Fighting Spirit

May 2nd, 2013

There is something growling inside her tonight. She’s looking for a fight. Not an argument, not to win, she just wants to fight, to struggle, and to be beaten down, held down, forced to surrender.

He sees the gleam in her eyes, the set of her jaw. He can sense the tightness in her body, as she comes to the bedside. Usually, he would just point to the floor and she would kneel and relax, but he knows that isn’t going to work tonight.

He grabs her roughly by the hair, fingers tight against her skull and forces her down to the floor. He gauges her resistance by her hands on his, instead of in her lap, the tension in her neck, and then he pulls her back up and shoves her onto the bed. Usually, she would stay where he put her.

Tonight, she scrambles up onto the bed and turns to face him. He glances down at his toybag, considering his options. Rope. Metal. Canvas. Clamps. Gag. Hood. Tape. One step at a time, he scoops up the handcuffs.

He grabs her arm and snaps one cuff on before she can pull away. Now she does, but he is stronger, holding the captured limb, while he tries to grab the other. She squirms and holds it out as far away as she can, so he twists the one he has behind her back, forcing her onto her stomach, and pins it with a knee. Using both hands, he captures and twists the other to meet the first, locking it in.

Off the bed again, for the next item. She rolls back up to her knees, glaring at him. The familiar jingle of nipple clamps has her growling out loud as he returns to the bed. Hands, trapped, she face-plants, spreading her legs wide to keep him from rolling her over.

He straddles her ass, grabbing a shoulder in one hand and a breast in the other. She wriggles against him, cursing now, through her growls. But a nipple is freed and quickly clamped and she freezes, not wanting to squish it back into the bed. Breathing hard, teeth gritted, whimpering, waiting for it to sink in.

He gives her a choice, keep turning or get it shoved back down. He’s stronger than her, she knows it, turns over, the other clamp is put in place. More cursing and growling and whimpering, she bucks her hips to give him extra momentum in dismounting her this time.

She barely notices as he picks up rope next, but when a loop drops down over her ankle, she yanks it away. Too late, he yanks back, wrapping the rope under the bed, he has the leverage, and is already at the other corner. Her free leg is curled up, but a quick yank on the nipple clamps and she, screaming, relinquishes the ankle. Tied off and he’s back at the bag.

Returns with a gag and hood. She clenches her teeth, hates gags. Choking and panic and oh gods, the drool. He holds it in front of her mouth, she shakes her head. He cocks an eyebrow, she closes her eyes and shakes her head. Pressure points and her mouth cracks open, thumb in over her teeth, forcing her wider. The gag replaces fingers, tight grip keeps the tension while he buckles it on. She bites down hard, trying to stay calm, breathing already rushing in panic. His hand on her throat and she freezes. Breathe, eyes locked with hers. And the hood comes down over all.

He goes back to the bag, one last time. She hears the click of large buckles, suddenly her burning nipples return to the front of her mind. She sits bolt upright, leaning forward, trying to curl into a little ball. Oh o, o, o, o. She can’t form an N through the gag. He is behind her, the straitjacket in hand. Cursing and writhing, she rocks back hard against him, pushing, shaking.

He grabs her hands, unlocks one wrist, pinning the cuff with a leg to control the still-cuffed arm. He grabs the free arm, threading it into the jacket. She tries to throw it off, tries to bungle it up, tries to push him off the bed. But she moving too much and her nipples are screaming, and she is coughing on the gag. Once her arm is in, she has to stop, has to breathe.

He slips a hand up the back of the nylon hood and grabs her hair, yanking her up out of her defensive curl, drapes the jacket in front of her and then lets her go again. She does not move, does not want to press the clamps against the canvas. Carefully, he uncuffs the other arm, and starts to maneuver it into place. She fights weakly, whimpering and moaning with pain, trying just to keep her arm still, but slowly, he pushes it down into the sleeve.

He yanks the back closed and she is bucking and screaming again. There’s no stopping the pain now, so she is no longer careful. Shoving back against him. Shaking back and forth. Rocking side to side. He wraps his legs around her to pin her in place, yanking each buckle tight as she groans through the gag and hood. Her arms are out to either side, straight out and locked tight.

He grabs on, pressure points and bent, and wrapped, pinned with a leg. Then the other, forcing it around. Nice big hug. Buckles together and her struggling weakens. Pulled tight one big scream. Head shaking, teeth clenching, hood soaked in tears and drool. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her tight against his chest, pulling her to lie down on top of him. Her whimpers turn to sobs, struggles to shaking, and then all to stillness.

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45 Responses to “Fighting Spirit”

  1. This really spoke to me – it has been me more than once! Absolutely loved it.

    xx Dee

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  22. The Sin Doll says:

    I loved this. The Struggle. I felt as if I was struggling along with. Great read.

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  35. This left me quite breathless and tightening with the struggle.

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