Xtraordinary (6 page)

Ricardo took her hand and placed it gently on his hard cock, the fabric of his trousers failing to disguise its girth. She grabbed greedily, squeezing, and her lips parted involuntarily as she remembered how it had felt to take him into her mouth…and down her throat, as he fucked her hard and then—

He pushed her hand away. “We have a little project first.” He reached into the wooden box and withdrew one of the simple clothespins. It was no more than two unfinished raw bits of wood connected by a wooden spring, with a hole drilled for the cord that ran through it.

“We never used these in the workshop of my father,” Ricardo said. “A fine garment deserves a structured hanger, the proper support to keep its shape. But I have found that they have other uses.”

She caught her breath as he turned the humble object over in his palm. Then he leaned toward her and lifted the hair from one shoulder, and clipped the pin to the sensitive skin below her collarbone.

It shocked more than it hurt; the pressure of the pin wasn't so great as to injure her skin. It was a novel feeling, but not particularly erotic, and she looked at Ricardo with a question in her eyes.

He reached for the second pin that dangled a few inches down the clothesline.

This one went an inch below the first. They swayed with the motion of his hand, sticking out from her skin, almost ludicrous looking.

“Comfortable?” Ricardo asked with a wicked arch of his brow.

“Yes.”

“You won't be, soon, don't worry.”

He continued to place the wooden pins in a line that continued down past her nipple, between her breasts, taking his time and whistling occasional tuneless notes. The skin under the first pin was pink and rapidly turning numb.

It took ten minutes, maybe more; Chelsea was aware that time had taken its own measure in this room, as though it had been charmed by a spell. She concentrated on the sensations of the wood pinching her skin, but also on his fingers brushing against her, his breath warming her when he bent close. Finally, when the line of pins had snaked down over her stomach and along the crease of her thigh, the last one only centimeters away from the smooth, waxed outer lips of her labia, he sat back and regarded his handiwork. Seemingly satisfied, he nodded and took one last pin from the box, a loose one that wasn't strung from the cord.

He picked up her hand, turning it over and exposing the sensitive skin of her wrist. He pinched the pin into place, the little ridge of flesh thin and an angry white.

“You see, it can't really harm you or do any lasting damage. If I pull it off, there is a brief discomfort.” He did so, and the pin made a faint snapping sound as the twin legs snapped together. She rubbed at her wrist, where a faint red mark showed where the pin had been.

Ricardo took her hand again and reattached the pin exactly where it had been before. “But you remember what I told you, don't you? The pain and pleasure centers in the brain are very close together. I am not a scientist, but I believe that for a woman, they are especially so…for a woman such as yourself, guided by your passions—a pure sensualist—these areas must be very close together indeed.”

While he was speaking, he gently thrummed the clip with his thumb, sending it swaying back and forth. The tug on her skin changed with the movement of the pin, causing the interplay of discomfort to rise and fall, like the notes of a concerto. And yes…buried in the discomfort were the faint strains of pleasure, building within the nerve endings along her arm.

“And you see, if your body is stimulated in this way, then other sensations can become so much more intense.” While he continued to manipulate the pin, he used his other hand—just the fingertips—to trace tiny, feather-light circles in the crook of her arm above her wrist. The feeling was astonishing, unfamiliar, sharp and irresistible. Pleasure built not just along her arm, up the nerves to her shoulder, but also up and down her spine, out along all of her limbs to her extremities. It was as though he had found a way to stimulate all of her at once, through the narrow, focused touch.

Chelsea ground harder against the bed, letting her knees fall wider to give better access to her pussy. Abruptly, Ricardo stopped what he was doing, yanking the clothespin free and dropping it to the ground, and then placing both his hands on her thighs, forcibly stilling her.

He bent his lips to her ear. “You did not ask permission to pleasure yourself,” he murmured softly. Then he took the end of her earlobe between his lips and gently tugged it, and Chelsea tried not to lean into the touch, to beg for more.

Suddenly pain shot through the tender lobe. He'd bitten her—hard. She cried out and clamped a hand to her ear, certain that her fingers would come away bloody. He had sat back in his chair and was watching her.

“Don't worry,” he said. “I told you I would leave no lasting damage. That was a promise, and I think you have known me long enough to know that I am a man of my word.”

Slowly Chelsea lowered her hand to the textured linen bedspread. Her body still abuzz with the stimulation of what he had been doing to her, her mind was a swirl of confusion.

“I—did I do something wrong?” she asked in a small voice.

“No. Actually, perhaps I did.” Ricardo's brow furrowed. “In general I believe action is much more powerful than speaking. But I…you are different, Chelsea. You try to project such bravado. You want the world to believe you are so tough. Invulnerable. And yet you are…you are innocent in many ways.”

“I'm
not
innocent.” Something like panic stirred inside Chelsea, a nameless anxiety that had been her companion for most of her life. If nothing else she needed Ricardo to know who she really was, or all of this meant nothing. “I lived on the street at fourteen. I've done things…things I'm not proud of. I'm not some, some pampered
virgin
.”

“No. Of course not.” Ricardo spoke gently. “And yet you are unfamiliar with this kind of pleasure.” He flicked one of the clothespins gently, sending fresh tremors through her. “It is not exactly my invention. People have been…never mind. I'm not here to lecture, and I am not your mentor.”

As sensations rippled along her skin, Chelsea twisted and shivered. “You can teach me,” she said, “I don't mind.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands thoughtfully under his chin. “Did I ask if you mind?”

“N-no.”

“Is it any of my concern, what you want?”

“No…” the conversation had taken a decided shift, and a thrill of danger combined with the roiling waves of pleasure. “
Sir
.”

“Then I shall finish my task.” He dug a handful of loose pins from the box. “Lie back on the bed, please. And be still. No talking. No movement.”

Her legs were still splayed, and as she lowered herself to lying on the bed, she attempted to close them and was rebuffed by Ricardo's firm hand on her thighs, pushing them apart. He slid a finger under the edge of the thong and yanked it aside, exposing her pussy. As she settled against the fine linen, she felt his finger trace the outer lips of her labia.

Then the shock of pressure as he pinned a clothespin centimeters from her clitoris.

She gasped. Surely he wouldn't…

He continued to place clothespins up and down the sturdier outer lips, two, then three, then four on each side. Gently, he pushed them toward her thigh so that her pussy was completely exposed. She felt the cool air coming through the window, caressing her clit, her inner lips, and writhed against the sheets.

“What are you—”

“Two more. Can you guess where?”

Chelsea's eyes widened. “Not—not my nipples, I won't be able to bear it. Please, please—sir—please not yet, I'm not ready—”

He ignored her and gently flicked at her nipple with the nail of his forefinger. “Unless you are using your safe word, then you may shut your fucking mouth,” he said warningly. Then he pinched her nipple between his forefinger and thumb, easing down the silk bra to give himself access. He rolled the nub slowly, almost gently, causing a riot of pleasure to spiral down. As she writhed and bucked, the pins along her body tugged in different directions, so it felt as though she was connected to an entirely separate being outside the two of them, one that controlled her pleasure and moved in concert with her.

Then he gave her thigh a resounding, stinging slap. “That was a warning,” he growled. “If I have to turn you over and spank your ass while you're clipped, it's bound to hurt for real.”

Chelsea clamped her mouth shut, but as he worked her nipples, pinching harder and harder, she was unable to contain the frantic sounds of anticipation mixed with pain and pleasure. Finally, he took two clothespins and in a fraction of a second, they were attached to her nipples, sending searing pain through sensitive nerve endings.

Pain…followed by a different kind of ache.

“Look at you,” Ricardo said, stepping back and regarding her from the side of the bed. “You're helpless, aren't you, little
putita
?”

She moaned, unable to form words. She had never felt so exposed in her life. And helpless didn't begin to describe the feeling of her skin pinched in two dozen places, sensations everywhere at once, almost more than her brain could process. The slightest movement caused the pins to sway and bend, changing the course of the nerve stimulation. Her pussy was beyond soaked, the ache inside her ratcheting quickly up to desperate.

“There is nothing you can do but submit to me right now, is there, Chelsea,” he continued softly, not without compassion. He brushed his thumb along her lips, tracing a circle around her mouth, and her tongue darted out of its own accord, licking, trying to draw it inside her mouth.

“My hungry whore,” Ricardo said, with a shudder of his own. He slid his thumb into her mouth and worked it slowly in and out. “You need your holes filled. You're a greedy slut with only one thought in your beautiful mind—getting fucked hard. Isn't that right? How badly do you want me to ram my cock inside you?”

Chelsea moaned, lapping more furiously. His thumb was slick with her saliva, but he continued to tease, controlling the movements, resisting her efforts to suckle him more deeply.

He chuckled darkly. “You can just imagine how it would feel if I were to fuck your face right now. Grab that gorgeous mess of hair and hold on and pump my load deep down your throat. Do you want that?”

She managed to nod, as he slid his hand down around her throat again. Very gently he squeezed and released. “Or in your ass,” he continued. “My thumb would be perfect to open you up for me, wouldn't it? Your greedy, hungry little hole, stretched for me…I'd use you until you were ready for my cock, and then I'd drive it all the way home…mmm. I'd take your ass so hard you'd be screaming for me to stop at the same time you were begging me to keep going.”

His stark words were like a switch that directed the current inside Chelsea's body, and she bucked and writhed, orgasm building deep inside her. If he continued, she would come just like this, she realized, with nothing but his thumb in her mouth—but she wanted more. She did want to be filled, just as he'd said, and she wanted his cum, every drop. Anywhere. Everywhere.

She jerked her mouth away from his thumb, twisting as much as the restraints allowed. Her lips were wet with her own saliva and swollen from his use. “Please,” she gasped. “Please fuck me. Take my pussy. Come inside me.”

He stilled for the merest fraction of a moment, and a dark look passed over his features. The one thing he had said he could not do, and it was what she wanted most of all. Which was probably inevitable. The game they were playing was ruled by taboos, broken rules, and crossed boundaries. He refused to take her that way—so it was what she longed for.

He placed his hand softly against her mound, merely resting it there, a battle taking place on his face, his expression haunted.

“Please,” she whispered, moving against his hand. Surely he could feel how swollen she was, how the moisture slicked his fingers, how desperate she was to draw him inside. “Please, please, please…”

He made a tortured sound of his own and slid one finger inside her. The movement of his hand pressed the clothespins flat, opening her to him utterly. With his other hand, he twisted the pin on her nipple.

The sensations that had been building inside her crested and surged and exploded, and she jammed her hips upward, her orgasm seizing her body in its power, threatening to break her free of the moorings of her sanity as sensation rocketed through her. He jammed another finger inside her forcefully, and then suddenly the row of clothespins stretching from her chest down to her thighs was ripped free, the pleasure and pain traveling the path of the trapped skin and beyond, sharpening her climax to heights she never imagined possible. Her screams keened through the night and she pushed against him, feeling the juice squirt forth from inside her, all over his hands, soiling him, drenching him, and still she couldn't stop. The screams turned to begging, inchoate sounds of need. “Please, please,” she continued her refrain, as he plucked the remaining pins one by one from her labia. His timing was perfect…she rode the orgasm through its receding waves as the last of the pins fell to the floor and he slowly pulled his sopping fingers from her, returning his hand to rest softly on her shuddering pussy.

When she had nearly stilled, her body misted with perspiration, her hair snarled around her shoulders, he kissed her gently, pressing his lips underneath her jaw, on her chin, and finally on her lips.

“These did their job, I think,” he said, and gently removed the clothespins from her nipples and tossed them carefully to the floor. “My little cum whore. You performed beautifully, just as I expected. You're a natural.”

Chelsea let her eyelids flutter closed, not looking at the angry red marks that lined her body. She could feel the ache where each set of wooden teeth had gripped, but the points of pain drifted in a sea of pleasure.