by M. Garnet
“I didn’t give you permission to relax.”
She jerked as the voice spoke above her. What should she do? No pain, please. She gripped the table edge as tight as possible, not relaxing. She felt something cold running down her back where the ribbons of the blouse had fallen aside. Oh no, please. It was the knife. No, no, I will do anything. Anything, don’t hurt me. Light, I need light.
“Push your feet apart, as far as you can.”
Yes, coward, anything, move, keep him happy, no pain. She pushed both legs apart until they were stretched. She was actually lying supported on her stomach. Barely on her toes, her legs were trembling, but she felt it would please him. He wouldn’t hurt her.
She felt the knife under her panties. She almost screamed out loud but she knew he wouldn’t approve, so she kept it inside. She took a breath as he used the knife to cut off her panties.
“Thank me for getting rid of those.” He placed the point of the knife against the round side of her butt. Oh no, please.
“Yes, thank you.” She only whispered it because the fear froze her vocal cords. She gripped the table tighter. She felt cold air on her most private area and she was shocked. She actually felt a touch of heat. What kind of sick person was she? Not in this darkness, not with the possibility of pain.
She shivered as she felt the prick of the knife. “Thank you, Master. Say it the right way. I don’t like retraining you. Learn.”
Yes, no, no. “Mmm Master, thank you.” She heard the stammer. Would he object?
She had another shock. She wondered how much shock her body could endure. She felt his hands, one of each side of her upper thighs just where they joined at the lips of her female folds. His hands were cold at first but soon grew warm. She felt him pull the sides apart further, opening her to the air and to what, she didn’t know. He pulled further until it was almost painful. She let out a burst of air as she felt his mouth on her, licking long strokes against the lips, against the nub that was perking up in respect of the attention.
Oh no, what was happening? This couldn’t be happening to her. She was actually offering herself to her tormenter. He was using his mouth on her. She shivered, gasping again as heat spread from his mouth. What was he doing? She wanted to move, wanted to squirm, but was so terribly afraid to let a muscle twitch. Yet she knew muscles were responding to that wicked tongue. She felt all the muscles in her stomach and thighs tighten, convulse as the nub tightened, responding, He did the unbelievable, he drew it into his mouth, sucking. She came, climax after climax. She didn’t hear the screams but her nails did dig into the wood of the table with one foot coming off the floor.
“I didn’t give you permission to enjoy that. Now I will have to punish you.”
Oh please, please, she begged mentally. She couldn’t help it. No pain, no pain, please. But she felt his fingers on her, sliding between the lips, pushing them apart, working the tiny nub that had pulled back as it was satisfied. Of course nature took over—as the large finger found it, it popped out to be fondled.
He pushed between her legs, forcing them further apart. He lifted one knee up, around his large leg, pulling her open to whatever he wished. Right now he wished to work that nub.
No, she couldn’t enjoy this, what was wrong with her? She had her eyes squeezed shut, but she opened them to remind her of her terror of the dark as the muscles in her thighs immediately tightened. Terror flashed through her mind. Yes, whatever he wanted, anything to avoid pain. She was so ashamed. How could she have reacted? She felt the sweat, now cold on her body, she felt the heat begin to start again in her tiny clit.
He was not being tender. It was a rough touch, turn and pull. Her traitorous body was actually responding. She tried biting down on her lip, reminding herself of the pain. Do not enjoy it. He hadn’t given her permission to enjoy. He would give her pain if she enjoyed this. She felt a finger inserted inside of her as fingers still rolled the hot responding clit. The finger went in out and it was joined by another. The fingers worked the nub and she gasped, fighting the feeling, but nothing she could do would stop it. She came, but he didn’t stop as she rocked with a climax. He caught and pulled the swollen nub with the two fingers moving. She came again, repeating until she lost consciousness.
She knew she was awake. She knew she was still in a nightmare. It was still dark. She was naked. She was on her back on a bed. There were no blankets. There was nothing but blackness and she felt a warm ache in her female nub that brought shame. But along with the shame she was beginning to understand why the woman in the painting accepted the embrace from death.
She felt a hand move across one breast—it was just a quick touch. She sucked in a breath but she didn’t move. She wasn’t going to do anything that brought that knife anywhere near her. It was almost as if she had told him about the knife, because she felt him move away. He returned and the bed sank with his weight. She felt the cold steel of the knife as he placed it on her chest between her breasts, letting it lie there. No, no, no—she could feel the dangerous weapon just lying there, stronger than any chain, holding her so that she couldn’t move.
She felt again the hand on her breast and she fought not to move, fear tearing her mind as she was pushed into submission by the knife between her breasts. The hand stroked her breast, bringing the nipple into a peak that he placed a mouth around, then his mouth began to suckle. She was afraid to move but it felt so good. She was so ashamed—why did she allow herself to enjoy something when she was in this desperate situation? She felt his hand on the other breast. She tried to lie flat, her hands splayed out on the bed. She felt his reaching arm push the heavy knife against her chest. She thought of the pain again, the dark shadows ripping through her mind. She had to please him. Maybe if she lifted her chest, if she arched her back up, he would like that, not hurt her with the knife.
She arched her back using her elbows to push her breasts upward. It seemed to be what he wanted as he sucked harder, twisted the other breast, but it hurt a little as he twisted. She pulled back but he laid his arm on the knife and she immediately pushed up, taking the pain of the twisting on the tip of her breast instead of the threat of the knife. The heat from his mouth on one breast and the tight pain of his fingers on the other sent a tingle down between her legs. She raised one knee a little in response.
He finally removed himself and she felt him shift as he took hold of her ankles, pushing them up and apart. “If you fuck me really good and really hard, I will remove the knife without using it on you.”
She heard the words and it took a moment to sink in. He was going to enter her. But it was not going to be rape because he was going to require her to participate. He wanted her to enjoy, to make him enjoy. All the while the heavy knife was between her breasts, the threat of pain in the dark was there. The next point to register was that his low voice was in the room, not in her head. He was speaking, he was real.
Please, no—could she do this? Yes, she could do anything for light, no striking pain. She had to, no matter how embarrassing. No matter how much of her pride was pushed aside. She would survive as she survived those many nights so long ago. She hadn’t had much sex, but she knew all the moves. She would do everything she could think of to make the pain stay away. That heavy knife would remind her.
She raised both knees, pulling them apart. She felt him move forward. She shuddered—he was huge, but he stopped, waiting. Pain, the knife on her chest, he was waiting for her to abase herself, to be the one to act. She raised her arms slowly and found his arms. She pulled him down to her, she moved up to his head, surprised to find the heavy feel of his hair.
She was glad to find something to hang onto. The fear that she might not please was as heavy a burden as the knife lying on her, making her shudder. She pulled his head down for a kiss. In her mind she thought of the last time she had kissed a man. It had been a complete failure because she hated the contact, but she must convince this man that she wanted his kiss. She wanted the contact. She brought his m
outh to hers and she did the unthinkable—she opened her mouth.
She lost all thought for a moment as he plunged his tongue deep into her mouth, greedily pulling her tongue into his. She had no thought until she felt a prick on her tongue. Pain, no, please no pain, I can do this, what do I do, I am letting him have my tongue, I don’t know what to do with his. I am not doing this right, please no pain.
He pulled back, waiting for her to do more. She sobbed but she ran her hands down his chest as he held himself above her. She got to his stomach, cried silently as she knew she needed to go lower. To pet, pull, and make him feel full before she put him into her. She could do this. As she put both arms lower it pushed her breasts together. The knife was pinched between the globes to remind her of the pain.
She finally got one hand down past the muscles of his broad stomach. There were the curls of the hair leading her to the spot she knew she had to go. It was so black, but she was almost glad it was dark. Her hand touched the base of his shaft. She heard him take in a hiss of breath. She stopped with her hand around it, shocked at the size. Her memory seemed to tell her that a penis was smaller. But he reached his head down and took the breast back. He touched the point of the knife, pushed it into her chest and she felt the prick.
No, no, please no pain, no pain, I can do this, I can do anything to avoid that knife. She shuddered—she knew he had to feel it run through her body, but she wrapped her hand around the large shaft. She let her hand follow it along it’s long length, trying not to think about the size. When she got to the bulb at the end, it was moist. She sobbed, but she drew it down to her entrance, spreading her legs further.
“Put one leg on my shoulder.” His voice was a whisper.
Could she do that? Could she splay herself that far apart? The knife, the pain, the dark, but there was something more. A need inside to complete the act, to accept the embrace of the skeleton. He was back at her breast. She raised the leg on the other side, sliding it upward. Breathing through her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut in the blackness, she was feeling a pulling in the muscles of her legs. She ignored her own discomfort, preferring it to pain, pain from the dark. Finally she was able to bring it high enough to get her ankle over his shoulder as his teeth teased her nipple.
Feeling the knife next to his cheek on her breast, she knew she had no more time. She put the mass of his shaft against her entrance. She was shocked to feel the moisture of her own body as her female lips seeped, opening for the male member that was so close to it. How could her body be such a traitor with pain so close? She raised her hips with her one foot that was on the bed and suddenly he pushed. She moaned as he was in her.
He was too large, she knew he was too large, but her muscles started to relax as he started to move back out. With her rocking, he moved in deeper. She relaxed more and he withdrew then moved in as she pushed up. He went deeper. She wasn’t sure she could take the fullness of him but she forgot the knife, she felt only the body above her, the throbbing of his body around her, deep in her. He held her leg over his shoulder, pushing one last time. She threw her head back against the bedding, not aware of anything but the sex and the fullness of the male. She felt his breath, his lips on her neck. She rocked with him, pushing as much as she could, not aware of the darkness, not remembering the pain, only on a different level with the smell, the sex, the touch. She felt something at her neck and then there was a knowledge of erotic sexual desire such as she had never believed possible.
Two bodies, joined together, tossing, pushing into each other. She felt herself being swept up into some high that was a different type of climax. They both went over it. She felt his hot seed pulsing into her as her own climax milked him repeatedly with rippling muscles.
* * * *
For a moment Alex’s dark side was lost as he tasted the rich blood, felt it surge within him. He felt the heat of her body with the response of his as he allowed himself to slide over the cliff, falling back into the darkness that was different from hers. He pulled out, letting her leg down slowly. He slid sideways so his great weight was not on her. He put an arm under her head. He bent down and licked her neck, where he had tasted deeply, and also the spot at the tip of the knife.
* * * *
“Your fear of me has gone away?” His voice was by her ear.
She became aware immediately of where she was. What was happening. What should she do? The knife was still on her chest. She felt she had done good with the sex, but if he wasn’t pleased he could still give her pain. Suddenly she shivered. She was in the dark. She didn’t know who he was. He was the dark and the pain. She had no pride, no value, only fear. Yet for a while, the fear had slipped away.
“I fear you, Master, what would you have me do?” She shivered. She couldn’t believe that she had actually said the words. But she had to survive, she had to get through this, she had to not have pain, she had to find light. There was also the feeling taking hold of her that there was some enjoyment with what was happening.
“Get on your hands and knees.”
She felt him take the knife away and she took a big breath. She turned over, doing as he instructed. The juices from him were slippery on the bed, also sliding down the inside of her legs. She was breathing heavily—once more the fear of the dark and the pain had closed in. She felt him move off the bed and she had no idea where he was. She couldn’t hear him. The not knowing, the waiting was terrible threat by itself.
Suddenly his hands were on her hips as he pulled her to him at the edge of the bed. She felt the cold knife run down her back. No, please no, I can make him happy, I can do anything, no more, no pain, not the knife.
“Convince me you love the knife.” The voice was above her.
What did he want? She didn’t understand. Knees bent and her rump in the air, She felt the cold steel going down her back as he stood between her feet behind her.
“Yes.” Her voice was hoarse, hardly above a whisper. “I love the knife.” She was sobbing again, the fear threading through her. She felt the knife against her dry lips.
“Kiss the knife.” Without hesitation, she kissed the blade with the tears pouring down her cheeks. “Now suck on the handle.” He turned the knife. The handle was long and smooth at the butt. It was wrapped in rough leather. He held it to her mouth. She sobbed but put her mouth around the smooth end to suck.
“You can suck better than that if you love the knife.”
She thought of the pain the knife could give, so she reached out, balancing on her knees. With one hand she took his wrist and pulled the handle deeper into her mouth, sucked and tongued it. It had a sweaty taste to it from the man’s hand that had used it over and over, but she didn’t want it used on her, so she sucked as hard as she could. The handle was wide and stretched her mouth but she opened wide to suck to please him. The roughness of the leather wrapping was bruising her lips but she didn’t stop—as long as it was in her mouth, it couldn’t cut her.
He pulled the knife out. She was grateful, her mouth sore from being stretched, her lips bruised. She almost screamed out loud as she felt the steel running down her back, the point dragging but not cutting the skin.
“My women like me to fuck them in the ass.” She jerked and every muscle in her body tightened up. The indignities hadn’t ended. The pain hadn’t ended. What always came with the dark hadn’t ended. She could not help it, she fell forward on her face, no longer sobbing, just feeling the terror.
“Are you telling me you love pain better than you love the knife?”
No, no, please no pain. She was such a coward, no pain. She slowly raised back up on her hands and knees. “I love the knife, Master.” It was the only thing she could think of to say.
“Good, but you must prove it—don’t fall, or that will prove you don’t love the knife.”
She said over and over in her head, I love the knife, I love the knife, I can’t face the pain. But there was pain, because he took one large hand and wrapped it around one leg at the bend at her
hip. Suddenly he inserted the handle into her rectum. She screamed out loud. But she did not fall.
The large handle stretched her, the rough leather tore her skin as it was inserted, but she couldn’t move. She felt the intrusion throughout her lower body. She froze because he left her in this position. She had no idea where he was, but the intrusion was taking all her focus. She was fearing any touch or movement of the knife.
“Do you still love the knife?”
His voice was hypnotic and he touched one of her hanging breasts. She flinched and the flinch caused a tightening of her muscles and the ones around the handle protested. She moaned.
“If that is a no, it would make the knife very unhappy.” He touched the knife and she arched her back. He pushed it just a bit deeper and she sobbed but through her sobs she started speaking.
“No, Master, I love the knife, I love the knife, don’t touch it, leave it alone so that I can love it. Please Master, I love the knife.” Oh God, she was such a coward, why could she not fight back, but she knew why. Through her tears she saw the dark and knew the pain that dark brought. This was only a little pain, not the deep pounding pain. As long as the handle was inside her, the knife couldn’t cut her. Please not the pain. She must convince him.
“What should I do, Master? To show the knife I love it.” She whimpered. Behind her she heard that sound again as if a great intake of smell.
“Spread your knees further apart and ask me to make you cum. That would make the knife happy.”
She lifted a leg and put her knee out further until she was spread apart. She felt him tap the knife and she groaned.
“Did you groan in pain from the knife?”
She gasped. “No, Master, never, I love the knife.” To her surprise there was a warmth in her that drew her, not to the knife, but to him.