Pipit stroked Emily’s stomach and said, “Do you think we can do it again sometime? Maybe play too?”
Emily turned to look at her. “Are you feeling like you need punishment again?”
“A little,” said Pipit.
“Do you always feel that way after sex?”
“Not always. It has to be shameful, like fucking a stranger, or I have to feel bad about something else.”
“This wasn’t shameful, was it?”
“No, honey, I love—it was wonderful.”
“But there’s something wrong,” said Emily.
Pipit wanted to tell Emily everything about herself, all the horrible things she’d done—but Emily would never see her again if she did that. The thought was unbearable. Still, she felt an overwhelming need to confess to her.
She sat up on the bed and faced her. “I’m not a nice person. I don’t know what gets into me. What I did to Mouche at Karen and Daniel’s? I did that on purpose.”
“I know that,” said Emily. “But you were sorry later. You didn’t even need to be punished for it, really.”
“I was sorry. I am. Being sorry doesn’t stop me doing it again,” said Pipit. “I stole Frederick from you just because I was pissed off at Christopher—and you.”
“We don’t have to talk about that anymore,” said Emily. “We’ve dealt with that.”
It was frustrating, trying to explain. She’d never tried to put so much of this into words before. “You don’t understand,” she said. “Christopher used to invite friends over to fuck me, and then he’d humiliate me. It was so painful, emotionally, you know. But I was better then, and I needed it so. And ever since I left him I’ve been doing these horrible things. I left Frederick without even telling him I was going.”
“That wasn’t so horrible,” said Emily, smiling.
This wasn’t working. It was too frustrating. “I’ve been worse,” Pipit whispered, stomach fluttering. “My friend Neko—I got her fired. She was a professional sub at Mistress Shigemi’s. You’re not supposed to ever take clients home, but she did—just a little. I told on her and got her fired. She never knew it.”
Emily sat up and looked at her with serious eyes. “Why did you do that?”
“I was mad at her because she had more clients than me. But the bigger thing was, I needed to know what it felt like to do something that bad. I feel ashamed whenever I’m with Neko, and it’s . . . it’s so powerful.”
Emily looked at her and didn’t say anything. Pipit was terrified. She’d told her an unforgivable thing.
“You could make me behave,” she said, her words coming out in a rush. “I felt it in you when I ran into you that day at Caffe Reggio, and I knew for sure when you made Andrew fuck me on Saturday and punished me afterwards. It felt so right to obey you—I needed to do what you said. You could do it, Emily, you could make me behave, and I’d be a better person, the way I was when I was with Christopher. Maybe better than that.”
Emily still wasn’t saying anything. Pipit’s eyes watered. Oh, this was hard, but she had to say it.
“I love you, Emily. I need you to control me and punish me. I need to belong to you.” Pipit hung her head and let the tears flow.
Emily was quiet for a long time. Then she took Pipit’s hand.
“I can’t make you a better person,” she said gently. “You’re the only person who can do that. You’ve dealt with the way you treated me and Amanda and the way you left Christopher and Frederick. Doing that is what makes you better. You need to deal with what you’ve done to Neko. Tell her what you did and ask her to forgive you. Talk to Mistress Ai and try to get her to hire her back.”
“But Neko won’t be my friend anymore,” said Pipit, “and Mistress Ai will fire me.”
“Those things might happen,” said Emily. “But they’re what you need to do. As for me, I can’t control you or own you. I can be your friend—but I tell you as a friend that you have to take care of Neko. Tell me when you’ve done that.”
* * *
Pipit told herself she would have stopped seeing Andrew and called off the plan if Emily had agreed to become her Mistress, and she managed to actually believe it, too, willing herself not to know that it was a runaway train now, and the only question was where it would derail or what it would crash into at the end of the line. Whatever: she was definitely going through with it now.
It was infuriatingly unfair. Pipit had offered everything to Emily. She’d revealed herself to her as she’d never done to anyone else, and what she’d gotten in return was rejection. One of the perks of being beautiful was supposed to be that you got the lovers you wanted, but there’d been a lot of rejection in her life lately, and she was fed up with it. Christopher, Frederick, and Karen were beyond her reach, but she had Andrew, and through him she’d get Emily.
On Tuesday afternoon she walked the streets of the Village, envying the people on the street and thinking over her grievances. On Wednesday she met Neko in her apartment and whipped her for the first time ever. It wasn’t much of a whipping, but Neko, feeling the anger in her, had cried, which was unusual for her. That evening Daddy was in a sadistic mood and paddled both her subs in the stocks. Afterwards she made Pipit eat her ass while Neko ate her pussy, but somehow the old excitement wasn’t there. Pipit kept thinking of Emily’s sweet anus and the fabulous rose tattoo.
On Thursday morning Daddy slept late, and both Pipit and Neko almost pissed themselves before she got around to letting them out. It occurred to Pipit that she was getting tired of Daddy’s moods and her negligence and would have to move on soon.
At three o’clock on Thursday afternoon Pipit was sitting on the sofa of her apartment, once again naked except for cuffs on her ankles and wrists. Instead of a collection of chains and whips, just two items lay on the coffee table: the ball gag and an old-fashioned straight razor. Pipit fidgeted. She was scared—not with the pleasant kind of fear that makes your panties wet, but with the frigid kind that creeps through your bones and makes you sure you’re going to die.
She had to hide her fear from Andrew when he came, though. It was so important to keep herself under control—otherwise how could she hope to control him?
The instant she saw him standing in her doorway, she knew how to act. She rushed into the hallway, flung herself into his arms, and kissed him lewdly, thrusting her tongue into his mouth and grabbing his cock through his pants. “Master, I need you to fuck me,” she breathed in his ear.
“Better go inside, don’t you think?” he said, and she giggled as if she hadn’t noticed she was standing naked in the hallway. She pulled him into the apartment and kicked the door shut.
“I’ve been wet all day, thinking about how we’re going to play,” she said, stroking her pussy—which was in fact wet, though not from thinking about their play.
“How are we going to play today?” asked Andrew, watching her finger slide in her slit.
“It’s like the ultimate trust game,” said Pipit, taking her finger from her pussy and pressing it to his lips. “It’s a way for me to let you know how much I trust you, and for you to show me that I can trust you absolutely. Do you remember what I’m most afraid of? What my hardest limit is?”
“Breaking your skin,” said Andrew.
“It’s why I don’t have any tattoos or piercings—the idea makes me weak with fear. Here’s the game. You put me on the cross in the bedroom, and do your best to make me believe you’re going to cut me. You’re not actually going to do it, but you’ll do your best to make me believe it.”
“How am I supposed to make you believe I’ll do it if you already know I won’t?”
“Maybe you’ll be convincing enough to make me forget. But the play with me isn’t all that important—it’s just a trial run. When you play this with Emily, she won’t know in advance that you’re not going to hurt her. It’s afterwards, when she realizes that you could have but didn’t, that the real trust gets built. Then she’ll know she can trust you with her life
.”
“I don’t know—” said Andrew.
Pipit pressed her naked body against him and whispered to his collarbone. “Play it with me,” she said. “Then you can decide whether it’s a thing you want to do with Emily.”
“Okay,” he said.
“Let me undress you, Master,” she said, unbuttoning his shirt. “I want to see your hard cock while we play.” She took off his shirt, got to her knees, and unlaced and took off his shoes. Still kneeling, she undid his pants and pulled them down, and then his underwear.
“I can’t stand it,” she whispered, closed her lips around his cock, and teased the tip of him with her tongue, making little circles around his slit. When he was hard, she pulled him into her, moaning.
When she could feel his excitement was like a roaring fire inside him, she pulled away and whispered, “I need you to make me helpless, Master. I need you to make me afraid.”
She went to the coffee table, picked up the razor and the ball gag, and handed them to him.
“Come put me on the cross,” she said.
He looked at the things in his hand. “We should play with a safeword for this,” he said.
“No,” she said. “No safeword. No safe gesture. You’ve grown out of those things.”
“Play like this could leave permanent scars. I mean psychological.”
“You’re going to have the power of life or death over me. I won’t be the first person who’s ever been in that position.” She held her hand out to him. He hesitated a second, then took it.
He led her to the bedroom and stood her in front of the cross. He set the razor on the dresser and fastened her wrist cuffs to the top with cord, then the ankle cuffs to the bottom. He tightened the wrist cuffs.
Holding the gag, he said, “You don’t have to wear the gag. Or I could put my keys in your hand for a safe gesture.”
“Put a finger in my pussy, Master,” she said.
He slid a finger into her.
“Am I wet, Master?” she asked.
“Very wet,” he said.
“Put the gag on me,” she said. Her heart was already pounding, and she gasped out the words.
He fitted the ball in her mouth and fastened the strap behind her head.
“One last time,” he said. “Nod your head if you want to go back and have a safeword or safe gesture. If you shake your head, I’ll ignore everything you do—every gesture, every facial expression, every noise you make. I’ll just please myself.”
Pipit’s forced herself to shake her head.
Andrew picked up the closed razor and stroked her left cheek with it. “You look scared,” he said. “I like that.” He reached for her pussy and pinched her clit hard, making her jump.
“Ungh,” she said.
He moved the closed razor to Pipit’s other cheek. “You need to try not to move,” he said in a soft, even voice. “If the razor had been open just then, I might have sliced you.”
He ran the closed razor down to her left breast and circled her nipple with the hinged end. “A thing as sharp as this could do unspeakable damage,” he said. “It could cut off a nipple. It could sever an artery. It could slice through any soft tissue so easily.”
Oh, fuck, what had she done? He hadn’t even opened the razor yet, and she was beside herself with terror. Her heart was hammering now, and she was hyperventilating.
“I’ve always loved the sight of blood,” he said, shifting his gaze from the razor to her face. His eyes gleamed with pleasure. “When I cut myself as a kid, I’d just sit and watch it bleed for a while before I went for a band-aid. I’d love to make you bleed,” he said, and opened the razor.
She wanted to say No, it had been a horrible mistake, she hadn’t really meant that about no safeword, and the game had to stop now, but all she could manage was a high-pitched “Uhh” behind her gag.
He raised the razor to her face again and stroked first one cheek and then the other with the dull edge. He traced the outline of her lips with the dull corner of the razor and said, “Maybe I should make you suck this like a cock.”
Her heart beat wildly: she imagined the taste of the cold steel on her tongue.
“No,” he said, grinning, “not a good idea to take the gag off. You know you’re twice as beautiful when you’re scared?”
He was a psychopath, she knew it, and he was going to cut her, maybe kill her. It was hard to draw all the air she needed through her nose. Sweat was breaking out on her forehead.
“Wouldn’t it feel good to be fucked with this cock?” he said, grinning. “Think of it sliding into your vagina, slicing into your sweet flesh.”
He moved the blade to her pussy and let the dull edge slide into her slit. She moaned and tried to hold very still.
“Gives a whole new meaning to the word slash, doesn’t it? Wouldn’t you like me to turn the blade around, make your pussy wet in a whole new way?”
Pipit couldn’t suppress the image of blood gushing out of her. She closed her eyes tight and shook her head.
“Maybe later,” he said. He took the blade away from her pussy and lightly brushed her breast with the sharp edge, from just above the nipple up to the top. He seemed radiantly happy, looking at the sharp edge next to her unblemished skin.
Pipit squealed behind her gag and tried to squirm away.
“Try not to move,” said Andrew. “A razor is a dangerous thing.”
She emitted a high, anguished sound, and forced herself to hold still.
He brushed with the razor from the top of her breast up to her throat and around to the tender skin under her ear. Sweat and tears were mingling on her cheeks.
“You know,” he said, “men get used to barbers holding an open razor right here, even though we know that if they slipped up, they might hit the carotid artery. But they never do, except occasionally in movies. So relax. This is like getting a shave.”
Pipit couldn’t relax. Her body was rigid with terror.
“Now in ancient and medieval times,” Andrew said, moving the blade farther up, “they used to punish criminals by cutting off their ears. It must have been a common sight on the street, people without ears. You’d know they’d committed theft, or blasphemy, or fornication.”
Pipit thought her heart would burst, it was pounding so fast and hard.
“For really serious offenses,” Andrew continued, smiling lovingly at the blade as he moved it to her upper lip, edge pointing upwards, “they’d cut off the nose. Amazing people, the ancients. I believe they really enjoyed carving up the body.”
Andrew brushed Pipit’s breast again with the sharp edge—then her stomach.
“I won’t do anything so horrible,” he said. “But it’d be a shame to stop this play without cutting something. Maybe a nice scratch on your stomach. Or maybe your arm, your feet or calves.” He moved the razor to these places as he named them. “Your thigh. Not too deep a cut—just enough to leave a nice scar. What do you think?”
Pipit shook her head furiously, eyes wide with fear.
He drew the sharp edge across her thigh as if cutting it, scarcely touching the skin. But she knew how sharp the razor was, and that he hardly had to exert any pressure at all to cut her.
Her breath was whistling in her nose—she closed her eyes tight and waited for the pain, knowing she’d pass out when it came and not expecting ever to wake up.
But the pain didn’t come. He put the razor down on the dresser top, took the gag off, and released her from the cross.
She didn’t want to touch him ever again, but she made herself collapse into his arms.
“How do you feel?” he asked. “Did it build trust?”
She felt that he was the most dangerous man she’d ever known, and she was very glad this was their last session. She’d never again give him that kind of power over her body.
But she took a deep breath and said, “It was amazing, Master. I’m more sure than ever that you’d never hurt me.”
“Not that kind of hurt,” he sai
d. “Just the kind you like.” He threw her face-down on the bed and fucked her, and though he did the things she liked—slapped her ass, pulled her hair, handled her roughly—she took no pleasure in him and had to pretend to come.
Afterwards he held her, and she said, “Are you going to try this with Emily?”
“She won’t play without a safeword,” said Andrew.
“She’ll let you tie her up, won’t she?” asked Pipit.
“Yeah, she trusts me. I eased up on safewords and limits, and things have gotten easier between us.”
“You traded away your power,” said Pipit. “If she’s tied up and you gag her, she can’t safeword.”
“I can’t do that to her,” he said.
“It’s what I wish you’d done to me,” said Pipit. “The feelings would have been so much more intense if you’d taken my power from me instead of me giving it to you.”
Andrew stared at her doubtfully.
“Do it,” said Pipit, taking his cock in her hand and gazing into his eyes. “The feeling of power will be unbelievable. Then come tell me about it, and fuck me.” She sat, bent over him, and kissed his cock. It was still damp, it smelled of pussy, and it stirred for her again.
She teased the underside of him with her tongue, holding his gaze, and said, “Tell me you’re going to do it.” She drew him into her, closed her mouth tight around him, and sucked him. She raised her head slowly, letting him slide out of her. With her lips just brushing the head of his cock, she whispered, “Tell me, Master.” She squeezed him gently, and a pearl of milky cum formed right at the tip. She raised her eyes to meet his again, put out her tongue, and licked the little drop away.
“Tonight,” he whispered. “It’s the last night we’re alone together. Amanda comes back tomorrow.”
She drew him into her again and sucked him till he flooded her mouth with his cum. She let him watch her swallow it one last time.
As she saw him out the door, she pressed the folded razor into his hand.
“You’ll need this,” she said.
* * *
“I don’t think I can do it anymore.” While Andrew had been terrorizing Pipit, a client had been flogging and fucking Neko. “When I worked at Mistress Shigemi’s,” she said, “the men I saw at home felt like Doms. I loved them for the time they were with me. Now they’re just johns. All I want is for them to finish up and get out. And I hate the feeling afterwards. I don’t know how to describe it. The feeling of being a whore.”
Manhattan Kink: A Boxed Set Page 42