by Evans, Trent
Ever since that day she’d wondered how bad it really did hurt, if it was the kind of pain that would morph into the forbidden desire she felt after having her ass blistered by paddle or hand. The kind of pain that made her nipples stand up, her pussy gush.
She grunted once, twice, three times as Blaine straightened, thrusting hard, shaking her entire body. Fingers reached down to stroke over her clit, and she moaned, twisting her ass against him. It hurt to have him stimulating her again, but the hurt just magnified, crystallized her lust for him. She wanted the pain, needed that edge to the pleasure.
“This … is … how … I … want … you,” he ground out, each word punctuated by a brutal thrust that drew panicky breaths from Erica. He leaned over her, still driving into her, one heavy hand clasping her shoulder in a painful grip, as he whispered in her ear. “If you were mine, I’d keep you naked, dependent on me for everything. I’d have you chained to the foot of my bed. I’d wake you in the night and fold you over the footboard. Take you whenever I felt the urge. No words, no seeking your permission. Mine.”
“Yes! Oh, god. Harder, Sir!” Erica could feel her climax gathering, spiraling higher. Both his words and his thick cock worked her, broke her down, made her a slave to him. Nothing else mattered in this moment, just the feel of him, his strength controlling her, enveloping her, binding her body and soul to him.
His.
“Close, so close,” he grunted. His big hand laid down a punishing slap to Erica’s ass, making her yell, the blow reawakening the throbbing, punished flesh. A fist yanked hard on her locks, pulling her head back, the pain blooming in her scalp and driving her lust higher, that agony earthing in her womb, intensifying the pulsing ache of her clit.
His hips pounded against her in sharp, staccato thrusts, his tortured groan punctuated by the harsh pull on her hair like the reins of a thoroughbred. The pain kept her on the knife-edge of orgasm; the feeling of him riding her like an animal lending a taboo energy to their fucking that was at once degrading and exhilarating. Then she felt wetness flood within her as he came, the heat of it a delicious surprise. He slumped over her, catching his breath. Warm drops of sweat dripped onto her back, his labored breath whispering through her hair.
She smiled. He’d been saving up on his trip, evidently. Saving up for her.
They both liked to make her worship his cock with her mouth, revere the gift of his semen. Often, on the days he’d arranged to have her visit him, he’d take great joy (and if she were honest, she did too) in making her kneel naked before him while he brought himself off, thick dollops of hot come spraying over the slopes of her breasts, her exposed neck. Sometimes he’d make her hold her mouth open for him, the strangled purplish head depositing a thick offering on her outstretched tongue. He’d hold her chin gently in his hand raising her gaze to his, his thumb spreading a drop of his come across her swollen lower lip, the warm fondness in his eyes melting her, leaving her defenseless against him. He’d coo to her as he softly told her to swallow, to take all of it like a good girl. Then she’d lower her gaze, shivering as the warmth suffused her cheeks, the pleasure and the shame of it melding within her into a seething mass of lust.
His spent cock slipped from her sex, drawing a ragged sigh from her. His hands helped her to stand again, easing her back against the hard planes of his chest. Somewhere he’d shed the t-shirt, and she longed to see the sectioned abdominals, the powerful pectorals, worship all of it with her lips and tongue. But he just held her, one muscled arm over her chest, his gentle palm cupping the weight of one of her breasts.
They just stood there, both of them listening to the other breathe, reveling in the feel of flesh on flesh. The warm metallic smell of her Sir’s semen was strong as it leaked sullenly from her hard-used pussy. She had the urge to run her fingers through it, to taste it, but knew she wasn’t to move unless he ordered it.
The light of the sun had bled almost totally from the sky, a smudge of magenta and deep blue at the horizon, the night ushering in the dazzling star field above.
“I never get tired of seeing it,” Blaine murmured. “That incredible sunset.”
Erica smiled back at him. “I’ve never seen it before, like this. At the ocean.”
It filled her with such calm, the pure simplicity of it. She thought she knew a little now of why long-time sailors might grow melancholy when away from the sea for too long.
“When your Mistress and I were first married, we spent time here every chance we got, enjoying this beauty, enjoying each other.”
The pang of longing gnawed at her. She searched her feelings to make sure it wasn’t jealousy or possessiveness. Such things were corrosive, insidious, and she was determined never to let herself succumb to them.
No, what she felt was … regret. It wasn’t because he’d had that time with Kathryn, but regret that Erica couldn’t have shared it with them. She pictured them standing at this very window, arms wrapped around one another, two beautiful immortals enraptured by their new love. Erica would be there with them, naked, on her knees, the chain to her collar tucked in the crook of Blaine’s muscled arm. She’d press kisses to their thighs, to the fingers offered to her fervent lips. A silent, loving tableau.
It hadn’t happened of course, but who knew what the future held? It was a future she told herself not to hope for, her naive attempt to stave off the disappointment of reality. She knew she was young, a little rash at times (Mom and Dad would say a lot rash), so she tried not to get too far ahead of things. Blaine, wiser than his years might indicate, had helped her to let events happen on their own, to surrender to them — and to him. He’d tried to show her the peace found in the accepting of the vagaries of chance … and maybe even a little good fortune.
Erica’s stomach growled loudly, both of them laughing at her startled jump. She turned in his arms, looking at him, then pointedly moving her gaze beyond him to the bar.
“Guess we’d better feed you, bad girl,“ he said, winking at her. “All this fucking is sapping your strength. What kind of a vampire would I be to allow my victim to wilt so soon?”
She giggled at him, kissing his soft, sensual mouth.
Blaine nipped at her lip. “Insatiable.”
What more gorgeous specimen of a vampire than her Sir could there possibly be? She his source of sustenance, his blood slave, bound to him in more ways than her chains. The thought made her shiver, her pussy awakening yet again.
“Go get your bread, and bring it to me.” He nodded his head back toward the bar.
Erica was starving, and just the thought of even that plain bread made her mouth water. She brought the plate to him, and he took it, dipping his chin toward the floor.
Sighing, she sunk to her knees. She spread her ass properly on her heels, her cheeks heating at the bounce and wobble of her breasts. He stood over her, bright eyes drinking in her nudity. Her gaze took in the broad, muscular chest, the brown, flat nipples beckoning to her lips and tongue, down the lean, sectioned abdominals with the light dusting of dark hair that dove down to his crotch. He’d tucked himself back in, only a tuft of wiry pubic hair visible in the casually open fly of his black slacks.
He bade her kneel closer, and she obeyed, not able to divine a way to do it without sending her breasts bouncing once more. Blaine pulled her head to his muscled thigh, fingers stroking though her hair. She kept her hands in her lap as he’d taught her long ago, though she itched to run them up the heavy muscles of those thighs, to feel the barely harnessed power of those legs hum beneath her touch.
They stood that way for some minutes, his fingers feeling positively divine in her hair, stroking the tension from her scalp. Then he stirred, tapping her cheek. “Raise your eyes, Erica.”
Clutched in his hand, the piece of bread floated just above her. She tilted her head, questioning, and he nodded at her.
Then she realized what he intended, and her blush burned to the roots of her hair, his broad grin registering the gleeful pleasure he took in her em
barrassment. Plucking up her courage, she knelt up, taking the bread from his fingers with her lips.
She’d feared it would be bland, tasteless, but instead it was delicious, obviously fresh baked, and fair melted on her tongue. He tore off another piece, holding it above her once more. She moved to kneel up again, but a sharp shake of his head stopped her.
“Present your breasts.”
“What? I don’t …”
“Use your hands, Erica.”
Cupping her breasts, she held them up to him, the globes quivering in her unsteady hands.
“That’s it. Very good.” He placed the piece in her mouth, the back of his hand caressing the warmth of her cheek.
There was a soft knock and Ana stepped in, a hand wrapped around the door. Erica tried to stand, but Blaine’s hand clamped her head to his thigh. She thought better of struggling against him, and instead hid her face against his slacks, her arms wrapped around him.
Ana cleared her throat. “Sorry to disturb you, Sir. Mrs. Forster called to say she’d be late.”
“Thank you, Ana. You can go to bed now, if you want. I’ll lock up.” Erica could feel the smug maid’s gaze on the round, bare ass pressed to her naked feet. “Is there anything I can … get for you, while I’m here, Sir?”
The bitch. No!
“No, I think we’re good,” Blaine said, mirth in his voice. “Thank you, Ana.”
“Good night, Sir.” A pause, her voice raised for effect. “Good night, Erica.”
Erica wanted to crawl into the floor, through to the center of the earth. But first, she wanted to murder Ana.
Blaine growled, his hand tightening on her hair.
“Good night, Ana,” she mumbled, as if chewing on broken glass.
“Oh wait, Ana?” His palm caressed the crown of Erica’s head. “There is something.”
“Sir?”
Erica could claw the woman’s eyes out at the blatant eagerness in her tone. The slut.
He’s mine.
It was insane for her to feel jealous about a man, who essentially, owned Erica — and who was himself married to another woman. However, love — and lust — rarely made sense. She could accept it though, and she knew she’d do everything and anything to make Ana accept it too if the tarted up maid touched one hair on her Sir.
Erica knew he’d probably punish her for such thoughts, but luckily, he wasn’t able to get inside her head — yet.
“Do you know where the arm binder is? The leather one?”
“I think so,” Ana said, hesitation plain in the maid’s voice. “In the … room, Sir.”
No, no.
“Okay, good. Bring it to me along with that black cloth I left draped over the end of the horse.” Blaine used his grip to turn Erica’s face up, her eyes reluctantly meeting his. Something danced in the depths of his gaze, and a shiver shook her body. He grinned down at her.
“Might as well bring the hobble too, Ana. This girl needs it.”
***
The breathing of the soft, beautiful body curled up next to him had settled, sleep claiming the girl whom he feared he’d become increasingly fixated upon. Blaine shifted her body a little, adjusting the position of her head, her warm cheek laid upon his shoulder. She wasn’t used to sleeping with her arms bound, so he wanted to keep her as comfortable as possible. The girl had a long night still ahead of her.
He’d been surprised when she’d fallen asleep shortly after securing her in her bonds. Her trembling was such as he’d fitted her arms into the binder, that he thought she might dissolve into tears, plead with him to leave off. Luckily, she hadn’t. Instead, she’d endured the vulnerability of the arm binder, the way it blatantly presented her luscious breasts, displayed those long nipples of hers his fingers could never resist pinching into aching hardness. Surprisingly, the blindfold seemed to calm her, her tight lips loosening, opening, calling to his mouth to kiss, to take. Her whole body softened, the tension melting from her muscles, and no longer resisting, she’d allowed him to draw her into his arms.
Surrender.
It’s what he craved from her. It was still hard for her, but that very difficulty added the sweetness to it that he savored. That moment of realization that she was truly helpless, entirely subject to him and his whims. Lying there in that massive bed, the same bed he’d shared with his wife countless nights, his thoughts wandered. He wanted more, so much more. A beautiful, introverted college girl, at once unassuming and compelling, he’d been fascinated by her fresh, fearless embrace of her needs. It was a quality entirely unlike someone of her youth, and it drew him — and Kathryn — to her. But he still wondered if Erica was truly ready for it, fully prepared for what he’d soon expect from her — if the night went according to plan.
Blaine knew he wanted her the first moment he’d set eyes on her. That scared, but obviously eager girl sitting uncomfortably in the midst of all those strangers, awash in the bright whites of the light display. She’d looked almost angelic, a purity of spirit in those pretty eyes. But the thoughts that shapely body of hers had evoked in him were decidedly impure.
She stirred against him, the chain of her hobble clicking softly as she moved her ankles.
“Shh, girl,” he murmured, placing a kiss on her cheek. “It’s okay, sleep now.”
Her lips moved in that uncertain way those who dream have, the words formed in that twilight mind, but not transmitted completely to the mouth, to the means of expression. Blaine kissed those lips into stillness.
As much as he loved holding the helpless Erica next to him, listening to her breathing, something was missing.
His wife.
She’d been the one to first propose the idea, and he’d shot it down immediately. Why do it when they were both already so happy?
His hand stroked the hair away from Erica’s eyes, his thumb tracing a dark eyebrow. Now he knew she’d been right; she’d nailed it, actually. Would there be jealousy? Could there be a chance sometime in the future that one would be favored over another? Certainly, there was a chance.
But the one in danger of feeling left out wasn’t whom he’d thought it might be.
The door opened, whispering along the thick pile carpet. a figure strolling into the darkness of the room. The streetlamps from the road below cast a ghostly light through the huge windows, partially illuminating the otherwise dark room.
“How’s our little slave girl?”
Blaine grinned, easing his arm out from under the bound, slumbering Erica. “I didn’t think you’d be back until late.”
His wife stepped fully into the light, her hands working in her hair. Her tight, tailored gray suit, while itself an almost masculine affectation, nevertheless perfectly accentuated her slim, willowy figure. “I had James fly me out of there early. Did you know he’s got a girl in Vancouver? He was quite amenable to getting me to Portland as fast as possible.” Kathryn smiled. “He just about flew the wings off that thing.”
“I’m glad you’re back,” Blaine said, rolling gingerly from the bed, hoping he wouldn’t wake the beautiful, constrained nude curled over the blankets. He pulled on the warm-ups, the cotton cool against his skin. Striding to Kathryn, he wrapped his arms around her, tasting her lips after much too long. “Missed you.”
She kissed him back, angling her hips against him, his cock stirring. “She didn’t wear you out I see.” Her hand closed around him, stroking slowly, knowingly. ”My insatiable husband.”
“Someone needs to be reminded of her place.”
Kathryn tilted her head, giving him an exaggerated flutter of eyelashes. “I’d say she’s well aware of her place.”
“I wasn’t talking about Erica,” he rumbled.
Yes, it had been much too long for many things. He used to obsess about when he’d next get his hands on his gorgeous, bewitching wife. Imagine the color and shape of the weals his whip would raise over her ass, her anguished cries filling the air. All of it culminating in the animal, primal energy of their fucking, taking h
er the way a woman like her needed, her body yielding to his lusts.
Deep blue eyes flashed at him, her smile faltering just a tiny bit. “Let’s get a drink.”
His hand caught her arm as she moved past him toward the bar. “Not here. Let her sleep a while. She’s tired.”
Kathryn allowed him to reel her back into his arms, and he kissed her cheeks, her eyelids. Her scent was something he’d never cease to enjoy. She always smelled so good — even after a nonstop from Bismarck to Portland. He worked the jacket off, his hands itching to reacquaint themselves with her flesh.
His flesh.
Slipping out of his grasp, she sauntered to the door, looking back at him as she finally loosened her hair, the golden mass of it falling all about her face. “Outside,” she whispered, and disappeared down the hall.
Ana, dressed in only her diaphanous nightgown, met him at the door. The dark surrounds of her nipples beneath the sheer fabric were plainly visible in the hallway light, and Blaine tore his gaze away from them to look back at the bound beauty slumbering on his bed.
The buxom maid’s brow furrowed. “Everything okay, Sir?”
“Leave her there until she wakes,” he said, laying a finger along a soft olive cheek, bringing her gaze up to his. “When she does, give her whatever she needs — but this door stays locked when you’re finished. Understand?”
Ana lowered her gaze, her hands clasped in front of her thighs. “Of course, Sir.” The dark nipples hardened under Blaine’s gaze, and he considered taking Ana out to the deck with him and Kathryn. It would not have been the first time they had pressed their maid into other … duties.
He kissed the mass of Ana's dark hair, then went searching for his wayward wife.
***
The night air smelled faintly of sea and sulfur, the locals already lighting off a wealth of fireworks all around them. Kathryn sipped from her wine, her glass dangling in her long fingers, her slender, yet shapely figure leaning over, elbows poised on the black wrought iron of the railing. Strands of long hair blew about in the breeze, the wildness of it such a contrast to her normal compact, tightly controlled state.