Yield (15 page)

I planted my bare foot on her back, squashed her to the leather.

“Good.”

Feeling her chest move through the shirt as she panted – awesome. I was king again.

I could do one better than this – her naked.

The lights were dim. I fished out the remote and turned them up bright.

Then I leaned in to deliver my message. “I’ve been soft on you and I really don’t want us to begin on the wrong foot. I’m not soft. I’m hard, so hard I’m going to ram my cock up your ass before this week is over. If you haven’t had anal before, I have butt plugs to cure that virgin asshole.”

Ruining her was not my aim.

“Wait. Wait.”

Her gasped words were desperate. Good.

“No waiting tonight. Punishment. But first I need these clothes off you.” Her renewed wriggling just meant I needed to cram her down with my foot more. I did so then pulled my knife from my pocket and opened it. The big six-inch blade would do.

I showed it to her, inches from her face. “This is being used on you. Move and I will cut you. I have no tolerance for stupidity. Understand me?”

Nothing.

“Understand me?” This time I put the point an inch from her eye.

She only blinked, but her answer was husky. “Yes. I do.”

Ahh. Now this time I had it right. Nothing like being a big, scary man, with a big, scary knife to set the tone.

The point was newly sharpened. Ready for flesh, clothes, and scaring the fuck out of girls who wriggled and made my cock hard. Or didn’t wriggle because I told them not to.

I almost came at the sight as thread by thread I undressed her. Slow and steady, as the saying went, with the edge turned away from her. The back of the knife
could
seem just as scary, with the right psychological impetus.

Her staccato breaths bumped my hand and she gasped as I reached the neck of the shirt.

“Did you move?” I murmured. “Like me to use it the other way round?”

Her quiet, mouse-like answer came a few seconds later. “No. No, of course I don’t. I didn’t move.” She licked her lips. “No.”

But I pulled the knife from under the cloth and flipped her over so I could talk with her eyes on me. “That was a lie.”

“No, no, no. It wasn’t. I didn’t. I
swear
I didn’t.” Those pretty lips were licked again before she trotted out, “Maybe you need new glasses?”

“Fuck.” I chuckled. “You do ask for it.”

Her gaze fixed on my blade.

“Shiny?” With my palm jammed between her breasts, I showed her the slicing edge. “This is going next to your skin. Obey me. Don’t move.”

That brought me a whimper. My cock twitched.

The T-shirt was already cut down the middle of the back and the shoulders, so I pulled that out from under her, baring her cute white bra.

When I shifted my palm and settled it over her pussy, her face flinched into some new expression then back into such a quiet, almost stony, facade that I wondered. Her breathing had gone from panting, to stillness, then to a measured, deeper pace. Turned on?

By my hand?

I ground the heel of it onto her with increasing pressure, observing my obstinate captive.

Nothing.

Edge up, though she couldn’t see that, the knife meandered its fearful course, curling past the whorl of her belly button, over her quivering stomach, to slide light as the roll of a blood drop to the drawstring waist of her shorts. Wriggling it let the tip insinuate between cloth and skin and severed the first threads.

I eyed her, dubious. All her body signals made me think of tension, of a coiled-up energy, waiting and ready to erupt.

Maybe it was the current lack of breathing.

Maybe it was that she’d stopped talking or blinking.

I had her utter attention.

Arousal, or fear?

I swiveled my palm. Where my fingers splayed between her thighs, I felt her muscles move. Perhaps undulate was the better word to use.

I still wasn’t certain. The knife carved through the cloth of her shorts like a shark through water. She’d know the sharp edge couldn’t be against her skin. Yet she’d levered her head off the bed and was staring. Her lips seemed fuller, her eyes dark.

What secrets lurked in her mind?

The material fell from my blade, revealing her white underwear. I continued, cutting, shifting my hand from her mound to fasten down her thigh. When I reached the apex of her thighs, I turned the knife so it stood on end, the tip poised above the soft swell of her mons. If it fell, the blade would split her, intimately. My attention divided between the flutter of her eyelashes and what my hand was doing, I lowered the tip, until the business end kissed her panties.

She sucked in a breath then shuddered the next ones. Lovely. I waited, only stroking her thigh with my fingers. Just to see. Just to watch. Around her jaw, muscles clenched.

With my big, nasty weapon, I pressed down on her to caress where her clit should be, certain I could see the engorged bump pushing upward as if to greet the knife. A few threads frayed but cloth remained between the honed metal and her mons.

Her thigh strained beneath my hand.

“Is this turning you on?” I said, in a monotone, as if the question were insignificant.

“No,” she blurted. “Fuck no. Get it away from me. I like my bits where they are.”

“No?”

Her swallow was obvious. “No.”

“What if I press harder...” Instead, as I spoke, I scraped tiny, slow circles around that bump.

Wren only grunted. With her hands bound under her back, I could do anything and she was helpless. Most subs loved the helplessness. Not all liked the terror of a knife. She seemed to like
something
about this.

Novel. I’d not thought I’d get to her this easily. Punishment, smunishment. This was meat and bones to me. Turning her on, damn straight I would explore this until I was sure.

Struck by a notion, I sat next to her and covered her eyes with my hand, shoving her head to the leather and blocking out sight. After one startled squeak, she was quiet. I went to my elbow and circled her clit some more, watching my hand on the knife and the curve of her legs. The shallow angle at which I viewed her thighs let me see how she tensed and relaxed – a subtle concealment. I imagined her kneading the floor with her toes, unable to stop that small reaction.

Delicious, if true.

“Such a bad, bad girl you are. Are you hiding from me?”

Only a strangled sound came from her mouth.

“Moving now, little Wren, would be real bad.”

As I kept playing with her clit, her breathing intensified into what seemed close to what a woman did when building toward climax.

I could growl some dirty words in her ear, or just keep watching. Trial and error.

Damn, though. She was pressing upward with her mound, and from the way her legs moved and the sounds of her feet unsticking from and then tapping on tile, she’d braced them on the floor.

And now...a quiet, almost inaudible moan. Done through her closed mouth. I laughed to myself. Still suppressing her reactions.

How I wish I’d bared her tits. Why not? I sat up a little and shoved down both cups, before blindfolding her with my hand again. I pinned her more thoroughly by wrapping my leg over her thigh and inserting it between her legs, gripping her like stone, then I resumed my gentle but insistent knifeplay with her clit.

“Now I’ve got you. I could tie you down some more and fuck you with this knife.”

After two or three frantic gasps, her body went into full-on arousal mode. Her muscles tensed. Her body exploded upward an inch or two, despite my crushing hold. I had to raise the knife in unison or cut her.

Not being able to see, or that extra restriction on her movement, it had done something.

Her mouth opened and a series of moans accompanied the jerky movements of her belly. So beautiful. I dared to mutter some quiet dirtiness. Whispering.

“That’s the way. Come for me. You are such a pretty, pretty thing. My pretty whore. My knife is on your clit, almost cutting you and it’s going to make you come. Round and round, and round.” As I said those words, I was doing exactly that with the tip.

When another burst of gasps hit her, I quickly reversed the knife and used the butt on her clit instead. Then I leaned over and sucked her nipple into my mouth. I bit down, hard, my teeth staying fastened there as...

She came. She arched into the knife and my mouth, and came. Those noises she made... Incredible. Fuck me, she’d come from the knife.

What had I found? A little masochist?

My
little masochist.

Wren

Shame, frustration, anger, they whirled around in my mind while I lay on my side and breathed heavily into his chest. He held me, still, his leg wrapped over my body, his arm pressing me close and his fingers toying with mine where they were cuffed at my back. Such a contradiction of madly brutal and soft. Of cruel and kind. I’d come while he watched, and it had been so amazing I’d not forget anything about this, ever, and I wanted to kill him for doing it to me.

God, I so hated him.

He’d pushed my shorts down my legs so that I was held to him mostly naked. Vulnerable, so vulnerable, and at the back of my mind I couldn’t get over the fact that I’d come in front of him....because of the knife.

The dirty talk and the way he’d fastened me down had contributed, but it was the knife that threw me past the point of no return.

I’d loved that rollercoaster of fear and arousal and just loved how he...

I clenched my jaw and calmed myself. No.

Fuck.

I hate him.

But at the back of my mind thoughts drifted, of how I liked dominance and control, and of how my other man...my real one, had awoken me to that.
Not going there. Not.

Then he kissed the top of my head and began to speak.

“Don’t try to keep secrets from me, pretty thing, I will find them out. Thank you for coming for me. You’ll learn I can do that to you when I want to, especially now I’ve proven you can. You’re fighting me...”

Such condescension, but I was tired.

I felt his breath on my hair and his voice was so warm and close that for a moment I wanted to sink into him. I snapped my eyes open.
Fuck him.

“...and I don’t care. Fight me.”

What?

“It only gives me reasons to punish you.”

Uh-huh. Whatever, mister arrogant.

“That reminds me. I haven’t punished you.”

He jumped to his feet, leaving a void where his body had been. My feet weren’t tied so I moved to wriggle and slide off the bed on my stomach. Sitting still for this punishment? No way. The cuffs, unfortunately, weren’t coming off without that elusive key. Was it on him now, or not?

If he turned away... Shit, no, I’d never be able to kick him and knock him out with surety. Not with the one kick I could get in while tied up.

My feet hit the floor, but I had no time to figure out how to rise.

“That’s far enough.” His foot squashed down on my back like it had before.

Air whooshed from my lungs. What was I? His private footwarmer?

“For the swearing.”

The first strike whammed down on my butt hard enough to feel like a burning steel stick had hit me. I screeched, surprised and hurt. Painful heat lanced outward.

Swiftly, he hit me there several more times. The crop must have been brought in earlier and left on the floor. Despite my attempts to squirm away, I was stuck in place, his target. I managed not to scream again but my ass burned like hell by the end.

“Fuck.” I hissed. “You –”

“Shhh.” He slapped his hand on the burning places and this time I did screech. “You want this twice?”

Shit. Crap. I will kill him ASAP and STAT.
With a pistol, an axe, and the candlestick in the library or anywhere else I can do it.
Cluedo had popped up with a vengeance. Where was the damned butler when I needed him?

I panted into the leather and tried not to think of how wet my pussy was, of how much I was aching, inches from his foot. It was the orgasm. Nothing more. Move along there, nothing to see.

I needed a cock to slide onto
so
badly.

If this had been Glass...

I panted some more, wishing he would remove his foot. It was too much. Too much
there
, his presence. Solid. Weighing me down. The weight seemed to radiate into my abdomen and my sore butt, adding to the ache.

Then his foot lifted. I waited and figured I should raise my head, because that’s what an aware, aggressive, non-victim woman would do.

“This next, is for your smart ass, you-need-glasses comment.” My feet were seized and I heard the ankle cuffs locked. “And it’s for me.”

When I craned my neck to look back, he was running a cream rope between my wrists and the ankle cuffs. He made a swift tie then began to tighten it so my feet were inexorably drawn toward my hands. All I could do was watch, until I ended up with much of my weight on my knees.

What was he up to? I didn’t like this, no, not at all. Fear trickled down my spine.

“A hogtied woman makes forced blow jobs so much easier.” He sat on the bed, a foot away, smiling, and swept his gaze down my body. “Damn, that lingerie. Hot.”

Anger flared. Though I knew it was dumb, I couldn’t stop. “Don’t you fucking da –”

The sudden claw hold in my hair and stinging slap to my face halted me. The up-close stare into my eyes paralyzed me completely. My protests faded from my thoughts and I was left in limbo, mouth open.

“Whoa. Now, that’s nice.” His thumb carefully swept some stray hair from before my eye. “Those soft eyes. A picture of submissiveness.”

I drew a blank at first. Thoughts ticked past.

What? Never. Ever, ever.

Well, maybe, for Glass.

While I was still processing what he’d said and trying to remind myself to fight, he hoisted me back onto the bed, onto my side. Then he sat next to me, grabbed my shoulders, and pulled me onto his lap. There was no way to resist, except by backchat and that seemed a futile way to go about this.
Act. Remember?

Act how?

While I chased my own thoughts around in the labyrinth of my mind, he was unzipping his pants and pulling out his cock. The thing stuck up before my nose, waving like some flagpole waiting for a flag. Cocks were so stupid looking.