by Joey W. Hill
"Looks like I have you at my mercy for the rest of the night." She trapped his cock between her bare thighs. As anticipated, the organ was a hot, thick bar of steel beneath her flexing muscles. It wasn't just because of the violence of the past few moments. As she'd known, true to his sub nature, he responded to her taking the upper hand, binding him, rendering him helpless. He fought the things that were so good for him, poor boy.
His body was vibrating with a self-imposed stillness, laden with all the emotional energy churning inside him.
"You wanted to fuck me?" Reaching down, she gripped his balls, digging her nails into their heavy weight and rough texture so he sucked in a breath and pushed against her touch.
"You don't fuck me. I fuck you. When and how I say I will. Try that intimidation shit with me ever again, there won't be enough of your body left to find."
She thought of his broken words about wanting to be faceless. There was a risk in going down a path she wasn't sure she fully understood yet, but hell, she'd already chosen territory tonight most Mistresses wouldn't have. "You're my creation, my slave. Mine. You wear a face for the whole world, but not for me. You get to take it off here and be faceless. You're nothing here. Only mine."
He made a noise, a sound that was desolation, relief and need at once. She gripped the back of his neck, this time in a firm, caressing hand. "Tyler gave you a chance to come back. Through me. He wouldn't have done that if he thought you were a lost cause."
He shook his head, as if to deny it, but she dug her nails in deeper. He strangled on a sound caught between rage and pain. He could handle the latter. She'd seen him take much worse.
"You fucked up at the club with Siren on purpose. What happened just now was because you lost control and you had no idea how to deal with it. There may be fucking demons hiding deep inside you, Marius. But you don't have to be one. We're not done. We're just beginning."
She let him go to stroke his testicles and caress his cock, rubbing her pussy over it. He made another noise, this one more of a growl. He was straining against her. She could detect the flick of his lashes against the fabric of the mask.
"Would it help if I let you loose, bad boy?" she whispered. "You could overpower me, fuck me however you wish. You'd believe you've taken away my choices and given yourself up to that darkness once and for all. Is that really what you want? You stand on one side of that line and you do everything you can to push up against it, to convince everyone you'll make that step. But you won't fool me again. You can't get yourself to step across. Because it's not you. The monster isn't you, Marius."
She caught his face in both hands, fingers hooking the straps of the harness, nails digging through the thin covering on his face. "You remember what I told you, the story of the goddess in her workshop? She's not going to step out of your way so you can throw her creation into hell. Not on her watch."
He tried to shake her off, tried to move away. She knew how to deal with that.
Hooking a leg over his hip, she pressed her calf against his buttock. Drawing out the packet she'd slipped into his shirt pocket when she'd visited the cabinet, she tore open the condom. The sound had him freezing again, and a groaning protest escaped him as she rolled it upon his erect member, her fingers caressing. She brought her lips to his ear.
"You want to be punished, but I don't deal in pain. That only feeds your demons. I demand you give me pleasure, serve me as a sub should. The way I know deep down you want to do it, even when it causes those demons to turn on you, and try to tear you apart. I don't yet know why, but when you trust me enough, we'll figure it out together. Then I will kick their asses and tell those fuckers to back off. Because you're mine."
He might be protesting, but his cock wasn't. Emitting a pleased little noise at his impressive size, she pushed herself down on him one laborious inch at a time. Even at a somewhat awkward angle, it felt good. He felt good.
His body flexed but he was moving with her, adjusting, so she could get him all the way in. When she was seated to the hilt, she tightened her leg further over him. She wished she'd tied him a different way so she could roll over and ride him, but this would work for now. While it took time for a climax to build in this position, he was utterly helpless to whatever she wanted to do, which suited her overriding goal.
"There you are," she crooned, tipping her head back on her shoulders. "Goddess, what a cock you have. I may keep you locked up here as my sex slave for a few weeks anyway. Make you use up all that fighting energy serving me." She stroked his flank, his taut buttock, which pleased her even more.
She pushed up, then back down. It caused a slow, slow rub of his pelvis against her clit, the friction of his cock on the inside keeping her sighing and moaning out her pleasure in little bursts. She watched his face, the pressing of his lips against the metal piece, the twitch of his facial features beneath the molded texture of the mask. She ran her thumbs over the curves of his eyes, down his cheeks to his jaw, hooking back into the collar and holding him there to aid her up and down movements.
"Like riding on the waves," she purred, breathless. "Oh, fuck, you feel good. And you're so hard...I know you want to come, but you take care of me first. Yeah, you're nodding. That's what you want, Marius. Not because you want to screw with my head. But because it brings you peace. Pleasing a Mistress. You've been denying yourself that for so long...punishing yourself. That's not your job. Only a Mistress can punish you the way you need."
The climax rose high and she took that wave, surfing it with long cries and undulations of her body against the wall of his. It was a good, solid orgasm, more surface and purely physical than she desired, but it still shuddered through her with power. She gripped Marius's chest with her nails, digging into the crisp layer of hair, her leg flexing along his ass.
"Now, baby," she murmured. He came at the command, groaning against the barbs of the scold. His hips bucked back and forth with no rhythm. He was just a mindless, big, strong animal, responding to her demands.
She'd had plenty of hookup sessions with subs, satisfying physical and emotional experiences always preloaded with mutual respect and regard. Some of them, like Rob, evolved into genuine friendships.
This didn't fall anywhere in that realm. They'd brushed into some serious territory in previous sessions, but tonight, she'd invaded it. This was do or die time. Either she was all in or out, because she couldn't fuck with this kind of hot mess if she didn't have long term hopes and dreams. If she wasn't willing to let her heart get broken.
From experience, she knew having her heart broken was a worse feeling than being choked to death with chains. But it didn't matter. She was all in.
"That's my sweet boy," she breathed, feeling him fighting it all the way to the end. When he couldn't fight anymore, the climax draining him, he relaxed in her arms. She stroked his back, his face, his side. Gripped and kneaded his ass, holding him inside of her, because she could and it felt so damn good. Her boy had a beautiful, tight ass.
At long last, she pulled off him, pleased at the little sound he made that might have been a grumbling protest. Rising, she went to the bathroom and dampened a cloth with warm water to clean herself. She rinsed it and returned to him, pausing to look down at him. Lying bound at her feet, every line of his hard, scarred body exposed, the replete cock limp against the mass of his testicles. He had his head resting on the ground, a position that would give him a crick in his neck if she kept him that way too long.
Kneeling, she removed the condom and disposed of it, then cleaned him thoroughly, handling his testicles and cock with efficient familiarity.
Some tension was returning to his body, to the parts of his face she could see. What she wanted to do was unroll a padded mat and put him on it. She'd release his ankles from his wrists, run a tether between the front of his collar and his knees to keep him in the proper position so she could spoon up behind him. Cosset and comfort.
It was automatic to want to calm a submissive with childhood ideals of mother
ing comfort, yet Marguerite's warning and his own behavior told Regina he resisted nurturing aftercare. Even so, the need she felt from him, a yearning, felt like it drew from that realm. She couldn't pick up a strong enough signal to act on it, though, and she'd pushed him out of his comfort zone enough tonight. Hell, even outside her own.
Retrieving and unrolling the mat, she released his ankles from his wrists and then pushed the edge of the mat right up behind him. When he was ready, he could use it for his own comfort.
She said nothing, letting him breathe while contemplating her next course. If she hooked his collar to his knees to hold him in a half-fetal position, but left his hands bound behind his back, she could spoon up behind him and guide his fingers between her legs, cup them right up against her pussy. If he was good, she'd let him play with her, bring her to climax again while she stroked his head.
She'd like to know what he felt like inside her without the condom. The idle thought gave her pause, since it was something she rarely sought with her subs. Trust, yes. Surrender, and a range of lovely emotions between them. Commitment, not so much. At least not beyond the scene or the schedule of sessions they set up.
It figured she'd have that urge toward a sub so difficult it was possible she'd never win that kind of commitment from him. And one so messed up he'd threatened her with serious physical harm.
Sitting down on the mat, she put her palm in the center of his back, the other on his hip. "Just keep breathing," she said, low. "No thought. Just breathe. Slow it all down."
He did, relaxing a little when he realized that would be the full extent of her aftercare. She wanted to remove the mask, stroke his hair, close both her arms around him. In short, she wanted to be a fool. It was time to put some distance between them.
She rose and changed positions, squatting before his face. Removing the scold harness freed his mouth to speak, but she left on the head mask to keep his vision limited to light and shadows. She didn't remove the clip between the wrist cuffs, though she did between his ankles. Attaching a fixed length of chain to one of the ankle cuffs, she ran the chain across the floor and around the pedestal of the bathroom sink. She adjusted the sturdy combination-locked clip to include both ankle cuff and attached chain, to keep him from removing either. He had enough slack on the chains from the ceiling to his wrists that he could lie down, stand up, or reach the bathroom. However, unless he did serious structural damage to her playroom, he couldn't get loose or reach the doorway to the hall.
She felt his eyes tracking her as she went to the cabinet and pulled out a blanket and pillow. When she returned, she set the bedding on the mat. Next, she went to the kitchen and came back with a bottle of cranberry juice. Though typically she had her subs drink it before sound play, a preventive measure against harmful bacteria, she sterilized her toys carefully and felt comfortable having him administer it afterward. She also brought him a bottle of water, and a couple protein and carb snacks.
"I'm headed to bed," she said. "There's a webcam and mic in here, so you can call out if there's a problem."
His jaw hardened, then relaxed. The reaction swept his body, giving it a weary slump. He was done fighting for tonight. "I can leave," he said. But he didn't try to get up.
She dropped to her heels before her naked and bound man, running her fingers over his lips. They moved as if they wanted to nuzzle or kiss her fingers, but he was still too zoned out to coordinate it. Even if she had been willing to let him leave, he'd be in no condition to drive right now.
"No. You stay here tonight. Rest. Sleep. No forward or back. Just here."
A little sigh left him, a heave of his considerable shoulders and broad chest, and he nodded.
"Yes, Mistress."
She smiled, though it cracked her heart. Not just the words. All of it. Before bedtime, she was treating herself to a hefty glass of wine.
She teased his throat beneath the edge of the head mask. "Tomorrow, I'll feed you breakfast and give you a shave before I kick you out. If you use the bathroom again, I expect you to leave things neat. You miss that bowl and I'll have you licking the floor around it clean."
Rising, she moved toward the door. As she did, she heard a painful chuckle and he mumbled something. She paused. "What was that?"
"I said you're a real nurturer, Lady Regina." He didn't sound unhappy about it, but thinking of how she'd really wanted to care for him, the observation turned screws tighter in her heart.
"I'm what you need, Marius," she said. "You might want to think about that before you try to throw it away again. Good night."
Chapter Ten
He slept some. The pillow smelled like a not-unpleasant flowery herbal thing. As much as he'd liked a lot of things that had happened between them, he tried to push all of it out of his mind, because it would circle him back to the thing that he didn't want to think about. It didn't matter. It wouldn't leave him alone anyway.
When he'd had the chain around her neck, a screaming voice in his head had told him to do it, to keep going, finish it. Damn it, he'd resisted that, but all he'd wanted to do after that was get the hell out of here. It never occurred to him that she wouldn't be in complete agreement.
She'd acted like it wasn't a big deal, a guy threatening her life. And not because she was some twisted up, self-destructive bitch. She'd sounded in control the whole time. He knew he'd rattled her, and she'd admitted it. But she hadn't backed down. She'd defused him, backed him down. While that should piss him off, instead, the violence had drained out of him, leaving nothing. He slept on her floor like a stray dog grateful that she'd taken him in, no matter that he'd tried to bite her hand off when she fed him.
Stop thinking. Or give it up and think about better shit. Easier shit. Like her body against him, that unexpected move when she'd fucked him while he was hog-tied and on his side. God, that had felt like heaven. He kept waking up hard, just reimagining it. He needed to be back inside her, like now. Like an hour ago. Or maybe he never wanted to stop. Just wanted to stay inside her until he was hard again and keep doing the cycle, over and over again.
Was she watching him through the webcam, or was she asleep? What would it be like to sleep in her bedroom? He wouldn't need to be in her bed. He'd be fine on the floor, merely positioned where he could see her. Where he could guard the door. Guard her.
He pressed his face into the pillow. Who would protect her from him? Truth, she'd done a damn good job of that herself. But he was good at adapting. When that darkness rose again, he would know what to anticipate. He'd screwed with the other Mistresses until they kicked him loose, before that side of him could cause damage. He'd come close to it tonight, and next time he'd succeed.
If he wanted to protect her, he needed to end this himself. He would. He'd sleep, and have the breakfast she'd offered in the morning, because he didn't pass up free food. Then he'd be on his way, done with all this. Under the mask, he closed his eyes, increasing the darkness so he could imagine smelling her hair, her skin, nuzzling them. Holding her so close, her body moving against his, things spinning around them, a cocoon taking away everything else.
She'd come out of that cocoon a butterfly. What would he be? Was it better to come out as something terrible, or just as a caterpillar, failing to have transformed, unable to move on?
He'd fallen asleep. He drifted, vaguely and then completely aware of where he ended up as he opened his eyes and saw the basement of his childhood. Inhaled the scent of blood, and heard the cries start, his father's laughter, his demand that he obey. Come here, shit for brains. Take it. Goddamn you, take the knife.
The thud of blows, the aching pain, but that was okay. The cries stopped. He could beat Marius to death, as long as he never had to hear those cries again.
Marius started awake. He was a light sleeper, but he'd gone under much deeper here. Way deeper. Blinking, he realized the head mask was gone, as were his bindings. He was curled on the mat, the blanket he hadn't unfolded now over him. A steaming cup of coffee was near enough
the smell had woken him, driving back the darkness of his dreams. A note was by the cup.
I'm doing my workout. Towels in guest bathroom. Also a fresh toothbrush. Get a shower, then meet me in the kitchen for breakfast and the shave I promised.
He rose, finding himself stiff. That was normal, but typically it was from a night of fighting, not a workout with a Mistress, Siren's justified beating notwithstanding.
He folded the blanket and put it on one of her tables. His clothes, including his shirt, were folded there. All evidence of the things she'd used last night were gone, including the serviceable collar she'd strapped around his throat. He ran his hands over that spot, feeling its absence. He closed his eyes and tried to call up a memory of her removing it, her fingers slipping over his skin, then unlatching the cuff from his ankle. He couldn't tell if it was true memory or what he imagined, but he supposed it didn't matter.
Though he figured they were alone in the house, a compulsion for some type of shielding had him pulling on the jeans before picking up the rest of his clothes and stepping out into the hallway. She had a neat, well-ordered house with decorations that reflected her personality and made it a home. Things with bold colors and broad strokes. There was a set of wire frames hooked together in a puzzle design on the hallway wall. Family pictures, he guessed, from all the similar facial features to her own. Maybe parents, siblings, nieces and nephews.
When he looked behind him, the big hallway tree with a mirror startled him with his reflection. He looked like a guy who'd broken into her house, with his wary eyes and disheveled appearance. He ran a hand over his coarse jaw. Fuck, he should just go. But he could smell...cinnamon buns?
Yeah, he was a selfish shit. He'd eat her food, then take off. Irritable with himself and not sure what to do with it, he went into the bathroom. She'd left little sample shampoos and soaps with the fresh toothbrush. Did she entertain guys so often she was stocked like a Holiday Inn Express?