And I guess, in a way, I was.
I came until it was excruciating, my hands fisted at my sides, legs shoved open around his thick hips, pressed flat back against the couch and held in place as if my life depended on it. He tweaked and squeezed, torturing my clitoris until the tears ran down my cheeks and finally, finally he was satisfied.
He let go as quickly as he’d latched on. He stood up, stepped back, and said, “Take off your shoes and follow me into the bedroom.”
Then he was gone.
I watched his retreating back as I struggled to catch my breath. My whole body was weak. I didn’t think I could take any more. But what were my options? He’d made it clear that if I left of my own accord, there was no coming back. Still, could I submit my body to additional punishment?
The whole thing was so bizarre. He hadn’t kissed me, hugged me, touched me anywhere that wasn’t sexual, and he hadn’t gone about seducing me. He’d just taken what he’d wanted and then walked away. Even so, I felt more fulfilled by what he’d just given me than by any experience where a man had ended up holding me close and spooning me the whole night through.
It made absolutely no logical sense, but it did speak to that part of me that had made the decision to do this. Whatever else came of this, at least I had been right about that.
Slowly and carefully, I slid off the couch, my sweaty ass and damp thighs sticking wetly to the soft, grainy fabric. Stepping out of my shoes, I felt self-conscious and small. Standing next to him like this, I’d barely come up to his shoulder.
Treading softly across the pristine carpet, I made my way down the hall and over towards the only half-open door. Another dim light beckoned from beyond. Putting my hand on the cold, painted wood, I pushed, and the door glided silently the rest of the way. He was waiting inside for me, naked, and with an enormous erection that was as frightening as it was titillating. Even from twenty feet away and in a wealth of muted shadows, I could still see that the man was ridiculously well-endowed.
Most of the room was shrouded in darkness, the small light on the bedstand only bright enough to cast a yellow circle of glowing warmth out in a ten foot radius or so. Hell, I wasn’t really paying attention to anything else in the room other than Adam and that gigantic mattress in the center of it, anyway. He was standing by the footboard, his knees almost touching the brushed-steel rails.
The bed itself was covered in black; black sheets, black shams, black pillows. There was absolutely no blanket or quilt. Nothing to get in the way of him taking me, nothing he’d have difficulty washing the second I walked out the door. For just a moment, I thought about my step-mother, how she’d make me strip the bed down to its bare bones after I’d slept in it only one night. Everything came off – even those little extra zippered sleeves that went over the pillow but under the pillowcase and sham. Then I’d had to wash it, bleach it, and dry it all; making the bed back up precisely before I could finally leave.
Unbidden, a shiver ran through me, and consciously, I took that memory and thrust it away. This was no place for thoughts like that. This bed was not for making me feel like an unwashed, unwanted visitor. It was made only for fucking me; that and nothing more.
I walked over to the thick, hard mattress and sat down on it. Adam told me, “Get in the middle.” So I did, pushing across the huge expanse of expensive cotton sheets.
When I was there, he said, “Roll over.” With a feeling of nervousness running through me, I complied. Now he was naked behind me, and I couldn’t see a thing that he was doing.
“I made you an earlier promise,” he told me, and my mind immediately went back to his vow. But that wasn’t what he was referring to. “I explained to you clearly that if you looked away or moved while I was eating you, I was going to spank your ass until you cried. You did both,” he said brashly, his tone gravely stern.
He climbed onto the bed beside me then, and when I felt the dip in the mattress from his immense weight, my stomach clenched. I realized then that I was truly and utterly scared.
“Reach up and grab the headboard,” he demanded emotionlessly, “and whatever I do to you, do not let go.”
I reluctantly extended my arms and gripped the metal bars, clenching my fingers nervously around the cold steel. I didn’t know which way to turn my head; looking at him, or looking towards the wall. But he saved me the trouble. He took one of the soft, black satin, decorative pillows that had been left on the bed, and shoved it forcefully under my sternum. Now my head could hang down comfortably, and I wouldn’t suffocate in the sheets.
“Keep your head down, face forward,” he said, confirming my suspicions about what he had just done and why. I wondered if he would tie my legs down, chain them, or somehow otherwise restrain me. Yet there was no need, as I was soon to discover: I was to do what I was told, or else.
“Just like before in the cab, in the elevator, in the living room,” he said indifferently to me now. “You can leave any time. Only if you do decide to stay, your absolute capitulation is summarily expected. If you refuse to follow my orders, you will be asked to leave and you will not be invited back. Am I clear?”
Oh, God. I couldn’t stop the rivulets of panic and heat that were running rampantly through my engorged veins. All I knew was that I was currently incapable of leaving. I had to do what he said, regardless of the consequences. So, how to tell him that I would comply? I certainly didn’t know what in the hell to call him right this moment. Sir? Adam? Master, perhaps? “Ah, yes, yes Adam, I understand,” I finally stammered softly, my words, although muffled by the sheets, still more of a question than an answer.
He snickered at me then, as if once again he could easily read my mind. I couldn’t see the expression on his face, of course, but I could hear the derision in his voice as he replied, “You’re correct, you don’t have to call me Master yet. In truth, you have to earn that right. So for now, just plain ‘Adam’ will do fine.” He was an odd one - actually giving me permission for something I’d already done. Did he have to control everything, then? Down to the very air I breathed and how often I came and how many times I screamed his name in agony or in ecstasy? I believed that he did. And he would.
He got off the bed and I heard him rustling around behind me. Even though I really couldn’t see too much beyond the sheet of hair that covered my face on all sides, I screwed my eyes tightly shut against my nervousness, nevertheless. In my mind’s eye, though, I could still see his stiff, threatening, gargantuan erection; the thick rod swollen and slightly purpling, the head as big and turgid as a dense, fleshy mushroom. What would it feel like to have that monstrous thing inside me, I wondered? How would it taste when I finally had him in my mouth?
A second later, I felt his hands on my hips and I tensed. “Lift,” he said gruffly, so I raised my ass up the air, pushing off the bed with my chest and my thighs, feeling like a complete idiot. What a wanton whore, was I; alone with a strange man, in a strange land, doing strange, strange things.
Apparently, I wasn’t up far enough because he put his hand under my stomach and thrust me further upwards, lifting me clear off the mattress. Then he shoved one, two, three square pillows under my belly. I could tell the fabric was some sort of pleather – it was cool and almost sticky against my sweaty skin.
The pillows were thick, but hard, and they lifted me up quite effectively. The lower half of my body dangled off of them, my rear in the air permanently, my knees brushing the mattress, my shins scrubbing the sheets. My breasts were swinging somewhat freely now, the bottom half of my nipples exposed. My sternum was still resting on the pillow he’d given me for my head, but my face was planted even more firmly against the mattress. Now even with my eyes wide open, I couldn’t see anything at all. I felt my fingers slipping against the metal bars of the headboard, and I tightened my grasp. My arms were already starting to cramp.
“Spread your legs as far as you can,” he barked, and although trembling, I did as he demanded. He came around to the left side of the bed,
leaned over, reached down between my thighs and felt my privates, making sure he could touch every single last inch of me. My face flushed, even though he certainly didn’t notice it. Here I was, spread-eagled, ass in the air, legs open, vagina gaping. And as if things couldn’t get any worse, he then reached under my stomach with his other hand and tweaked my still-sore nipples one by one. I helplessly cried out each time.
“Arch your back,” he said emotionlessly, and then I knew that this was it. Whatever punishment he was about to dole out to me for not obeying him earlier; the time was here. Shuddering, I did so, feeling the pull of muscles in my stomach and around my spine. Now I really must look like a slut, a tramp, a dirty little harlot in heat.
I felt the mattress buckle slightly as he climbed back onto the bed beside me, kneeling perpendicular to me this time so as to be able to wield the most force with each and every strike of his palm. Without any further ado, he reached out and grabbed a fistful of my hair with one powerful hand, and with the other, he swung down and flayed my tender bottom. My entire body juddered, thrusting up heavily towards the headboard. The fingers of my right hand accidentally skidded off the twisted metal, and I had to grip onto the left side for all I was worth to keep from toppling over.
“Grab the goddamn bars,” he said so coldly my stomach rolled lurchingly over. I quickly regained my hold and he unleashed himself on me again. His palm slapped down against my rounded ass, stinging, burning, thrusting me up into a whole new plane of existence. He began raining the blows down upon me, and with each one, I felt a different emotion jolt wildly through me.
First, I felt embarrassment; unholy shame that I was letting some strange man have freely at me. Secondly, I felt fear. How far would he go? How much would I have to endure? Would I be able to withstand it until the very end? The next smack was so hard, so loud, it echoed off the very ceiling. My ass cheeks were on fire. “Hey, hey!” I said softly, unable to stop myself.
“What?” he asked sadistically. “What?” Then he slapped me again. That one thudded against my delicate rear-end so hard, my entire body lurched forwards again. I felt my knees dragging on the sheets – sheets so supple and so dense, I knew they had to have cost a fortune. Even so, they were giving me burns clearly indicative of someone having been fucked on their hands and knees. And with that, I felt guilt. Why was I doing this? What had made me so sick, so disgusting that I needed to have the darkness beat right out of me? Thwack, thwack, thwack.
The next one caught me lower, right against my delicate lips. I heard the wetness there, realized how viscously the tissues were swelling. Everything down there was so damn hot, my muscles were clenching, my inner walls fervently clamping down in eager anticipation. He smacked me again and I grunted like an animal. There was nothing lady-like about me any longer. I was naught but a savage whore.
Slap. Slap. Slap. The rhythmic thudding was burning and stinging more and more. “Fuck you,” I gasped out, suddenly furious. I shook my head against his hand, trying to wrench his cruel, iron grip loose. But he just tightened his fingers, clenching my hair even more sternly as he whacked. Sweat was dripping off my brow and onto the sheets. I growled. He laughed.
Now each time he smacked me, I felt my rage growing; flowering, blooming, coming to ripe, bloody fruition. I wanted to turn around and rip his throat out. The frustration was nearly overwhelming. I couldn’t take it anymore.
Just when I thought I was done, just when I figured I would reach back and snatch his hand out of my hair (even if it pulled some out by the roots), and then whip myself around and smack him right across his calculating, callous and despicable face, his hard, rough fingers once again came down and caught my pussy. This time they lashed right up against my throbbing clit. I was swept away in another tide of sensation and emotion, this one so fierce, so sharp; it almost made me come right then and there.
“Ah, God, oh God…” I shrieked. “Please, please, please!” I was begging, frantic…desperate. Without warning, tears began streaming down my face. His hand at the back of my head had become unexpectedly comforting; quite odd because it was still causing a great deal of pain.
“What do you want, Ruby?” he asked, aloofly ruthless.
“Please,” I whimpered, “please.”
“Tell me what you fucking want.” Cold. Arrogant.
“I, I, I,” I kept stammering.
“What?” he bellowed, his free hand smacking right into the heart of my pussy again. My thighs began shuddering, stomach tightening, clitoris twitching and spasming helplessly. The need was immense.
“I want it, please. Please give it to me,” I begged brokenly, totally at the end of my rope.
With each slap against my sore, flayed cheeks, my nipples scraped back and forth, back and forth. Even that small sensation was driving me mad. Every single cell in my body had come alive, each atom was awoken, each tiny tissue was aflame. My poor, aching ass was in acute distress, the skin there raw and practically blistered. The spanking had gone from merely difficult and uncomfortable, to agonizingly excruciating. Yet all I could think about was having him inside me.
I knew I could let go of the rails, turn around, and then try to appeal for some sort of blessed release from him. But I was also aware that to do so would undoubtedly result in my loss in the end. The only way to accomplish anything was to follow his rules, play his game, submit to his will. And even so, even though I was in abject misery, I also realized instinctively that every single blow I endured now, would somehow, someway, banish a tiny piece of my ever-present grief and sorrow forever. How could I change it, then? How could I ever ask him to stop?
Rather abruptly, he stopped spanking me and pulled back on my hair, wrenching my head up off the bed and shattering my thoughts into splintered shards. I opened my eyes and saw the wall, fuzzy and dim. Focusing in, I could see my thin, bony fingers as they clenched ineffectually around the thick metal bars. My skin was bloodless and cold, my hands white and cramping, my mouth was hanging open.
“Beg me to make you come again,” he said, almost angrily. I was too lost in my own sea of anguish to even care why he had become so mad.
He wanted me to implore him for it. Fine. I’d never done anything of the sort before, never really even had a reason to so much as voice a single utterance during sex. Now, however, it was suddenly all I could do to slow down. The pleas came streaming out of me; words and sentences I didn’t even know I possessed inside. Requests and entreaties that I had no idea I was capable of imagining, much less saying. I was subservient to the core of me, beseeching and supplicating of him as it I were reciting hallowed and sacrosanct vespers before a shrine.
“Please, oh please, I’ll do anything,” I whimpered. “I need it so bad, so goddamn bad, oh please. Please make me come, I’ll do anything, say anything, be anything you want.”
“How do you want me to make you come?” he asked suddenly.
I hardly knew what he meant, but I dove in anyway, “Rub me, punish me. Spank me harder…harder…spank me there…” Who in the hell was I? I didn’t even recognize my own self anymore.
“That’s what you want, huh, sweetheart? You want me to strike you there again? Right on your pussy?” His fingers twisted and my scalp prickled as the tears streamed down my cheeks anew.
“Oh, God. Oh, God,” I gulped. What had I done?
I braced myself for the next slap, tensing all my muscles and crimping my eyes tightly shut. But instead of smacking the aching flesh, he began to sweetly caress it. The gentle touches were a thousand times more tormenting, more excruciating than another blow would’ve been. He softly stroked the hot, red skin while I moaned franticly; chill bumps racing like wild-fire, all up and down my spine. Then, when he got to my scorching wetness, he lightly spanked it, over and over again while my clitoris spasmed and I sobbed like a baby.
“That’s it,” he said soothingly. He shoved his entire hand up against me, placing his palm right into my sopping wet opening. I could feel my sex straining towards hi
m of its own accord, bearing down on his rough skin, clenching against his strong fingers as if feebly trying to draw them inside. He angled his wrist and pressed down on my clit rather mercilessly, and it thudded and pulsed against him.
He spread my lips with his fingers for just a second, then he brought them slowly back together. This time, though, he clipped my quivering little bud right between the knuckles of his index and middle finger as he did so. He kept it scissored there, like that, as he let go of my hair and moved around behind me. When he was in position, he loosened his hold just a little, and then he began to jerk back and forth against the aching nub while I continued to cry.
My whole pussy was so swollen, so sensitive, so ready. It was damn-near about to explode. I was squirming and writhing on the bed before him when suddenly, he let go of me completely. I could feel his huge body back there, towering just behind me. I could also sense his enormously hard member thrusting up aggressively right behind my sore, burning ass cheek, almost close enough to touch my traumatized skin. I thought about that thing going up inside me, invading me, ripping me open. As bad as I wanted it, I was still terrified. I hadn’t had sex in nearly ten full months. He was going to hurt me, bad.
I was trembling, face crimson, chill-bumps sprinkled liberally across my exposed nakedness. My pussy was so wet I could feel the sticky sweetness sliding languidly down the tops of my thighs. I wished abruptly that he was down there now, tonguing it off, licking it up; swallowing me whole. He grabbed my hips unexpectedly and I screamed. I didn’t even know why.
Beautiful Agony (A Tale Of Savage Love, Part I) Page 6