Beneath His Control

We’d only planned on a couple of drinks.

The bar was dim and loud, all low amber light and the sticky-sweet smell of spilled liquor. I was already on my third whiskey when the warmth started blooming low in my belly, loosening my limbs and my judgment. My Dom sat a few stools away, one elbow on the bar, watching me over the rim of his glass with that quiet, assessing look he always wore when he was giving me just enough rope to hang myself.

The man who ended up beside me was tall and solid, dark hair, darker eyes. He smiled when I laughed too loud at something, and I leaned in without thinking. The music was heavy, bass thumping through the floor and up into my bones. I turned on the stool so my back was to him and let my hips start moving. Slow at first. Testing. When he didn’t pull away I pressed back harder, grinding my ass in a lazy, filthy circle against the front of his jeans. I felt him thicken. His hand settled on my hip, fingers flexing.

I kept going.

I rolled against him like we were alone, drunk enough that the rest of the bar blurred. His breath hit the side of my neck. I pushed back harder, feeling the hard line of him notch against me through our clothes. My Dom still hadn’t moved. He just watched, eyes half-lidded, completely still.

Only when the man behind me murmured, “You’re going to get yourself in trouble,” did my Dom finally stand.

He walked over like he had all the time in the world. His hand closed around the back of my neck—possessive, familiar—and he looked past me at the man I’d been grinding on.

“Enjoying my girl?” he asked, voice low.

The man—his friend, I realized with a slow, hot jolt—smirked. “She’s making it difficult not to.”

My Dom’s fingers tightened just enough to make me still. “We’re leaving. Both of you.”

---

The playroom was cooler than the bar. Quieter. My head was still swimming when they undressed me, hands steady and unhurried. My Dom’s friend held my wrists while my Dom worked the rope—thick, soft, the kind that bit just enough without cutting. He bound my arms behind my back first, elbow to elbow, then ran more rope around my chest, framing my breasts, pulling tight until every breath made the coils dig in. His friend spread my ankles and tied them wide to the bolts in the floor so I was forced open. More rope around my thighs. By the time they finished I was held completely still, on my knees, chest out, legs spread, nowhere to go.

The ball gag came next. My Dom held my jaw open and pushed it in, buckling it tight behind my head. I tasted rubber and the first flood of spit almost immediately. Drool started a slow, humiliating path down my chin.

Nipple clamps followed. Heavy ones. He rolled each peak between his fingers until they were stiff, then let the metal bite down hard. I moaned around the gag when the chain between them swung and tugged. His friend gave the chain a lazy pull just to watch me jerk.

Then they started in earnest.

Ice first. A cube trailed over my clamped left nipple, so cold it burned. I tried to twist away but the ropes held me. Another cube dragged down the center of my stomach, lower, until it pressed against my clit and stayed there. The freeze sank deep. I whimpered, hips twitching uselessly. When the ice melted they replaced it with another, and another, until I was shaking from the cold and the ache in my nipples.

Wax came while I was still shivering. My Dom held the candle high enough that the first drop had time to cool slightly before it landed on the upper curve of my breast. Still hot. Still sharp. I cried out around the gag. More drops followed—across both breasts, down the soft skin of my stomach, along the insides of my thighs. Each one a bright, stinging kiss. His friend collected the cooled wax with a fingernail and flicked it away so the next drop could land on bare skin again.

The flogger started while the wax was still being poured. Soft at first—heavy leather tails thudding across my ass and the backs of my thighs in a steady rhythm. The heat built slow. Then harder. The tails started to sting, painting me pink, then red. Every swing made the chain between the clamps swing and pull. I was moaning constantly now, spit soaking the gag and dripping onto my chest.

When my ass was glowing he switched to the paddle.

The first crack was loud. The second louder. He didn’t rush. He let each strike land fully, waited for me to feel it, then gave me another. My Dom’s friend stepped in front of me, fisted my hair, and yanked my head back so I had to look at him while the paddle kept falling. He slapped me across the face—open palm, sharp, stinging. Once. Twice. Tears sprang to my eyes. Another slap. Then his hand wrapped around my throat and squeezed, cutting off just enough air that the edges of the room went soft and sparkly while the paddle kept marking me.

They pushed a thick, lubed buttplug into me while I was still gasping. It stretched and burned and settled deep. A strong vibrator was pressed hard against my clit and left there on high. The dual sensation—full ass, relentless buzzing on my clit, burning skin, aching nipples—ripped the first orgasm out of me almost immediately. I shook in the ropes, muffled cries spilling around the gag. They didn’t turn the vibrator down. They didn’t stop.

My Dom flogged my breasts carefully around the clamps while his friend kept the vibrator pinned in place. Hair yanked. Face slapped again. Throat squeezed until I was floating. Another orgasm crashed through me, then another, until I was sobbing and drooling and completely gone.

Only then did they fuck me.

My Dom took my cunt first—slow, deep strokes that forced every inch into me while I was still clenching from the last orgasm. His friend freed the gag just long enough to push his cock into my mouth, then buckled it loosely again so I was forced to keep him there, jaw aching. They used me like that for a long time. Then they switched. Then they filled me together—one thick cock in my pussy, one in my ass beside the plug they’d left in, stretching me obscenely wide—while someone kept a fist in my hair and another hand around my throat. The vibrator stayed on my clit the entire time. I came until I couldn’t anymore, until I was just shaking and taking it, tears and spit and cum everywhere.

---

Afterward everything slowed.

The ropes were untied with careful fingers. The clamps came off one at a time; blood rushed back in a sharp, sweet ache that made me whimper. The plug and vibrator were removed gently. Someone cleaned the dried wax and the tears and the mess between my legs with a warm, damp cloth. My Dom pulled me into his lap on the low couch while his friend brought water and a soft blanket. They held me between them, one of them stroking my hair, the other rubbing slow circles into the tender skin of my ass and thighs.

“You did so well,” my Dom murmured against my temple, voice low and warm. “Such a good girl. We’ve got you.”

His friend pressed a kiss to my shoulder and kept his hand steady on my hip until the last of the tremors faded. I drifted in and out, floaty and sore and completely safe, wrapped up in both of them while the marks they’d left throbbed in time with my heartbeat.

I fell asleep like that—used, marked, and held.