BREAK - A Bad Boy Romance (94 page)

Chapter 14

It was thinner than I expected. And dark brown, instead of black, like it had been in my imagination.

He knotted it carefully around my neck, and it smelt of fresh new leather, still raw cut on the edges. He took a long look at my hair and thought for a moment about what to do with it.

“Not loose. Put it in a braid” he said finally.

I raised naked arms and started winding my hip length black hair into a braid, but he stopped me.

“No, not like that. Two braids, one on each side.”

I shook my hair loose again and did as he said, winding one and then another braid down the side, each finished plait trailing down to my breasts and then hanging loosely off the edge of each breast. My nipples hardened with both cold and anticipation.

We were standing awkwardly in the doorway of his house, his old familiar house that had suddenly become a temple, an auditorium where we were about to witness ourselves and each other. I had spelled it out, clearly, and hit send, and now here it was, my sweet boyfriend unfolding my dirtiest fantasies with his careful, kind hands.

He wore only some loose trousers, his torso and feet bare, face fresh and buffed from a recent shower. All the drapes had been drawn and the entire house was still. I stood by the door, shivering a little. I had been bought and sold, and now I was here, at last, to be trained up in the divine and brutal arts of love. My flesh was to be used; broken down and built back up again, till all that remained was a pure, unlatched vessel, ready for him and whatever he wanted from me.

My mind raced and sent waves of goose bumps over my exposed flesh. Holding the leather strap that was now strung round my neck, he gestured for me to turn, and I did so, slowly, giving him a good look at every last part of me. He examined my small breasts, my tight, nervous hips and the little curve of my belly. He traced feather-light fingers over my thighs and up along my flanks, sizing me up, determining whether he had made a good bargain. David has a young, innocent face, but he had a way of holding it so seriously that you didn’t doubt for a second that he knew exactly what he was doing.

He nodded. My body had pleased him.

He grabbed the leather hard and yanked, dragging me along to another room, one he had set up earlier, it seemed. The bed had been stripped of everything and the bare mattress had been draped with a soft, fur-like throw that hung low over the edges. A loose circle of candles gave the bed the feel of an altar; several similar leather straps lay at the head of the bed, parallel and dangerous looking.

He nudged me to the bed and I obeyed, stepped forward and fell onto it, cautiously twisting round to look up at him. The length of the leather hung long, down between my naked legs and now tangled between my knees. It was requested that I be shaved, for my initiation, and for every other rite that would follow this one. Every last scrap of hair gone from my little pussy, I felt more exposed to him than I ever had before. Our bodies had been introduced before; twice we had fucked already, once tenderly, the other time far less tenderly, and now I knew enough of him that merely the sight of him standing and looking at me sent streams of moisture down my legs.

He took off his pants, quickly enough to make the flames on the candles waver a little, and he stood before me again, his nakedness still a surprise to me, even now. I instinctively wanted to reach forward and take him into my mouth, or to throw my arms onto his shoulders and close my legs round his strong hips. He had cradled me this far through so many soft, shuddering orgasms that I almost felt a reflective yearning for him now, to be close to him again. But he only stood for a moment, teasing me with his gaze, deciding unilaterally what he would do next with me.

I waited for an order, for direction, and then it came:

“Spread your legs.”

Facing him, I lay back and planted both my feet on the bed, putting me on full display.

“Show me.”

His features maintained the same hard, almost icy expression. I extended shaking hands down towards my pussy, gently opening the silky folds there. A flicker of a naughty smile darted on his lips, then vanished. Seemingly satisfied with what he had seen there, he stepped forward and fell to his knees on the bed in front of me. He placed one, then the other hand above my head and fell with all his weight hovering over me, his body only a few inches above mine, his lips just grazing mine.

He took one of the straps laid at the top of the bed, and dragged its tail over my naked body, from my neck and down over my breasts and around my bellybutton. The first few times had been gentle, curious. We were both unsure, both a little nervous, and those first fumbling moments had been short, a little rushed, and not without some pain on my side. But he was learning. And so was I. And now my pussy, so recently awakened, was already drenched and expectant.

The tail of the leather strip passed teasingly between my pussy lips and flicked out again, my hips writhing to follow. It was being artfully wound round my wrist now, with a series of knots and twists, and then he looped it behind me and out the other side to tie my other wrist. My back arched and my breasts were thrust forward as both wrists were pinned behind me. He dropped the tail of the strap off the bed, to the side, and looked down at his handiwork. I had shut my legs again, and he gently pried them open now, his broad hands easily encircling the whole of my thigh.

I couldn’t resist arching up to meet his lips and kiss him deeply. The tip of his cock dipped low and touched the skin of my belly, sending shivers all through me. He reached a hand round and clasped my wrists, then hoisted my frame around so that I was on my knees, wobbling a little to find my balance again with my hands bound behind me. The leather strap hung loose now, down between my ass cheeks, and his fingers traced a line to follow it. I shifted my knees further apart so he could, with savoring fingers, reach down and cup a hand between my legs. All the words we had exchanged, all the fantasies raced through my head now, and my entire body tightened in anticipation. I had no idea what I was doing. But
he
did.

With his other hand he pushed my shoulders down and my head flopped onto the bed, hair curtaining over my eyes. My hips were angled up high, my most vulnerable parts completely on display to him, but he forced my knees open further still. With expert fingers he split open the folds of my pussy and caressed the pool of wetness there, teasing over my clit and circling around the hollow. My body recognized him and knew what it wanted.

“Yes?” he said, barely audible.

“Yes!” I cried, the building heat in my thighs and pelvis tormenting me.

In went a single finger, and I whimpered appreciatively. Anchoring my hips with his other hand, he explored and probed me deeply, feeling out every corner of me, feeling how I quivered around his firm caress. In went a second and then a third finger, my slit now streaming milky sweetness over him. I breathed hard into the veil of hair that fell around my face, and everything went dark all around me except for this thrilling glow of warmth and pleasure radiating out from his fingertips.

Before, it had been painful to press the full length of his cock into me. We were both inexperienced – he had pulled out, kissed the tender cleft between my legs and tried again, but it had hurt, and we eventually managed only a few painful, swollen thrusts before we both came, giggling and shocked at what we had done.

Right now, though, I was more than ready for him. He had worn away the last edges of my resistance, and we had both patiently pressed through the hesitant, sore places of our first fuck. My body hadn’t been ready for him before; my heart and mind were tinged with fear, with trepidation. Now, with that long behind us, I wanted to let go and love him more deeply. I wanted him to fuck my brains out. His hand streaming with my wetness, he knew what he had to do.

He placed his tip at the entrance of my cunt and with a soft push, settled the head into me. Before I could beg him to go further, he thrust the full length of his shaft deep into me in one hard, quick movement. I screamed noiselessly into the bed, my tied hands curling uselessly around each other. He stroked soothing fingertips over my butt, played with the goose bumps there and greeting my clenching hands.

Immediately he drew back and plunged into me again, my entire body singing out with sparkles of hot, sticky pleasure. As before, it was overwhelming to have him inside me like this; a new and carnal sensation. Impaled on his dick this way, my hands tied, I felt how utterly at his mercy I was, how every part of my body, even the most fragile inner rooms and passages, even my
soul
, somehow, could be reached and dominated by this wonderful instrument, this cock that could open and enter me so completely.

Soon, his thrusts became fluid and rhythmic, and with each pump my body melted and submitted around him. I tried to raise my head to gasp for air, but it was swiftly yanked back down again by the cord around my neck. Arched like this, he fucked me forcefully and with a beautiful, masculine violence that seemed to feed on itself, that seemed to witness me there, yielding and open, and thrust with even more savageness.

He pounded into my aching, plump pussy, seeming to drive right into the core of me. Out the corner of my eye I saw how tightly he clutched at my hips, one foot and one knee on the bed to give his own hips the fullest range of force. The stars behind my eyes had blended into one buzzing sheet of white; my entire body was ringing and aching with every stab, and my wrists were raw from being yanked and pulled. He slapped an open hand down hard on one cheek, then the other, and my flesh shuddered, sending ripples through me. Every thrust was a claim: this is
mine
. This is
mine
. This is
mine
.

“Good girl” he said suddenly. “You’re learning. You’re going to make a good little fuck slave one day.”

Just hearing these words nearly threw me over the edge and I clenched my toes and froze, desperately holding on. Through gasps, I managed to whisper, “You’re too big for me” and I heard him growl under his breath and fuck harder.

“What’s too big?” he said with a sneer.

“Your …your …” my head was spinning; my body close to being engulfed by the relentless waves of pleasure beating through me.

“My
what
?” he said louder, never pausing for a moment, slamming his hips into mine over and over and over again.

“Your…”

The quivering edge of an orgasm peaked inside me and I felt my body clamp down hard onto him.

“Your cock! Your fucking cock is too big for me!” I screamed out and one then two cruel lunges sent my body into a frenzy and I came, intensely, my hands nearly ripping themselves free of their restraints. The force of my convulsing cunt quickly expelled him. He moaned with approval and slapped my ass again, hard, the flesh stinging.

“Too big? You’ll have to learn to take it.”

He plunged his fingers into my still shuddering pussy, as if to survey the damage there, then laughed and immediately entered me again. The trailing pulses of my orgasm seemed to catch on his dick and he stirred them up again into fresh pleasure.

“Try again now, but this time, don’t come so quickly, little slut”

I lost count of the orgasms that night. I lost track of my body, and my mind. Hours, or maybe years later, my limbs were raw with leather strap marks, faint red patches in the shape of outspread hands, teeth marks, and a wet patch on the bed the size and shape of an enormous, many armed beast. I had given him everything. By the time we were done there was not a single atom of my being that wasn’t his.

Chapter 15

Yes, bruises can be romantic, in their own way.

I looked down at the marks round my upper thigh, like the scattered blue petals of a strange flower. If they had been put there by anything other than his loving hands, they would have seemed ugly to me. But they hadn’t. And so they didn’t.

There were signs of him all over my body, if you knew what to look for. In the same way you can stare at the forest floor and pick out the trail of an animal that has passed through, you could look at my body and tell that he had been there, on me, in me. After we had sex, I felt like I buzzed for hours, that my skin stayed hot and prickling for a long while till it calmed down. My hair was always tousled into a big mess, my cheeks were always unevenly flushed the moments immediately after.

But there were other changes that went deeper, and lasted longer. After David and I closed the door on the world and opened the door to our own, I changed. I become more fluid, less sane. I was thrilling and irresponsible and delicious beyond belief. And when we finished and got to pulling our clothes back on again, there was still some of that deliciousness lingering on me. I swore more often now, as though my tongue had been loosened. I was clumsier, and laughed louder when I dropped something, or forgot what I was saying mid-sentence.

My training, as David would have it, was well underway. I
was
learning. He wouldn’t have admitted it, but I was teaching him, too.

We tried everything together, and found that no limit and no boundary was any match for our shared curiosity. I gave in more and more and he took over more and more, and eventually I learned to trust him implicitly. He began to understand what each little shudder, each little sigh meant. He knew to watch the tension in my hands and slow down if they showed I was scared; he knew how to read the undulations of my hips and thighs; he knew which sounds meant “more, please”.

Sex has its own momentum, and we were both carried off with ideas we had started months and months ago, when I first sent that fateful email. That thread was now long buried amongst all my other emails. I checked my inbox one day, though, to discover something curious:

Violet,

You might not remember me – we met once briefly at David’s 18
th
. I was chatting with David the other day and he was telling me some interesting things about you. He mentioned that your anniversary was coming up, and that he wanted to do something very special for you.

Naturally, remembering you and thinking how awesome it would be to be a part of that, I told David that I would be more than happy to help.

Do you know what I’m talking about?

What do you think?

Jessie

I think I must have stopped breathing. I read the email over and over again. Millions of possibilities fanned out before me. I knew that David had been pushing me, asking for more and more details about one particular fantasy, one that we had spelled out clearly when we were David and Annie, but had so far skirted round as David and Violet. It had always been there, this idea, on the outskirts of our imaginations, but now here it was: a totally naughty suggestion. Surely not?

Two things suggested themselves:

One: It wasn’t Jessie (who I scarcely remembered) at all, but David, pulling a massive joke.

Two: It
was
Jessie.

This second possibility gave me the most pause. Curiously, I searched my heart and mind found nothing that was resistant to the idea. So great was my trust for David that I simply could not imagine that he would lead me into something that wasn’t going to be wonderful. What would really happen, if I agreed? Was it really just David writing to me or was this actually Jessie? Did I even care?

I wasted no time:

Jessie

I know exactly what you’re talking about.

I’m eager to do whatever David wants me to do. You have my enthusiastic consent. If he says so, everything is permitted.

Violet

I hit send. Sure, it was a little dramatic, but again, what did I care? It felt delicious, to let go like this. I was safe, and had been from the very beginning. I felt freed. There was nothing that I could do with him, or for him, that would be unacceptable to me.