HostileTakeover

by Joey W. Hill

  She’d told him he sought his sub’s vulnerability but withheld his own. He always played on the edge, but because he didn’t like the truth she’d put in front of him, he’d take it even closer to that perilous drop because he wanted to scare the shit out of her, send her running back to her playground.

  He was in for a surprise. She was scared, but she was also totally-out-of-control immersed in the world he was creating, and she’d never been so sexually stimulated in her life. They probably weren’t even a fourth of the way through Ben’s version of foreplay. A prayer for strength would probably not be out of line at this point, with an additional caveat for forgiveness for all the sins she was willing to commit for her Master.

  He was being rough, but not violent. His touch was firm, strong, implacable. This wasn’t romance. This was a hardcore Master out and out driving her to the upper level of madness, where her body was going to come completely to pieces before he was done. Cruel, but she craved his brand of cruelty.

  She was moved forward, his arms briefly wrapped around her waist and chest. He pulled her arms out straighter, and directed her to wrap her fingers around what felt like the leg of that heavy piece of furniture before he chained her there, the links winding over her knuckles. Her forehead stayed pressed to the floor until he gripped her hips, bringing her to her feet, her head still down toward the ground, arms low and stretched before her, a modified Down Dog yoga position.

  It strained her muscles in a new way. He wasn’t keeping her in any pose long enough to become painful; just enough to stress the body, like a particularly stringent workout. Maybe he’d been going to Rachel’s classes.

  The desperate humor was gone in an instant as his hand made contact with her ass, a powerful slap. He followed it up with several more, warming her flesh. She was making soft cries in her throat, pleas of alarm, because if he so much as touched her pussy, she was going to come.

  “None of that.” She sensed the loss of his heat as he moved away from her, came back. Something cool and hard entered her pussy, sliding in like a knife into a peach, a scary thought when associated with her tender regions. Then she felt the discomfort of being stretched, and though she didn’t hear the telltale clicks, a cold feeling ran through her belly as she realized he’d used a speculum, like the doctor used for pelvic exams. It held her wide open, reduced the ability of the pussy to spasm and create its own orgasm.

  She cried out as something else closed over her clit, something ice cold. “Jon’s version of the ice pack,” he said. “It will feel like ice, at least for several moments. Until that hot pussy of yours warms it up.”

  It was impossible to stay still, but he’d anticipated that, with the way he’d bound her. She was twitching, convulsing, but he had her arms stretched out to that anchor point, her head toward the floor, her legs straight up and spread. Her range of movement was severely restricted. Then he went to work on her with two other tools.

  The first was a flogger with thin straps that stung, eliciting tiny cries. He alternated that with the solid thunk of a weighted slapper, which had more impact. Back and forth, back and forth, and each time her pussy spasmed from the blow, she felt that speculum holding her open. He awoke the still-sensitive nerve endings from yesterday’s caning and it became part of the spiraling agony.

  Ben… Something was tearing open inside of her, something important and vital, and dark. Every fear, every childhood pain was swelling up inside of her, twining with this out-of-control lust in a macabre way, a parade of pleasure and agony that was going to drown her.

  She didn’t stop crying out even as he stopped using the weapons. She had no control over any of her reactions, verbal or physical. As his broad head pushed against her lubricated ass, she made a keening note. She was tight, but he worked against her, spurring her on with the words that filtered through the mask’s cover.

  “You can take me. You’re soaking wet, you want my cock so much. Concentrate and take it. You were born to serve a Master who works you over until that smart mouth and far-too-clever mind of yours gives out and you just become mindless, serving him with everything you are.”

  “You… Born to serve…you.” She didn’t give a damn if he’d told her not to talk, she wouldn’t let that one pass.

  “I haven’t used you hard enough, apparently.” His cock withdrew, and she snarled in protest. Said some things she’d never thought would come from her mouth. Did she just call him a fucking bastard? In response, she got a diabolical chuckle and her mouth was forced open. She gagged as a thick rubber dildo was pushed in, so wide it held her tongue down and stretched the mask around her lips. When he buckled it tight around her head, he’d taken away her sight, most of her hearing, and now her ability to speak. She thought she’d been coming apart before. She realized then he wasn’t going to stop until he’d shattered her into a million pieces.

  * * * * *

  “Fucking bastard, hmm? Baby, you don’t know how much of a bastard I can be.”

  Her fingers dug into the floor but she screamed against the gag as something slapped against her ass. Rubber…flat…like a spatula. Fuck. The danger of a Master who cooked—he had a whole inventory of tools with more than one use.

  Each time he hit her with it, the pain screamed through her nerve endings, made her shriek against the gag. But right after, he’d pause, his palm passing over her buttock. The throbbing would turn warm…and she’d want more. Until the next hit. It was crazy. She knew the type of person she was, that she craved pain as much as pleasure at his hand, but she’d had no ability to prove it other than her own experiments in the privacy of a dorm room or co-op apartment. Though the levels of pain she’d tried on her own might be similar, it was a hell of a lot different from the psychology of being helpless to whatever he wanted to do to her.

  The cold on her clit was becoming an aching pain, it was all becoming agony and excruciating stimulation at once. He gave her four more hard strokes, alternating with stinging taps on the inside of her thighs.

  “You ready to behave now? Don’t bother to nod. I know you’re a little liar.”

  He came back at her with his cock. She focused with all she had, and he worked himself against her sphincter muscles. She pushed against him, wanting him, wanting him now, and the muscles gave, letting him slide in deep, ruthless, irresistible. She wished she could flex the muscles inside her pussy. It was distressing to have him sunk deep in her while her pussy was held open, rendered as helpless to his will as any other part of her.

  She was lost, just lost. All she had in this silent darkness was him. He began to thrust, shoving her forward so she had to brace her straining, trembling muscles against the onslaught. His fingers reached beneath, pinched that cold thing off her clit, slid the speculum free. There was a muffled clatter as he tossed it away, replaced it with his own fingers, sliding them into her cunt as his thumb and forefinger went to work on restoring the life to her frozen clit.

  It swelled up in her like a finger-of-God cat-five tornado. “No, no, no.” She was wailing against the gag. This orgasm was going to tear her apart, take her into places she hadn’t known existed. He was beyond what she could handle, no matter how much she loved him. But he wasn’t leaving her a choice. Hadn’t even given her a safe word. He’d simply taken, because she’d told him that was what she wanted and because he was bound and damn determined to prove her wrong.

  I love you, I love you… I want to serve you. You’re my Master. She realized then there was a struggle happening inside her mind, and that struggle said she was still trying to hold onto control. She couldn’t totally trust him because he was resisting the idea that she was the one meant for him. But she had to have faith for both of them, had to let go.

  She couldn’t. Oh God, she needed his tenderness, his heart, and this was a ruthless Master who was demanding she surrender everything while he gave her nothing.

  But those were the terms. That was the risk she was taking. It didn’t matter anyway. She was being dragged to t
he edge of the cliff by that punishing cock, those knowledgeable fingers, his heated breath on her spine. But what would happen if she stopped pushing back, if she just gave him a smile, her heart in her tear-filled eyes, and took the leap joyously?

  “Come for me, Marcie. Come now. Obey me.”

  Heart, lungs, every major organ, were gripped in the squeezing moment of decision, then the orgasm crashed over her. He was pumping into her, the fingers at her clit working her like a maestro. Her nostrils flared, lips stretching to allow as much air past the dildo as possible. Her breasts wobbled beneath her with the motion of his thrusts, her fists in their cuffs and chains gripping that anchor point, her whole body chained and subjected to his will. His slave, in every way.

  She screamed against the gag until her vocal cords gave out. Even then, she continued to convulse and buck as if gripped in a full epileptic seizure. Tears were on her lips. Her orgasm gushed forth so strong she spurted over his cock. Her legs buckled, but he had her by the waist, kept lifting her with his thrusts. He released then, taking her up once more with the heat of his seed. She shrieked as he kept massaging her clit, milking every last sensation from her. She strained to hear his release, a grunt, a moan, but the mask was too damn effective.

  Still, he kept going even after she rode that tide to the end. He would fuck her as long as he wished, until her tissues were sore and begging for relief. Did he do it because he knew it was the key to his and her pleasure both, underscoring that she was his to do with as he desired?

  With a mix of terror and other, less sensible, emotions, she realized he was still hard. She couldn’t keep up. She couldn’t be enough for him. No, she would be. She had to be.

  At last, he was slowing down. She was panting. Easing her back to the ground, to her knees, he removed the spreader bar and the hobble chain, but he cuffed her ankles together. He adjusted her so she was lying on her back, her arms up above her head, for he left her attached to whatever furniture leg he’d chosen. When something silky touched her ankles, she realized he was binding her legs with nylon rope. He did a wrap from ankles to her thighs, tied off there. Then he took her arms down, unchained them.

  For a moment her wrists were held in his hands, and she stretched out her fingers, seeking his face. Please, please let me touch you.

  His mouth touched her palms, making her sob. She touched his jaw, his cheeks, stroking, desperate, needy. But then he was wrapping nylon rope between her forefinger and thumb, moving to the other fingers to lace them together so she was palm to palm before he did a similar snug rope wrap from her wrists to her elbows. Oh God. It was like her fantasy when he was biting her neck.

  She couldn’t follow what was going on anymore, floating in sensation. He slid his arms beneath her, lifted her. He smelled so good, heat and sweat, aroused male. Moving through a spiraling darkness, she focused on the way it felt to be held in his arms until he laid her face down over what felt like a sofa arm. He adjusted her arms before her, so her fingers gripped a cushion and there was space between her face and the couch surface, protecting air passage. Straddling her bound legs, he put his hands on her hips, thumbs on her buttocks, spreading them open. The opening was sore as hell, but then she made a dove’s cry as he knelt and put his mouth there.

  “Ahkh…” She was losing track of all the involuntary sounds he was wresting from her. God, that felt so good. His clever tongue was licking her rim, swirling inside, soothing and stimulating at once, setting off small contractions in her pussy, compressed by that rope wrap. His hands stroked her buttocks, reminding her of the punishing strokes he’d put there, but soothing them as well.

  Then he rose. She couldn’t help it; she made an apprehensive noise as he fitted his cock to that opening once more. She couldn’t. She couldn’t possibly.

  “Easy, baby. Real, real, easy. Let me do all the work. You just feel.”

  He didn’t thrust in hard this time. He worked his way slow. She whimpered throughout, because it was uncomfortable, but it was more than that as well. The desire to serve him, to give him whatever he wanted, superseded everything, made her pussy keep doing those little clenches. It was impossible that she could be getting aroused again so soon. But her nipples were brushing the stiff sofa material, hardening anew. He slid a hand between their bodies, petted her slick and compressed pussy with little strokes that had her mewling like a cat.

  When he was all the way in, he leaned over her back, dropped a kiss on her nape, catching that padlock in his teeth and tugging, reminding her she was his prisoner. “Squeeze down on me.”

  She did, and earned a rasp of his breath against her neck, a reward that warmed her like the teacher giving her an A in front of the whole class. That squeezing motion made sensation ripple through her cunt and lower belly. She did it harder.

  “Fuck. Keep doing that.” He was close enough to her she could hear the rumble of his voice against her neck, through her back where his chest pressed against her. She’d been right. He still wore his dress shirt, though the tie was gone. She’d felt his open slacks against her ass and thighs when he was fucking her before, and now she felt them again. Somehow it just underscored her subjugation, him remaining in his work clothes. She imagined how it would feel to have him completely naked against her, hard muscle and curling male chest hair rough against her skin.

  “Lift your tits off the couch.”

  His hands reached beneath her. No unkind pinches and tugs this time. Something far more devastating. He started brushing his palms over just the tips in a way that had her making little moans, increasing the rate of those constrictions in her ass. She could feel him swelling larger. They probably made Viagra out of whatever special hormone Ben carried in his DNA.

  “That’s it. Good girl. Keep working it.” He laid another kiss on her nape, brought his other hand down beneath her to tease her clit with one finger, more light brushes. In a matter of minutes, she wanted to spread her legs with everything she had, open herself wide to him, but of course the rope wrap prevented her. What the hell was he doing to her?

  “My sweet, sweet slut,” he murmured. “You’re so hot for it. I’m going to keep working you like this all night. We won’t be stopping until my cock’s had enough.” His voice dropped to a whisper, right against her ear. “And baby, my cock never has enough of a sweet ass like yours.”

  Despite that thrilling threat, he surprised her. She expected him to take her to another completion, at least for him, but instead, after a few moments, he lifted her again. She was carried down a hallway, and then she was in another room, though she couldn’t tell what function it served. Until he laid her down on what felt like a padded massage table.

  “Lie still. No speaking unless I give you permission.”

  Unwrapping her legs and arms, he removed the phallic gag. Then he began to rub her limbs, back, shoulders and hips with firm, capable hands that knew exactly what they were doing. She had to bite back a moan as he worked over the sore muscles and strained joints.

  “Your color’s good. Wiggle your toes for me. Now your fingers. Any numbness anywhere? Yes or no.”

  “No.”

  She wasn’t lying, not exactly, because she knew what kind of numbness he meant. He didn’t mean the fact her lips could barely move because her body was trapped in a logy place where everything moved through molasses, even her thoughts. She felt like she was in a permanent world of hushed darkness.

  When he was done with that, he turned her over, did the front. He cupped her breasts, passed his thumbs over her nipples, an idle caress as he checked her over. She knew he was looking for any discolorations or dangerous levels of tenderness. She’d learned that from watching Marcus do sessions with Thomas at their favorite New York club, and later she’d seen Ben do the same with the three women at Surreal. Only Ben was like a torturer who knew the limits of the human body exactly, straddling that border of pleasure and terror. A zone far wider for her than she’d realized, until she was under his command.

  He slid
his arms underneath her. “C’mon, brat.” Was there tenderness in that murmur?

  As he took a seat in what felt like a nearby recliner, he cradled her against his body. She turned her face into his neck. She wanted the mask off, wanted to feel him against her face. He must have known, because he removed the lock and unlaced it, pulled it off. She kept her eyes closed, fearing any brightness. He used what smelled like aloe wipes to clean her face, the mucus from her running nose, her tears, the sweat. He combed her hair with his fingers.

  She’d bitten her lip, and he smeared something that smelled like coconut lip balm there. He leaned away from her and she heard the sound of a mini-fridge. Then he was plying her with sips of water. Fed her peanut butter crackers as he had at the office, gave her some juice. With a near giggle, she wondered if he kept supplies in every room of the house, like a Red Cross station after a bloodletting.

  “Master…” She wanted to say it, wanted to call him that. He kept stroking her head, but said nothing. “Ben…”

  “I’m here, baby. Just relax and get your strength back. We’re not done. Not by a long shot.”

  “I haven’t…made out a will. Tell Cass that Jess can have my clothes. But she gets…my birthday stilettos.”

  His lips pulled into a curve against her temple. “I’d like to see you in those stilettos, and nothing else. I’d cross your ankles, tie them together, run the rope under the soles of the shoes so it keeps them on, part of the binding.”

  “I’ll wear them…in my casket.”

  He kissed her neck then, bit, earning a quiet sigh from her, a shudder as he clasped her breasts, gently massaged, pinched, toyed with the piercings. “Quiet now. Just feel. You’re a slave. You don’t speak unless your Master requires you to speak. You serve. Let everything else go.”

  She wanted to obey him, but her mind was in such an odd place. “I’m so, so sorry. About Jeremy. About the things… I was so lonely in college.” She was sorry for everything she’d ever done wrong in her whole life. It was so strange, the desire to confess everything without choosing any one specific thing, just an overall purging.