Blackestnights (5 page)

“No.”

“Well,” he bent me over the table and pressed his chest to my back, “it means that for the rest of the weekend, no matter what you’re doing, no matter whether you’re in the mood, I get to fuck you whenever and however I want.”

My nipples hardened, his breath tickling my ear, his words setting my body on fire.

He pulled up the back of my robe and ran a moist finger between my pussy lips. “Does that sound like something you’d like to explore?”

“Yes.” I breathed the word.

“Good answer.”

Without warning, he slid his cock inside me. In my semi-aroused state, I wasn’t wet enough to take all of him so quickly. I yelped, squirming against the table. He clamped a hand over my mouth as he slowly moved in and out of me. Already raw from yesterday’s pounding, my cunt spasmed. My legs tensed and I bucked against him, whimpering.

“Shut up.” He smacked my ass with his free hand. I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

Little by little the pain subsided, replaced by tremors of ecstasy. The head of his cock slid over my G-spot, my juices flowed, wetting his shaft. Though he wanted me to be quiet, I couldn’t contain the moan that worked its way out of my throat.

But instead of punishing me, he said, “You may come any time you’re ready.”

Removing the hand from my mouth, he braced himself against my shoulder as he fucked me harder and faster. Now fully slick with my own cream, I pushed back to meet his forward strokes.

“Oh yes, harder,” I called out.

Again, a sharp slap cracked against my ass and he stopped thrusting. “Don’t tell me how to fuck you.”

“I’m sorry.”

At first I thought he would pull out and leave me unfulfilled, but slowly, he rocked his pelvis back and forth.

An arm across my shoulders, his elbow digging into my shoulder blade, he held me down. “Don’t move.”

He pumped his cock into me with brutal, short strokes. I did my best to comply though each time he pounded into my pussy, a wave of pleasure rocked me. The pain of yesterday’s play only added to the engorged, hot sensation building between my legs.

I trembled, my inner walls contracting around his shaft. Soon I would come. No, he would make me come. Each thrust took me higher and, more than just my own climax, I wanted him to come with me. I wanted him to fill me with his sticky semen, take his pleasure just as he said, whenever and however he saw fit. I belonged to him, at least my body did and maybe my spirit too. I’d never wanted to please a man as much as I wanted to please Black.

One last powerful thrust and he buried his cock in my pussy, pulsing forward as if trying to pry me open wider. The added stimulation to my G-spot pushed me over the edge. My body shook, juices pumping out of me, wetting my thighs. I held my breath, desperate not to utter a sound. My cunt constricted, clamping around his shaft and I felt him coming inside me.

Yes
.
I closed my eyes.
Yes.
I loved the feeling of his cock pulsing inside me, each spurt pumping me full of his cum. His body shook, his breath ragged and irregular.

Once the climax had tapered off, he withdrew from me.

“Stay there until I come back.” He panted the command more than spoke it.

I heard the slaps of his retreating footsteps. Though my back ached and the hard surface of the table crushed against my cheek, I didn’t move. I waited patiently, still splayed out for him.

When he returned, he wiped my cunt and my legs then dropped down to clean the floor.

“We made a mess,” he murmured, standing up.

Running a hand over the stinging areas of my ass, he bent down and kissed my neck. “You may get up now.”

“Go dress,” he said after I’d righted myself.

A smile played across my lips as I took in the scent of sex hanging in the air.

“Go.” He swatted me on the butt and I chuckled, grabbing my bag of clothing.

Once I’d put on the shirt and jeans—which fit me perfectly—I shuffled out to the dining room again. Black had disappeared, though I knew he hadn’t yet left. His keys, wallet and leather portfolio lay on the table.

He peeked in from the kitchen, a dish towel over his shoulder. “I’m going to change. Why don’t you set up the computer?”

I nodded. Good idea.

As I booted up the laptop, I couldn’t help but sneak glances at his personal effects. Despite my curiosity as to his real name, I would never rifle through his wallet. I did, however, wonder what occupied the portfolio.

“None of your business,” I whispered, punching keys and hitting Enter as required by the computer start-up program.

Besides, the case probably just held prints of his work. Though he hadn’t shown me any examples of the kind of photos he sold, I couldn’t see Black as the kittens-and-babies kind of photographer. Nor could I imagine rote landscapes being his style. But what was his style?

Curiosity won out over my sense of propriety and I unzipped the portfolio, letting it fall open. At first the images made no sense. They appeared to be traditional black-and-white photos, a cityscape, but then I realized the gridded shapes weren’t buildings with windowpanes. They were rows of blindfolded people, ropes crisscrossing their bodies, squares of dark makeup giving the illusion of tinted windows. Another photograph appeared to be a pastoral upon first glance, but depicted models hunched into a mound and tied to resemble haystacks. The meticulousness and artistry of what Black had created amazed me.

“Did I give you permission to violate my privacy?” His voice came from behind me.

A shiver of trepidation shot through me. His tone was not the controlled one he used when we played. There was an undercurrent of something else—genuine annoyance, a splash of hurt. I turned to face him.

Black fiddled with a cufflink. Charcoal-gray slacks and a pale-green shirt—again impeccably tailored—set off his eyes. His irises seemed to glow in the dim light of the hallway.

“No. I’m sorry. I—I just wanted to see your work.”

“You should’ve asked.”

He crossed the floor and took the portfolio. I expected him to zip it shut and then punish me, but he didn’t. Flipping through the pages, he inspected the imagery, then laid the book open to a specific series of proofs.

“This is what you’re looking for.”

The photos featured a tiny woman in geisha makeup, nude and bound with elaborate knotwork in different sexually graphic poses. I flipped through the 8x10s that followed the proof pages.

“Who is she?” My fingertips outlined her body.

“Mika. She was my sub for many years. My lover.”

That he’d been committed to one woman for years surprised me. From what I’d read on the forums, Black was finicky and easily lost interest. And it was the first time the word “love” in any form had crossed his lips.

“She’s beautiful,” I said.

“You’re like her in some ways.”

Faced with the woman’s thin, petite form, long black hair and snow-white skin, I couldn’t see any similarities at all.

“Not physically,” he said as if he’d heard what I was thinking. “She was a brilliant photographer, but lacked the confidence to pursue her dreams. I helped her find her courage and after that she blossomed. She did the picture in the dining room and the ones in the hall.”

“What happened to her?” His use of the past tense told me this woman was more than an ex-lover.

“She died.”

I stayed quiet, unsure what to say.

“Aneurysm. She was here one day…and then she wasn’t.”

His expression turned to stone. I knew it belied what he really felt. He was the kind of man who shut down or exerted control when he couldn’t deal with a surge of emotion, that much I’d learned even in the short time we’d spent together.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been nosy.”

With a curt nod, he buckled his watchband and collected his portfolio. “I’ll be home by five. Get some work done and be ready to play by then.”

Before I had a chance to reply, he turned and strode out of the house.

* * * * *

By four in the afternoon, I clapped the laptop shut. I’d gotten next to nothing written. Years of neglect had eaten away at my writing skills—the existence of which I still doubted. All the stories I thought lurked inside me had run and hidden now that they had the chance to see the light of day. Ridiculous.

I’d need daily practice to get back into the swing of things, but today was not that day. I needed a break from my failures both past and present. A bath, I decided, would do the trick.

Padding into Black’s bedroom, I shed my shirt and jeans, hanging them in the closet. A huge floor-to-ceiling mirror on the far wall reflected in the dresser mirror, showing me from an angle I didn’t often see. Usually when faced with my full figure, pale, freckled skin and mass of curly hair, I would turn away as quickly as possible, but now I saw myself through Black’s eyes.

Instead of disdain for my fleshiness, I admired the curve of my hips into my waist, the roundness of my breasts and the lushness of my thighs. My ass and back bore the marks from the whipping Black had given me and I stopped to inspect them. Licking my forefinger, I traced the welts. My nipples hardened and I swiped them with my wet finger. The cool air from the ceiling fan licked at the moist spots.

My pussy contracted. I ran my hand down my torso and brushed a finger across my clit. A pulse of arousal coursed through me. I thought about touching myself, but then again, that privilege belonged to Black now. True, he wouldn’t know, but I would and I would admit to it. He deserved honesty.

I walked into the bathroom, the cool vastness of it only hardening my nipples more, but I tried to ignore the arousal. Black would be home soon. Turning the spigot to warm, I let the water run over my fingers and sank into the massive bathtub. An array of bath products sat on a tray, all with labels in French. By the end of my scrubdown, I smelled fantastic.

Once I’d drained the tub, I put on a fluffy robe from a rack that held three. Just what this number of robes meant, I wasn’t sure. Maybe he had a lot of overnight guests. Maybe one had been Mika’s. I shuddered at that thought and stopped speculating. I always overthought relationships. This one was simple. Just like Black had said—do what he told me to do, no more, no less.

Toweling off, I looked around the bathroom. It seemed so normal and spartan, just like the rest of the house. I’d kind of expected a sex swing and a rack of toys hanging here, maybe a selection of dildos, but it seemed Black kept his play life separate from real life. This endeared him to me even more.

I scurried into the bedroom and opened the walk-in closet. Flipping through the rows of fine thread count cotton shirts, slacks, suits and Italian shoes, I selected a crisp white dress shirt. Hopefully he wouldn’t whip me for borrowing something to wear. Then again, I liked when he whipped me so… I slid into the shirt, fastening only the two middle buttons. Checking the time, I discovered it was 4:50. Ten minutes and then he’d be home.

The door slammed. He was early.

I hurried to meet Black. Without any greeting, he stowed his briefcase and stripped off his coat.

“Fix me a drink.” He hung his jacket in the closet. “Vodka and tonic, please.”

It was the first time I’d ever heard him use the word “please”. I wasn’t sure how to reply.

“Yes sir,” I said.

He caught me by the wrist. “You’re not supposed to call me sir now. I’m asking you a favor because I’m tired. It’s not an order.”

“Right. Sorry.”

He nodded and folded me into his arms. “You smell good.”

Hand running between my legs, he swiped a finger between my pussy lips then drew it under his nostrils. His posture stiffened and he clucked his tongue. “But your cunt should smell like me. I didn’t give you permission to wash up.”

My throat constricted. “I wanted to be clean for you. I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t.”

His breath on my neck sent shivers down my spine. Goose bumps dotted my arms.

“I’ll have to fill you with my cum again,” he murmured, his lips against my ear.

Turning to face him, I paused. I knew I shouldn’t kiss him though every fiber in my being longed to. My lips quivered, waiting.

Waiting.

And then he was on me.

He pushed me to the floor. “Get on all fours.”

I did as he instructed, my pussy bare, pulsing with anticipation. Black pushed two fingers inside me.

“Get wet for me, little Red.”

As he pumped his fingers in and out of me, my body responded instantly. My juices flowed, just as he’d commanded. I gasped, writhing against the hard wood flooring.

Then he entered me, his cock so hard I felt as though he’d cleaved me in two.

“Oh shit.” The words escaped me before I could stop them.

A slap crashed against my buttocks. “Bad girl.”

“I’m sorry.”

He grabbed me by the hair. “You will be sorry.”

The jangle of his belt buckle and the
whoosh
of it clearing his belt loops told me all I needed to know about his intentions. My buttocks clenched in anticipation of the first hit, but none came. Instead, he looped the belt around my neck, yanking my head back.

At first the pressure to my throat panicked me, but I forced myself to inhale slowly. Yes, I could still breathe. Fear of his absolute control over me sent my pulse skyrocketing. So defenseless. So exposed. My mound throbbed, clit and nipples tight nubs. I thrilled at the new game, but what if he went too far? I tugged at the restraint.

Black slapped my ass, his hand stinging as much as the belt would have. “Don’t touch it.”

Sucking in more breaths to calm myself, I closed my eyes. I imagined what I looked like, Black mounting me, his cock buried in my cunt, the belt around my neck. My pussy pulsed harder, contracting around his shaft. He knew my every desire—even the ones I never imagined testing.

A hand tangled in my hair, Black picked up his rhythm, fucking me hard and fast. My cunt shuddered against his cock, cream wetting my pussy lips. Clit swollen, vulva so engorged it hurt, I loved being at his mercy. Each moment of helplessness only increased my arousal, my craving for the man inside me, the man ruling me. I gasped and moaned.

Black yanked at the belt again. This time I did choke a bit, just for a second, the belt cutting into my skin. Gulping air, I adjusted my posture to relieve the tension against my neck.

“Shut up,” he commanded.

Rhythm slowing a bit, he plunged into me and then drew out the head of his cock. The variation drove me wild and though my arms shook, my legs trembled, I remained as still and silent as I could.

Releasing his grip on my hair, he snaked a hand around my waist and stroked my clit. Pleasure coursed through me. Quaking, I struggled to contain my reaction. He pulled the belt tighter. His cock crushing my inner walls, he thrust with savage force. Giddiness overwhelmed me, I needed more air, but I also needed more of Black. I let myself go limp, completely at his will. Euphoria gripped me just as I neared orgasm.

And then I felt it. He exploded inside me, jerking the restraint harder.

“No,” I gasped, closing my eyes.

The belt cut off my ability to draw in air. Unconsciousness loomed behind my eyelids, which only served to heighten my arousal—arousal I knew he’d leave unfulfilled.

I collapsed forward and Black released his hold on the belt. All my weight on my elbows, I struggled to suck in a few faltering breaths. His cum wet my cunt, leaking out of me and streaming down my thighs.

I quaked, unfulfilled but relieved that he hadn’t choked me more. A few more pulses of his cock and then he jerked free. Immediately I felt empty. My pussy clenched, trying to recapture the sensation of his shaft stretching me.

“No,” I murmured again.

“You don’t deserve to come yet.”

The belt loosened from my neck and then disappeared altogether. I looked back at him, his chest heaving as he seemed to struggle to catch his breath.

“Take off my shirt. Wasn’t I clear this morning about touching my things?”

“Yes sir.” I cast my gaze at the floor. “I was only trying to please you.”

Sitting back on my haunches, I unbuttoned the shirt, hands trembling, and then slipped out of it. He snatched it from me, shoving me forward onto all fours again. Several powerful smacks crashed against my bare ass. My eyes prickled with tears, the hot glow from the spanking radiating out, torturing my still swollen mound. I needed release, but I also knew I’d never get it if I asked for it or complained that he hadn’t let me come.

“Go make me the drink I asked for while I decide your punishment.” He punctuated the order with a slap to my thigh, stood and then strode off toward his bedroom.

I struggled to my feet and wobbled into the kitchen. More punishment? My nipples hardened, cool air moving over my body, caressing my stinging ass and where the belt had rubbed my neck. Every inch of my skin thrummed with raw nerve endings. Even when Black wasn’t in the room, he owned my body.

After mixing him a vodka and tonic, I returned to the living room to find him standing there wearing only a pair of linen drawstring pants. At first my attention was drawn to the lines of his toned body—the bulge of his biceps, the cleft between his pecs, rippling abs that led to a ridge of muscle over each hipbone—but then I noticed the device he held.

“Put the drink on the side table.”

I did as I was told, careful to place a coaster beneath the sweating glass.

“What’s that?” I walked over to him and ran my fingertips along the mass of chains from which hung an oddly shaped dildo—a five- or six-inch-long cone that tapered to a cylinder with a curved narrow base.

“This,” his lips twisted upward in a half-smile, half-smirk, “is your punishment.”

Setting the contraption on the coffee table, he pulled a bottle of lubricant from his pocket. “Bend over.”

I complied, leaning over the sofa and twisting my head around to watch what he was doing, but a swift slap to my face told me he didn’t intend for me to see. Gaze straight ahead, I waited for whatever he had in store for me.