Fractured Crystal: Sapphires and Submission (14 page)

When he turned round, he bent down his head and with one hand scooped her up by the waist, kissing her deeply on the mouth, devouring her as she worked her jaws from side to side, desperate for him, trying to suck him into her, eat him completely. His other hand, large and heavy, joined her two smaller sets of fingers as she struggled with his belt, pulling and tugging at it, trying to drag it from the denim hoops that held it in place.

At last it slithered free, and she pulled back, her eyes glittering and flashing with lust. Daniel said nothing, but watched her for a moment, his own eyes on fire for her. Then, grabbing her hair, he dragged her over to the kitchen table and virtually threw her on to it. Her face was turned sideways, and she could see the black leather of his belt as he placed it beside her, his hands now dragging her own jeans down. The sight of that belt, inert yet dangerous beside her, caused her own sex
—
her bad cunt, her used and aching loins
—
to flower again, wet and hungry.

He held her down with one hand, placing it firmly on her head, not allowing her to move though she did not struggle. For a second or two, he admired the curve of her buttocks, the faint marks still evident from the switch he had used on her previously, the shadow of her cleft soft and inviting, her thighs trembling ever so slightly.

His first blow was assured rather than brutal, the swift flash of leather across flesh that left her rump red and stinging. It was enough to make her groan, but it was not enough. He did not need to be told that. This was merely the preliminary, testing the way before her real endurance began.

When he struck her again, and again, each blow harder than the last, now at last she cried out. Her yelps were those of pleasure mixed in with the pain, and between her legs her juices began to flow, her labia opening up, her clitoris hardening into a swelling bud. Once more he struck her, and another time, yet harder so that the edges of the belt even broke the skin, the welts preparing to purple beneath his cruel administrations.

With her eyes facing his crotch, she could see the huge bulge of his cock, and she wanted it. But first she had to endure, and to endure again, crying in genuine agony now as he struck even more forcefully. Her bruises would be long lasting after this, but already her orgasm was building up.

It was only when he thought that she could stand no more that he lifted up her face by the hair. She had begun to drool slightly, tears forming in her eyes and streaming down her cheeks. He kissed her, a tender expression after the pain he had dealt out to her, then he placed his lips against her ears. “Say it,” he told her in a quiet voice. “Let it out, let it all out.”

“Fuck me,” she whispered. “Fuck me, daddy.”

When he entered her, her aching vagina clenched around him, stretched more than it could bear, and he held her hair gripped in his strong fingers, yanking her backwards, making her back arch so that she was even more sensitive to his long, hard thrusts deep inside her. Her orgasm was powerful and flooded him immediately, and she began to curse and shout out, telling him that she was his bad girl, that she was a bitch and a slut, that she needed to be punished, and begging him again and again and again to take her and use her and fuck her.

And when she thought that she could take no more, that her pain and delight and rage and humiliation were at a pitch, when her face was itself a flood of tears, at last she realised that she was crying not from pain, not from pleasure, but finally releasing the years of her grief.

A night and day seemed to pass in a daze of bliss, and Comrie became their everywhere. If the old armour that had trapped her body for so long did not immediately fall away completely, that was to be expected. There was not a sudden and complete liberation, but she could feel
suppleness
in her soul that promised a greater freedom than she had experienced since a child.

Once she had spoken her secret obsession, if anything Kris felt a new embarrassment that something so small had kept her in emotional bondage for so long. Certainly she felt no need to re-enact the scene again and again, and Daniel observed with wry humour that he was not entirely sure how much he was to be flattered of taking on the role of a man who would have been well into his fifties. In any case, a child’s love for its father moves on eternally to new objects, and there were new experiences for Kris to explore now.

She gave herself up willingly to Daniel now
—
not yet every gift, for she still needed to prepare herself. Yet with her hands she adored rousing him to new life again and again, and his cock became her most delightful plaything. She took him deep into her throat, staring up at him longingly with her large blue eyes, her lips open as she pushed herself further down onto him. The thrashing she had received would need some time to heal, but she gladly submitted her breasts and body to his strong hands, letting him rove over and explore her roughly.

Their lovemaking was constant, indefatigable, and she invited his fingers and tongue to seek out her final place, preparing her for the last place that he would need to find within her. Often when they finished, and Daniel was cleaning himself, she would finger and masturbate herself anally, dreaming of how it would feel to take the huge man inside her, and also nervous of the pain that would inevitably bring. She would roll over onto the sheets, bunching them in her fingers, breathing in, sniffing like a hungry creature, burying her face in his smell that was raw and rich.

Morning passed into noon, and then into evening and night. Daniel himself was surprised by her voracious appetites and so when she woke up again he could not stir, exhausted as he was. Sunlight was beginning to enter the bedroom, and after shoving him with a petulant. sulky expression on her face, Kris lay back on the sweat-soaked sheets for a while.

Despite the blissful ache of her body, a sweet soreness that lay across her limbs not like her old armour of anger and frustration, but rather a second skin ready to be slaked off lazily when time demanded, she could not hide the new hole that was opening up in her heart. At last she had completely forgotten herself, given herself up more or less completely to her desires. But this was her last day of freedom. Tomorrow, real life would impose itself upon her again.

She wanted to cry
—
a simple, childish, grumpy burst of tears about how unfair it was. She knew she was being foolish, that there were so many reasons why she would have to go, but at the moment all she wanted was to remain with Daniel Logan. And why not? After so many years of merely existing, why shouldn’t she take pleasure for as long as she could?

Daniel was still sleeping peacefully so Kris carefully eased herself from the bed and went downstairs, retrieving her pad and a couple of pencils. Returning to the bedroom, she took up a seat beside the bed and balanced the pad on her lap. It was now almost completely full, covered in her drawings, so she turned it upside down and began to sketch on
one of the last empty pages
.

This time she kept things simple. She wanted to capture as lifelike a representation of Daniel as she could, and she would glance from the page to the sleeping man, her gaze returning back as she moved the grey tip along the slightly smudged surface, cross hatching and outlining his shapes, recreating his face with its scars, beard and curling hair, the arm laid out across the pillow, sheets rippling beneath his bare, muscular torso.

So concentrated was she on her task she did not realise he was awake at first. When she did, she smiled.

“Good morning,” she said, quietly.

“I realise from the sunlight it must be morning, but I think I’ve completely lost all sense of time,” he responded. “Can I see?”

She climbed into bed beside him, her bare legs sliding down his body, the warmth of his skin against her hips and waist as she moved alongside him, holding out his pad. He did not speak at first as he looked at the black and white image of a sleeping man, then at last:

“I almost didn’t recognise him. He looks so... innocent.”

Kris smiled somewhat naughtily at this. “It was not my intention to lie, but that’s what I saw while you were sleeping here.” She kissed him, her fingers resting on his cheek and gently lifting his face up to hers, her breasts swelling with longing for him again.

Unbelievably
—
considering the way they had devoured each other the previous day
—
he was stirring again, a fact that filled Kris with a kind of terror, so painful was she in her aching loins. Nonetheless, she thought she knew her duty and reached down with nimble fingers to stroke his length, but this time he took hold of her hand and stopped her.

“Not yet,” he said, giving his unruly member a rather chagrined look. “There’s something I want to show you first.”

The water was cold
—
neither of them had bothered the previous day preparing the range
—
but both of them splashed themselves clean and hastily pulled on clothes. Kris’s thighs throbbed as she walked, and she could see from Daniel’s staggering gait that he was suffering slightly as well. “Come on,” he told her. “We’ll go in the Land Rover. Normally I prefer to walk, but the thought of staggering a hundred yards today, let alone a couple of miles, is the kind of torture usually reserved in the lowest circle of hell for all the damned.”

As they rolled over the undulating landscape in Daniel’s old vehicle, Kris realised with a slightly guilty sensation that, aside from the immediate vicinity of Comrie she had barely visited any of the countryside here at all. Her own explorations had been of a very different nature. She had come to Scotland with a dour, thankless attitude, expecting it to be a place of disappointment. Instead, it had become the site of her new awakening.

Overcome by a tourist impulse, she fished in her bag for her phone and pointed it to the window.

“What are you doing?” Daniel asked.

“Just taking photos, why?”

“I’m sorry.” His tone was suddenly serious, and Kris was concerned as to what was wrong. “I know this sounds weird, but I’d be grateful if you didn’t. I know I’m being over-cautious, but...”

“Over cautious?” Kris felt this was an understatement, but at the same time didn’t wish to upset him. In any case, she was curious.

He paused, but also realised that he needed to go on. “When I bought Comrie, I spent a great deal of time making sure that it couldn’t be traced to me. When you... when you have as much money as I have, and I suspect that you’ve already guessed that I am not quite the poor rustic I may have first presented myself as, then you also become willing to spend a lot of that money on preserving your privacy. I’m sorry, I don’t want any photos you may have falling into the wrong hands, that’s all.”

Despite herself, Kris was intrigued but also a little scornful. “So, this is where you come and play at being a shepherd, like Marie Antoinette, is that it?” She immediately regretted her spiteful tone, but Daniel merely laughed.

“I suppose that’s exactly what it is,” he replied. “You’re not the only one to run away from real life from time to time. Over the past few years, when it all becomes too much, this is my bolt hole. I’m fortunate in that no one else knows about it.”

“And what is it that you do
—
in real life, I mean, when you’re not playing at being a shepherd?”

“This and that, wheeling and dealing,” he replied somewhat evasively.

“You know, before I came to Comrie
—
when I could still get a bloody signal
—
I did a search on Daniel Logan. Nothing. Well, nothing significant. Who are you, Daniel? I’ve been with you for over a week now, and I still don’t bloody know anything about you, really.”

He glanced at her and smiled, a little sadly she thought. “Force of habit, I’m afraid,” he told her at last.

Kris was infuriated at this response and stared out of the window as they drove along. “Were you like this with her?”

“Who?” he asked.

“Your bloody wife? Who else? God! This is so fucking stupid!” Kris hit the dashboard with her fists. “I don’t even know her bloody name!”

“Karen,” he said quietly. “Her name was Karen.”

That simple admission, a single, additional sliver from his past, was like a slap across Kris’s face and she relapsed into silence for a few moments. She realised, finally, that the strange man beside her, with his handsome, scarred face and his peculiar, entrancing eyes, was attempting to share with her. Unfortunately, the traces of her own old armour had reasserted themselves in her sarcasm and frustration and suddenly she didn’t know how to reach out to him. She was ashamed of herself.

They drove the final part of the way in silence. As they rose over the ridge of a hill, Daniel parked the Land Rover and opened the door. “I’m afraid we’ll have to walk the final part. Come on. I want to show you this.”

He led her carefully down a series of rough steps that led through a few trees, a rare sight in this largely woodless, hilly moorland. Kris’s legs were trembling as she followed, her hand clutching tightly onto his lest she slip and fall on the damp stones beneath her feet. She could hear something ahead of her, what sounded like water although the vision was hidden from her by the branches of the trees.