by B. D. Dark
“Yes, Everett, I want to play.”
* * * * *
My chest is pushed flat into the bed, my arms stretched and tied to somewhere beneath the bed. A pillow is under my pelvis but I push my ass higher, trying to relieve the pressure growing in my womb. I am filled, consumed, stretched beyond caring ‑‑ and awed. He is huge. I’ve seen nice sized dicks before, and yes, experienced what I thought was a healthy sized penis at least one other time in my life ‑‑ more than a decade ago; a high school quarterback whose name eludes me, but even he was no comparison. I suppose that no sex is a huge contributor in my feeling so small and tight, but my God. My God!!
“Relax,” he whispers, plunging deeper, reaching parts of me that have never been stroked before. I am thankful to be on my hands and knees…and that he is using my vagina, not my ass. Jasper often liked to use my ass because he wanted me to feel filled, well-used. Lord Draco is having no problem making me feel full and well-used. He is huge, and several condoms later, we still create a very tight fit but lots of lube is making the fit easier. He anticipated my soreness and pushed me onto my stomach so that the same areas wouldn't be rubbed again and again.
On my stomach is new and I love the sensation of pushing my ass against him each time he plunges deeper, and I push back into him fervently. Orgasm is so close and I try to find a rhythm that is pleasing; however, every time I establish a rhythm to my liking, it seems it doesn't suit him.
“Stay, Julia,” he commands, and I am lifted onto my knees and thrust into deeply. The length of him strikes even deeper. Pain radiates through to my spine. I moan and finally scream after several blinding thrusts.
I can’t help it; I change positions, but all I succeed in doing is make room for his hand to slide between my legs. The sting of a metal clamp attaching to my clitoris steals all thought away from the idea that he's just ripped me a new one. My jerk and buck is pure reflex; his flat palm landing solid on my thigh isn't.
“Stop moving before you hurt yourself,” he hisses and I think, I’m going to hurt myself? You’re the one with such a big-ass dick! However, I stop the sammy retort, leaving it hanging on my tongue. His solid thrusts are my reward. I am filled and emptied again and again. My vagina squeezes around his shaft, trying to prevent his repetitive escape, but I go completely mindless when he adds soft tugs on the chain attached to the clit clamp. Pleasure and pain swell into sweet agony and it takes his hand over my mouth to muffle my shrill cries as another orgasm wracks my body.
* * * * *
I awake to find my arms free. A dull ache radiates through my belly, my vagina. I stretch, feeling every muscle. Experience tells me that the twinge of pain I am feeling now will only keep growing worse until tomorrow when I won't feel like moving at all. Ah, the sweet price of bondage. More surprising is the pain radiating between my legs. It is at once muscle ache, abraded skin, and a fullness that can only come from being stretched and well used. Remembering the sex, I smile ‑‑ very, very well used ‑‑ and used and used and used. God, I hurt!
But it is a very, very good hurt.
True to his word, he lubed and fingered, and lubed more, until I was relaxed, stretched, and begging for him to try to enter me again. He refused on several occasions, rewarding my pouts and cries with the relentless stretching and pounding of his fingers. It was only when he deemed I was ready that he submitted and lifted my knees into my chest, my ankles on his shoulders, and pushed in, pushing so tragically slow that I bucked, begging and pleading. Holding my hips firm, he made me still, demanded my patience, taking me inch by inch, so slowly that I promised him repeatedly that I was going to die.
The room is silent and still now. I feel like it is late evening but it could as easily be midnight or dawn. The room remains cast in the eerie shadows and light of my arrival. Candles surround me. I didn't appreciate their sheer number before but now I do. Their brightness pulses from atop every surface, and at least three lead the way into what I assume is the bathroom. Pushing up onto aching elbows, I wince just before seeing him, sitting in a chair opposite the bed. Seeing that I am awake, he rises. He is dressed similarly to when I met him; the turtleneck is forest green and he wears jeans with brown boots. His bag and coat wait by the door. “I have to go, but you, lucky lady, according to the radio, have another snow day, so go back to sleep,” he says, kissing my forehead. He lays an envelope on the empty pillow beside me. “Instructions…for after I leave ‑‑ if you find you desire to follow them.”
Chapter Eight
He’d said instructions when he’d left and I hadn’t opened the envelope. I’d slept, blearily thankful that I didn’t have to go to school. It was hours later when I’d awakened ‑‑ or at least regained some conscious thought that I should be waking…should be dressing…should be going home…but then I’d rolled over and forgotten about the envelope and his promised instructions, wanting only sleep and the relief to my achy body that only dark oblivion of sleep would provide…at least until a loud noise woke me a second time. I lay listening.
“Maid!” followed by loud pounding, followed by a louder shout, “Maid!”
I sit up, for a moment not remembering, then feeling every muscle, every scrape, every flesh-on-flesh encounter with the man I called Everett all night but who proved without even trying that he was Lord Draco, Master of small, unruly dragons in need of taming. I reach for him, remembering with sudden clarity his departure, then in a mad search through rumpled sheets, seeking then finding his promised instructions.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“Is someone here?”
I jump at her voice, the maid in my hotel suite voice, a woman not yet seen ‑‑ or rather, she hasn’t seen me ‑‑ and a quick glance at my grazed wrists and random bruises assures me that she really doesn’t need to see me ‑‑ fuck!
“Get out!” I screech, rolling from the bed, wrapping in the sheet, lunging for the bedroom door to push it closed, even as she’s trying to push it open.
“I was told to clean this room. I’m sorry, I was told you had checked out.”
“If I had checked out, I wouldn’t still be here!” I insist, pulling on the handle to get it solidly closed. Slamming it when she unexpectedly releases her grip from the handle on the other side. I throw the lock ‑‑ just in case.
“I’ll come back later,” she promises, her words carrying across the room as she retreats. “I’m sorry. I thought you had checked out.”
As soon as I am certain she is gone, I remember the envelope clutched in my fist and suddenly my heart is racing again. I suck in air, wondering how long ago he left, worrying that the instructions were time-sensitive and that whatever I was too do, I am too late. What if I am too late?
Would he lock me out of his life and not just his hotel room?
After last night’s fuck, I can’t bear the thought of not seeing him again, but instead of ripping into the envelope I lay it on top of a tall dresser and stare at it as if it is the enemy. Did I sleep through any future opportunities of being mastered?
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
I turn from the envelope. I’m a coward.
I shower, dress, putting on the horrible Jackie O little black dress sans camisole bra or panties because neither survived the evening with Everett. Pushing my feet into my heels I look at the envelope again, even going so far as to pick it up and tap the edge on the shiny wood surface of the dresser…then I get my cell phone from my purse and speed dial Jonathon. He doesn’t pick up right away, and just when I am panicked enough that it is going to go to voicemail, I hear his voice.
“I spent the day with him and I think part of the night,” I say in a rush. “But now, he’s gone. I woke up alone…and he left an envelope ‑‑ he said it has instructions.”
“Slow down! You aren’t making any sense.”
“I slept with Everett!”
“Yes. Yes. I got that part. That’s very good news, by the way. Congratulations ‑‑”
“Shut up, Jonathon! I don’t kn
ow what to do about the instructions…I fell asleep…and now it may be too late!”
“Too late for what?”
“To follow the instructions! You aren’t listening to me, Jonathon!” I sit on the edge of the bed, realizing how much it hurts to sit on the edge of the bed. I shift, trying to get comfortable, pinching my poor, tender, bruised , over-used pussy parts. I eek. I stand, thinking, Holy Mother of God.
“I’m listening. You aren’t saying anything. What instructions?”
“Everett’s instructions!”
“Ooooo, you mean Master/slave instructions? How exciting! What does he want you to do? Wait for him on your hands and knees, naked, to come back? Or something kinky like put a Brillo pad in your panties so that you’ll think about him all day while he’s away? What time is he coming back?”
“No, no…you don’t understand. He took his suitcases. He left. Now, I have this envelope that has instructions.”
“He left? He went back to Atlanta? What time?”
“I don’t know, the room was dark, I went back to sleep.”
“You went back to sleep?” he shrills at me, his Americanized Dublin accent getting thicker by the millisecond. “Is ’e mad? What’e’er did ye do?”
“God damn it, Jonathon. I didn’t do anything. I think things went well. I just don’t know. Now he’s gone and I have these instructions.”
“Okay, he’s gone, dinna panic,” Jonathon commands, whispering, “I dinna know what ’appened. Everett went back to Atlanta in the middle of the night.”
I hear a rustle over the phone, followed by a terse, “Give me the phone dammit!” just before hearing Maxwell’s cooed, “Hi, sweetie. So, how did your meeting go with Everett? Did you have a fun date?”
My mind skids over the word “date.” Was it a date? Well, hell, what else would we call two strangers meeting to get tied up and spanked and fucked until it hurts too much to sit down?
“It was a very nice evening, thank you,” I say in my sweetest tone. “There’s just one problem. I don’t know what to do now. He left….and I have this envelope.” I cross the room, padding over thick beige carpet. I pick up the envelope and tap it on the edge of the dresser before laying it back down. I whisper loudly, “He said it holds instructions.”
“He left and put instructions in an envelope for you to follow after he left?”
“That’s what I said!”
“So, sweetie, what do the instructions say?”
“I don’t know.”
“You haven’t opened the envelope, have you?”
“Huh-uh.”
“Don’t you think you should open the envelope?”
“Maybe.”
“Julia,” he says to me in his sweetest tone, followed by his most controlling Dom tone, “Open the envelope. Now!”
A long silence follows and I know that he is waiting for me to open the envelope. It doesn’t help that there are mad whispers on the other side of the phone, making guess as to what terrible fate awaits me.
I tear open the envelope and am too stunned to even communicate when I realize what I am looking at: a one-way ticket to Atlanta and a scrawled note, “Come to me in two weeks. I’ll be waiting.”
“Julia?” Maxwell calls out to me over the phone and it makes me wonder how many times he has said my name.
“It’s a ticket, Maxwell, a ticket to Atlanta…a one-way ticket to Atlanta,” I whisper, not able to completely get my voice past the fear whipping down my spine.
“Well, I didn’t see that coming.”
* * * * *
I prayed for another snow day. I prayed Everett would call me. I even lit candles, a whole room full of candles, and I haven’t lit a candle for prayer purposes since I was a child, but despite my great show of faith, there was no snow day and no phone call from Everett.
I threatened both Maxwell and Jonathon with ripping their throats out if they didn’t provide me with Everett’s phone number but they both swore that he’d recently moved, changed his number, and they didn’t have any other way to call him. We would just have to wait for him to call us. He hasn’t.
My students seem to sense my tension. They’re quiet today. Thank God. No questions, no fighting, no idle conversations, and they seem to have zero interest in talking to me ‑‑ which would normally hurt my feelings, but not today. Today they are keeping their distance. I did get a huge hug from Samantha, however, when I told her she would be making up her mid-term after all.
It was all I could do to keep from outright moaning when she hugged me…every muscle, tendon, and joint aches ‑‑ hell, I hurt all over.
This morning I was afraid to look in the mirror as I clambered out of the shower. So, I didn’t look, I peeked only enough of a glimpse to know without a doubt that it was a long-sleeved day. Rope burns circled my wrists, a nice hand-sized bruise graced my right hip, and several bite marks covered my collarbones and chest above my breasts. A quick peek, not an all-out look, and definitely not a thorough accounting. My quick peek was enough to send me running from in front of the mirror and into my walk-in closet, and whether I thought I could hide from the truth or whether I thought I could deny the truth I’m not certain; however, sitting here in front of my students I can’t do either.
The truth…I miss Master Jasper terribly, but the pain is lessening and some days I miss the pain so much I try to remember so hard just to feel the hurt. It’s time to let go of the past and move on. I know that. The question is, do I want another fulltime BDSM relationship? Do I want to be mastered completely again?
My God, I only met him three days ago and already he wants me to give up everything that I’ve worked so hard for ‑‑my home, my job…my friends. Or maybe that is only my misunderstanding.
I want him. The man. The Master. Did I think that I could just play a little? And then walk away again? Oh, hell, now what?
I look through the window at the snow to keep from looking at them. I love my students, I love teaching. I can’t imagine giving this up and I have no doubt, despite the cryptic nature of his message, that he is commanding me to come to him and plan on staying with him…for an indefinite amount of time. Thank God it’s Friday. I have an entire weekend to recover and think, but really, what is there to think about? I would be insane to walk away from my house, my job… my life here. I would be insane.
Four hours later I repeat that sentiment to Jonathon over a pale ale at the corner pub I know he frequents after work.
“Why is it insane though?” he asks, lifting his empty pilsner to signal our waitress for another. She brings two even though mine is still half full.
“What? Aside from the fact that the man is a total stranger?”
“You trust him.”
“No. I don’t know him. He’s a stranger. Strangers are bad. Remember all the horror stories your mother told you when you were young to keep you from getting into cars with strangers? Well, this is a plane ride to several states away from any living souls who know me or care about me…” I pause to swallow too long gulps of ale, realizing that I was actually thinking what it would be like to go to him. “Why would you say that? Why would you say I trust him?”
Jonathon doesn’t answer, not with words, anyway. Taking my hand, he lifts my wrist to his mouth and traces the rough edges of rope burn on the inside of my wrist with his lips. Saying without saying anything, you trusted him enough to let him do this. His eyes lift to meet my gaze, accusingly; you trusted him enough to tie you up. “What made you decide to go with Jasper?”
“Jasper was different. I knew him for years before he collared me.”
“Yes. But there was a first time ‑‑ before he collared you ‑‑ a time when you trusted him, even though everything in your head said that what he wanted you to do was dangerous.”
I think about it for only a moment before the memory floods in. Long conversations in the coffee café where I’d worked. He came every day and just before closing time, when he was the only remaining patron, we’d t
alk. Some nights, long after I’d locked up, he’d remained and we’d talked and talked.
One evening was different. “Come home with me,” he’d said and I’d felt afraid. Heart pounding, I’d declined, but something inside warred with me, a sense of tragic loss if I never saw him again, knowing that there was something more, something unfinished between us. The next night I was so happy to see him I’d almost begged him to take me home with him.
Jonathon interrupts my thoughts. “Atlanta would be a risk, but I don’t think it would be dangerous, if that’s why you are here…for my blessing.”
“N-no, I got what I wanted. I got laid. Thank you for introducing us. I can go into the New Year a happy woman.”
“Can you? Really?”
“Yes. I can. There is no way in hell I will entertain the thought of going to Atlanta to join him.”
“Of course you wouldn’t, but how long did you lay awake thinking about it?”
“All fucking night and you know it, Jonathon!”
He chuckles and I smile behind my lifted glass. Closing my eyes, I sip and swallow, sipping again, reveling in the cool, refreshing liquid sliding down my throat and that is when it hits me. I am enjoying this beer. I am really enjoying this beer and it’s been an entire year since I’ve savored the taste of anything.
“Wow. This is good.”
“Everything is better the day after.”
“Yes. You’re right of course.” I smile. “I need to feel this way more often. I mean, I woke up hurting but I felt alive. And Jonathon? It’s been a long time since I felt alive.”
“I know, lovey. It’s good to see color in your cheeks again. I was worried.”
“No need to worry.” I wink.
“So, when do you leave for Atlanta?”
I smile wider, trying to hide again behind my lifted glass, but Jonathon catches my wrist and pulls my hand down.
“Who said I was going to Atlanta?” I laugh.
“You did…it’s in your eyes…and in your smile.”
Setting my glass on the table, I take both of Jonathon’s hands in mine. “You know me too well, and in truth I hope you know Everett as well as I think you do, because if you didn’t trust him, you wouldn’t have introduced us in the first place, and only because of your trust in him am I willing to fly to Atlanta to take a peek.”