. He really likes me at his mercy and begging.
He pushes inside of me. It's never smooth and easy. I'm always just a little too tight at first, and he has to push in little at a time. It hurts, but he almost always counters it with a hand on my cock. He strokes it firmly, fingers teasing along the head before stroking down the shaft. I writhe and cuss, not acting this time. It really does feel great. As I relax a bit, he starts pumping in and out of me. Each thrust causes my shoulder to complain a little more, but when he shifts his hips and brushes over that spot...
Oh, tonight's going to be a good night. I let out a howl, legs quivering. He chuckles, the damn bastard, and pushes into me again. He hits it maybe one time out of ten, but it's enough. The feeling of his cock in me and his hand on me has me trembling on the edge. I want to grab him, throw him to the bed, and ride him until I come, but it's impossible. The pain in my shoulder is being ignored now as he slows down, shaking with the effort.
"Oh, fuck no," I groan. "You aren't stopping now. Fuck me, you bastard. Hard."
He just looks down at me, a little surprised, I guess. It's hard to believe that I'm here, begging for it. Considering how much I hate him, it is a little hard to believe. Oh well. Just as long as he fucks me now, I don't really care.
He starts again, harder, faster. My body is thrown around thanks to the thrusts. My arm is stretched just a little further, and my hand searches for something to hold onto to. Of course, I can't find anything, but it's instinct. I moan, the orgasm starting to overtake my brain. It feel so good and damn if he would just go for a little longer, stroke me a little faster, just a little...
I shudder, my orgasm strangely quiet. I've never been loud when it comes to that. Too many years of trying to make sure my brother didn't find out. In contrast, he nearly rips out his vocal cords with his wordless scream.
It's strange, isn't it.
He gets up to unlock my handcuffs, sliding out of my body. That's always the weirdest feeling, but the relief of my hand going back to where it belongs overshadows that. It would probably be a good idea to put my arm back in now, while I still feel really good, but I can't seem to sit up.
Oh well. He's really warm, anyway. Laying here a little longer wouldn't hurt me.