Morning Sex, W’s version

Morning sex with W is a different thing altogether.  After an night of play, of pain and sex and predicament and pictures and teasing and talking and more sex, we wake slowly together to the clank of chain, the feel of each other’s skin, gray morning a glow in the windows.
I turn from my side, where I have lain through the night, the shackles tight at throat, ankles and wrists, to my back; feel his warmth all along my side, feel the length of chain heavy across my chest and belly, between my legs.
His hand, heavy on the chain, on me.  He pulls on the chain, feels along it where it runs between my legs.  He squeezes my breasts, one and then the other, testing, perhaps, if they are tender from last night’s clothespins.  They are, but the pain now is sweet, almost tender.  He pulls me closer to him, until I am snugged against him, and, eyes closed, he strokes me, my hair and face, my arms, my legs, the heavy metal ring around my throat, the wet warm spot between my thighs.
I turn into him. “Hi,” I say.  He opens his eyes and looks into mine for a long moment.  “Hi,” he says back, and smiles.  There is so much more I want to say, but I don’t, I just kiss him, press my body against him, feel the chain warming between us.
He rolls and presses me onto my back.  My hands are caught between us, my movements hindered by the shackles and chain.  He grips the ring at my throat, holds me still with one hand; with the other he cups my sex, capturing the links of chain between his hand and the tender, bruised flesh of my labia.  I am still tender and swollen from the night before, and he presses the chain against me, but not too hard; his goal here is pleasure, I think, not pain.
I sigh and open myself to him.  He presses his fingers into me, grinding the palm of his hand against my newly-shaven, too sensitive mound.  I moan and push against him.  I feel his fingers dig into me, and the throbbing discomfort I feel as he spreads his fingers inside me, as he invades me, fuels my lust–I begin to move against him in earnest, turning, twisting, writhing.  Grinding.
I fuck his hand, pull and grind against it as he digs his fingers into me, insensible and blind with need.  I come quickly, shuddering against him, holding his hand to me, remembering the night before, the feel of his mouth on my shoulder as I knelt, arms tied crucifix-style, clothespins covering me from armpit to armpit.
And then…
He is on top of me, pressing me back into the mattress and pillows.  His hands are everywhere, in my hair, pulling my head back, at my throat, encircling the shackle there, on my breasts and hips and thighs, pinching, mauling, forcing my acquiescence, forcing me to open to him.  My legs are akimbo beneath him because that is the only way I can be open to him with the chains restricting my movements.   I grasp his cock in my hand and run the tip of it along my wet, swollen slit.
“Put it in,” he tells me, his voice a growl.  I do, wanting him inside me desperately, needing him inside me.  “You’re such a slut,” he says, “such a good little whore.”  And I think about myself as I was moments ago, grinding blindly against his hand like an animal in heat, and I know it’s true.
“Yes,” I say.
He thrusts into me, grinding the chain between us.  He tells me how dirty I am, tells me I am fuckmeat, his cunt to do with as he pleases.  “You’ll fuck anyone I tell you to,” he says, and I know it is true.  My hands are between us, and I am squeezing myself and him at the same time.  He is whispering in my ear, telling me the dirtiest things, thrusting against me as I push up against him, feeling him and the chain and his hands and his voice in my ear and I am agreeing to every word he says.  I am his slut, his cunt, his whore.  I will do whatever and whomever he wants, now, tomorrow, whenever.  And yes, I will come back, slimed with their seed, in my cunt, in my ass, in my hair or on my face and present myself to him, if that is what he wants. Yes, yes and yes.
And then, as I begin my rise to another orgasm, as I ride the edge and begin to strain for whatever-it-is that will tip me over, I feel his excitement rise, I feel him letting himself go there as well, and as he comes inside me, as I feel him shudder, I explode in an orgasm as well, panting, squeezing, sucking him in.
After, I slide the chain between my legs again, deliberately coating it with our fluid, and I smile.