by Joey W. Hill
“Ask me for permission, Celeste. Beg for it.”
“Let me come. Please let me come. Oh…God, please let me come!”
He made her ask three times more, and then he gave her the answer she needed more than breath. “Come for me, Celeste. Squeeze down on that balloon while you do it. Squeeze, now.”
She tried, she really tried, and she understood why he told her to do that as an incredible orgasm became an indescribable one, her pussy and anal muscles contracting at once, her body jumping in short jerks in its restricted position, skin glowing with the marks he’d put on it. The room was spinning, just spinning away, her hands holding those handles in a death grip. She was screaming her lungs out, probably shaking the building on the foundation. Everything was vibrating, as if the electrons in the atoms of all matter around her had been energized into tiny frenzied circles.
She didn’t want him to stop, but with the release came a sudden, glorious rage. She spat at him, cursed when he started using that paddle again, hitting her with greater and greater strength, rocketing pain and something harder through her as he alternated the punishment with the relentless pleasure of his mouth, his fingers. The waves kept crashing over her as she let it all loose and told him exactly what she thought of him. Sexist, fucking asshole, fucking sadist, liar…
The connector between the shoulders and anal hook was released, the hook tossed to the side, leaving the balloon in place. Before she could react to that, he had her face pushed firmly to the mat between the handles, his hand on the back of her neck as he whipped her as thoroughly as any father had ever let his kid have it behind the woodshed.
The orgasm had reached its peak, was headed for the downward rush, but the punishment kept the aftershocks going, especially when he hit her labia at unexpected moments, making her jump and squeal as if she’d been hit with a cattle prod. He pulled his strength for those more sensitive area blows, but her nerves were all in screaming agony and pleasure, such that she wasn’t sure he wasn’t rewiring her brain, making it all the same. A mind-altering orgasm in reality.
He didn’t stop until she was crying out from more pain than pleasure, flinching away from the blows and making tiny, bleating protests. But she couldn’t bring herself to want him to stop. He was a sadist, yet he’d pulled her into a desire to serve his sadistic tendencies with every fiber of her being. When he at last put the paddle aside, she was almost sorry.
He rubbed his hand over the marks and bruising, giving her idle pinches to keep her flinching, but mixing it up with those pleasurable caresses. She was hoarse. Worn out in every sense of the word. He’d taken his hand off her neck, but she stayed in that triangular position, content to rest on her shoulder and cheek, her ass and pussy presented to him to do with as he would.
As he had.
“A liar, hmm? What did I lie about, Celeste?”
Nothing. He’d lied about nothing. She squeezed her eyes shut. That was what was so painful.
“What’s the word, Celeste?” His tone was unbelievably gentle now, though he kept that firmness. He was still in charge, as if he knew she needed that to answer the question.
“I didn’t use it.”
“But you need to say it.”
She swallowed. “I know you know it. That’s enough. It’s a stupid, fucking cliché. I’m better than that. I’m more than that.”
“Yeah, you are. You’re a whole hell of a lot more.”
“Please…please don’t come up here yet.” His hand had left her buttock, and she was afraid he was going to come to the front of the dais, make her sit back on her heels and look at him. She couldn’t do that yet.
His fingertips slid along her spine, her neck, and she closed her eyes. When he touched her chin, her cheek, following tear tracks, she quivered. “Don’t.”
“You don’t give the orders in here, Celeste. Look at me.” Quiet, inexorable. Tender.
When she lifted her lashes, she was gazing right into his face, because he was kneeling, his head cocked. She’d seen a lot of things in his countenance tonight. Ruthless determination, charm, humor, occasional flashes of disarming gentleness. Disarming because she now knew he craved a woman’s pain, and he didn’t find that at all inconsistent with his chivalrous protection of her wellbeing. Given that she’d just had the orgasm of her life, she wasn’t sure she could disagree, no matter how illogical it sounded.
But there was something else in this moment. Staring straight into his eyes when she was at her most vulnerable, she thought she glimpsed what lay deep inside his own darkness. Something that connected and understood her pain all too well. With that gut feeling that took her deeper into a story, that helped her know what the true point of telling it was, she saw something in Ben O’Callahan’s eyes that she was pretty sure he didn’t want her to see or know.
“There you are,” he said quietly, touching her lashes with a light finger. “You’re too brave to hide. What’s the word, Celeste?”
He knew it. He understood it. Probably understood why she couldn’t say it, because now he said it for her.
“Daddy. You strike me as the type of little girl who would have called him that. And cried for him in your sleep after he left. He disappeared from your life, leaving one big, terrible message. That men can’t be trusted. That men don’t take care of you. That men will hurt you, leave you. That they make you feel worthless and unloved. So any men who behave differently from that have to be an act. A lie. Because if they’re not…”
“It means he just left. And there’s nothing more to it than that.”
“No. It means he was a cowardly bastard who managed to have a kid who was far braver and smarter than he was.” When he touched her nose, that glimpse she’d gotten, of a man who understood abandonment, who understood the rage and fear, what it took to make something of oneself even after he’d been discarded like garbage, was gone. Now she simply saw compassion and care. As well as a lot of simmering lust. She’d had her orgasm, but he hadn’t…
He rose and moved back around her. Same soothing noises, relaxing her as he deflated and removed the balloon, unbuckled the harness and freed her from all her restraints. She could just imagine the marks she was going to have on her body. She already anticipated the delicious, inexplicable pleasure of looking at them.
But it said he was done. He was going to help her clean up and put on her robe. This was the end of it. He helped her sit back on her heels, moving her slow, as if he knew she was sore, muscles rigid from her anger, from fighting all of it, but she didn’t…it couldn’t end with this. Not like this.
As she came back on her heels, she reached out and touched his face. He caught her the second she made contact, as if he would have preferred her not to touch him so intimately, but he didn’t take her hand away. Just held her there as she grazed his cheek bone.
“I want…” God, what if he rejected her? Laughed at her. No, he wouldn’t. He’d just proved that, hadn’t he? She’d expected his scorn, and for him to treat this as a big fucking I-told-you-so. She’d seen so many negative outcomes in life. But to be treated this way, to have this gorgeous man with green eyes, his expression stern and unyielding, beside her… He was so attentive to her needs. He’d known what she’d needed, a gift far greater than what she’d thought she’d wanted.
“I’m still going to use that tape.”
“Sure you are.” He stroked her cheek. “What do you want, Celeste?”
“I want…please…I want you to…be where the balloon was.” She knew that was what he wanted. She could give him that and, though she was a little uncertain about her physical ability to take him, she trusted him to get her there. “Will you, please?”
He studied her for a long moment. “You haven’t been very good.”
“No.”
His teeth flashed. “That’s all right. I prefer bad girls.”
Part Five
It would have made her smile, if she wasn’t all of a sudden so nervous. “I haven’t ever…there. What you just
did, that was it. And you’re pretty large.”
“Getting cold feet now?” But he wasn’t teasing her in a mean way. He gave her short hair an affectionate tug. “Don’t worry. You’re not my first virgin. If you can keep trusting me, Celeste, I’ll take care of you. All right?”
When she nodded, he rose. “Stay on your knees.”
God, he was good at that commanding tone. She tried to control the little quivers from knees to shoulders as he went back to the curtained area. Was she crazy? Did she really want to do this? When he was that close, it seemed obvious, but all he had to do was move a few feet away and she doubted her sanity. Then he re-emerged, and she was sure she’d lost her mind.
He was carrying another dildo. No, it wasn’t a dildo. It was a freaking baseball bat, masquerading as a sex toy. About two feet long and as thick as a caveman’s club. All it needed was the saber tooth spikes.
“Oh, no way in hell.” She was scrambling to her feet, headed for the door, when he caught her around the waist. She shrieked as he swung her around, holding her back against him. Flailing, she smacked at that impossibly oversized weapon, and was in the middle of giving him a scathing piece of her mind when she realized he was laughing.
He tossed it to the side and enfolded her in both arms. Since he was still holding her against him, his cock, scary and impressive enough for any woman, was pressed against her bare ass with only that thin barrier of his clothes between them. Though he was still chuckling, he was also pressing his lips against her temple, her jaw, nudging her head to the side to reach her neck.
“Christ, your expression was worth it. Forgive me, darlin’. Had to loosen you up there.”
Irish. He’d switched to Irish. The man was a damn chameleon, and utterly irresistible. She caught her lip in her teeth as he suckled her skin, dragging moist, heated lips and tongue along her pounding pulse.
“You are such a bastard.”
“Yes. Yes, I am. And this bastard is going to fuck your ass. But before I do, you’re going to give me a pretty apology for calling me such a disrespectful name. Ah, there, keep squirming against me that way. Makes me even harder. Be shameless, Celeste. Reach for the pleasure of it.”
She wouldn’t have thought she could do such a thing, be that wanton, but those large, capable hands slid up her bare abdomen to take possession of her breasts, his long fingers pinching and plucking at her nipples again. She moaned, arching into his touch. She’d just had an orgasm that rocked her world, but she rotated her hips against him, learning the shape and feel of him, bucking as he pushed back against her and brought her to the wall.
“Forehead and palms against it, love, like I’m a cop telling you to spread ‘em. A cop whose patience is at an end because you’ve opened that smart mouth and told me every one of your constitutional rights, how I should have something better to do than harangue honest citizens, and that you’re a reporter who’s going to do a story on the uselessness of local law enforcement.”
“I have a lot of respect for…police officers. I’ve done stories on their work with community… groups.” The last word became three syllables, because he’d let one hand slide back down to her thighs and curved it between her legs. He put two fingers inside her at the same moment he knocked her legs out wider and pulled her lower body further away from the wall. It drove her pussy down deeper on those thick digits. “God…”
“Palms stay on the wall,” he said sharply. “I’ll have that apology.”
He slid out, then in, pumping her like a cock, and her still slick pussy couldn’t help the spasm as she imagined just that. But she knew he wouldn’t take her there. It didn’t matter. He could make the ass-fucking good, she had no doubt. Well, her body had no doubt. She was starting to feel a little anxious, reminded of how ruthless he could be. But it didn’t matter. She remembered how she’d craved more of it, even through the pain.
“If a cop stopped you on the way home tonight and decided you needed a spanking to teach you manners, he’d take your panties down and see that bad girl imprint all over your ass. He’d know you like punishment, and maybe he’d give you a little more with that wood baton of his.”
“What…if it’s a female police officer?”
He huffed a laugh against her spine, making her shiver. “Teasing me, are we? I’d like to see that, the two of you getting it on. Maybe on my bed. Nothing prettier than two women going down on each other, twined together like flowers. But I think you need a Master’s hand first, teaching you to behave a little better.”
It was role playing, just a visualization, and one that should have her snorting in derision. Instead she could imagine Ben in one of those police uniforms, the shiny shoes and hat, the direct gaze, the Irish accent, and his sure grip on that thick baton… Okay, her mind was no longer her own. He was taking it wherever he wanted. And she wanted him to do it.
“I’m sorry for calling you a bastard. Sir.” She pressed her lips together against a sudden smile. “I promise I’ll be a very good girl from this moment on. Forever.”
He sighed with exaggerated patience. “A liar. Can’t say I’m surprised to hear that, now.”
Withdrawing his fingers, he smacked her ass with a firm hand. The soreness from the paddling and towel snapping had her jumping as he hit the right set of nerve endings. “You hold that ass up for me, girl, or I’ll make it that much worse.”
It was amazing how exposing herself to him further, subjecting more of her tender skin to his sensual abuse, made her even hotter. He swatted her several more times, firm claps that had her making small noises of confused protest and arousal.
“Down on your knees.”
She slid down the wall, keeping her palms flat on it, and felt his hands at her waist, steadying her as she folded into the proscribed position. “I want you to walk back to that mat on your hands and knees. You keep your ass and head up the whole way, and your eyes on the platform, not on me. You’ll get the rest of your punishment there. As well as on the way.”
This was a little different, but she was starting to understand how it worked. Each level of submission took her to the possibility of an even deeper level, a place she’d never imagined herself to be prior to those other experiences. The women and men she’d seen on the upper level, in impossible positions of subjugation, extreme bondage and flogging, were starting to make more sense. She wondered again if anyone could hit bottom with Ben O’Callahan, or if a woman would let herself descend all the way to Hell for the pleasure he could offer her. Her comparison to Satan might not be as far off as she’d imagined.
“You hesitate, I’ll use that collar and leash.”
She turned, tentatively going to her hands and knees. It wasn’t that far to the mat, perhaps twenty feet. But she wasn’t anticipating his hand settling on her shoulder, bringing her to a halt. “I think you need some help getting there.”
Oh, no. It was that same hot wax feeling, being painted over her clit. Unlike when he’d used it on her nipples, where there was a gradual arousal that rippled outward, the effect this time was immediate, perhaps because her clit was already swollen from her climax and from what he was building within her again. She began to gasp and shudder as he strapped a pair of Velcro cuffs snugly around her thighs, just above her knees, and linked them with a short chain. Briefly kneeling before her, he did the same to her wrists, a short length of chain between them. His expression was intent on his task, almost detached from her, as if she were an object in truth, and that managed to be arousing as well. It was insane.
“Close your eyes.” When she obeyed, she bit back a protest as the blindfold was slipped back over her eyes. “You’ll rely on me to get you there. I’ll tell you if you get off course.”
She was completely off the beaten path emotionally and physically, such that she was already relying on him to guide her, but this made it literal.
“Walk. Very small steps.” She yelped, startled as some kind of switch lashed across her ass. She started forward, and the hobbles on wr
ists and knees limited her to barely six inches of movement. Those twenty feet had just become a much longer journey.
“What would you have done to me…if I hadn’t…apologized?” Her attempt at humor was lost in another groan as even her small movement increased the sensation to her clit from that topical oil.
“Walk, Celeste.”
Another lash from that switch. Oh, God. He was going to hit her with each step, stripes of fire across her ass, her pussy throbbing.
“You’re not holding your ass up. I want to see that pretty ass begging for my cock. Teasing me with the sway of your hips, the flash of your wet pussy lips, begging to be fucked.”
She tried, but the stimulation was almost too much. He had an answer for that, though. What felt like the anal hook pressed back between her buttocks, but now it had a short, thick plug on it, not the balloon.
“Push against me, Celeste. That will let it in. Take it deep.”
The lubricated muscles gave much easier this time than she’d expected, but there was still pressure, discomfort. Yet as it sank in, she clenched around it, imagining his cock there. She had to get to the dais. If he didn’t kill her with pleasure first.
It was more than surreal. She, who’d barely done anything more than vanilla sex, was in the middle of the kinkiest, most outlandish sexual journey, one far beyond her experience or imaginings. It had happened in less than a couple hours, at the hands of a beyond-imagining experienced sexual Dominant. There was a story there, how he’d become this way, how…
She cried out as the switch hit her flanks again. Using the plug and hook combination, he propelled her forward. “Keep moving.”
She’d been grasping at a sense of control, trying to keep her thoughts on her own path. How the hell had he recognized that from her body language and taken that control away from her again? It didn’t matter, because the hobbles on her legs and arms, the stimulation to her clit, the way he was easing the plug forward and back, as if she was being ass-fucked as she walked, the brush of his pants leg against her flank, telling her he was right beside her, escorting her where he wanted to go, took everything else over.