Truth By His Hand

by Casey Cameron

  “Uh, actually, I have,” I said, faintly offended. Why was I suddenly so eager to show off my experience, when we both knew I hardly had any? “There was someone before you, remember?”

  “Right.” His tone made it absolutely clear that didn’t change anything. “Once, you said.”

  “Well, yes, but don’t play it off like I have zero experience. One is definitely more than zero. Infinitely more, if you look at it mathematically.”

  Normally I would have expected at least a small chuckle. He’d always found my indignant huffs amusing, and he did have a sharp sense of humor hidden away under all that control. But he was stone in the face of my self-righteous snark.

  “You’ve changed yourself so much for me,” he said, sounding terribly sad. “How many times now have you done something you would have sworn before you’d never be into?”

  “A few,” I admitted. “It’s not like I’m keeping count.” Anymore, anyway. There had been a period where I actually considered keeping a spreadsheet.

  “I’ve had more of an effect on you than I’d intended.” He sighed, his hand slack on my shoulder. “You’re so eager to please me; it didn’t occur to me that it meant I could essentially mold you. I could turn you into my perfect, idealized submissive, just by guiding you to do everything just the way I want.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?” Maybe I was well-fucked and sleep-addled, but I was pretty sure he wasn’t making any sense. “I thought that was kind of the point.”

  “Not to this extent, no.” He sighed again, finally moving his hand to gently stroke my arm. I tried not to let it soothe me out of my objections, but I couldn’t really help it. His touch just felt so good. “I didn’t want to change you. I didn’t want to remake you just to please me.”

  “Well, you did, and I don’t really care,” I said with a shrug. “I’m having a good time.”

  “Maybe you should…explore a little more. With other people, who could show you…other ways of doing this.”

  It was shocking how much that stung. Startling, like a branch suddenly whipping me in the face. “Are you really suggesting that I see other people? Because we had a discussion about this pretty recently, and you might remember I had some very clear feelings on the matter. That’s something you definitely haven’t changed about me.”

  “I don’t mean as an ongoing thing—just for a while. Just…to have a few more experiences. I’m not excited about the idea of sharing you, but I want to do this in a way that’s healthy for you.”

  “Okay, well, here’s a pro tip: it’s not healthy for me for you to push me into the arms of someone else. It makes me feel really shitty, actually. So maybe don’t do that.”

  He did at least chuckle weakly at that. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m only…trying to come up with a solution.”

  “Hang on.” I pushed myself away from him, sitting up on the bed. Somehow it felt a little better to be looking down at him right now—it helped with the air of righteous indignation. “What it sounds like is that you’re coming up with a solution for a problem we don’t actually have.”

  “River—”

  “No, you’re not going to derail me—I’ve got something to say, and I’m going to get it out before you make my brain go all limp and gooey again.” I glared down at him with…not all of my anger, but at least some of it. Maybe a quarter or so. “You’re telling me that you think you’re going to mold me into some kind of helpless doll, some kind of sub custom-tailored to every one of your kinks. Seriously, Ellison—have you even met me?”

  He blinked up at me, his lips pursed.

  “If there’s one thing I have learned about my own brain and personality over the years, it’s that it’s not malleable. Like…do you know how long I’ve been trying to stop having all these ridiculous compulsive habits? Straightening everything, aligning everything, touching my hair every time I think about it—have you ever noticed how short I keep my fingernails?”

  I held out my hands to him, showing him the short-trimmed nubs that I clipped nearly every day. “I tried everything else to stop picking at things—I was destroying my clothes, my furniture, my skin. I tried positive reinforcement, negative reinforcement, affirmations, hypnosis, hours and hours of therapy—the only way I could truly stop myself was by making it physically impossible to do it. So this idea that you’re going to just waltz in here with your eyes and your smile and your kinky whims and just…change everything about me is fucking ridiculous. Sure, I’ve discovered I’m into a lot of things that I never thought I’d be into, but that’s just what it is: discovery. You’ve been uncovering things, not planting them there. Anything I do with you is just an extension of what was already there—I’d just never tried it before. I’d never known.”

  Ellison closed his eyes, turning his face to the ceiling again. A few weeks ago, I’d have taken it for blowing me off, but I’d learned at this point that this was his thinking face. I waited patiently for the gears to finish turning so he could probably argue with me more.

  “You’re probably right,” he finally said, and I couldn’t help doing a double take. “I still doubt that you’re entirely resistant to suggestion, but it may not be as big a problem as I thought it was.”

  “I guess I’ll take that,” I grumbled. “We can work on it more.”

  He turned to me and smiled, opening his arms. “Come here.”

  I held back—barely, but I did. “We’re going to work on this, right?”

  He nodded, and so I relented, nestling back into his arms. He nuzzled into my hair, and I couldn’t help but sigh contentedly. “Has anyone ever told you you can be infuriatingly stubborn?”

  “Once or twice,” I said with a self-satisfied grin. “I choose to believe it’s part of my charm.”

  He blew out a gentle laugh into my hair and kissed the top of my head. After a few minutes, he said, voice low and sleepy, “Do you want to relocate to your apartment?”

  “You know…” I pursed my lips, remembering the lovely feeling of drifting as I’d drifted off. “I think I might try to stay here tonight, if it’s okay.”

  “You’re welcome to anytime,” he said, his voice so soothing that I couldn’t help but believe it. “But won’t it keep you from sleeping?”

  “I don’t know, I’m pretty tired,” I said. “I actually nodded off for a minute there earlier. Maybe I can make it work.”

  “Really?” His voice was hopeful, and that made me go a little fluttery inside.

  “Yeah,” I said, snuggling against him like it wasn’t a big deal. The bigger a deal we made out of it, the less likely it’d be that I’d fall asleep again.

  He lay there quietly, stroking my head until his hand finally dropped to the mattress and he let out a light snore. I smiled, glancing up at his peaceful face—well, maybe not that peaceful, since his mouth was hanging open in a really undignified way and his nose kept twitching as he snored, but I treasured it anyway. Another little part of him that the world didn’t get to see.

  I slept like shit, of course. I drifted off a couple more times, but never for more than a half hour, and the rest of the time I spent feeling hot and sweaty because I was unwilling to unstick myself from Ellison’s side. Eventually I gave up and slipped out the door during an especially intense bout of snoring, leaving him a note to let him know it hadn’t worked.

  Still, it had been utterly worth it to see his face, calm in the moonlight and sweetly vulnerable, a sight just for me.

  15

  Going over to someone’s house for the express purpose of having them make me cry was a uniquely odd experience. The whole day, my chest kept leaping and falling in an endless cycle of anticipation and terror. Sort of like a roller coaster, except with marginally lower chances of vomiting.

  Crying in front of someone, as a general rule, was something I tried to avoid. I very rarely cried these days anyway, and as far as I could remember, the only other person who’d seen me do it in the last ten years was Mariah. I�
�d never even cried in front of Dan, no matter how much he made me want to. I wasn’t very thrilled about the idea of Ellison seeing me like that, all red-faced and snotty, tears running down my face and spilling onto my neck.

  Would he see me differently after tonight?

  Either my thoughts were painted all across my face, or I was really predictable, because Ellison gave me a warm, knowing smile as I walked in his door. “Nervous?”

  “No, I always make this face when I’m calm.”

  He laughed, reaching a hand out to cup my cheek. I turned into the touch automatically, into the warmth of his palm. It steadied a little of the nerves, a little of the bubbling mess that kept threatening to spill over.

  “We don’t have to do this tonight if you don’t want to. I can hurt you as much or as little as you want, and we can save the full scene for a day you’re feeling more steady.”

  “No, I’m—“ I drew in a shivery breath. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to be this anxious no matter when we do this. The more time I have to prepare, the more I’ll be able to work myself up. And…I’m looking forward to it, even though I’m scared.”

  “That’s good to hear.” His voice was warm, his thumb gently stroking my skin. I turned a little farther to press a kiss against his palm, and he patted my face gently.

  For some reason, that gentle pat only made me think of how it felt when he slapped me. And for some reason, I started getting hard as soon as I thought of it.

  Well, okay, I kind of knew the reason. I just still didn’t fully understand it.

  “There was one thing I wanted to talk about, though,” I said, trying to ignore the tingling in my cheek where he’d touched me so tenderly. “I, um…I’ve never done anything quite this intense before and…I’ve always been a little bit of a wuss when it comes to pain. When I was getting my tattoos, sometimes my mouth would just do its own thing and tell them to stop even though I didn’t really want to. So I think I might want to talk about a safeword.”

  He nodded, approval clear on his face. “I was going to insist on it,” he said. “Do you have one in mind?”

  “Lantern,” I said without hesitation, then felt a sudden rush of heat to my cheeks. It felt silly, the idea of blurting that out in the heat of the moment, and giving him the word left me raw and exposed in a way I hadn’t expected. I could imagine him silently mocking me for my choice—poor broken boy, can’t stop dwelling on ancient history. Still afraid of the dark.

  Ellison didn’t falter, though. He took it easily in stride, just like I’d known he would. “Lantern. I’ll remember.”

  His acceptance made the whole thing instantly more real, and I had to suppress a shudder of terrified arousal. An exhilarating little sliver of fear worked its way into my heart as I realized the startling gravity of the words we’d just exchanged: I might beg him to stop tonight, and he might just keep going.

  And I was diamond-hard at the thought of it. God, what was wrong with me?

  In the bedroom, he’d laid out tools of torture for me: two floggers, a crop, a cane, a wide leather strap about a foot long, a wooden paddle, and a set of nipple clamps connected by a shimmering chain. At the end of the row was something that looked like a cock cage, which was just a little horrifying given how hard I was right now. I imagined it constricting me, metal pressing into my skin as my body tried to respond to Ellison’s terrible whims.

  As usual, he ordered me to take my clothes off in front of him. I was starting to get used to this display of power, my self-consciousness eased just a little by the clear enjoyment in his eyes as he watched me do it. It was still awkward to be undressing in front of someone who was staying fully clothed, but at least it was a familiar awkwardness.

  In a strange way, I almost hoped that uneasy part of me never went away entirely. As much as I thought Ellison was strange for enjoying making me uncomfortable, the truth was…I kind of liked it. I liked the way he pushed me out of my comfort zone—not too much, not more than I could handle, but enough for me to feel something different. Something I’d have been too scared to seek out myself, but could experience by his hand.

  He circled me that way he sometimes did, all fierce and predatory, this bundle of raw power all wrapped up in a deceptively small package. It made little shivers of anticipation run through me, this excitement I couldn’t shake off because I knew what this led to. I knew what was coming—maybe not the details of it, but I knew I was going to like it.

  He took hold of my nipple piercings, catching the rings between deft fingers and giving them a little tug, a tiny preview of what was to come. I gasped at the sharp almost-pain that lanced through me, leaving a warm flush of pleasure in its wake. “Always so sensitive,” he mused as he slowly twisted them—just a little, just enough for me to feel the way they pulled. I shivered, half with arousal and half with fear I couldn’t quite shake. He could so easily damage me like this, take me apart, destroy me emotionally and physically.

  But I knew he wouldn’t. Or at least, not in any way I didn’t want him to.

  He released the rings and gave them a quick flick, sharp and forceful. My breath caught on his cruelty. “Down on your knees,” he said, voice as harsh as his fingers.

  As I knelt for him, he finally took his clothes off, and I drank in the sight of him as long as he let me. It wasn’t long at all—he angled his cock toward my mouth, and I opened obediently to let him in. He fucked my face, fast and rough and almost careless, making me gag and choke. His hand fisted tightly in my hair, pulling harder than usual, moving my head where he wanted. My scalp burned, my eyes watered, my throat convulsed as he fucked it raw.

  He made me lie on the bed with my head hanging off the end so he could fuck my mouth that way too, his balls slapping against my face as his hand rested on my throat. As he used me, he showered me with praise, told me how much he loved to feel my throat bulge when his cock was in it, told me how beautiful I was when I was choking for him. Sometimes when he pulled out just long enough for me to gasp for breath, he would slap me across the face, quick and stinging, not even giving me time to moan before he slid back in again.

  When he stopped, I lay on the bed, stunned, while he picked up the nipple clamps and casually checked the chain for kinks or tangles. “Have you ever used nipple clamps before?” he asked.

  I was barely able to scrape together the brain cells for a coherent answer, even a short one. “No, sir.”

  He positioned one clamp over my nipple and fastened it with a mysterious twist of his hand I couldn’t quite follow. It wasn’t tight; the pinch was barely there, a faint reminder there was something on me. Attached to me because he’d put it there.

  The second nipple he took a little more time with, fastening the clamp a little tighter than the first. There was a bright, quick flare of pain as he adjusted it, a pinch that faded into a low, simmering warmth that radiated through my chest.

  “Good so far?”

  “Yes, sir,” I breathed, shifting and stretching against the blankets.

  He gave me a little smirk, the corners of his mouth just barely turning up, then reached over to tighten the clamp on my first nipple. I sucked in a breath through my teeth as the faint pressure narrowed and intensified into actual pain. “Fuck—”

  I moaned as he tugged gently on the chain, writhing just a bit before I realized that was a terrible idea—it only made the pull harder, heating my nipples with more relentless pressure. The clamps were twin points of light, pricking at the secret places in the back of my mind and bringing my whole body to life, warm and ready for him.

  There was another length of chain in his hand, attached to the one between my nipples, with another clamp on the end. “Where do you think this one goes?” he asked, swinging it gently from his fingers.

  Ellison looked at me expectantly, but my mind was utterly blank, full of nothing but swirling anticipation of the unknown. “I have no clue.”

  He slapped me—no hesitation at all, just reached up and cracked his hand acro
ss my face. “Manners, River.”

  “Sorry, sir,” I breathed, sinking down into the pillows, mind and body liquid.

  “Better.” His lips curled in a satisfied smile as he toyed with the clamp in his hand. “Well, why don’t we find out?”

  All I could do was draw in shaking, shivering breaths as he reached down and cupped my balls, his hand deceptively gentle. I knew better. He took a bit of skin between his fingers and tugged gently, and I shuddered as I realized what he was about to do. A scrotum can take a fair amount of abuse—it’s the stuff inside that’s the real sensitive bit—but just having an implement of pain so close to my tenderest parts was terrifying in a primal, irrational way that I couldn’t turn off. It was just a racing, fluttering fear in the back of my head, thumping like a rabbit’s heartbeat.

  The clamp closed on my skin, and the chain fell onto my belly as Ellison released it. It was a delicate thing, a shining wisp of threadlike links, but all it would take was a yank of his hand to send searing pain through me from three directions at once.

  Ellison surveyed his handiwork with a look of clear approval. “How do you feel right now?”

  I swallowed, my throat dry. “Nervous. Excited. I want to know what you’re about to do to me.”

  With a smile, he hooked his finger under the chain. “I’m going to hurt you until you cry, just like you wanted me to.” He tugged on it, and I threw my head back and wailed as a triangle of fire seared my body. It was so intense, so much, and he’d barely even started.

  He reached behind himself and came back with the leather strap in his hand, chocolate-brown and sinister. A thinner loop of leather hung from the end to wrap around his wrist, emphasizing his slim frame, but right now his size meant nothing. He could hurt me with that thing no matter how big he was.

  He raised the strap in an easy, slow arc. Like he was just going through the motions of winding up for a hit, demonstrating what it was going to look like. Still, I couldn’t stop the adrenaline rush, or the way my eyes went wide and my breath sped up along with my heartbeat. My chest trembled as I drew in a breath, my eyes locked on his hand holding the instrument of my demise.