AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“That’s it.” He rewards me with a little rub. He knows just how to touch me, where to slide his fingers to collect my juices and scratch the itch that awakens more need in me. His lips brush my jaw, their softness belying the cruelty of the clamps. I’m stretched between multiple points of sensation—his kisses, his touch, the stinging pain in my nipples. Suspended between heaven and hell.
He drops his head and sucks lightly on my neck. His fingers grow more insistent, pressing into me. He uses his thumb and forefinger to rub my inner and outer walls until I’m shaking. When he withdraws his fingers, I whimper.
He brushes my clit. “Shall I clamp you right here?” I shudder, and he soothes me. “I could make it feel good.”
I bite my lip to keep from begging. I’d rather him cut out my tongue than loosen it.
If I were honest, truly honest, I’d tell him that I don’t want the highs, the ecstasy. I don’t want to crave him. I want this to hurt.
“Or I could use a binder clip,” he offers. “Make you scream. Wait for you to go numb and then pull the clip off very slowly.”
My knees buckle. As I fall, he drives his fingers into me, holding me up like a puppet. He wrenches an orgasm from me this way, brutally stretching me while kissing me softly.
I snap my teeth on his upper lip and bite until I taste blood.
He releases me and plugs my nose until I unclench my jaw. I lick his blood from my lips, spread it across my teeth and give him a bloody grin.
His eyes are icy slits. “Very well. We’ll do this the hard way.”
Victor
My captive looks like a superheroine, beautiful and defiant, with her glossy hair spilling over her shoulders. She’s still halfway upright, tilted backward so her weight is on the table, not the steel bonds.
She’s so lovely like this. The only thing I’d add is the necklace she used to wear. The one I sleep with every night.
Maybe if she’s good, I’ll return it to her.
I check her limbs to make sure her circulation is all right while she glares at me. My lip throbs, and there’s a distant echo in my gut.
“Okay?” I press my thumb to the tip of my forefinger, creating a crooked O. In time, she’ll learn this unspoken signal means Okay or Go ahead.
She salutes me with her middle fingers.
“Still not ready to obey,” I say with satisfaction. I’d hoped she’d fight. Fighting is ninety percent of the fun.
She bares her teeth at me. They’re still stained red.
I select a flogger and snap it. I bought all these toys for her and tested their impact against my own thighs. I start small, flicking the flogger so it lands lightly on her chest and belly, bringing a flush to her skin.
“Is that all you got?” She sounds bored.
I finish with the red flogger and swap it for a black one with heavier strands. I let it fall in waves, focusing on painting her red. There’s a clock on the far wall, in my line of sight only. I time myself, finding a rhythm and counting down the moments until her body hits a threshold and releases an endorphin load. The only sound is the impact of the leather, a constant, thrumming rain. Her eyelids grow heavy. Both of us are breathing heavily but also more deeply and in sync.
When I pause to check her, running my hands over her heated limbs, her lips part in a sigh. She wakes up a little when I check her pussy, whining a little when I slide a single digit into her soaked channel. Not enough to push her to orgasm, just enough to stimulate her. I remove my finger and lick it clean.
She’s ready for more pain.
I use the same black flogger, but this time, I snap the strands so they bite her sides. She arches her back, mouth open in a silent cry. This is just how I imagined her, night after night. Lula naked, at my mercy, succumbing to sensation. The fantasy got me through months of convalescence. The only thing missing now is the stark red lipstick.
The flogger bites her breasts, leaving faint red lines. She’ll look like she swam in a sea of jellyfish.
She has silvery stretch marks on her thighs. I target them next.
Depending on the angle and force of the flogger strands, I can make the hits sting, prick like a volley of needles, or let them soothe the skin, drumming down in a rhythmic rain. I cycle through this, increasing intensity and then backing off. Her mouth is lax and soft, lips parted to suck in more air. Her eyes are almost closed.
There’s nothing in the world beyond her prone body—the heat shimmering off her, the sweat rolling down her back. A twitch of her eyebrow. I am made and remade in the rise and fall of her chest.
Even when I work to master her, it’s me who is in thrall.
