by Alison Tyler
“Relax, Mr. Friar. If you struggle I’ll have to make it rough for you. Not that I necessarily mind making it rough, but Ms. Michelle won’t have anything to do with it. Not her precious customers, no.”
Michelle. A name with a voice. A voice with a promise.
But fear overwhelmed the desire to see the face connected with the voice, “Please…”
The big man chuckled as he tied Benjamin’s hands behind his back. “Please what? Don’t hurt you?”
A powerful hand gripped his wrist, pain and numbness flaring through his hand. “Just realize I’m in control here, Mr. Friar. If you misbehave and displease Ms. Michelle, I’ll have your testicles.”
The big man thumped him in the crotch, just hard enough to make him jerk, to emphasize his point.
The passage of time was meaningless as his wrists throbbed from their bindings and the van hummed through the city streets. Benjamin had no idea where he was, nor did he have any idea how many sets of hands, once they’d finally reached their location, lifted him from the van and laid him on his back. The hands were gentle but firm, untying him and then stretching out his arms, affixing them to planks of wood running crosswise from his feet to the opposite arm in an X shape. His legs were outstretched similarly, and as his pants were removed, he felt every inch of his nakedness.
“Welcome, Mr. Friar.” He heard that voice, the voice of a sex goddess, as the hood was pulled off.
She stood before him, nearly six feet tall, with long vibrant red hair that seemed to have a life of its own, and legs to dream about at night. She was dressed, if the word dressed could be applied to her skimpy outfit, in the barest of red sashes, not bothering to cover her firm full breasts and large pink nipples.
“I…” Benjamin stuttered, unable to bring his eyes from the object of the afternoon’s fantasy.
“You do not speak, Mr. Friar. Only I speak here. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” he gulped and then cried out in pain as the cat-o’-nine-tails lashed out, striking him broadly across the chest.
“There is punishment for displeasing me. First, it’s the simple whip. A few lashes here and there.” She struck out at his thigh, leaving raised red welts across the pasty flesh. “Continue to displease me and it’s Frank.”
Michelle gestured to the large man whose fist Benjamin’s face had already met.
“Just to put it out of your mind, yes, Frank likes to hurt people. Isn’t that right, Frank?”
“Yes, Ms. Michelle.”
“I believe he enjoys it even more than I do.”
Benjamin’s heart pounded like an old Chevy with timing issues as the wooden frame he was strapped to was raised by half a dozen young women who wore nothing more than silk masks.
“There are also rewards,” Michelle told him as she stepped forward, her right hand grazing up from his navel to his left nipple. “Rewards with the pain.” She pulled on the nipple and he gulped.
“That’s how you work, isn’t it, Mr. Friar? Pain and reward? Control and domination? A man like you doesn’t get where he is without knowing those things.”
She released the nipple and slapped him hard across the face. “Life is about power, yes? When you get to your position in life, there is little else.”
Benjamin wanted to see her hurting, his cock in her ass and her begging for him to stop.
“Anger is good. It gets the blood pumping,” she said as the whip lashed out again, striking him across his softening belly. “But why are you angry, Mr. Friar?”
The whip lashed out again and he clenched his teeth.
“I’ll tell you why you’re angry. You’re angry because I’m in control.”
“No. I’m angry because I fell for this silliness. Angry with myself.”
The whip came down again, harder, scorching his chest. He arched his back and groaned. Michelle then dropped the whip and grabbed his testicles with her left hand, the other hand expertly tying a red satin sash around them.
“I told you, Mr. Friar, you do not speak here. This isn’t your board-room, nor is it your comfy little house with your perfect wife and perfect kids. This isn’t even your secretary taking it in the ass because she wants a raise.”
“How do you know these things?” he asked, ignoring Michelle’s threats.
She sighed, reaching down to the floor. He couldn’t see what she was doing between his legs, but he heard the strike of the lighter and smelt the candle. “A question here, a question there. Surely you know it’s a good idea to research potential clients. You just don’t seem to know when it’s a good idea to shut up.”
Benjamin couldn’t remember ever screaming as hard as he did when the wax dripped onto his bound testicles. He screamed until he couldn’t scream any more, straining against his bonds, pulling at the silk that tied him to wood.
“You are nothing here, Mr. Friar. Nothing to me. In reality, you are nothing at all to anyone. You don’t really have any power, Mr. Friar. None. I could kill you here, right now, and what would happen? Do you think they’d ever even find the body after Frank had finished with it?”
Two of the silk-masked young girls stepped forward, simple wooden clothespins in their hands. As Michelle withdrew the candle, they affixed a pin to each nipple.
“Do you know what true power is?”
She nodded and the girls placed two more. Not nearly as serious as the pain from the wax, but enough to make Benjamin flinch. “Pain, Mr. Friar. Pain is the only power worth exploiting.”
Again a nod and again another pair of clothespins. He finally cried out on the sixth set, the burning and stretching of the skin around his nipples too much to take. Michelle only laughed.
“Please…” he whimpered.
“Please more?” Michelle said, igniting a cigarette with the same lighter with which she’d lit the candle. “Please more, ma’am.”
Another of the six girls kneeled behind him, and he could feel the spreading of his asscheeks and the wet sound of lubricant on flesh. He gasped as the plug, thin pointed and wide based, was inserted.
Michelle leaned over him and stroked his face. “You see, there can be pleasure, Mr. Friar. Pleasure in pain. You like a cock in your ass, don’t you?”
“No,” Benjamin said, squirming against the uncomfortable pressure in his ass, the pins on his nipples, “I don’t. Please…let me go.”
Michelle knelt and removed the plug, but replaced it with her finger. She probed gently, pushing toward his prostate. “I’m sure, Mr. Friar, if you’d had a cock up there, at some point, you might understand. You like the other way around, no?”
Amid all the pain, the humiliation, and the fear, something stirred, as if the gentle pushing of her finger had reached beyond just his ass. His cock began to rise slowly, and the smile that spread across Michelle’s face was pleasing. Her tongue darted out and lapped at the edge of his growing erection.
“That’s right, Mr. Friar. There is pleasure in pain.” A gentle nod of her head and one of the girls picked up the candle, letting the wax drip down over his cock. He pulled back at first but then steadied his mind, letting the pain become pleasure.
“There is ecstasy in losing control, life in being on the other side,” Michelle told him, removing her finger and replacing the butt plug. She took a length of soft nylon rope and began feeding the end to one of the naked girls who looped it around his legs, running it all the way up both. He could see his erection pulsating now, the restricted testicles making it seem much, much larger. Once the rope was around his waist, Frank reached forward and pulled, the loops tightening around him until his flesh threatened to burst underneath.
“There are sensations you’ve never known, Mr. Friar, simply because for your entire life you’ve refused to let go. That’s all you have to do, Benjamin. Let go.”
The veins in his legs bulged all the way to his cock. Michelle grasped it firmly in her hand, and he could feel every inch of her flesh on his, unlike anything he’d ever felt before. She stroked his cock soft
ly, up and down, slowly, and Benjamin gasped, no longer from pain but from sheer ecstasy. It only took a few more silent seconds of stroking from Michelle’s hand before the climax rushed forward from his testicles, stopped at the binding of silk. With a simple flick of her wrist she undid the small tie, and Benjamin’s head throbbed with stars. It was the most powerful climax he’d ever had.
The room was silent for a few moments as his body went limp, completely drained.
His arms were freed, the nylon rope and clothespins removed. One of the girls washed the lubricant from between his asscheeks after she removed the butt plug. The lashes across his chest were tended to, and the girls helped him slip into a soft white robe. Later, as he was soaking in a steaming hot bath, Michelle joined him, her legs intertwining around his.
“I hope the experience was all that I made it out to be, Mr. Friar.”
He nodded in agreement. It was, and he’d already envisioned an amount of money for payment greater than a lot of people made in a year. “Just one question, though.”
Her eyebrows raised as she leaned forward, smiling. “Yes?”
“Next time do I have to be kidnapped? Or can I just show up here?”
JEAN ROBERTA
IN THE HOLD
HONEY, DO YOU THINK she’ll find a buyer for the house?” Amy asked. She lay with her head on Michael’s chest, her long brown hair in a silky tangle under his nose. They were entwined on his king-sized bed, which dominated the one small bedroom in his basement apartment. The place was less a love nest than a temporary refuge along the highway of Michael’s life.
Amy was trying to make the best of things. She didn’t want to think about Carla, Michael’s brisk, sharp-featured wife, but her image invaded Amy’s mind whenever she tried to imagine her future with Michael.
“If she beats the bushes,” he sighed. Amy had met Carla before she and Michael had given in to temptation. Carla tended to be very direct about what she wanted. And apparently that was what Michael didn’t want. Not anymore. Amy could imagine Carla beating bushes to drive a lurking house-hunter into the open and then cornering him into making an acceptable offer. It was a strangely exciting image.
“Are you sure you don’t want to just cut the knot and leave town, alone and free?” She knew how quickly men escape when they feel trapped or hunted. Amy didn’t want to rely on false hope.
Michael sat up and savored the sight of his girlfriend’s high, pointed breasts, crowned with large pink nipples. Her hair flowed romantically over them, and she looked completely different from a snappy, short-haired wife focused on the spoils of divorce.
The man slipped a wiry arm under Amy’s slim waist and pulled her to him. “I’d like to sail the high seas,” he growled thrillingly in her ear, “beyond the reach of Her Majesty’s laws. I’d be a salty dog with a captive princess on my ship.”
Amy squirmed and squealed. “Am I the captive princess?”
“Aye, wench, that you are,” he assured her. Michael affected a piratical squint, as though gazing into the future across a boundless glassy ocean. Amy loved this side of him.
Before she guessed what he was planning, he pulled one of her arms to the cold brass headboard and wrapped a belt around a corner post, buckling it around her wrist. She laughed and rolled to her side, reaching up to free herself.
He lowered his mouth to one nipple and sucked it in past his grazing teeth. He flicked it with his tongue, and Amy felt the echoes in her clit. Her hips rocked subtly, as if by instinct, and she lowered her knees.
Michael pulled away, deliberately tugging the nipple in his mouth until it was stretched to an almost unbelievable size. He left it exposed to the air as he seized one of Amy’s shins. That was when she noticed that lengths of chain and Velcro cuffs were attached to each of the brass posts at the end of the bed. Michael had carefully prepared for this scene.
“Oh, Captain,” she begged dramatically, “what are you going to do to me?”
“Make you a woman, my dear,” he growled, showing his teeth. He held one of her ankles and fastened a cuff around it. “’Tis what you need. You will not be satisfied until I do.”
“You brute!” she wailed, trying to free her trapped foot. Flashing her a wicked grin, Michael reached for her other leg. As she tried to shake him off, she gave him a clear view of the moist pink lips framed by the curly brown hair between her thighs.
“What a beautiful clam,” he told her, stretching out his free arm to slide two fingers into her opening. “With a pearl just waiting to be found.”
Amy felt lusciously violated, as though she were really a sheltered virgin whose life could be changed completely through this deflowering. “Oh!” she squealed, not caring who heard her. “Sir! I’ll be ruined!”
“Not so,” chuckled her ravisher, stroking the very wet folds of her cunt as he steadily sank in deeper and deeper. He added a third finger. “You’ll be a pirate’s woman. Mine to plunder at will.” Just when Amy feared that she couldn’t hang on to what little resistance she had left, he pinched and squeezed her clit with his free hand, rubbing it with no regard for its sensitive nature.
“I won’t stop, my dear,” growled Michael, “until you surrender.”
Amy thrashed in her bonds as though she wanted to escape, but Michael hung on for dear life, and her squirming only increased the stimulation of his hard, determined fingers. A merciless orgasm grabbed her in its teeth, forcing a series of moans out of her mouth. The sound seemed to echo off the ceiling.
“Aha,” he muttered, almost to himself. For a disconcerting moment, he sounded like everyday Michael until he slipped back into the role of Pirate Captain.
Since becoming lovers, Amy and Michael had never discussed role-playing. Even though Amy, as editor of the college newspaper, had once interviewed Michael, the theater prof, about a student production of Shakespeare’s The Tempest. He had been the director.
Now Amy was fully inhabiting her own role. She used her one free hand to grab him by the hair so that she could glare into his eyes. “Brute,” she reproached him. “Criminal. You have stolen my virtue and now you have to marry me.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could take them back.
He seized her wrist with swashbuckling speed. “And so I shall, tempting morsel,” he gloated. “You need a husband to master you.” To demonstrate his point, he pulled her free hand up to the bed frame, then awkwardly rummaged in the bedclothes to find another belt to restrain her with. He checked her other wrist and noticed that it was red from the rub of leather.
Michael had no qualms about leaving marks on a willing victim, but unforeseen redness on his captive’s skin suggested a lack of preparedness on his part. He wanted to seem wicked to the core, not sloppy.
As Amy watched curiously, Michael slid out of bed, opened his underwear drawer, pulled out two pairs of jockey shorts, climbed back onto the bed, and carefully wrapped each of them around each of Amy’s wrists under the improvised leather cuffs. He was so intent on solving the problem that he didn’t think about how he looked.
Amy snickered. After all, she thought, as a princess she would have been raised in a castle full of servants who responded to her slightest whim. Watching her slim, naked Michael hopping about to secure her bonds made her feel waited-on.
“Aha,” he muttered again, appraising his work. Those two exhaled breaths held a world of meaning.
“You can’t keep me here,” she told him. It was really a disguised question.
Michael grabbed Amy by the hair so that he could grin in her face. “Wench,” he sneered, “you need a better understanding of your position. You are secured in the hold of my ship, and no one knows where you are. Even if I returned you to your parents, do you think they would want a dishonored daughter?” Amy actually felt tears prickling her eyes. “Don’t cry,” he told her more gently. “I don’t care what the rest of the world thinks. I want a red-blooded woman, not a simpering girl. And you showed me how much you love being ravished.”
“If you value such compliance,” she taunted, “you should let me go and treat me with the respect due to my rank. You should call me ‘Your Highness.’ ”
“Saucy minx,” he sneered, “you need to learn several more lessons. And you know how satisfying that will be. For both of us. Do you know how mutineers are punished on my ship?”
“By being tied up?” Her voice dripped sarcasm.
“Flogged,” he growled, showing her his teeth. “Until they beg for my mercy. ’Tis a fine sight, my lass, and it does them good.”
Michael climbed out of bed once again, searched the top of the bureau for something, and returned with two rubber bands. Before Amy could guess what he planned to do, he was winding one around one of her nipples. The pressure was just enough to focus her attention and keep the nipple in a red, swollen condition. Wrapping up the other nipple went faster.
Amy couldn’t help admiring Michael’s ingenuity, but she made a vague mental note to talk to him later about sex toys.
She also couldn’t help imagining how she would look, tied hand and foot without a stitch of clothing and with rubber bands around her nipples, to an audience of sweaty, unwashed sailors who had not seen a woman in months. Which of them wouldn’t prefer to watch her being beaten and used without mercy? And which would hope to rescue her from their captain?
Michael seemed to read her mind. “None here will save you, my lass. Scream all you like, for you’ll only be letting my crew know that there’s entertainment below decks.” He cupped one of her breasts and jiggled it for his amusement. Then he raised one hand and slapped her on the hip, just hard enough to sting.
The sound was startling, and so were the echoes of the slap in Amy’s flesh. It was one of the sexiest things Michael had ever done to her, and she groaned.
He slapped her again, directly between her spread legs. He did it awkwardly, but the feeling rippled through her cunt and into her belly. He slapped her there a few more times to improve his aim, each time growing more confident. He could see how she was responding, and her squirming, exciting discomfort made him feel as if he could burst. She had never seen his cock so hard.