A Wicked Game You Play

by Leo Bulero

  A Wicked Game You Play

  A Wicked Game You Play

  Midpoint

  A Wicked Game You Play

  By Leo Bulero

  A Wicked Game You Play

  Published by Darker Pleasures at Smashwords

  Copyright 2013 Darker Pleasures. All rights reserved.

  Edited by Matt Nicholson

  Beta read by Sue Foulkes

  Cover image by walterarce/123RF Stock Photos

  Smashword Edition, License Notes

  This work contains graphic language and sexual depictions of sometimes extreme consensual and semi-consensual female bondage and sadomasochism. It is intended for mature audiences only and is not suitable for persons under eighteen years of age. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters places and incidents are products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce or redistribute this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Darker Pleasures, webmaster at darkerpleasures.com.

  It was Robert’s idea. His game. “Harmless fun. A test of character,” he said. The game had become darker lately, Kate thought as she ambled toward the disused logging camp, a mile or two outside town. Darker wasn’t necessarily bad. It had great possibilities, in fact. But the forest had a bad reputation. Bleak and uninviting, even in summer, few townsfolk went there. With winter approaching, practically no one else did either.

  Despite the warmth of her parka, sweater, jeans and boots, Kate shivered. Here? Robert’s e-mail had been definite about the location. He’d even sent her the GPS location. This was where she had to be. Here—precisely in the middle of nowhere. So here she was. Robert’s latest game had begun. If it wasn’t as good for her as it was for him this time, she thought it might be the last one she played with him.

  At the edge of the forest, in a small grassy clearing, Kate stopped. Looking around, she wondered if he’d arrived. Was he there—watching from the cover of trees—watching as she fulfilled his “fantasy request,” as he called it? He said she’d been bad. This was her punishment. Robert’s game. Yet she hesitated. It’s not too late to back out, she said to herself. Robert didn’t own her! But, he really did, at least as long as she was willing to play.

  Apprehensive, Kate scanned the horizon. She really was alone, and she mentally prepared herself. Robert had insisted she be completely naked, her sexy body bared to the elements.

  Robert’s game—in the afternoon two days ago at his Mom’s house, Kate bent reluctantly against the dining room wall. Role-playing, he called it. She assumed the role of the maid. Robert acted as the Master of the house.

  Robert looked at her with increasing impatience. “Lift up your skirt.”

  “Robert, your mother's upstairs,” Kate reminded him in a harsh whisper even as she lifted the denim skirt high.

  “That’s what makes the game more interesting.”

  “She’ll hear us and come down.”

  “I know. There’s nothing wrong with her hearing. If you cry out, she’ll hear. Now do as I say and lift your skirt.”

  “You’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

  He stroked her upturned ass with the flat of a wooden stirring spoon.

  “Of course I’m going to hurt you, baby doll. That’s part of the game,” he said as he sunk his fingers deep into her firm flesh, tapping the opposite side with the spoon.

  “And you’re not to make a sound,” he reminded as he pulled her red thong panties down over her knees, beginning the game.

  It was a wicked game he played. She found that she liked wicked a lot more than she’d thought.

  She removed her parka. I must be mad, she told herself. She pulled up her blouse, rolling the warm, woolen garment over her perky breasts, stopping just above them, much like putting a toe into the water before taking an icy plunge. Straight away, the cold air brought goose bumps to her skin. She shivered. Exposed to the wintry breeze, her breasts felt heavier, more sensitive, as though frosty fingers brushed them. Her cherry nipples puckered and hardened in protest. Her aureoles drew into tight, wrinkled circles.

  With cold-bitten fingers, Kate un-looped her belt and eased her skin-hugging jeans halfway down her bottom. The cold bit even harder there, so she decided to finish off up top, removing the sweater and tossing her bra into the pile. She followed with her jeans. Next, her panties skimmed down past her knees.

  The sharp air bit at her naked thighs and nipped between them as, surrounded by skeletal trees swaying in the blustery wind, she stripped naked.

  Kate kept walking, lifting her breasts, cupping them protectively while thinking about Robert’s e-mail. Believing he was somewhere close by watching, she took her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers. She squeezed the tender buds. Kate counted the seconds as her cold fingers twisted, summoning shards of dull pain as she pulled, harder and harder. The pain was a welcome glow, diverting her attention from the cold. It made her shiver as much as the temperature.

  She lifted and twisted, then let the tips of her fingernails score the tender flesh.

  “Yes,” she groaned, increasing the self-inflicted pain. She spread her legs and slipped one hand between them. She fondled her sex, brushing her vulva with a quick caress that made her clit tingle and warmed her in ways that no cold could penetrate.

  She squatted down, but found the grass too cold and prickly to serve as a bed. Her fingers returned to her sex, pressing into the tight sheath of her softening pussy.

  Slowing her hand for a moment, Kate looked around guiltily. What if someone discovered me like this; naked, alone, playing with myself?

  Deciding it was too late to worry, she returned to work by dragging her nails from the base of her breast to the nipple, crushing the heavy mound in her grasp. A fresh shiver coursed through her body. This time, it wasn’t only the cold that caused her to quake.

  With a casual self-assurance, Kate started stroking. She let her legs drift open to the loving caress of her hand. Her thighs parted, as if to receive a lover, a fantasy stranger who, having found her, forced her to debase herself, forced her to hurt herself, and…

  Dreamily, she noticed the discarded fridge that Robert had said would be there.

  Remembering his instructions, she stopped, albeit with reluctance, and looked inside. The first thing that caught her eyes was the curved pair of electrician’s pliers.

  She looked at them, her brow creasing into a frown as she picked them up. What am I supposed to do with these?

  Kate tested the blades against her fingers. They were fairly blunt, but sharp enough to cut with a bit of pressure behind them. Obviously meant for precision grabbing and holding, she had little doubt that the fine tips could easily crush the hypothetical grass stem, or anything similar. Experimentally, she stroked the undersides of her breasts with the finer tip, applying enough pressure to leave a red mark that faded when she lifted the pliers from her skin. She moved behind a hard nipple and squeezed experimentally. The elastic flesh of her aureole snagged against the cold, ribbed jaws of the tool.

  Becoming more adventurous, Kate squeezed until a dull pain throbbed between the curved steel. For one moment, a thought blazed through her mind: a quick, hard snip and that would be it! Daring herself, Kate let her aureole slip through the metal, closing the pliers again just before her nipple could escape. I wonder how it would feel?

  She suppressed the thought, not quite ready to go there despite a curiosity that had plagued her since the first time she realized she enjoyed...this. Instead, she imagined Robert’s teeth in place of the pliers, his cock pushing deep into her pussy.

  Cl
osing her eyes, she squeezed the pliers some more. She pushed her fingers deeper inside her pussy in response to the added pain and shuddered. The thrill of penetration blotted out the dull, partially satisfying pain of her nipple scissored between the biting blades. It was never as good when she did it to herself. She considered the quick snip again.

  Still reining in her desire, she noticed that the blades had left their deep colored imprints on her aureole. The temporary marks glowed dully, like hickeys she thought, before the chill air puckered it into a heavy, leaded point once more.

  Her hand steadier this time, Kate pressed the pliers' cold claws to the swollen underside of her other breast. The blade closed on her puckered aureole halfway between her nipple and the white of her breasts, while her fingertips circled the prominent bud of her clitoris.

  Do it, a warm voice inside her head urged. Delicately, she pricked the darkened aureole, leaving a tiny scratch that roused nerve endings and made her eyelids flutter. Her hand trembled. Do it! the voice demanded.

  She thought of Robert, of how he liked to suck at her breasts, trapping the tip like a malevolent quixotic baby with teeth bared in a loving snarl. He often left lasting marks as evidence of his ardor. The sides of the blades, dull-sharp, stretched the other hapless nipple up from her breast. She pulled and stretched, deliberately sending sharp spikes of pain shooting through the trapped flesh.

  She continued to work her sex with her other hand, probing, rubbing and soothing her agitated clit, pressing against the inflamed membranes of her cunt while closing the pliers harder. Her belly flooded with excitement as the fervid pain heating her nipple wrung a cry from her lips.

  She wanted so much for Robert to find her, to take over, brutalize her and fuck her raw. Her back arched as she imagined being taken from behind. She raised and lowered her hips. She squeezed the pliers harder, harder, as hard as she dared, bruising herself as her fingers worked feverishly. She wished that, at the same time as she came, Robert would close his hands even harder than she had been able to—to stretch her limits like she stretched her breasts.

  She felt her womb start to throb, her pussy begin the tell-tale tingling. Quickly, she snagged her other nipple in a brutal, fingernail-gouging pinch and pulled her breasts together until she was able to trap both nipples between the cold steel jaws. She threw her hand back between her legs, building herself back to a climactic frenzy with only a few quick rubs.

  Her pain threshold soaring with the pending climax, she squeezed almost as tight as she could, twisting and yanking at the tips of her breasts. Any harder and she’d cut them. She was certain of that. Her belly began to convulse and her orgasm seized her so fiercely that it seemed as though it had been ripped from her soul.

  “Robert!” she cried, hoping to feel the sudden rush of his hands crushing her hips, his cock slamming wet and hot into her. But there was no reply.

  She worked herself until her knees almost buckled and the electric tingling finally faded. Her eyes watering from the pain and the intensity of her orgasm, Kate dropped the pliers back where she’d found them.

  Once she’d caught her breath, reality flooded back as her moment of madness passed. Butterflies of apprehension fluttered in her stomach. She suddenly felt vulnerable, cold and alone. But, though she couldn’t see him, she was certain he was there, somewhere, watching.

  She thought again about his orders. Though she was spent for the moment, she knew herself well enough. With the right stimulation, she’d quickly recover. Glancing back into the old refrigerator, she chose the cut branch.

  Knowing she’d never be able to use it on herself the way he could, she summoned an image in her mind. His arms encircled her, one around her waist and the other tight across her chest. His mouth seized hers in a passionate kiss. His hard cock was like a fire inside of her, a flame that flickered in the heart of her sex, deep inside, where she wanted his thrusting hardness, his come. She pressed the hard stick across her breasts, as if his arm were there, dragging its rough bark across her nipples then down her belly.

  The surly tip of the tree branch dragged past the ticklish hollow of her belly, then lightly, she roused her clit. Holding her pussy lips open, she pressed the knotty edge of the branch against her moistening labia. She groaned out loud, her cries telling her watcher she was ready, wanting, in heat. With a clarity that spurred her on, Kate saw herself as though through his eyes; in a woodland clearing on a cold autumn day, a lovely, naked girl making love to herself. The rough caress of the wood, spiteful and uncaring, dragged against her clit, her swollen labia.

  Robert's game…her punishment.

  Kate swung the branch at her tits, flinching at the last moment before swiping their sides. Twice more, she swatted at her breasts, not quite able to bring herself to drive it in the way someone else could. Her heart pounded as she tried again. Her body prickled, unable to suppress the excitement as she finally felt pain. She struck herself again, and again. The blows stung a little, and they were starting to leave stripes on her flesh, but she still wasn’t able to use it the way it should be used.

  Again imagining herself in someone else’s hands, she began to hope somebody would come along, anyone. Despite the potential danger of being found by a stranger, she was confident enough to believe she could control the scene enough to walk away from it with what she wanted. He’d torture her breasts and her bottom; even her pussy and then he’d fuck her. He’d even think it was rape, but like any fantasy, that would be as much a part of her plan as the torture. Her orgasms would be driven by pain, fear and excitement. They’d be unlike any she’d ever had. Finally, after using her for hours, he’d leave her lying in the wilderness, battered, bruised and thoroughly sated with barely enough strength to get back to her clothes and find her way home.

  The sound of a car approaching as it turned onto the forest track interrupted her daring dreams. The gears crunched as the oncoming car negotiated a path on the difficult terrain. Her heart stopped for a moment. A car! Here? The fantasies she'd entertained seconds before evaporated as reality intruded. Quickly she looked back near the bare trees where she’d left her jeans and sweater, but all she saw was a bit of somewhat flattened grass.

  Oh no, please no. Oh God! This can’t be happening! Her clothes, everything—gone!

  I left my clothes by the fridge, I know I did. I left everything by the fridge.

  She ran back to where the pile should have been, but there was no sign of her clothes. Desperate, Kate looked around. Fear made the adrenaline pump her heart faster. Her pulse raced. Her mouth went dry.

  She thought about hiding in the refrigerator, but was afraid she wouldn’t be able to get out. The driver would be close enough to see her any second. Instinctively she covered her breasts and sex with her hands. The confidence she’d felt just moments earlier vanished. Ideas far less pleasant replaced the perfect rape fantasy.

  “Oh no,” she muttered, still searching for her clothes. They definitely weren’t there. But nobody could have taken them - she was alone and unobserved. Clearly though, she realized with a growing sense of shame, somebody had been watching and working while she was busy. If it wasn’t Robert, then…

  Quit panicking, girl, she thought to herself. Maybe it was just an old lady driving out to walk the dog. She tried to move behind the scant cover of the bare trees, hiding her nakedness as best she could while holding the stick ready, just in case. The car stopped only a few hundred yards from where she trembled, nude, behind the scrubby trees.

  Kate prepared to break and sprint, make for the deeper cover of the woods. She’d wait there until the driver left. Then she’d search for her clothes. Once more, she tried to make out the car’s driver. Failing to do that, she did recognize the car. It was Robert’s.

  Kate almost laughed out loud with relief. Jumping up, she ran toward the car.

  “Robert!”

  The driver-side door opened. A tall figure got out and stood there, waiting for her. Kate stopped in mid-stride. The man wore a
knee length winter’s coat and a scarf around his neck. She squinted at the waiting figure. Doubt came nagging to the surface in her mind.

  “Robert?”

  “Kate?” replied a familiar voice. “What’s going on?”

  Her hands flew back to her breasts and crotch.

  “Mr. Johnson!”

  Kate froze as Robert’s father stared questioningly at her. Mr. Johnson! This was all too dreadful. Robert’s precious game had turned into a nightmare.

  “Kate?” He asked, consternation written on his face. “Are you okay? What’s going on? Has anything happened to you?”

  She didn’t know him that well. Robert’s parents had divorced when he was young, and Robert had lived with his mother. Whenever Kate asked about his dad, Robert just said he was always away on business. She never even tried to ask Beth, a reserved woman who kept to herself and typically said little to Kate whenever she went to their house. Kate felt that Mrs. Johnson disapproved of her.

  Mr. Johnson, Anthony, she remembered, folded his arms and stared at her. She noticed his gaze hovering in the expected places, not that she really blamed him. She reddened with embarrassment.

  “I…uh, hello Mr. Johnson, I thought you were Robert,” Kate said, weakly. She wished the ground beneath her bare, cold feet would open and swallow her up.

  “So it would seem.” For a man in his mid-forties, he’d kept himself in good shape; lean, his dark hair beginning to grey at the temples. He carried himself with a quiet, self–assured air, as though he regarded the world with a certain wary, but intelligent detachment and a steely calm.

  Looking into his hooded, grey eyes, Kate swallowed. “Mr. Johnson, it’s not what it seems.” Not knowing what else to say, she added, “Somebody stole all my clothes.”

  Looking bemused, Mr. Johnson raised an eyebrow and said to the shivering girl, “They stole your clothes? Did your clothes come off voluntarily or were you in some sort of trouble?”