Britwitch's Cottage

[Scuttle Buttin']

He is nearly on a knee, nearly eye-level with the juncture of her thighs, and gives him a close-up view of her attempt to cover herself up. He pauses, head tipping back slightly, eyes looking up the expanse of her body. A click of the tongue as he shakes his head, and the large knife is slid suddenly between the crack of the door behind her and the door frame it is closed into, the tip no down poking out on the other side, but it is forgotten the moment he releases it.

His full height is standing over her suddenly, his hand returning to her throat, grip tight, all but stealing her air. His free hand reaches around, fingers gripping her hair again. He turns away once more, releasing her throat, and pulling her again along behind him. Dragging her to the kitchen he pulled the knife from, he reaches out and tosses away a chair, opening up a spot at the table, and his arm pulls her along, hips quickly against the edge of the wood, her body pushed over it.

Keeping the grip on her hair, he begins a quick and sharp assault on the round globes of her ass, smack after smack wordlessly moving from one side to the other, mercy given only when there is a hot, red glow in her skin.

 

[Britwitch]

She should have known better than to try to cover herself up.

In a flash he is back on his feet, tall frame dwarfing hers as his hands reclaim their hold on her. She feels panic rise as his hand tightens on her throat, making breathing increasingly difficult. Feet trip slightly as he hauls her towards the kitchen. A chair is thrown aside, skittering over the wooden floor. A groan as she's forced down onto the table top, held in place single handedly as the other goes to work spanking her ass mercilessly. She tried to struggle but it's in vain. His hold is too strong, too tight. All she can do it take what he gives.

The lack of words somehow makes it worse. That his intention, his impressions, none of it is conveyed to her. All she has are his actions and at the moment they are less than happy. Fingers hold tightly to the table's edge as her body is pinned down over it. Eyes grow bright with tears of discomfort as her apparent punishment continues.

Her rear feels as if it's on fire. Stinging and pulsing with angry heat, growing hotter with each new blow. A steady stream of whimpers and yelps leaving her lips until his hand eventually stops.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

He's behind her then, against her, still fully dressed but he doesn't doubt that she can feel him through his jeans, already growing hard. His arm flexes, pulling her back up straight, his body trapping hers against the table. Around her sneaks his arm, his hand still hot as it slides between her thighs, over her mound, and then searching fingers slip between her lips as his voice, finally, sounds in her ear.

"Are you wet for me, Witch?"

 

[Britwitch]

She's pulled up straight, back arching slightly as his body pushing up behind hers. The heat of her behind is crushed by his groin. Her stomach tightens as she feels the tell tale swelling pressing between the globes of her rear.
Another intake of breath as fingers push between her thighs and between the outer lips of her sex.

She wants to say no, say that would be impossible. But then, she'd be lying. The knife, the nerves, the shredding of her clothes, the pinch and the slaps, all had sent unwanted messages to her core, unwanted excitement to start to creep into her flesh.

"I...I don't know..."

They both know that's not true.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

A snort of laughter washes his breath over her shoulder, and his middle finger pushes into her suddenly, only down to the second knuckle and only for a short moment.

Withdrawing the finger from her, he lifts it and presses the wet tip to her full lips, the fingers in her hair giving a short pull.

"Clean it."

 

[Britwitch]

Tightness grips the invading finger for a second before it's gone. She can feel the wetness against her lips, smell the scent of her own arousal. The tug to her hair makes her lips part and the moist finger slips between them.

Trying to focus on doing what he wants and not on how it makes her feel, she sucks slowly, softly, on the finger resting upon her tongue. Cheeks drawing in slightly as she carefully removes the traces of her body's betrayal from the digit. Tongue tentatively curling around to help her mouth's efforts. The suction created making the finger slip back and forth slightly between her lips.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

He watches from over her shoulder, unable to help but growing a bit harder against her as most of the length of his finger slips between her lips. His own part slightly as he watches her, feeling her tongue against the digit, the pressure of her sucking.

And then, without warning, it is pulled from her mouth. Hands move simultaneously, one turning her head and tilting it back to allow her to look up at him, the other reaching for the hard peak of her nipple, another tight pinch clamped on it as he pulls again.

"It felt like you were wet, little Witch. Did it taste that way, too?"

 

[Britwitch]

Her eyes widen as her head is turned to look back up at him behind her, this new position arching her back a little more and pushing her chest further out. Lips matching the movement as her nipple is captured once more, widening as fingers pull the pinch tighter.

"Y-yes, yes it did."

At that moment it would have been hard to say which set of cheeks were hotter to the touch. Those on her face or those nestled against the growing bulge in his groin.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

"Mmhmm. It did."

There is a slight, almost pitying shake of the head, and then he releases her nipple from his grasp. Reaching across her body, the flat of his extended fingers slap across her other nipple with a quick, downward stroke, and he keeps her head turned and tilted, his eyes looking down into her face.

"Next time, I go looking through your kitchen for a wooden spoon to use on you."

The hand lifts, drops, another strike against her nipple.

"Understand?"

 

[Britwitch]

A yelp follows the slap, eyes never leaving his. Nipple left tingling obscenely in the wake of his hand.

Another slap, another yelp.

She nods quickly, or at least as quickly as the hold on her head will allow.

"Yes. I...I understand..."

A wetting of lips before she adds.

"...sorry..."

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

Another quiet snort of laugh at her apology, a slight nod of the head.

"Do it again and I assure you, you will be."

For good measure, a third slap finds her nipple, fingers gripping and pulling it quickly, rolling it as he does, and then he releases and reaches down to her wrist, fingers wrapping around it. A slight space is created between their bodies and he pulls her arm behind her, moving her hand to the growing bulge in his jeans and then giving up her wrist.

"Pull me out."

 

[Britwitch]

The third slap makes her whole body tense, followed by the pinching pull that twists slightly. Her features form an expression of discomfort before the too tight hold is released.

Her hand is guided back between their bodies and left to rest upon the firm flesh beneath the denim that covers his legs.

"...yes..."

She replies quietly as fingers work to undo buttons without seeing what she's doing. A couple of times slightly shaky fingers slip but eventually the denim is parted and after a few seconds struggle fingertips find warm, solid flesh.

Curling slightly they wrap around the length and draw it out from within his pants. She can't see but she can feel it's size, it's weight, how hard it is.
She holds him, gently cradled in her palm behind her back. Waiting to hear what he wants from her next.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

She pulls a twitch of his hips from him as her fingers meet hot, hardening flesh, but his gaze never waivers from her face. Her hand is warm, but still comparatively cool as she grips him lightly, and finally released he grows a bit harder in her palm. It is clear, though, that there is still room for more, his arousal still embers, not yet a fire.

Feet shift, moving his body back from hers a bit more, and the hand in her hair turns her around so she faces him. A pull in her hair makes it clear that he wants her kneeling, his eyes ready to remain focused on hers as she drops. A single word passes over his lips, only four letters but with implications that stretch far beyond that.

"Open."

 

[Britwitch]

She turns at his silent command, strong hands manipulating her to his liking. Her hair it seems one of his favoured methods of control. She hated how effective it was. How every pull sent a trickle of nerves down her spine to pool in her stomach and overrun down in between her legs. Smoothly she slipped down before him. Bare knees hitting the wooden floor and bringing her face just about level with his waist.

Then comes just one word.

The tip of her tongue runs over her lips before she parts them obediently. Her eyes leaving his for the first time to look at the stiffening column of flesh before her face. Widening as they do. They travel back up to his face, fixing on his eyes as she kneels before him, mouth open and waiting.

Ready.

Taking a breath she starts to move forward, bringing her 'o' shaped lips closer to his shaft.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

"Ah ah."

He gives a tug on her hair, pulling her head back, holding it against the edge of the table. He keeps her there, kneeling, mouth open, waiting, as his free hand pushes his jeans off his waist, stepping out with each leg and then kicking them off to the side. Next his boxers follow, an article of clothing that could've gone in the same motion, but he wanted her there longer, kneeling, waiting, mouth open to him when he decides he's ready for it.

He is naked from the waist down now, his arousal obvious in the way his length hangs before her open mouth. Still he doesn't move forward, doesn't pull her mouth to him, instead waiting, watching, in much the same way he had a short time earlier as he held the knife up for her to see. A much different tip looms in her future this time.

At last, he pulls her forward. A quick pivot of his wrist alters her course ever so slightly, though, and instead of what she, perhaps, expected to feel against her lips, they are pulled against the heavy sac of his balls.

 

[Britwitch]

She kneels, not moving, mouth held open, eyes just as wide as he removes his jeans and underwear. It's another demonstration of just who in charge of who. Even if it isn't needed. She will wait, she won't do anything else until he tells her, or directs her to.

Her mouth waters the longer she waits. Eyes flitting between his shaft and his face. Certain at any moment to be pulled forward and feel that ever increasing length fill her mouth.

The seconds drag by. Another. And another. And still he holds her still, holds her right where he wants her.

Then her face is moving, being drawn towards his groin but her route is not the one she anticipated and she finds soft, heavy flesh resting against her parted lips.

There is a second's pause before she does what she assumes is expected of her and she starts to suck. Drawing one sac then the other in between her lips. Suckling and licking, her nose buried against the base of his cock.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

He feels the pause, the hesitation against him, and his lips part in order to tell her what he wants when he feels her begin to move against him. His words turn, instead, into a sharp intake of breath that is held for a moment, then released into a shuddering sigh as her mouth moves on him.

She is allowed that small freedom, to move against him, from sensitive sphere to the other, and he knows quickly that it is a feeling he could easily lose himself in, if he allowed it.

He does not.

Waiting for a moment when she is shifting, when he is not yet back between her lips, he pulls her hair back until the back of her head meets the edge of the table again. This time there is no delay, no forcing her to wait, instead using the swollen head of his cock to cleave soft, moist lips.

 

[Britwitch]

She is just about to retake one sac back between her lips when her head is pulled back and brought to rest against the edge of the table.
His hips rush forward and the fact that her lips hadn't closed means he pushes straight into her mouth. She fights the urge to pull away, not that she could. Between his hand in her hair and the table at the back of her head she has no where she can go.

She sucks, tongue stroking his heavy length, lips stretched wide around him as she looks up into his eyes. Mouth filled with him.
Swallowing as more of him is fed between her lips, pushing deeper and deeper.

She can't bob her head, can't move or do anything but take his cock as deeply as he wishes to push it. Cheeks draw in around him as she licks and sucks as best she can.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

Another breath is sucked in, his chest expanding as his lungs quickly fill, a hiss between teeth as the warm, wet confines of her mouth engulf him. There is still about half his length that has yet to pass over her lips when he stops, holding himself there for a moment, and then retreating from her.

His eyes hold her gaze, but in his peripheral he is aware of her cheeks pulling in at the same moment he feels the increased pressure, a small moan rumbling to life in throat. He is quite quickly fully hard, she may even be able to feel a throb between her lips as he stops again, the ridge that joins head and shaft just inside her lips still.

Hips surge forward once more, a slow but steady progress forward, giving her more of him this time. His curiosity and her vulnerable position have met, and questions that may float in his mind... of the sensitivity of her gag reflex, of how much she can take, of her reaction to be pushed to that limit... are ripe for answering.

The process repeats, and a steady rhythm is quickly established, a slow taking of her mouth with each thrust pushing him just a little deeper across her lips and over her tongue. And all the while, his eyes watch, meeting her gaze when she lifts it, drinking in her reaction.

 

[Britwitch]

She feels him swell, hardening and almost pulsing, within her mouth so she must be doing something he likes. Either way he's clearly enjoying himself.

She fights to relax as each slow steady push into her mouth takes him that fraction deeper, that little bit closer to the back of her mouth and the start of her throat.

Her jaws are wide as he nudges the back of her throat and a muffled sound leaves her mouth. Eyes widen that little bit more as his next thrust pushes him deeper still. Pushing past the barrier of the back of her mouth and into her throat. She gags a little louder but she doesn't try to struggle, not yet.

Eyes water as he pushes deeper again, blocking her breathing for a few precious moments. As he withdraws his shaft glistens with saliva, shining in the few small oil lanterns she had left burning before leaving the cottage earlier in the day.

He was toying with her. Testing. Finding out how she reacts. How she responds.
True she couldn't exactly refuse him anything in her current position but...would she anyway?

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

He watches her closely, intently, missing nothing of her reaction, the resistance of her body to his intrusion. He senses more than hears or sees that he's taken her ability to breathe with the depth he sinks into her mouth, and there is some measure of delight in this, of reveling in her predicament and the control he has over her posture, her ability to move, to talk, her very ability to breath.

But still, she seems to take it well, handling it all in stride as he forces a gag from her throat, a reaction to the thick cock trying to force it's way deeper. His curiosity and arousal feed into each other, one driving the other forward, the desire to take her pushed ahead further by the desire to find the limits of what she can take, the desire to find the limits of what she can take pushed ahead further by the desire to take her. And he is more than happy to give into them both.

Fingers curled in her hair keep her head against the back of the table, effectively trapping it, trapping her around the hard and the heat of him. Hips move, slipping from her mouth just to the ridge of the swollen and sensitive head. He holds himself there, letting her breath, letting her focus her attention on this one part of him... and then he drives forward, invading her mouth, forcing his way into her throat, eyes narrow as one swift thrust gives her his full length.

 

[Britwitch]

Breaths are snatched whenever possible and several deep, particularly shuddering ones are taken as he withdraws almost completely from her mouth. It's a game, bordering on the dangerous, ever exciting and with the winner hard to define. At the moment, the game and the pace with which it is played are his to dictate. She doesn't doubt that the whole of his visit will be played according to his rules and needs. His desires.

His expression changes, grows almost challenging as his hips buck forward and ram the entire length of him into her throat.

She tenses, from toes to the top of her head. Throat stuff with hard, hot flesh. Nose against groin and heavy balls resting against her chin. She fights to breathe through her nose, hacking sounds rising up from within her throat while her eyes water. Her hands rise to lay against his thighs. They don't push. Not yet. She can last a little longer before she really has to panic. But they are there as a sign. An indication that a limit is rapidly being reached. A line may well be crossed before they know it.

Her throat constricts around him as he forces his cock down inside, tightening the warm, wet embrace that little bit more.

The seconds drag and it's only when the glistening in her eyes threatens to spill onto her cheeks that she starts to push against his thighs with her palms.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

It is harder to see her eyes this way, but for the moment he is not entirely focused on what he's seeing anyway. The wet heat of her mouth, the contracting of her throat around him, all work to draw a groan from his lips, a curse of pleasure muttered under his breath. His attention is pulled fully back when her hands find his thighs, resting there but with a tension under the surface. He's found a line, and now he's tiptoeing along it. Dangerous, yes... but so enticing as well.

He holds himself there, deep in her mouth, filling her throat, hot and hard as the tears build in her eyes and the need for air, real and fresh and unobstructed, begins he is sure to start a burn in her chest. And perhaps a little panic in her as well. He can feel the tension let loose in her hands, the pressure on his thighs increasing as she signals her need for him to back off.

He doesn't pull back.

Instead, he grips uses the grip in her hair as leverage and he pushes her head back against the table, pushing himself maybe a centimeter at most deeper into her throat, the deep intrusion lasting for barely half a second before he pulls back finally, mercifully.

The reprieve is short-lived, his cock glistens and throbs, held just barely between her lips still as he allows her one breath, two breaths, and then he's inside her mouth again, fucking into her throat again, stretching her, gagging her, stealing her air away. Taking her.

 

[Britwitch]

Panic had started to knot her stomach when he pushed deeper still, part of her unsure such things were even possible, tightening an already tight chest when suddenly he pulled out. Emptying her throat and mouth and allowing her to breathe.

Strands of saliva clinging to his shaft, maintaining a shivering connection between his cock and her mouth.

She managed a couple of breaths, no more, before he plunges back into her mouth. Forcing her head back against the table's edge and thrusting back into her throat.

Tears spill onto her cheeks as she gurgles around him. Hands maintain their pressure against his thighs, even though she knows it won't stop him. He won't withdraw until he's ready. Until he wanted to. Her mouth was his. For now. For as long as he wished. And he would use it as he wished.

Her mouth and throat were massaging him as he took his pleasure from them, tightening their embrace, their pressure.

She could feel her lungs protesting the lack of fresh air, feel her stomach balling with worry that perhaps she might be in more trouble than she realised. But she could also feel that tingling feeling of excitement, the one she tried to pretend she could not feel. The one that thrilled when her imagination wondered what else he would lay claim to before his visit to her cottage was over.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

To say he ignored the tears that rolled down her cheeks would not be entirely accurate. He saw them, of course - his eyes had not moved from her face in some time - and it was far more accurate to say he was not moved by them. Except, perhaps, to add to their number. This was not necessarily the kidnapping he'd teased the Witch with earlier, few would call it a kidnapping if you were taken to your own cottage, but there was no question that he controlled the situation, had her at his mercy. Spread all around the quaint little house, tools that seemed so mundane were now instruments to be turned against her.

A chef's knife, no doubt used to cut vegetables at some point, now an instrument to ruin her clothes and rob her of them. A table she'd likely spent good and far more innocent times at, now used to trap her head, so he may take her mouth, steal her air. It was only scratching the surface. He'd only just begun.

No, he had no sympathy for her tears, took no mercy because of them, and a new rhythm was quickly settled into, a shift of his weight allowing her a breath, maybe two, and then he was in her throat again, pushing deep, drawing out fresh tears, new gasps for air and struggles of hands against his legs. His own groans mingled with her struggles, her gulps of air, a clear indication of the way her mouth felt on him, though he was unsure how much of this she realized through her struggles.

Still, he danced along that fine line. The only change in rhythm was how long he'd hold himself in her throat, make her struggle and wait, letting the doubt that he'd stay in her throat until her awareness of the world slipped away begin to creep into her mind before he relented and allowed her another breath or two.