On a bad day I end up at his flat in the mid-afternoon. His housemate is out so I remove my trousers and the scarf that’s been concealing the collar he put on me the night before. Everything has felt difficult lately, and I want the uncomplicated feeling of being a girl in just a t-shirt, knickers and socks.
He puts a film on and we sit on the sofa together, my bare legs under a blanket. I am both restless and sleepy, and I shift and wriggle trying to get comfortable. I settle when he brings out his laptop to do some work and braces a foot companionably against my cunt. That stills my extraneous movement. I grasp his knee with one hand, hugging myself with the other, and semi-doze. When he taps his leg thoughtfully whilst working I can feel the vibrations travel down his leg, through his heel, and into me. It makes me shiver and tense. Glance at him lazily from under half-lidded sleepy eyes. Wriggle a little again. I feel small, cozy and safe. Like staying home from school to watch cartoons.
The day grows dimmer and colder and I reluctantly put on his pyjama bottoms so I can brave the slight chill of the kitchen – the windows are open – and bake. I told him I would. Wanted to. I lick golden syrup from my fingers and wipe it, sticky, from where it’s adhering to every surface. Brush oats from the counter. Pop the dough in the oven and curl myself up in a ball on his bed.
He kneels on the bed next to me and I feel myself tipped towards him by his weight. He is quickly naked whilst I remain fully clothed and it makes me feel strangely more self-conscious, not less. His fingers find the metal ring on my collar to pull my head up and on to his cock. Holds me there as I choke and try pull away, unable to breathe and desperate to do so, increasingly dizzy from lack of air. When he finally lets me pull away I am gasping, drooling, half-blinded by tears from my watering eyes. As a result I am limp and unresisting as he flips me over, pulls down my knickers and pyjamas and parts my legs a little. He asks if I am sore, leaning over me with one hand on my back to keep me down, pressing himself up against the entrance of my cunt. We are both breathing heavily, muscles slightly tensed in that taut, tight way that happens just before fucking. He tells me – matter-of-factly – that he doesn’t actually care if I am am sore as he pushes inside me. I hiss and gasp and would arch up if I wasn’t pinned down by his weight, trapped against the bed.
The fuck is quick, rough, and functional and I am turned on all the more because of it. I feel incidental as I struggle loosely underneath him, gripping the frame of the bed, trying to find a position that I can bear to stay in. Occasionally he pulls my hips to him, tilts them back to where it hurts the most when he thrusts inside me. I scrabble wordlessly at the sheets, panting with pain. He works his fingers inside the band of my collar and suddenly I am struggling to breathe. Everything shrinks to pinpricks – sound, vision, thoughts – as he constricts my throat, fucks me harder.
Afterwards, his warm weight on top of me, a rough kiss to the side of my head. He pulls my pyjamas and knickers back up, smoothes out the creases. I feel like a toy being put back in it’s box. Loved in a brisk, absent-minded sort of way. I have just enough time to stretch, roll over and curl myself up small and quiet into his chest before the timer goes off in the kitchen.
