Going Down (14 page)

“Yes, Master.”

“You will worship me just as I worship your subservience. We'll feed off each other and find our own pleasure, won't we?”

“Yes, Master.”

What he'd just said had been easy, but now things were going to change because even with the fantasy wrapped around him, he couldn't forget his task. “And you'll do whatever I order you to. Even if you don't understand and feel humiliated, you won't question. You'll feed off your fear and make it part of your performance.”

She'd intertwined her fingers, but although she'd disobeyed him by moving, he didn't want to distract either of them from this vital lesson.

“Do you understand what I'm saying? I want you afraid.”

“I—what do you want me to say?”

“Nothing. In fact, you aren't to say a word until I give you permission.”

That didn't set well with her as witnessed by her narrowing eyes. Taking her expression as warning that she wasn't as deep into their
game
as he wanted her to be, he decided to test her limits. And although he told himself that the test was a vital part of their reason for being together, he knew different. He needed to see her struggle between her self-will and his.

“Sit up.”

Confusion followed by disappointment rolled through her, and no wonder. Weren't her splayed legs proof of what she wanted? And what he did too.

“Do I have to punish you? Sit up, slave.”

The grace with which she complied let him know she was testing him. Fine, he loved the challenge, which was why he didn't move so she was forced to rub her body against his. He waited until she was curled next to him with her free leg tucked under her and the other near the side of the bed. Her nudity in contrast to the multipurpose bracelets and anklets on her wrists and ankles gave rise to endless possibilities, and yet he wanted to introduce her to something new, to keep her as off balance as he felt.

He extracted a narrow key from his pocket, and he inserted it into the lock connecting the leather strip to her leg, unlocking it. “Go to the dresser,” he continued. “There's rope in there. I want you to bring it to me.”

She tensed as the ramifications of this latest order sunk in. Fascinated by thoughts of what it would take to melt her, he nevertheless grunted. Looking back over her shoulder at him, she crawled to the edge of the bed and slipped off it. He wasn't surprised to see her glance at the door, not that it would do her any good. Just the same, the thought of chasing her throughout the house and beyond quickened his breath.

Doing as he'd ordered didn't need to take as long as it did, making him wonder if she was trying to get him to punish her. Then he noted that her hands were shaking as she dropped the soft white rope on the bed.

“Kiss it.”

Not looking at him, she bent over and ran her lips along the length. Her movements were slow and languid, her body angled so he had a clear view of her flank. Giving into the challenge, he ran his hand over her buttocks and thigh. Maybe her quiver should have given him a sense of security, but all it told him was that she was as deep into whatever was happening as he was.

When he'd told her to get the rope, he'd had only a rudimentary idea of what he intended to do with it, but touching her flesh solidified his thoughts. He wanted to see that magnificent body encased in what he'd wrapped around it. Giving a silent thanks to the rigger and model he'd taken lessons from in preparation for this assignment, he picked up the rope, folded it in half, and draped it over the back of her neck. From there he crossed it between her breasts, then ordered her to turn with her back to him. Her eyes closing, she did as he commanded.

Imprisoning her arms behind her with her elbows bent at a right angle and her forearms resting against each other took considerable attention because he didn't want to compromise her circulation. In addition to strands that went around her upper arms and both under and over her breasts, all but immobilizing her upper body, he also lashed her forearms and wrists together before securing the whole with a final loop around her waist. Completing the complex tie called for her turning in circles as he worked. Although she'd opened her eyes by the time he'd finished, she didn't look at him. Good. It was time for her to exist as his possession and not a complex woman.

Stepping back, he studied his handiwork. The rigger had been adamant that ropes weren't to press on nerves or blood vessels, and from the looks of things, he'd managed that. The strand around her neck, although particularly arousing, didn't so much as touch her throat. From the waist down, she was as free as she was beautiful while the rest of her belonged fully and completely to him. The strands near her breasts caused her breasts to stick out more than usual. Pinching them between his fingers, he drew her toward him.

Her eyes were glazed over, her mouth open, nostrils flared. Feeding off her mood, he leaned over and took a nipple into his mouth. Not content with simply tasting her, he lightly closed his teeth over the firm nub before pulling back. Her spine arched, and she stepped toward him. Intrigued, he took a backward step while keeping his hold firm. Moaning low in that lovely throat, she matched his stride. Although he'd have loved to have seen how long he could have guided her this way, he couldn't hold this position for long. Reluctantly freeing her, he noted the saliva he'd left behind.

Thinking to show it to her, he reached out. Shaking her head, she leaned away.

Anger raced through him. She was his slave, damn it, his possession! How dare she think otherwise! “Stop it!” He punctuated his order by slapping first her wet breast and then the other. “Don't move, damn it, don't move!”

“Master! Master, please.”

The words feeding his fantasy, he slapped her again. This time he didn't bother telling her why. She was no longer trying to get away, but unless he was the biggest fool in the county, she was trying to incur his wrath by whipping her body from side to side in a futile and beyond sexy attempt to protect those incredible breasts of hers

They battled. There was no other way of saying it. The more times his open palm connected with her full mounds, the more she hissed and growled. She'd arched her body again, which meant her breasts were front and center, challenges offered. He met them as he knew they both wanted until her milky flesh had turned red and her nipples were like rocks.

His clothes, his damnable clothes! What the hell had he put them on for?

The next time he reached out, it wasn't to continue punishing her. Instead, he wrapped his fingers around the rope over her breasts. Then, using his hold as a cowboy might handle a captured horse, he dragged her to the bed. “You asked for that,” he threw at her. “You knew the consequences of fighting me and yet you did.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Why?”

“So you would punish me.”

There. The words he'd known were in her spoken aloud. “Do you believe you've been punished enough?”

She took a deep and long breath. “No, Master.”

“What more should I do to you to make sure you've learned your lesson?”

S
aree had been asked that question any number of times, but it had always been rhetorical. This was different, excitingly different.

“These ropes,” she began. “they aren't enough.”

“You want more?”

What she desperately wanted was to be encased head to toe. Being rendered incapable of moving a single muscle was an incredible turn-on; just thinking about a crotch rope caused her crotch to weep in anticipation. “I do.” She kept her head downcast.

“What else?”

“A whipping.” Taken aback by the hungry eagerness in her voice, she swallowed. “Master, this worthless slave needs to feel your whips on her body. Only then will I learn everything I need to.”

“What if I don't want to whip you?”

Was he tormenting her, denying her what she most needed? Maybe and yet maybe he was simply testing her. “You—I can't tell you what to do. All I can do is beg you to teach me your lessons.”

“Maybe I don't have any.”

“These ropes have a purpose. I know they do!”

“Perhaps I simply like the way they contain and contrast with your skin.”

Although she could and perhaps should have thanked him for what she took as a compliment, she decided on a different tactic. Her gaze as submissive as she could make it, she dropped awkwardly to her knees and tried to suck his clothed cock into her mouth. He stood there with his knees locked and his hands fisted while she covered his shorts in saliva.

She was a wreck, a wretched, turned-on wreck! Being restrained always got her juices flowing, but what she felt now went beyond those familiar sensations. The difference was easy to determine—reality versus play. He'd known what he was doing when he tied her, making her wonder how many other sex slaves had felt his restraints on their bodies.

Sex slave? Yes, she had put that label on herself.

No way could she gnaw a hole in his shorts, but although she found it somewhat humiliating, she couldn't make herself stop any more than she could get back on her feet. She belonged on her knees before him, groveling for whatever tidbits of attention he granted her. As his captive, she'd become
his
. In her captivity she'd found something she'd been looking for for much of her life.

“Enough,” he ordered. A hand gripped her hair and pulled her head back. Forced to release him, she stared up at the man she'd called Master.

“What do you want?” she managed.

“I'm not sure.”

“Me,” she encouraged. “You want me.”

“That goes without saying, damn it.” The tugging on her scalp increased. “Stand up. Did I give you permission to kneel?”

“No, Master.”

“That's right, I didn't. Get up before I punish you.”

He might consider whatever he had in mind to do punishment, but to her, it was a promise. Just the same, she tried to obey. Unfortunately, without use of her hands, she failed. Unlike when he'd used this hold to bring her to the bed, he didn't release her. Instead, he forced her up onto her toes.

She would have gladly widened her stance if he'd told her to. But with her mind cloudy and her body hot, the best she could do was order herself to anticipate.

So that's what he had in mind, was it? To work his hand between her legs.

“You're wet.” Features grim, he ran his fingers along her pussy. “Did I give you permission to soak yourself?”

“No, Master.”

“Then why did you?”

The longer he stroked her, the more intense the pressure there and deep in her belly became. If she hadn't been so wet, the friction would have been painful. As it was, the heat he'd created threatened to burst into flames. “I don't know. I'm sorry.”

“You should be. This”—he slapped her labia—“belongs to me. It should do only what I give it permission to, do you understand?”

Cheeks flaming, she nodded. Even that small gesture made her dizzy. “I'm trying.”

“Trying isn't enough. Yes, I am going to have to punish you.”

If anyone had said that under different circumstances, she'd laugh at him, run, or fight back, but none of those options fit. “How?”

“However I want, get it! Spread your legs, now.”

Suddenly trembling, she did as he'd ordered. Her simple and yet complex obedience added to the suspicion that they were entering a world neither had been in before. She might be mistaken about him of course, but years of exploring submission and mastery hinted she wasn't.

“Not good enough. Push your cunt toward me.”

Guessing what was coming next made it easy to obey. She could only hope she didn't lose her mind before her
punishment
was over. She supposed she should be relieved because he wrapped his arm around her before the first blow struck her pussy. A shockwave of sensation shot through her. A second firm but not painful slap followed almost immediately.

A third, then four, followed by five. No matter that she tried to straighten, tried to close her legs against the fire-falls, they kept coming. Her sex fed off the relentless stimulation and forced sharp animal-like sounds from her.

“Stand straight,” he ordered as he continued to pummel her. “Spread. More! Wide! Take your punishment, take it! You don't want to make me angry, do you?”

“No!” she gasped, although the thought of his anger being directed at her made her half wild with wanting.

“That's right, you don't. This cunt I've claimed is turning bright pink. It's also getting wetter. You love this, don't you?”

More slaps, a barrage of them raining on tissues that felt as if they might fly apart. Wise in the ways of a woman's sex, he peppered her from mons to ass.

“Answer me! You like this, don't you?”

“Yes!” she nearly howled. “Yes, Master, I do!”

“Of course you do.” He punctuated each word with yet another blow, and when instinct again tried to close her legs, he redirected his palm to her inner thighs, stopping her. “Because you're a slut, a cunt. Tell me what you are.”

Mindless.
“A slut. I'm a slut.”

“Yes, you are.” His hot breath curled around her ear, making her shiver. “And this”—three rapid-fire blows—“makes you even more so, doesn't it?”

“Yes. Yes!”

“You want me to stop before you lose your mind.” He pressed his hand against her heated core, forcing her back onto her toes. The pressure continued; she tried to rub herself against him. “And yet you don't because you're such a cunt.”

“Yes, yes.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“Master, please, I'm going to come.”

“No, you aren't.”

His harsh tone barely penetrated. What made an impact was that he was now running his sex-drenched hand over her cheek. Whimpering at the loss to her pussy, she tried to press herself against his cock.

“No!” Gripping her shoulders and shaking them, he backed away. “There'll be no pleasure for you until or if it pleases me to watch you come.”

“Master, please.” A volcano raged through her; nothing short of sex or plunging into an icy lake would silence it. “Anything. I'll do anything.”

“Of course you will, my little slut. You have no pride left. Like a bitch in heat, only one thing matters to you.”

He could call her anything he wanted; she didn't care. But even as she struggled to gather the courage to tell him that, the raw edge of her hunger blunted a little. A single touch from him would bring her to the brink again, maybe beyond.

“What do you want?” she asked in a low and hungry tone. “What do I have to do?”

“I haven't decided.”

“Suck your cock? I can make you happy, Master.”

“I should trust you? No chance you'd bite me?”

Maybe, if I was climaxing.
“No, Master. You'd punish me if I did.”

“Yes, I would.” He closed his still-sticky hand around her throat. “Do you have any idea how much I love feeling your blood pulse? To know I have the power of life and death over you is nearly as good as sex.” His hand tightened a little. Alert but not alarmed, she held still. “A question. Assuming that I truly have that much power, what are you willing to do to ensure I don't make good on my threat?”

“I—don't understand. What do you want?”

“Proof that you know I'm not bluffing. Your task, to keep from angering me. How do you go about that?”

She hadn't heard that tone from him before. It wasn't as stilted as when he was talking to the camera, but neither did it have the ring of honesty. A role he was playing? “By pleasing you.”

“Hmm.” Relaxing his hold on her throat, he closed his free hand over the elbow closest to him. “Wise words, slave. And how would you please me?”

A thousand images crowded her mind. Her bent over and anchored to a low post with her ass in the air. Her hog-tied at his feet. Her taking him deep into her throat while he whipped her buttocks. And most appealing, straddling him with his cock buried in her while they both laughed and kissed and nipped.

“Can I show you?”

“Perhaps.”

“Thank you, Master. Thank you. First, I must get rid of your clothes.”

When he nodded, she wasn't sure whether she was excited or overwhelmed. After all, she couldn't use her hands. Calling on all the resourcefulness at her disposal, she slipped to her knees, her face inches from his crotch. Freeing the button at his waist with just her teeth took concentration and effort. By the time she'd completed her task and tugged down the zipper, her mouth ached, and her pussy no longer commanded her full attention. Fortunately his hips were slim and his buttocks taut, which made sliding his shorts down relatively easy. By repeatedly changing her teeth-grip on his shorts, she got that snug fabric to follow his shorts' path while he did his part by pulling off his shirt. After he'd stepped out of the garments, she allowed herself her first true up-close look at his cock. Straight and strong with large, dark veins, it gave off a single and undeniable message; worship me.

Yes, soon!

Although she hoped he'd again help her stand, he did nothing more than provide the necessary support for her to lean against. Grunting from the effort, she rested her head against his chest. “If Master would lie on the bed on his back, I will do the rest.”

“And what would that
rest
be?”

“I would like to surprise Master, if he will allow me to.”

By way of answer, he grabbed her hair and pulled her head back. His eyes became an incredible deep chocolate, his emotions adding to their depth. She both worshipped and feared that depth, and no matter how unsettled returning his stare made her, she refused to break the contact. She wanted to kiss him, needed to feel his mouth on hers.

And yet kissing spoke of a brand of trust and intimacy they couldn't possibly ever achieve.

When he released her, he did more than just let go of her hair. He also shoved her, causing her to stumble back. By the time she'd regained her balance, he was sitting on the bed and putting on a condom. Then planting his hands behind him, he studied her. Because she'd seen herself in countless bondage positions, she knew what he was seeing. And because a number of men had waxed carnal about how much studying a captive woman turned them on, she had little doubt of what was going on inside his mind.

Could he sense the invisible ropes between them? Did he understand that she could no more turn her back on what was happening than she could stop breathing?

“Relax.” She swallowed. “Your slave lives to please you.”

A quick shake of his head said he doubted that. Perhaps she should tell him she was simply following instinct and didn't know where this was going or how it would end, but it was safer to hide behind silence.

Caught in thoughts of how dependent she was on him, she climbed onto the bed, stood, and straddled him. He fell back, his hands on her hips. Looking down, she assured herself that cock and cunt were in alignment. Despite the strain to her thighs and calves, she didn't hurry her descent.

This moment was fantasy and truth. She'd crossed a line she'd never thought she would. After years of dancing at the edges of a fascinating and foreign lifestyle, she'd entered it, at least briefly. Doing so was taking her into a space she hadn't known existed, a space defined by one man's ultimate control over her. She willingly submitted to the ropes lacing and confining her upper body, but there was no guarantee he'd remove them. And even if he did, he might and probably would replace them with other restraints. There'd be no going home at the end of the day, no stopping at the grocery store or logging time at the gym, no working in her yard or talking to her sister. The activities she'd always taken for granted were now denied her.