⛓ • we'll never have sex ;; peter ballard ;; ❤︎

five

You cant say you fancy this position, you feel completely exposed. Weak, defenseless. Well, you think you don't like it, but Peter knows this is all you'll ever want.

Him controlling you like a puppet on measly strings, so thin they're ready to snap at any moment. And when they do, you'll be lost in your own broken mind. Not knowing what to do without him, without his direction.

You're his only and favorite plaything, nobody could top that look in your eyes. Excitement buried deep under anxiety, he'll draw every emotion you have to offer out of you until you're a husk.

And after that, he'll breathe life back into you.

Now, the thing about being an orderly is that they constantly carried around two pairs of handcuffs. Each pair of cuffs in the building needed a different key, and currently you wished it wasn't so.

Both of your hands are cuffed to the metal of your bed frame, your legs folded under you as you pant through your nose nervously. There's a couple pillows stuffed under your form, keeping you propped somewhat upright.

Every article of clothing that had been on your body is somewhere on your floor, having been thrown off in a rush and haphazardly by Peter. Which, wasn't quite like him.

You squeaked, hearing the sound of his switchblade open and you try not to get scared. You repeat in your head that you can trust him, but when you feel your hair be moved over one of your shoulders and a ghost of the blade along your spine you shudder.

You yank on the handcuffs, trying to get as far away from the knife as possible. Peter shushes you gently, the sharp point of the knife trailing down your spine and you try to stay still as your breath quickens.

You don't whimper until you become viciously aware of the sting of your skin splitting open, the small cuts on your hips have long scabbed over but they throb as you feel the cold metal of his knife against you. And Peter watches as droplets of red spill from the small cut and follow the curve of your body.

His tongue finds solace on your broken skin, licking up the crimson and causing the already burning cut to sting even worse. Your body arches away from him, and you whine loudly, gasping under the searing hot pain.

Peter draws away, but his hands follow the curve of your ass. His lone silver ring, which is a plain band, is cold against your heated skin. He squeezes the flesh painfully tight, before his touch becomes gentle again. His bruising grip grounds you in his reality, that you're under his control and your life means nothing if it's not being used by him.

Peter's fingers gently rub your clit, it's slow and not nearly enough and though his hands are cold and make you jolt whenever he touches you, you lean into his touch. Desperate for the pleasure promised whenever his hands reach your heat.

"What....would you like me to do to you, hm? If you ask nicely, I may take it easy on you." His fingers collect your slick, before pulling away, letting them glisten in the light as his eyes shift from his hands to you.

"Please I want you to make me cum again, please Peter. I'm begging you!"

You look over your shoulder, straining your eyes to make eye contact with him and the smile that stretches across his face is pleasant and promising. And he dips his hand back between your thighs, playing with your clit.

Your writhing form makes him cock his head to the side, and the air of innocence he always carries is gone as a wicked smirk covers his face. "Can my darling girl not handle this? Is it too much for her?"

You shake your head, but when three of his fingers enter your cunt, you yelp. Loudly and openly and it's enough for Peter to smack you once and hard on the ass. It's a warning, telling you to not be so loud.