“I said out. Now.”
“I—”
Before I could finish my sentence, he’d reached inside to release my seatbelt and dragged me out.
I screamed, trying to dig my heels into the ground, but he ignored me. His grip on my arm hurt, but he was just too strong, and when he hauled me up over his shoulder, all I could do was pound on his back and twist every which way to get free even though I knew I wasn’t getting free, not unless he chose to let me go.
With one hand holding me and the other gripping that bag, he kicked the car door shut and began the ascent up toward that abandoned house.
“Julien! Julien, what are you doing?”
But he wouldn’t speak, and in his silence, I read my future.
“Please, Julien. I didn’t mean what I said. I’m sorry, I just—”
“Quiet.”
I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. Tears dropped to the ground while I bounced on his back as he carried me and that bag up the hill. It was hot, the sun bright, warm on my now exposed lower back, my blouse working loose in my struggles. Julien’s body felt warm beneath mine, and being held this way served to remind me how powerless I was, how he was so fully in control.
Once we got to the house, he set me down but held on to me, stepping so close that his chest touched mine. If he was trying to intimidate me, it was working. It had already worked.
Julien’s icy blue gaze searched my face, the raw anger not quite gone, but rather reined in, leashed tightly.
“You’re going to do exactly as you’re told. Understand?”
I nodded quickly, goose bumps rising all along my skin even in the heat of the afternoon sun. This version of Julien… I feared it, feared him. All the tenderness of the last few days was gone, and in its place was the man I’d met in my hotel room that first day, the one who’d fucked that waitress over the hood of the car while I’d watched, the one who seemed to take pleasure from my pain.
“Good.” He nodded and turned me, his grip hurting my arm as he led me into the house.
We looked around the place, but each of us for a different purpose. The roof was gone for the most part so the sun lit up the space which had at one point been a large kitchen. A long counter built of bricks and covered with tile stood crumbling. Julien set his bag on it before turning to me.
“Still. Do not move. Do not run. If I have to chase you, what you’ve got coming will be ten times worse, understand?”
Could he see the anxiety that had my belly in knots, had me shivering and hugging my arms around myself as I tried to process what was happening, what was about to happen? If he did, he didn’t care and I guessed my expression told him I’d stay put because he nodded once before turning to unzip the bag. But when he began to empty its contents, I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t do as I’d been told because my body went into survival mode and I ran. Without even thinking, I turned and ran. Where I was going, I had no idea. There was nowhere to go.
“Damn it! I told you to stay put!” he roared behind me as I pushed the door we’d entered through and stumbled out, getting all of two steps away before powerful hands gripped me, throwing me off balance, making me fall backward. He caught me, dragging me back inside all while I screamed and fought, knowing all along that my punishment would be worse but unable not to fight, even as Julien held me to him, gripping my wrists with one hand and taking a long length of rope out of the duffel bag.
“Julien, please,” I started as he began to wrap the rope around and between my wrists. “Please, whatever you think you need to do, you don’t. Please, Julien, I’m sorry, I just—”
He stopped altogether, taking a moment to look at me, his gaze burning right through me, making me wish he’d look anywhere else.
“I said quiet. Be. Fucking. Quiet. You’ll have reason to scream shortly.”
I shook my head violently then, pulling back from him even as he held my wrists and resumed winding the rope, binding me tightly as I tried in vain to free myself. He tossed the length of it over a wooden beam overhead once, then again, securing it before turning to me. He pulled on the rope, forcing my arms upward, stretching me to stand tall, not stopping until I stood on the tips of my toes. And when he was finally satisfied, he tossed the rope over the beam three more times before securing the end of it to a rusted iron ring along the far wall.
“Please,” I mouthed, the word not even a whisper. But he ignored my plea and instead ran his gaze along the length of me before meeting my eyes again. “Don’t hurt me. Please.” I wept as I said it and without the slightest change in his expression, he gripped the blouse I wore and pulled, popping the buttons off, making me scream as he tore at it until it fell to the floor, a ruined, useless piece of cloth.
Tears streaked my face, but he didn’t care. Instead, he slid his hand into the waistband of my skirt and tugged so hard that I bumped into his chest, the skirt ripping and falling to my feet, leaving me in only bra and panties, hanging by my wrists, the rope scratching my skin.
Julien walked around me slowly and I dared not turn.
“Please, please,” I tried once more, and this time, instead of telling me to be quiet, he walked easily toward the bag and dug through it until he found what he was looking for: a roll of duct tape. I shook my head as he tore off a piece and came toward me. Gripping the back of my head hard, he slapped the tape over my mouth, and looked at me like that, hair stuck to my wet face, tears streaming from my eyes, my body trembling in anticipation.
We stood like that for a long time, or for what seemed like a long time even though it was probably mere moments, until he exhaled with a slight shake of his head and swept the hair off my face, gathering the length of it and braiding it so it lay across my shoulder. The tension lessened a little, but I had a feeling it was the calm before the storm. I wouldn’t let myself be fooled by this momentary tenderness. Once he’d finished braiding my hair, he put his hands on my shoulders and his eyes met mine again.
“I’m going to punish you first, Mia. I’m going to whip you for disobeying me and once we’re finished, I hope you’ll never make me repeat the lesson.”
I shook my head, fresh tears beginning to flow. Although he stood in front of me, he ignored my pleas, which came like moans from behind the tape, and instead, reached behind me to undo my bra. He then took the knife from inside its holster on his belt and opened it, making a point of letting me see the sharp blade before he cut through the straps, ruining another bra, letting the lace drop to the floor before tucking the switchblade back into its holster.
He backed away just half a step to look down at me, his gaze hovering at my breasts, my nipples hardening under his scrutiny. Somehow, even through fear, my body was reacting to him the way it had learned to react to him. It was wrong and I knew what was coming would be pain, but my body and my mind were two wholly separate entities.
“Pretty,” he said.
I glanced down when he stepped back and saw the rod of his erection pressed against his jeans. The thought that he was aroused should have made me sick, should have made me hate him, and even though I might just hate him once he was through with me, I didn’t now. Somehow, the thought of it, of me so wholly within his control, powerless and bound, it made me shudder with desire.
And he saw it.
I knew it as soon as he looked at me and one corner of his mouth turned upward.
“Mia,” he said, his eyes holding mine captive as he brought the flat of one hand to my belly and slid it down into my panties, thick, calloused fingers threading through the hair there before curving down, spreading me open and finding the evidence of my arousal.
And upon finding it, his grin widened and his eyes narrowed. He knew, and that knowledge crushed me.
I made a sound and closed my eyes when his fingers stroked my clit before dipping inside me. He stepped closer, closing the space between us so that his bare chest touched my bare chest. I turned my gaze up to his, one last plea in my eyes, but a plea for what, I could not
say. Julien pulled my head into his chest then and withdrew his hand from inside my panties, wiping my wetness on my waist as he held me to him and kissed the top of my head.
“First, your punishment,” he said, his breath at my ear. “A whipping you’ll not soon forget.” As he said it, I felt the cool leather of the whip I’d seen earlier at my thigh and all I could do was close my eyes and lean my forehead into his chest, my breath coming in short pants.
“Then, on my quest for the truth, an ass fucking — but not like the other night.”
His free hand moved down my back and over my hip to grip one cheek hard.
“No, this one will be punishment. And if you’re good”—the hand with the whip moved up toward my cheek, making me look up at him—”if you’re very, very good, maybe I’ll let you come while my seed seeps out of your tight little ass.”
I trembled — desire, fear, panic, passion all warring within me, the sensations confused, thoughts muddled. And in his eyes, I saw that he saw.
“You know what gets me off, Mia?” he asked, stepping back.
Panic dominated as he unfurled the long whip and circled around me once.
“Looking at you like this.”
I shuddered when the leather touched me, mewling from behind my gag.
“Bound. At my mercy,” he said, one knuckle wiping at a tear. “Afraid.”
He brought his mouth to my face and licked the tears that now slid down my cheeks.
“I can smell it, taste it.” He looked at me. “Sick, isn’t it?” he whispered, just biting my ear softly. “That I’ll get off on your pain.”
I swallowed. It was sick, or it should have been. And while I wept in anticipation, in utter terror of what was to come, when he pushed my panties down over my hips, I was wet. Even as he stripped me of that final barrier between us, preparing me for the lash, I was wet.
“Punishment,” he said.
First, there was the sound of the cracking of the whip. It took me a split second to understand what had caused that crack, that it was leather colliding with vulnerable flesh — my flesh. As for the sensation? Fire. A line of pure fire burned across my ass just after contact, just after my mind processed that I’d been struck.
I bounced forward on tiptoe, trying to keep contact with the ground but supported by my restraints as I screamed from behind my tape-gag. Julien walked around me and I shook my head, pleading with my eyes. He took a step back.
“Look at me, Mia.”
I did, and when I did, he struck the fronts of my thighs making me scream from behind the tape again, my eyes squeezing shut while my body processed the pain.
I looked down when he moved again, looked at the thin red line, wondering how he’d not broken skin. But before I could think, he struck again, this time along the backs of my calves once, then again just behind my knees.
I wailed, hopping up and down, trying to dodge the next stroke I knew was coming, but failing entirely when he lashed me across the tops of my shoulders then crisscrossed that stroke with another long ways down my back.
He came to stand in front of me, watching me, giving me time to breathe, waiting for me to calm, to look at him, and when I did, what I saw in his eyes, in the shadowy depths of those angelic, fierce blues, was a darkness that terrified me.
This man was danger. This man — he brought death.
And I wanted him, even now as he lashed me, God help me, I wanted him.
It was as if he was waiting for me to see, waiting for me to face my own strange desire before he continued, and when he did, he didn’t taunt or tease. He did not walk around me. He did not give me time to catch my breath. Instead, he whipped me. He lashed me — my back, my buttocks and thighs, my calves, and the soles of my feet as I stood on tiptoe. The sound of the whip, that crack once heard never again forgotten, once felt, forever feared, burned into memory. And somewhere in the midst of this punishment I thought would kill me, I found peace, a quiet I did not expect, where all that was left was that cracking of leather against flesh, the burning aftermath of its passage, the pain.
“Three more,” he said, the sound of his voice startling me.
It took me a moment to see him, to focus my eyes on him as he stood waiting before me.
He raised his arm and struck across the fronts of my thighs, a second line to match the first he’d left at the start of this. The next stroke, a softer one, cut across my belly making me double over, or at least try to, gasping.
“Last one.” His eyes had darkened, the pupils dilated. He almost smiled, but when he delivered the final stroke with a simple flick of his wrist, the whip lashed me across my breasts, catching both of my nipples, making me suck in breath and grip the rope that bound me.
That stroke, that final one, changed everything. My body was a pure, throbbing agony, and from that pain, something else, something as hot as lava, bubbled at my core.
The whip fell to the floor then, and Julien came to me, tearing the tape from my mouth before I was ready, the pain of it adding to the sting, the fire that consumed me whole. He crushed his mouth over mine, his tongue delving deep inside me as he pressed his body against me, his cock at my belly, the material of his jeans aggravating the too fresh lashes that I knew what fire was. Yet, even while I wept, my thighs were wet with desire, and I kissed him back, wanting him, needing him.
After all that, I wanted him to take me. I needed him to possess and own me.
“Julien.”
He undid his jeans and pushed them and his underwear to the floor, gripping the base of his thick, hard cock in his hand, rubbing its length, turning a slow circle around me.
He groaned behind me and I heard the sound of his breath coming faster. “Seeing you like this gets me off, Mia,” he said, walking back around and untying the rope from the ring he’d fastened it to before coming to stand before me.
I swallowed, my heart racing as he loosened my bonds until I stood on flat feet once more. He looked at me and I brought my hands to his chest, unsure what he’d do next, if he’d make good on his promise.
I should have known he would.
His expression unchanging, he pushed me down to my knees, his hand gripping my hair. “Open your mouth,” he said, his other hand at the base of his cock. “Spit on my cock, Mia. Then spread it all around. It’s the only lubrication you’ll be getting so make it good.”
I opened my mouth and licked the tip of his cock, but when I tried to take him into my mouth, he pulled my head back.
“Spit on it.”
He held his cock so it just touched my lips.
“And look at me while you do it.”
How I was so aroused I couldn’t explain, but as I knelt before him, my punished flesh still burning, my humiliation only beginning, I was aroused to the point that my thighs merely rubbing against my clit could have gotten me off.
Keeping my eyes on his, I dribbled spit onto his cock, and he nodded his approval. “More.”
I obeyed.
“Now, smear it around with your tongue.”
I did, tasting him, tasting the salty pre-cum mixed with my spit, licking the length of him until his cock glistened, and, satisfied, he pushed me farther down so I was on all fours before him. My hands still bound, rope splayed before me. I waited like that while he walked behind me, kicking my legs so I opened them wider and arched my back, some part of me getting something from this acquiescence, this yielding of my body to him, to his will.
Julien knelt between my legs then and gripped my hips.
“Down on your forearms. Face down too. Lift your ass up to me. Good, like that.”
His fingers were first. He dipped them into my pussy and smeared that juice upward toward my ass and pressed until my body yielded, plunging his fingers inside me, stretching me.
My body fought it, fought him, but I remained in position and would. It was my penance, after all. I would atone.
He groaned and before I was ready, and with his fingers still inside me, I felt him line
the head of his cock up to my ass. Panic struck again as he pushed, removing his fingers when my hole stretched to take him.
“Please, Julien. It’s going to hurt.” Weakness and fear spoke for me but he gripped my hips tighter when I tried to pull away.
“This is happening, Mia. Take it.”
Perhaps he took pity on me then, or at least I thought so when he brought the fingers of one hand around to my clit and began to rub.
“Tell me about the book,” he said, rubbing my clit, using my arousal against me as he pushed in a little deeper, stretching me wider.
“It hurts.”
He moaned when I said it, as if pleased. He thrust once more, not deep, but enough to make me gasp. “Time for truth, Mia. Push, and tell me about the book.”
“Book?” Why was he talking about that now?
“The ledger. Where is it?”
He stopped rubbing my clit and thrust, taking another inch too fast, making me burn on the inside just as he’d made me burn on the outside with his whip. But just when it was too much, he resumed manipulating my clit with his fingers and my mouth opened as pleasure mixed with the pain, confusing me again, confusing my body, my mind.
“Ledger,” he said again.
I nodded, looking over my shoulder. “I have it.”
He smiled and leaned down to kiss my shoulder.
“Good girl.” He thrust deeper. “Where is it?”
God, I was going to come if he kept moving like that, if he kept rubbing my clit like that. The sensation of having my ass filled like this, with his too big cock, his breath on me, his eyes watching as they extracted from me what they wanted, punishing me, pleasuring me, it was too much.
“I’m going to come.”
He shook his head, and, bringing both hands to either side of my pussy, pulled my lips apart so nothing touched my clit as he claimed another inch.
“Not until you tell me — and then not until you’re taking a proper ass fucking.”
I nodded. Did I want him to stop? Did I want him to make me come?
I didn’t have to answer those questions as he pushed again, claiming more of my ass.
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