by V T Bonds
Breaking In
Skylar’s Story Part 2
By V.T. Bonds
Copyright © 2019 by V.T. Bonds
Front Cover design by Cover Lover Creations
Paperback Cover design by V.T. Bonds
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
*This contains dark themes that may disturb some readers. This is fiction and should not be attempted in real life. Proceed with caution.*
Hansel
I swing the spoon again and watch as her skin immediately turns pink. A deep red outline appears.
Her cry is fantastic. The tears running down her face are genuine. Her begging is music to my ears. A part of me desperately needs this. I need to dole out pain. I need to see someone suffering, solely because I want them to.
I need to stand over a woman and know that she’s receiving pleasure from my dominance. The dominance and submissive aspect of a sexual relationship is the most imperative aspect for me. I can’t explain why. I don’t know why forcing a woman to do my will helps ease the stress of my life. But it brings me peace and women are always requesting my services. So when I’m stretched thin, I have a session. Or several sessions.
Okay, I may be a man-whore, but that serves me well.
She’s beautiful. We’ve tied her bent over a wooden chair, but not over the back. She’s facing the backrest with her feet on the outside of the front legs, her arms bearing her weight along the armrests. Her long, red hair holds her to the headrest. The burden of her left breast has caused her nipple to slip from her corset. It swings forward with her every jerk. The other breast still hides away in her self-imposed bindings. That won’t stay for long.
Her waist looks petite, but that could be because of her bodice. Even if it is, she has the curves to allow a bit of fluff in the middle. Her ass is glorious. The curve of it makes me crave to spank it. Hence the spoon.
She’s sexy. No doubt about that.
I’m hard. No denying that.
But this scene is lacking.
She’s attractive, but now that I’ve experienced something more, looks are inadequate.
I miss that instant chemistry. I miss that indescribable connection. I miss that soul-deep desire. I miss how perfect it was to have her underneath me. Underneath us.
It’s been six months. Six months since she fell into our web. Six months since that epic night. Six months since we forced ourselves into her tight little body.
Six months we’ve been waiting. Very impatiently.
We’ve been waiting for our plans to solidify. We’ve run into a few hiccups, but yesterday we scared the shit out of our problems and solved those pesky things. Figuratively, of course.
We’ve been so good. We’ve threatened no one, as tempting as that idea was. We’ve gone through the correct social etiquette. We’ve planned extensively just like the first time. We have help, same as before, except this time, it isn’t them who came to us. We contacted those who can help us most.
This encounter will be epic. The subterfuge runs deep. It’s fantastic.
She expects us to visit her again at some point. But it’s been six months. How much of her guard has she dropped?
If the answer is all of it, then this will be fun.
If the answer is none of it, then this will be spectacular.
I don’t want to wait anymore.
But I must. Two more weeks. We’ll be meeting our little bird again in two weeks.
I swing the spoon again and the submissive shrieks. She fights against her bonds and I smirk.
“Careful, honey, or Aluino will have to gag you.” I threaten.
She hesitates for a moment, but then an exaggerated shiver runs down her body. She shifts her head and slides her wanton eyes in my direction. I know she really wants what I’ve offered, and that this isn’t her first time.
“Please, Sir, don’t hit me again!” she begs, but it isn’t genuine. She’s ready for the next step.
I swing again, she screams, and Aluino steps in.
He grabs her chin and guides his dick into her mouth. The sight is erotic as hell, but the nagging feeling of incompleteness picks at me. It should be her mouth he’s entering.
It should be her we’re ravaging.
This may be a long two weeks.
She will pay for making us wait this long. She will hurt for making me want her so thoroughly.
Skylar
That experience was one of a kind. It was special; that type of chemistry doesn't happen between just anybody. But we specifically said we weren’t exclusive, so I haven’t let myself stop playing at the club.
After I said goodbye to them the next morning, I knew that I would forever be looking over my shoulder for ‘the next time’.
And I knew that I’d start seeing all my vulnerabilities. So before I even got home from visiting with my Pop, I signed up for a self-defense class and started watching videos on the internet.
The fear I experienced that night still echoes through me occasionally. I cannot be a damsel-in-distress during an actual threat.
For several days after that night, I was hypervigilant. I checked my rear-view mirror at least every 20 seconds. I would jump out of my skin at the slightest bump. I’d expect them to jump through any door and drag me away. I spent those days in an odd mixture of nervous excitement, longing, and a disconnected sense of stupor.
I like rough, dubious-consent BDSM. My body roars to life with the added fear and adrenaline. My heart beats out of my chest and my senses open. I don’t have to hold back. I can fight all I want and find subspace faster than I ever thought possible.
The peace was all-encompassing. I’ve never been so completely in that head space.
So, I’m eager for our next meeting. I crave their dominance. I yearn for their rough ministrations. I want to be free to fight and scream and release all my emotions.
So yeah, I want them to catch me. But that doesn't mean I'm going to go easy on them. Also, I've got to be smart about it. No more useless flailing and puny kicks. And no more injuring myself.
Hence, the self-defense class.
I was nervous the first day I walked into class. Honestly, I don’t know what I expected, but meeting the instructor was eye opening. Maybe I thought a male would stand in front of us and critique our weak punches. Maybe I thought a tall, striking Amazonian woman would start shrieking at us to start doing push-ups.
Whatever I imagined was terribly wrong.
We were all standing around the room, waiting for our instructor. Most everyone was in workout gear, since we were in a gym. A few ladies and I stood on the sidelines quietly, but most were chatting with friends. A woman, shorter and slimmer than myself raised her voice. She started talking about the dangers females face in our society. Then, after asking everyone to move off the mat, she called in her assistant. A large, bulky man walked into the classroom. Several ladies scurried to the other side of the room, and I couldn’t blame them. He was huge, and for a few seconds after seeing him, my heart was in my throat.
But then I saw his easy smile and relaxed posture and realized there were other people around. And he was used to the various reactions in the room, so this was a normal gig for him. He lumbered over to the little lady and she threw him around. Literally.
It amazed and intrigued me. I wanted to fling a dude around like that.
She finished the demonstration and sent the guy away. Then she repeated safety guidelines for the next thirty minutes. Things like; don’t go anywhere alone. Don’t drink out of an unattended or open glass. Have
a safe word (I had a tough time holding back my giggle at that) so that your friends can know with one word that you need help. And many more very good tips to stay out of danger.
I listened to her with rapt attention. I took her advice to heart.
The next session, she started showing us two simple defensive moves, and I knew I wouldn’t miss a single class. It was fascinating to learn how to change your mind set for different situations. And I very much wanted to learn how to toss a guy over my hip.
**
I still can’t help but check my surroundings repetitively. For six months I’ve been waiting for them to surprise me. Maybe they’ll sneak into my house one night. Or maybe they’ll lock us all in the shower rooms in the gym. Or they could push me into an alley and have their way with me up against a brick building. Or reach out of a supply closet or unoccupied room and drag me in against my will.
I’m so sexually frustrated. I spend a good majority of my days aroused.
And I’ve tried to sate my needs, but orgasms seem to be harder and harder to achieve. My toys need regular battery changes.
I’ve had many scenes with a few Dominants at the club. They exhausted their toy bags on me. Most of them were fantastic, but an aching hollowness always creeps in afterwards. The arousal always comes back stronger, more intense.
Nothing I do seems adequate.
It’s been six months. Six very long months. I’ve done everything I can to fill my days; work a full-time job, self-defense classes twice a week, and spending my weekends surrounded by friends.
I have three super close kinky friends, all of them submissive. The Dominants at the club now call us the Quartet. They’ve noticed that we show up to the club together every Saturday.
There’s me, Beth, Tami, and Jay. Beth set up that night six months ago. She hates impact play but is such an amazing friend that she took a few swats for me. That kind of dedication is rare. Tami is a rope bunny. She seems so sweet and gullible, but I’ve seen her verbally smack down so many assholes that I can’t help but love her. And Jay loves his Mistress. He’s found his soulmate; he goes all gooey mush when she tells him to lick her boots. I find the act disgusting, but the euphoria on his face makes me jealous.
Every Friday night we spend together and end up having a slumber party. We have a good system down. Between the four of us, we only stay at each of our places once in 4 weeks. Last week we stayed at my place. This week we stay at Jay’s.
I like Jay’s house. It has a huge TV screen, lots of pillows, and the decor has a modern design. The windows are huge, the kitchen is amazing, and he has a hot tub. I love sitting in it, letting the heat of the water and power of the jets loosen the knots in my muscles. His Mistress, Malena, vacates the house. She has a sister that loves having her spend the night now and then.
We typically meet at some club or diner, hang out in public for however long, then head over to spend the night at whichever is the designated house for that weekend. Then we stay up late, either watching movies, fixing hair and nails, or just talking and hanging out.
**
God, I'm so glad I have these friends. I'd have definitely lost my mind by now if I didn't have them to talk to.
My moments with them are the only time I can let down my guard. It's the only time I can stop checking to make sure they aren’t sneaking up on me. It's the only time I'm not a sitting duck.
It's also the only time I don’t have to worry about being judged for having my own kink. The only time I can openly express my desires and swoon over my night of deviant sex.
These are the only people who understand how difficult it can be to be different. They are my tribe. I fit here. I'm not an oddity.
Tonight, no one wanted to go out dancing, so we opted to order some pizza, drink wine, and watch movies. We fought over what to watch for a bit, but a few quick rounds of rock, paper, scissors, and Jay won.
He chose a slasher thriller.
Great, now we're all going to be spooked. In the dark.
I claim to hate movies like this, but I always need to change my panties afterwards. The initial dilemma of danger makes my muscles tighten and my heart rate increase. The suspense makes my senses teeter exquisitely on the edge. The final jump scare skyrockets my heart into my throat and makes my clit throb in delight.
I'm still fighting for control over my body, even though I know that nothing in the world would change my response.
I'm so dark and filthy, and that's okay. I know that's okay.
But sometimes I wonder if that's why I'm single. Because everyone can tell I'm damaged.
Beth scoots closer and lays her head on my thigh.
"Damn, this couch is too comfy," she mock complains.
"I know. My mistress has her preferences," Jay replies, his voice full of true awe and mocking disapproval.
I started out watching the movie with my head on the armrest and laying on my side, but I can't be still during this movie. My body keeps shifting without my input, my thighs adding heat as they rub together, my shoulders leaned closer to the screen in anticipation.
Maybe.
I'm halfway sitting up, propped on my elbow, with my legs partially curled up underneath me. Beth laying her head on my thigh means she's now entangled in my legs. Much like she is in my life. We’re both comfortable, so it's good.
“Hey Jay, is there more popcorn?” Tami asks from her heap of pillows on the floor in front of the couch. She’s always finding the oddest ways to lay, but she says she likes the awkward pressure on her body. We all have our quirks.
“Yup, in the kitchen. Want me to go get it?” Jay asks. His service needs run deep, even in non-sexual situations, and it’s hard to tell him no when he looks so hopeful.
“Yeah, that’d be great!” Tami responds.
Jay jumps up, his lean frame filling the screen for a moment. He knocks around in the kitchen for a few minutes, and the distraction is enough to pull me out of the thrill of the movie.
A short, scraping noise comes from the sliding door, and my head snaps in that direction. It’s dark outside, but the light from the TV illuminates a few feet through the glass. There’s nothing there.
Beth looks up at me, a tilt to her lips, “The movie getting to you, Skylar? A little jumpy?”
She’s teasing me, and I laugh at my overreaction.
“It totally is. You too, though, you bitch.” I gesture at her position, snuggled close to me.
Her smirk turns into a sheepish smile.
“Yeah. I don’t do scary movies alone,” she replies.
Jay hurries back into the room with two overflowing bowls of popcorn. He hands one to me, then huddles in close to Tami. The sound of popcorn crunching as we dig in almost overrides the music of the movie.
**
By the time the movie ends, Jay is sitting behind Tami on the floor, braiding and unbraiding her long red hair. I can see his fingers trembling just the tiniest bit.
“It’s been so long since I’ve watched this movie, I forgot how scary it is,” he says.
Tami’s fingers are tapping her thigh, a nervous habit that gives away how much the movie affected her.
Beth hugs my legs, her eyes wide and her hair a mess. She kept sticking her head down behind my legs, blocking her eyes from the screen and mistreating her normally sleek, raven shoulder length hair.
“I hate scary movies. Now I won’t be able to sleep,” she whines.
“That just means I’ll have company. That was terrifying,” Tami muses.
A thump from the kitchen makes us all jump, then freeze. We all stare at the darkened doorway for a few seconds, listening for other movements.
Jay guffaws, and we all chuckle at ourselves, even as our eyes are wide with fright.
“Man, that movie was a bad choice. Now we’ll be jumping at every little noise,” Jay admits, exasperation clear in his voice.
A noise, almost identical to the one I heard earlier, comes from the sliding glass doors.
Be
th shrieks and jumps up, “Oh hell no, I will NOT be chopped to bits tonight!”
She burrows down into Tami’s nest of pillows, wedging herself between Tami and Jay.
With my heart trying to pump out of my chest and the hair on the back of my neck standing on end, I try to look past the glass door.
“You’re sure it’s locked?” I ask Jay.
After a hesitation, he recounts, “I definitely locked it when I came in from my soak in the hot tub right before Mistress left.”
I take a deep breath and hold it in, pushing down the fear with the mass of air, then forcefully push it out and stand up. I square my shoulders, toss the lock of blonde hair out of my face, and turn towards the door.
Before I lose my courage, I dodge around the couch and sprint to the large doorway. I grab the handle, make sure the door is closed, then test the latch. Locked. With a forceful sigh of relief, I search beyond the glass and try to see into the darkness.
Was that a shadow?
Of course I think I see a shadow. That movie was intense.
I watch for more movement, but there’s nothing.
“It’s locked,” I announce.
“Thank God!” Tami dramatizes.
“What about all the other windows and doors? We need to check them!” Beth squeaks from under the mound of pillows.
“Count me out. Nuh-uh. The person that goes off alone dies first!” Tami’s inner diva comes roaring out.
“Yeah, we definitely should NOT split up. How about we all go together?” Jay suggests.
There’s half a beat where I see us as though I’m a stranger watching this on TV. We’re four grown adults. Afraid to go through the house to lock up. Because we watched a scary movie. It’s ridiculous.
But then scenes from the movie wipe out any jovial or incredulous thoughts.
“Yeah, together. All four of us,” I agree.
“OK, but I am not leading, and I will not be the last one,” Beth says, rising out of the fort of softness.
“Ditto!” Tami hurries, popping up and gluing herself to Beth.