Property of the Hitman_A Mafia Hitman Romance

by Naomi West

  “Sir,” he corrected from behind me in a harsh whisper, his lips so close to my ear I could feel his hot breath rushing over my earlobe.

  I closed my eyes and nodded, a rush of something going through my body. Fear? Terror? Trepidation? Excitement? “You told me to strip, sir.”

  “Good girl,” he soothed. “Keep acting like this, and we'll have you understanding how this works in no time.”

  Eyes now open, I bit my lip and began. I pulled my shirt over my head, baring my pale skin to him, and to the hidden cameras, dropping it at my feet.

  “Leave the heels,” he growled.

  I bit my lip and unzipped the back of my black skirt. I pushed it down over my hips, sliding it down my slender legs. And then, like that, I stood in front of him, wearing just my matching set of black underwear I'd slipped into earlier.

  He ran his hands over my body as he described a circle with his walk, inspecting me like I was just a piece of wanton meat, sending a shiver through me. His rough fingers rang over my ribs, tracing up my spine, trailing over my stomach.

  I could feel myself getting wet at his touch, my body responding to the memories of how amazing he'd made me feel and the excitement of this, the prospect of being bent to his will.

  Maybe I was a natural submissive? I didn't know. I'd never done anything like this before. But, as frightening as it was, as horrible as things might go, my body was enjoying itself even as my mind tried to make it recoil in fear. I kept my eyes focused ahead, my breath shallow and fast.

  His fingers traced heat up and down my flat stomach, his blunted, rough nails grazing my skin as he continued his walk around me. He stopped behind me again, putting his big hands on my full hips. I could feel his hot breath on my skin. “I’m going to hurt you today,” he whispered.

  I sucked in a sharp breath, closing my eyes as I trembled.

  “But don’t worry. You’ll almost begin to enjoy it by the time I’m done. Now, stay.”

  I nodded, not saying a word.

  He walked away, over to the rack of toys and devices hanging from the wall. He began to look over the objects of delicious torture hanging there, inspecting each one.

  Desperately, I wanted to turn my head, to see what toys he was looking for. But I didn’t know if his order to stay carried so far that it kept me from following him. So I stayed. Like a good girl.

  Ford came back over a moment later, some kind of shackle hanging from his hands. He stepped up behind me. He reached up and unsnapped the back of my bra. As he did, the leather and metal in his hand brushed over my skin, producing another anticipatory shiver from me.

  I might have never used any of this. But I’d thought about it. Worried about it. Fantasized about it.

  Without a word, he slid my bra straps off my shoulders.

  Standing as still as a mannequin, I let my bra fall to the floor at my feet.

  He brushed my long red curls from the nape of my neck. I sucked in a breath as he reached around me and put a collar around my throat. Two long chains connected to strips of leather dangled down my naked, unblemished back. “Hands behind your back,” he commanded.

  “Yes, sir.” I willingly put my hands behind my back. He roughly grabbed one wrist, locked it into place, then grabbed the other and did the same. As I lightly tested the cuffs, it quickly became clear the two cuffs encircling my wrists were connected to each other by a thin but secure chain.

  I tried to relax my arms, to let them drop, and felt the leather collar choke me with my own weight. I sputtered and gagged in surprise, realizing that the whole kit was connected together. To keep the pressure from my throat, I had to keep my shoulders fully back, keeping my wrists raised and pressed against the middle of my back. My arms were already beginning to ache from having to keep them in this position, and I groaned in frustration.

  Ford walked around to the front, though, his admiring gaze falling on my breasts, which were raised even higher than normal. He smiled as he watched my chest heave with each frustrated breath. “Oh,” he said. “I like that one. What do you think, slut? Do you like that one?”

  I bit my lip. I knew what he wanted to hear. I knew exactly what words he wanted to pass my lips. One part of me wanted to give them to him. The other, though, wanted me to force him to break the words from me. I shook my head.

  “No?” he asked, smiling a little as his finger came up, circling my left nipple light as a feather. “You really don’t understand how this is going to do work, do you?”

  I bit my lip harder, a soft, gentle pleasure spreading through my body. “I do, sir,” I sighed, closing my eyes.

  “No,” he said, pinching my nipple hard. “You don’t.”

  I nearly screamed as the soft pleasure turned to sharp pain. “Shit!”

  “I told you. This was going to hurt.” He squeezed harder.

  Something strange happened, though. I felt my knees begin to go weak, not from pain, not from hurt, but from pleasure. I moaned softly, my lips half-parted. Oh God, I was beginning to enjoy this. Maybe I really was a submissive?

  He stopped, but the pain/pleasure continued to radiate from my nipple. “You like that, don’t you, slut? You like how much it hurts. Does it make you wet, Micah? Does it make you want more?”

  My breath was coming harder, faster. I bit my lip, nodded again. “Yes, sir. I-I-I do.”

  “Good. Because I’m going to introduce you to a lot of it.” He hooked his finger through the metal loop at the front of my collar and began to pull me.

  I stopped in my tracks, surprised.

  “You can either come along,” he growled as he turned back to me, “or I can get a leash from the wall and drag you like a dog. Which do you want?”

  I realized then that I wanted the pain, but not the degradation of being dragged across the floor like an animal. I dropped my resistance and went along with him as he led me to a sort of leather bench off to the side.

  The bench was like a miniature picnic table, with a long central padded area, and two equally long, but shorter in height, padded surfaces flanking the middle “table” on either side. Cuffs and hooks lined it up and down.

  Ford grabbed the bench and pulled it out closer to the center of the room. “Climb on,” he said.

  I looked at him, then looked at it, then looked back at him.

  “Straddle it,” he growled, his voice deeper, more resonant than before. “Do you need help?”

  I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  He grabbed my bound arm and helped me climb on top of it, my legs sliding into the padded side benches. I was trembling with anticipation and trepidation as I straddled the central bench, my ass in the air, my wrists still bound behind my back.

  He bent down behind me, securing my ankles with leather cuffs that hung from the sides. “Now lean forward and lie down.”

  I sucked in a breath, but I did it, my ass sticking up in the air like a filthy slut, my face turned to the side.

  He came around, crouching down next to me so he could look me in the eye. “That’s a good girl,” he purred, stroking my red curls as he locked my collar to the bench, hooking me in place. “Are you nervous?”

  I nodded.

  “I won’t hurt you too badly,” he said. “Don’t worry, slut. I just want to punish you for taking my ring.”

  I shook like a leaf as I waited to see what was would happen next, my body settling into the surprisingly comfortable padding that covered the sex bench, my breasts flattened into the soft cushion of the top. I tried to move, but quickly realized I couldn’t move more than an inch or so.

  He left me then, went back over to the array of toys, and disappeared from view.

  I closed my eyes, listening to the sound of my own breath, of the steady, rhythmic in and out of oxygen entering my lungs, of oxygen leaving. Every footstep I heard, I assumed was just a precursor for what would happen next.

  Ford seemed to be gone for an age, but when he returned he put his warm, rough hand on my ass. His rough, calloused palm rubbed
over my bare backside, over my ass. He’d left my thong on me, and my heels, but I was still practically naked for him.

  I sucked in a sharp breath as he touched me and pushed my hand back into a strong, surprisingly soothing touch. I knew what I wanted next, even if I was too afraid to full admit it. I wanted to be disciplined for what I’d done to him. I wanted to feel the sting on my backside, just like when I’d been bad as a child. Maybe, just maybe, he’d forgive me then?

  He didn’t give me any little speech, or tell me what he was doing. He just rubbed my cheeks and the inside of my thighs.

  I sighed under his touch, loving how strong and in control his hands felt. I spread my legs wider for him as his hand drifted up to my sex, rubbing over the front of my lacy thong. I moaned lowly as the tips of his fingers brushed over my clit.

  Then his hand was gone.

  I groaned, pushed back with my hips, and tried to find him again.

  What found me instead, was a strip of leather.

  I cried out in pain and pleasure, craning my neck to look back over my shoulder. I closed my eyes, the red heat radiating from my ass cheeks, traveling down my thighs.

  Ford stood there, his hands tightly gripping the stretch of leather, a cruel set to his jaw. “Count them,” he said. “Count them out loud for me.” He struck me again, this time across the other cheek.

  And I cried out again, the sensation almost more than I could bear. “T-t-t-two!”

  Again and again he lashed me, leaving strips of heat and pain across my creamy white butt and thighs.

  “Three!”

  “Four!”

  “Five!”

  Each time I called out the number, my words were more ragged, more drawn out as I panted.

  “Six!”

  “Seven!”

  I began to cry, not bawling or sobbing, but I could only hold back the tears for so long. Tears of pain, tears of anger at myself for having brought myself here, anger at the fact I was enjoying the feel of the leather strap across my ass cheeks, across my thighs, craving and waiting for the pain in the breaths between. My pussy was dripping. I could smell how excited I was by being in this position.

  “Please, sir! Please, sir, can I take a break?”

  Another strike.

  “Eight!”

  I felt his hand back on me, felt his fingers pushed my panties to the side and run through my wetness. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, Micah?”

  I pushed back onto his hand, the break from the pain making the pleasure even more intense. “Yes sir,” I groaned. “Oh, God, yes, sir.”

  He ran two fingers over my sensitive clit.

  I cried out and moved my hips, grinding myself against his hand like a slut in heat.

  I guess I was getting too much pleasure from it, because Ford took his fingers from my clit. Instead, he stroked the folded leather strap up and down the inside of my thighs, teasing me. “Keep counting,” he said, striking my ass again.

  “Nine!” I said, more moan in my voice than before. “Ten!”

  “Do you understand what you did was wrong?”

  I nodded fervently against the bench. “Yes, sir, I do.”

  “Good. Just a few more to grow on, then.” He put his fingers back on my pussy again and began to play with my clit. He slid them all around, dancing over my most sensitive spot, tracing a little outline around and around and around.

  I cried out and bit my lip. I could feel my orgasm coming, could feel it as it pushed against the dam of my inhibitions as it was ready to burst.

  “Good girl,” he commended me. “Fuck my hand like a little slut. You like that, don’t you? You like not having any control over my touching you.”

  “Fuck, yes. Fuck, yes, sir,” I panted, the pleasure rising up inside, taking over my body and forcing me back into his hand. “Please, sir, make me cum.”

  He slipped a finger inside me and found my g-spot.

  My world exploded. A volcano of pleasure pushed through the edges of my reality, overtaking everything. My whole body shook and my thighs gripped the bench tight as they spasmed, a scream ripping raw from my throat.

  And then the strap came down again. But the pain didn’t interrupt my pleasure; it just seemed to melt into it, making it stronger.

  The strap continued to come down, and I couldn’t keep up with the count, couldn’t make my head wrap around the numbers. I arched back, my spine bending in such a way that I feared I might break in half as I screamed. I rocked back and forth on the bench, pushing my ass into the strap as my orgasm tore through me, destroying the old me for just a moment.

  Ford struck my thighs and my ass as I screamed in rapture, rocking to and fro with the ebb and flow of my orgasm.

  Finally, as my pleasure seemed to fade away, the spanking stopped. He walked back around to my head and stroked my curls. “Did you like that?”

  My face flushed, I nodded a little, looking up to his face. “Yes, sir,” I squeaked. “I did.”

  He stroked my cheek with the tips of his fingers. “Good girl,” he said.

  I glanced forward and saw the giant bulge in the front of his pants that had formed while he was spanking and playing with me. Unconsciously, I licked my lips.

  “You like that, don’t you, slut?”

  I glanced back up to his eyes and nodded a little.

  “Do you want to feel it inside you? For me to shove it inside your dripping pussy?”

  I shuddered a little as I wondered what else he could come back with, what else he could possibly want to do to me.

  Ford was away for a few minutes. When he came back, he walked around in front of me. He had what looked like a small bullet shape. “Do you know what this is, slut?”

  My body still coursing with tingles from my first orgasm, I weakly shook my head. “No, sir.”

  “It’s a remote controlled vibrator,” he said, flicking a switch on a small controller in his other hand. It immediately sprang to loud, buzzing life, like some kind of bee on a cocktail of steroids and PCP. He grinned as my eyes went wide. “You’re going to love, and hate, this thing.”

  “Hate it, sir?” I asked.

  “It’s a little intense, from what I hear.” He turned it off and walked around behind me before I could say another word, though, and I felt him spread my lips and slide it inside me. It was obviously artificial, and cool to the touch, but it quickly began to warm from the moment it was engulfed within. “And we’re going to find out if you can handle it.”

  I moaned a little as it filled me, not necessarily in an uncomfortable way. “Wh-wh-what are you going to do with it, sir?”

  “We’re going to have a little fun,” he said, coming back around to the front and stroking my face. He flicked the switch in his hand, and the vibrator buried deep inside me came to life immediately, stimulating parts of me I never knew existed.

  Pleasure erupted inside me, just like before, sending my eyes rolling back into my head. My mouth dropped open, and I cried out, moaning as the vibration oscillated inside me, setting off bells in my belfry, when I didn’t even know I had bells, or a belfry.

  “Like that, slut?” he asked, his hand traveling down to the front of his slacks, unzipping the front and beginning to fish inside. “How about this?” And then he turned it to a higher setting.

  My screaming ceased as I gasped, replaced with some wordless cry that seemed to suck my soul from me and carry it into the world. My thighs clenched the bench I was straddling, my hips thrusting and moving and bucking as I continued to gasp.

  And then, as the setting went back down to a more manageable level, I saw Ford’s cock right in front of my face. Suddenly I was craving tasting him. I licked my lips, this time consciously.

  He guided his cock to my mouth and pressed it to my lips, sliding it into my mouth.

  I opened as wide as I could, groaning as the vibrator continued to throb like a maniacal beast deep inside me, sending waves and wave of pleasure through me.

  He grabbed a handful o
f my wavy red curls, sliding himself deeper into my mouth as I swirled my tongue around his crown, circling it incessantly as he pushed deeper and deeper till I began to gag. Then, the setting went back to somewhere between the previous two.

  I began to groan around him, gasping for breath, gasping from pleasure. I closed my lips and sucked him gently, moaning the whole time and breathing through my mouth. I wanted him; I wanted him everywhere. I wanted him to use me, to wear me out like no man ever had. I needed to be gasping out my surrender by the end of my time here. Because, quite frankly, there might not be another time when Ford, or any man, would ever do this to me again.