Derek spreads her ankles, and cuffing them, attaches them to the bottom of the chair. There’s no prospect for escape, and no covering for the delicate underside of her ass. Though she clenches her cheeks together, she’s hopelessly vulnerable. The supple landscape of her flesh awaits the strike of the paddle—quivering and helpless.
Billy works fast. Clutching the flat wooden implement in his fist, he takes his position and lays on the first strike. Ripping off the initial dozen, he doesn’t break a sweat. I cling to the chair in horror, heart beating hotly in my throat. The smacks are sharp and crisp, the paddle biting this woman’s behind with force enough to have her howling. She contains her cry, though it is a struggle. I see her losing the battle as each new strike of wood covers a spot on her ass that has already been spanked. I can’t imagine how she keeps from crying out.
As Billy’s powerful arm draws back again and again, I’m only too aware that this could be me in her place—if Derek had his way. Certainly it will be me soon. My eyes are riveted to my masterful lover’s ferocity.
I’m jealous. Strangely, there is some absurd affection in his manner—as though he truly believes that this horrifying act is just. He performs his duty with a perfect amount of righteous indignation.
What I feel inside is terror and pure joy. The performance is a breathtaking masterpiece of theatre I’ve dreamed of a hundred times. My pussy clutches and throbs as though it’s ready to climax, just as it has to this picture before. Then, it’s suddenly over, Billy throws the paddle to an empty chair and places his hand on Hope’s burning ass. I can’t hear his words, but by his tone, he is affectionately admonishing her. Finished, he strides back to his chair, casts me one brief glance, and waits for his friend to complete the punishment.
I can hardly concentrate on the caning. It happens more swiftly than the paddling and my mind is in two places: half on the scene before me, half on Billy. I look toward him twice but he stares straight ahead, ignoring my need for his reassurance. Returning my gaze to Hope’s ass, I see the last of twelve strikes cut into her behind. With the surface so raw, I can’t imagine she can take another. But then, too, she has no choice, tied as she is. She remains oddly yielding during the ordeal. Though she cries passionately, the way she writhes about the back of the chair with the edge pressing against her Venus mound, I know it arouses her. Can this be punishment if she’s getting the treat she lives for?
When Derek casts the cane away, I see him grab for a jar, tossing it to Billy.
“You can do the honors first,” he says, as though he’s too tired to do these honors himself.
Billy suddenly looks my way as he rises from his chair. “Kirsten, go to my stateroom and wait for me there,” he tells me, then he moves towards Hope’s tethered body. Glued to my chair, I try to regain the use of my limbs, and finally push myself to my feet. Stalling, I watch Billy dig into the jar and remove a handful of cream that he slathers down Hope’s rear crack. Good lord, he’s going to take her ass.
“Now, Kirsten,” he barks at me.
I flee the room quickly, at the same time realizing that several other men have entered the stateroom from another door. An anal gangbang? This too must be Hope’s punishment. Oh! I could never …
As I move down the ship’s corridor, I hear the submissive’s throaty gasps, unsure whether she’s indicating pleasure, or more pain. I suppose, at this point, the two are one sensation. But I can only guess this fact, since I’ve never truly had the experience she’s enjoying now.
***
I wait for Billy in his stateroom. My beating heart begins to slow, though the throbbing in my crotch goes on. I can’t touch myself, even one stroke of my fingers is likely to bring me off. When he returns I know he’s going to fuck me—or make love. It wouldn’t matter what he chooses right now. I simply want him. No man breeds such fire in me, no man has more passion than this one. I’ll spend the rest of my life exploring his immeasurable genius for owning my lust and gladly serve his needs.
When the door finally opens Billy enters a stateroom as charged with sexual electricity as the one he left. I need him.
“Kirsten,” he says softly. He is again the mild man that has so thoroughly teased me for three weeks. He comes to me, drawing me from the chair, and, for a moment, holds me.
“I’m sorry about Tony. I didn’t realize…” my words rush to cover the silence with this apology.
“Shush,” he quiets me. “It takes time to learn, just time. And you will. Trust me.”
He has his hands on my body running gently along my back. I sway into the rhythm of the movement, and like the rocking of the ship cradled in these waters, I am cradled by his arms.
“What was her crime?” I ask him.
“Much like yours. She can be a terrible tease, and Derek’s a jealous man.”
“Are you jealous too?”
“Very,” he concedes. One hand moves to my breast, reaching into the dress from the side. Groping it with his palm, he tweaks the nipple until I feel a spasm of pain.
“Ah, yes,” I whisper unthinkingly. “And you’ll punish me like that?”
“I will, in time.”
I dwell on that thought as my hands begin to move on him, under his jacket, pulling at his shirt, seeking bare firm flesh. “Was Hope given to those other men?” I ask, two trains of thought lead me on and I can’t refrain from either one. I’m eager for his body and eager for answers.
“There were four,” Billy replies.
I think he’s losing interest in my questions, but I can’t stop. “In her ass?”
“All in her ass, yes.”
“And you were one of the four?”
He pushes me off and takes my face in his hand, looking sternly into my eyes, “No, I only primed her,” he says. “I came for you.”
While I’m relieved, I know someday he won’t be that respectful of me. He’ll have whomever he chooses because that’s the bargain we’re carving out between us.
“Will I be given away?” I wonder.
“Yes,” he says.
So definite. So sure of himself. He has all this outlined and we haven’t even made love. What a life I’m writing for myself! Perhaps more truthfully told, what a life Billy Fitzgerald is writing for me!
Billy’s lips meet mine, softly licking them as I open my mouth. His tongue dances avidly around them and I feel the tremors begin again. It takes only a moment to strip the dress from me. I’m left in just my stockings and garters, and as he backs me toward the bed, we lie down together on the heavy comforter. It’s cool against my back.
My legs spread, while his thigh goes between them. While moving my crotch against his leg, we work to remove his formal clothes.
My first glimpses of his naked body inspire me. His bare chest is slightly hairy, tan, the muscles full, the blooming prick at his crotch uniquely resplendent, like nothing I’ve ever seen. It’s likely not the largest in my memory, though its dark purple head fascinates me. I want it in my mouth. Moving down the unexplored territory of Billy’s body, I cover that head with my lips, as my hands gently lift his heavy scrotum and carefully massage the fluid sac. The musty fragrance clinging to his pubic hair wafts toward my nostrils and I breath deep the intimate aroma of Billy’s sex. Zealously partaking of his expanding erection, I note its girth is a challenge to my opening mouth. Still, I have little problem with it sliding down my throat. Moving my head up and down on the stalk, I suck the fat prick in an unhurried rhythm that allows him to turn me about, pulling my ass toward his face.
I jerk feeling his first attack at my swollen sex. Blood pumping into my veins makes my clit erect. And as his tongue slithers along the throbbing bud, my belly swells. Each gentle flicking movement readies me for climax.
Sinking down on the organ in my mouth, I concentrate on Billy first—not myself. I want this first time to last. Though our resolve seems to be the same for long passionate lovemaking, our aching physical hunger does not concur. The more his lips draw the spasms from m
y clit, the more I’m sure I won’t hold back, my juice is already pouring forth… I’m panting, losing my fix on his cock, grinding my groin against his face. When he suddenly jerks off the tender slit, I whimper mournfully. So close…
Yet, when he draws me to him I’m no longer disappointed. We become body to body, mouth to mouth, groin to groin, his immensity diving into the readied portal and everything inside me is revived.
“Ah, yes, Billy, yeessssss.”
He replies with sonorous guttural groans, no words. Between us there is the music of heavy breathing and slapping thighs.
We’re lost, rolling back and forth from one end of the bed to the other. Our hips grind like mating animals, bones meeting, banging brusquely. My body’s mauled, slapped, my tits crushed by tenacious hands. Our lips fuse, our minds lock on a single thought—and that is no thought at all—just desire climbing to its ends … leaping to infinite termination … from the grinding belly to belly inferno, to the tips of the fingers, and the splits ends of hair, and the tiniest veins at the body’s outer edges.
Billy strikes rapidly, shooting his wad of thick cream inside me, backed by a self-absorbed groan. And with this first wave of driving heat, my orgasm crashes boisterously in my belly and clit. “More, yesyesyes…” I’m screaming. Fucking me faster, he clutches my ass, pulling spasm after spasm out of these unfettered body spaces, till there is nothing remaining to release but a heavily breathed sigh.
Becoming cognizant of the small world inside his bed, we find ourselves a languid mass of tangled sweating flesh, hair clinging to skin, and beating hearts. I know I’m a single being, but for the moment, I can’t tell where I end and Billy Fitzgerald begins.
“I love you,” I say as I kiss him. The term of affection seems almost hollow now, certainly pale in comparison to the powerful physical act that just took place.
Billy rolls me over on my back, finally pulling his chest from mine.
“You’ll be a good wife,” he tells me. I wait for him to say more, and by the time he finally speaks, he’s read my mind. “I love you too, Kirsten.” He smiles.
I keep thinking this is happening too fast, words of love said way too soon. But why not? He owns me. By the end of summer I’ll be his wife, and he my master.
“I’m sure I love you far more than is wise,” he hastens to add—actually sounding a little chagrined making this confession.
Now, I can smile. I know this fact might well be my salvation as I contemplate my evening, thinking back to Hope tied over the chair, being paddled, caned and anally ravished. My own subjugation is only beginning.
Chapter Four
Billy
I’ve been imposing my will on submissive women ever since the urge to conquer them forced me to spank that first sassy-tongued slut that went over my knee. The date was already wasted when I finally made the move. I’d had enough of her fatuous conversation and it seemed that she was baiting me into something, so I decided to spank her. As I watched her ass and legs start to fight the action, I muscled up, holding her down with one hand as the other began to slap her behind. She was wearing a micro-mini—all the better for me. Not smart enough to wear panties, she took the punishment naked. A damned hot, rosy glow all over those fat cheeks.
When I started to get a hard-on, I couldn’t have been happier. Once deciding that I’d written my fate as a sexual dominant, I haven’t stopped controlling my dates and girlfriends and one night stands—even if it gets me in trouble with the sensitive ones who find my style too aggressive. I wouldn’t want them anyway.
Kirsten Cates took me by surprise. Though deciding to marry her was really very simple once I realized that I had a blank and willing slate of surrendering desire before me. The fact that I was in love with everything about her at first glance simplified my decision. Perhaps it was her hair tucked back inside the tortoiseshell clasp that initially telegraphed what became so obvious about her. Her sexual nature escapes her attempts to contain it, the way those gold/brown curls flee her efforts to confine them. The gentle wisps of rebellious hair that tease her cheeks and run in tiny waves down her neck are like the desire that flashes through her eyes when the conversation turns to the real truth about her erotic needs.
Marrying her is a means to ensure my control over her. She’s not a meek woman, though she can become very meek listening to me order her around. She has an uncanny naiveté about herself, as she unwittingly attracts men—having no idea why they’d want her. I don’t think she finds herself physically appealing. But she is beautiful to me. Gazing into her oddly colored eyes, my crotch warms and my penis throbs. She’s slipped inside my plans like a daughter into the lap of a doting father.
Hardest part has been holding back, taking her lust a piece at a time, touching her lightly, keeping my itchy fingers from reddening her ass, my caustic pleasures from biting her too keenly. Most of my harsher plans will have to wait. I know she expects me to use all the usual tools packed inside those S&M fantasies of hers. She’s expecting leather, ropes, chain bondage, and that cane I carry in my suitcase to worry her. The more her anticipation rises, the more her need for my sharp commands increases, the more she’ll dissolve into her masochistic urges. I want her to beg, and I expect she will.
Kirsten will find me quite tyrannical very soon. She’ll be humiliated and hate me. She’ll even do something stupid, just to see if I’ll end the relationship. I’ll be brutal, she’ll experience the bite of my wrath, my indignation, and then feel my heady vengeance cut away her rebellion. After the fact, as I smile at her lovingly, she’ll find herself signing any contract of indenture I offer her, just to have the pleasures of me one more time.
It think about this when I’m alone in my stateroom, knowing Kirsten’s sleeping in her bed. She doesn’t like the idea that one night we make love like savages and the next I’m cold and distant. I see her almost in tears as I shoo her away like she’s a pestering child. But my rejections make her all the more needy for sex. That alone gives me inspiration. I like dangling my advantages before her Let her smell the aromas of sex, but only taste the edges. Let her moon about it, languishing unhappily like a schoolgirl with a crush on her teacher, until I offer her another taste.
I brood and there’s a knock on my door—the outside door—Kirsten should be asleep by now, so this is someone else.
“Derek? It’s late.” I say seeing my friend outside, though I willingly invite him in.
“Ah, I didn’t think you’d be sleeping with her tonight. Good guessing.”
“What do you want?”
“I’m letting Hope cool down.”
“Another painful lesson?”
“She’s a bottomless pit. But, I’m planning to ease off for a while.”
“You’re cooling down, just when I’m ready to give my bride-to-be the big prize.”
“I don’t see how you can string her out so long.” He pours himself brandy from my decanter and strolls around the room, while I return to my chair. I’m about ready for bed.
“You’re way too eager for me,” I say.
“That just makes us different masters,” he shoots back. “But I do like your style. And you’re even going to marry her. I never thought I’d see the day Billy Fitzgerald limit himself to one submissive.”
“Who says I’m confining myself to one submissive,” I joke. “But I am serious about her, Derek. This is no mere game. In fact, I don’t consider Kirsten and I a game at all. Getting married for me is written in stone. I want it to stick. The idea of breaks up, silence, divorce, all that messiness, disgusts me.”
“No,” he’s disagreeing with me. “You just find those things put you at a disadvantage. You want to be certain you always have the upper hand.”
“Perhaps. But why not forge a decent relationship and keep it? Seems a lot more efficient.”
He snickers. I know his marriage to Hope is just one endless scene of sexual sport. They’re going to tire of it and each other, and then, there will be a messy end. Hope’s a
n emotional woman. As soon as he loses control over her, she’ll get spiteful, the vicious uproar will follow and they’ll both be defeated. It’s a question of vulnerability—whether they can get beyond the sport to see if there is something genuine to love. But my poor friend just doesn’t understand.
“Ah,” he shakes his head. “What I was really hoping for was a piece of Kirsten’s ass. Do you have that in your plans?”
“Maybe. But she’s scared.”
“Great aphrodisiac, fear.”
“The best,” I agree. “But I don’t want her to freeze up. She’s warm, untried, and very moldable.”
“Whenever. I am interested.” He takes his last swig of brandy, lets the glass hit the table with an audible thud, then leaves.
***
It’s the last day on The Princess Camellia. She breaks through the water, cutting through a clear glass ocean, pressing toward the western European ports as though she has some specific mission. But this is a pleasure cruise. No one here needs to be anywhere special, but we do pierce these waters at exhilarating speeds. All seems so calm on deck and in the staterooms. We hardly feel the rocking anymore, everything is so supremely passive about traveling on water. Under us, the current may be fighting our task and there may be a host of fish pissed off as we invade their territory. Surely there are stirrings in these deep and mighty waters—ones I sense as predictable as the stirrings under Kirsten’s calm.
I haven’t seen her all day—except once when she was talking to her cunning filmmaker. I watched them, uncertain what he means to her. I wouldn’t doubt the lust. A few months from now, I’d arrange to have them fuck, just so she could forget him, but I can’t be that free with her. Right now she needs her lust focused on me.
In Chains Page 4