Harden calmly shrugged. “What about us?”
“Are we like that? I mean, I like us, Harden; I love the way we enjoy each other. But I guess you’d have to admit that, to a lot of people, it’s pretty far out.”
“I think you’d have to just appreciate the beauty of being different. The more you can take other people out of the equation, the happier you’ll be.”
Kerri was stumped into silence, then swatted his chest with her flattened hand. “Why do you have to be so goddamned cool all the time? Are you some ice-cold sociopath? Is that what I’m becoming too, some weirdo pervert?”
“Is that how you feel?”
“Yes, sometimes…” The rush and volume slipped away from her voice as Kerri heard herself say for the first time what she’d been thinking for almost two years. “Yes, I do.”
They walked on, Kerri noticing for the first time that she felt anonymous, unknown, not a celebrity or a figure of notoriety for the first time in a long time. She’d even been approached for an autograph back in New York, but that was before her striking change of appearance.
And that change had brought a different attitude in Kerri, stronger and more assertive, as if she was a whole different person. But she also knew that this knew look was really just an extension of her new self—an expression of the person she was becoming.
But of all the various changes, one thing Kerri didn’t miss was the autograph seekers, the gawkers. They’d made her feel especially insecure recently, and she had come to realize that they were a symptom of a fame she no longer wanted, even one she wanted to avoid.
She had left her life of celebrity behind, and her life of notoriety. Things were different now, the stakes were much higher. No longer acting in films or even directing them, she felt like she was living on, and she knew how unhappy some endings could be.
Would I have been better off just staying in the movies, waiting in Hollywood shooting cat food commercials and let Harden deal with all this?
No, Kerri reminded herself. That’s all illusion; this is reality, however weird it may be. They’re two different worlds and its long past time I chose once and for all.
I choose reality; I choose Harden.
I choose life.
But Harden’s attention was somewhere else, and Kerri picked up on that. She followed Harden’s line of sight to a pair of dark-haired gentlemen just turning away from them and shuffling off down the walkway.
He said, “Those men look familiar to you?”
But by then they were just a pair of backs faded into the crowd. “No,” Kerri said, “I don’t think so. You?”
But Harden only shook his head, eyes locked on the two men. “No,” was all he said, and all he needed to say.
That night, Kerri and Harden got ready for their return to The House of Shadows. Kerri wore a white leather minidress, horizontal slits up one side. She knew it would go great with the black plastic mask and her dyed-black hair, green eyes peering out of it all.
Don’t get carried away in all this spy-girl nonsense, Kerri warned herself. This is dangerous, and it’s only going to get more dangerous.
Harden said, “We’re not going to be able to just walk through tonight, Ker. He’ll recognize us—those men at the doors too. If we don’t show out as well as show up, we may as well be signing our own death warrants.”
“Um…what do you want me to do?”
Harden turned to her and smiled. “Accept, enjoy, endure.”
A shiver ran through Kerri’s body, and she knew it was only the first of the night.
* * *
Harden led Kerri into one of several large dungeon rooms in the basements of Het Huis van Schaduwen. She knew it was him by his build, his smell, and his unmistakeable presence which radiated even through that black robe and hood completely covering his head and face.
Harden said nothing, and Kerri knew this was the protocol. But it still filled her with a sense of fear, of doubt. Harden was a talker in bed—a dirty talker—and that was how she liked it. This felt different, alien, unknown.
Kerri’s mind was running wild with this bizarre new environment she found herself in. The tilted floor was angled gently inward toward the center of the room, where a drain was waiting. Kerri didn’t want to know what the drain was for, but she knew she was about to find out.
In contrast to Harden’s mysterious black shroud, covering all but his hands, Kerri was almost naked, a series of leather straps barely covering her nipples: one leading down from between her breasts to wrap over her crotch and pull back along her spine. Her freshly shorn hair felt strange on her head, adding to the ominous air of the dungeon.
The place smelled clean, even disinfected, and seemed too big for the size of the former church around and above it. But those weren’t the features that Kerri noticed most. Rather it was the huge wooden apparatus with two huge beams crossed in an elongated X, with leather shackles at each end, a chain hanging from the ceiling over the drain, two empty shackles attached to the end, a wooden chair with leather straps affixed to the arms and legs, and a table filled with a variety of whips and other items Kerri couldn’t identify.
Harden walked behind her and put hands on her arms, while her body instinctively pushed backward against him, resisting even her beloved husband. Everything about that room told Kerri to turn and run, to scream and thrash and struggle and get out of there, even if she had to leave Harden behind.
But that was something she could never do and would never do.
Harden led her to the center of the room, standing above the drain and beneath the shackles. He stepped away from Kerri, leaving her alone in the center of the room. She stood there, vulnerable and almost fully naked. She knew she had this one chance to run, but one glance at the door told her that it was closed and almost certainly locked.
Anyway, this is Harden. This is the man to run to, not run away from!
Kerri looked around, amazed at the power of the room itself to intimidate her, even to frighten her. But it wasn’t just the room.
Harden arrived at a metal box affixed to the wall with a lever sticking straight out at a ninety-degree angle. He turned and stared at Kerri from the wall with no words leaking out from under that black hood, and one hand on the lever. He cranked it downward, and a rattling, metallic sound filled the dungeon, echoing against the stone walls.
Kakakakakakakakakakak…
Kerri looked up to see the shackles slowly lowering toward her, the chain getting longer.
Kakakakakakakakakakak…
The chain stopped, not far above Kerri’s head. She knew what was going to happen next. Harden walked silently to her and raised her hands above her head. He shackled one wrist, the other obediently waiting for its turn. Finally, one wrist met the other. Kerri’s blood ran with a frightening chill when she pulled at the leather cuffs, unable to pull herself free. She trusted Harden, and she loved him, but this was a far cry from their games in the privacy of their home, or even in their jet, or his office.
But this was a dungeon, with things Kerri had only heard of but never seen, but less been subjected to. Now those leather straps had her, Harden was swallowed up by that black robe.
By the time it occurred to Kerri that she couldn’t be sure what effect the dungeon was having on Harden, he was already back at that box, hand on the lever, pushing it upward.
Kakakakakakakakakakak…
The shackles rose slowly, fear cranking up with every metallic clack, her muscles tensing up as her arms straightened on either side of her head. A little gasp leaked out of her lips as the chains pulled tight, the shackles holding her wrists firm and lifting her feet up off the dungeon floor. She kicked her legs, idle and useless, while her body spun just a bit as the chain pulled her higher until it stopped.
Pressure against her ribs took Kerri off guard, the muscles and tendons of her arms stretching with the full weight of her slight body. Kerri drew on her gymnast history to hold on, but it had been a long time since then, and she didn’t know h
ow long she could keep it up.
But she drew upon her new discipline, her new sense of control over her own body.
Kerri’s legs kicked out of sheer instinct, causing her body to spin on those chains. Kerri swallowed hard and battled the nausea the spin created, watching the dungeon spin around her in slow circles. And every few seconds, Harden appeared, circling past as she spun. Each time he got bigger, walking toward her with something in his hand. The next rotating glimpse of him revealed that it was a leather whip—numerous straps hanging from a singe handle.
The Cat o’ Nine Tails.
Just the sight of that leather whip sent a shiver through Kerri’s body, her legs twitching, her body spinning. The chains rattled above her—leather shackles tight and secure—arms pressed against the sides of her face—pressure increasing around her ribs and neck.
Closer. Another spin around the dungeon and Harden was closer still until he stopped, tapping the whip against his leg. Kerri almost called out his name, the sound clogging up in her throat, no room to project a scream or even offer up any objection at all. Even breathing was becoming a strain.
Snap! The whip hit Kerri on the back, waves of shock suddenly rolling through her, lungs gasping for air. Snap!
Kerri spun faster, her legs peddling beneath her, her feet reaching nothing; there was no good reason for her instinctive effort to struggle, to escape. She couldn’t escape and he didn’t want her to. The crack of those strikes, numerous blows of those leather straps echoing in that dank dungeon, underscored Kerri’s moans.
They came harder, but never so hard that Kerri felt more than a momentary sting, that thrill of anticipation between strikes, the delight of every blow. As always, Harden Steele struck just the right balance between pleasure and pain. He controlled every breath, just as he had with his hand over her mouth and nose, or pounding her hard at the bottom of a Malibu gulch instructing her to cry out as loud as she could.
Snap! Snap! Snap! Kick and spin and strain and dangle, Kerri’s nerve endings were exploding beneath her skin, those eruptions traveling inward with each wrap against her reddening skin.
It hurt, but Kerri knew she could take it, and that she could take even more. Harden had trained her for this, built her up to the level where she could not only survive such an indulgence, but enjoy it the way she was enjoying it there and then.
But she’d never been in such a place before, and Kerri knew what the ramifications of her being there were, for the both of them. Their lives were on the line, beyond the exotic surroundings and diabolical sexual indulgence.
Snap! Snap!
Kerri finally did cry out, the pressure of gravity, the sting of the whip finally overtaking her.
Snap!
What struck Kerri even more than the whip was Harden’s silence, so different than his usual commanding presence: voice so low and gravelly and strong. But not speaking at all had a whole other effect, one even more staggering. The whip was speaking for him, and it was speaking volumes.
Snap! Snap!
The strikes began to strike numb skin, red and barely tingling, pain becoming a kind of dull pulse.
Snap! Snap!
Then silence filled the dungeon room; her body spun at the end of that chain, memories of the strikes registering again and again on her skin. As Kerri spun, she watched Harden return to the wall to the lever. She caught a glimpse of him lowering the lever.
Kakakakakakakakak …
Thank God it’s over, Kerri thought to herself, her body already relaxing as her feet found that hard, concrete floor.
Kakakakakakakakak …
Kerri’s legs were weak, and she let herself fold into a crumpled, tired wreck as Harden kept lowered her to the floor.
Harden let the chain lower farther, all the way to the ground. Kerri could only look up at him in a curious silence, her head tilting on her red, sore shoulders. Harden approached her, but he wasn’t empty-handed. He was carrying a second pair of shackles.
Chapter 12
Kerri sat in a helpless submission as Harden secured the two leather shackles around her ankles, locking them down in a quick and graceful series of buckles and locks. Another click of a metal latch locked her wrists to her ankles in a secure frog-tie.
Harden turned and walked back to the lever on the wall, pushing it up and turning to see the the chain again tightening above her.
Kakakakakakakakakakak…
Kerri’s arms and legs pulled as the chain drew her upward; her head shook as her wrists and ankles took the upper position, her body pulling up off that dungeon floor. Her limbs strained to support her body, legs crossing in a frog-style position as she rose higher, completely prone to penetration of any sort.
Kakakakakakakakakakak…
Kerri spun again, slow and idle at the end of the chain, but her view was not only spinning but now it was upside down. Gravity pulled hard on her, but she was tightly secured and wasn’t going anywhere. And unlike before, this time she didn’t struggle a bit.
She didn’t dare.
It was better to dangle there like a fish on a hook than to fall onto her back on that hard concrete floor.
Kakakakakakakakakakak…
The chain finally stopped, Kerri spinning and dangling about two feet above the floor. Silence stretched out around her, that unmoving figure staring at her, face hidden by that black cloak.
She knew the man they were hunting was watching them from hidden cameras, perhaps masturbating to her abuse, fantasizing about raping or strangling her to death, probably both at once.
Kerri spun again, knowing Harden had other things in mind.
Please let him fuck me now, Kerri silently pleaded. God, I need for him to fuck me so bad!
But when he passed her rotating field of vision, Kerri could see that he’d moved to a different corner of the dungeon. Cycle by cycle, Harden got nearer and nearer, once again, but he wasn’t holding any measly pair of leather shackles.
He was carrying a firehose. Kerri shook her head, opening her mouth to scream.
But it was too late.
That water hit her like a freight train. It pushed her backward, tilting hard on her chain like a pendulum. Harden turned the stream off, shutting it down to let her swing in wide arcs, the chain creaking above her. She gaped for breath, mouth open wide, lips stretched, that dungeon swinging broadly around her.
The water hit her again—a hard and angry jet that sent her swinging hard to the side again, that hard water pushing her back and holding her there. It almost hurt—the water smashing into her face, racing up her nose. Kerri gasped and gurgled, water pouring out of her mouth, clogging up her nostrils even as she spun in tight circles, moving faster and faster before he turned the hose mercifully off.
Kerri swung hard again, legs and arms straining, lungs cramping, and throat clenching, even as her mouth gaped.
A third spray of hard water hit Kerri in the ribs, the hips, and battered her exposed pussy between her frog-tied legs, inundating her exposed ass as well, water coursing along her back and dropping down to the drain in a thick, wet rope.
Harden pulled the water off and Kerri swung again, idle and dropping, body shaking by the watery battering. Her heart was pounding and blood rushed in her veins as she swung back and forth, her vision blurry, her ears filling with her own coughing and tired wheezing.
Harden dropped the hose, the creak of the chains the only sound in the room beside Kerri’s strained whine. She looked around, slowly returning to stillness in the center of the room. She tried to locate Harden.
Kerri suddenly felt his hand grab her hip. She looked up at him, still shrouded in his robe. He drew that robe open and slipped it off his arms, leaving the hood over his head. Under his robe he’d been completely naked—familiar muscles flexing, skin glistening with sweat.
Then he took off the hood to reveal a black plastic mask, the shape of an angry, roaring lion, eyebrows downcast, upper fangs exposed. Harden’s chin was exposed beneath the mask, his m
outh a flat slat of determined lust.
Harden put his hands on her thighs and positioned Kerri who was finally no longer swinging at the chaotic will of gravity. She was in Harden’s sure hands, and she couldn’t wait for what would happen next.
She grit her teeth to take in that familiar, massive head. It had been in her many times, but each time was like the first. And this time, with Kerri hanging from her hands and feet and the world upside down around her, things were exceptionally new. It was not merely like a virgin being deflowered, but like a child being born anew.
Harden pushed Kerri forward a bit so her head swung up before it began its natural return downward, with her body wrapping around that long, hard pole. Kerri wriggled and struggled, suddenly desperate to stop herself from sinking too far too fast. If he went too deep too quickly, she would face more pain than pleasure. With the gravity and the momentum, her body was in a position that perhaps not even the great Harden Steele could control.
* * *
Kerri’s senses swirled around her. Her vision was upside-down even though blood didn’t rush to her head. Her legs were taught and flexing but of no use. Pressure pushed up into her from Harden’s unseen cock.
And as always, Harden was in complete control of the sway of her body; the forces of nature his to command. He let her swing a bit harder, cock sinking up into her—familiar and mysterious. The surroundings were dizzying. A combination of the mask, the deeper plunge of his wonderful cock, and the heightened intensity of the new environment was making her pussy glisten with her juices.
Harden used the natural forces to swing Kerri back and forth, fucking her with only a fraction of his natural exertion but still delivering a thrust more powerful than ever before. Kerri felt as if she was being fucked by more than just that powerful amazing man, but by gravity itself. She was held up from above, pulled down from below, pummeled from behind as she slid down and Harden pushed her back with every deepening thrust.
In and down, forward and back, deeper and harder—as that amazing girth smashed into Kerri’s molten pussy; her limbs locked in place, her body convulsed as, with every swing, that cock stabbed into her with greater precision and depth.
Billionaire Bash: The Complete Steele Series Page 24