“Enough,” she said. She walked into her bedroom and closed the door. He lay on the couch with his face in one of her pillows, inhaling, and thrust—one—two—three—four—and came, moaning.
When was she coming home? Half an hour had worn away. It seemed like much less. What had he been doing all that time? He couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t remember. Time had never had much meaning. Here, it had no meaning. It was designated only by her entrances and exits. He just wanted her, all the time.
When was she coming home?
“Hurt me,” he demanded for the twentieth time at least. “Hurt me. I want you to. Hurt me, do it. I know you can.” His sentences were staccato, sharp with need.
She looked at him for a long moment and then shook her head. “I don’t think so. Not now.” It was the first time she’d answered with anything besides a short, firm, “No.”
“But you will?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“You have. I’ve seen your equipment.”
“Yes, I’ve topped people. That’s not the problem.”
“What do you want me to do? What will make you want to? I’ll do anything. What?”
“I don’t know. I think I’ll know when I’m ready or when you’re ready. I suppose it’s both.”
“But you will?”
“I might. But I’m not making you any promises.”
Keys in the lock. How long had it been? He jumped up and stared at the door as she came through. She was alone. Was she always alone or only since he’d been with her?
When she saw him, her face went blank. She shut the door behind her, locked it, and stood facing him.
“Take off your clothes,” she said and walked to her bedroom, unlocking it and then shutting the door behind her. He began stripping eagerly and finally stood naked in the middle of her living room floor, staring at the bedroom door. It opened a minute later, and she came out, having changed from her work clothes into a pair of tight jeans and a black tank top trimmed with lace. It was low cut, and he watched her breasts rise and fall as she walked up to him.
She reached out and wrapped her hand around his cock, hard since he’d heard her at the door. She stroked him firmly once, twice, and he threw back his head and moaned, pushing into her hand. The hand went away, and he looked down to see her snapping a cock ring onto him with practiced ease. He moaned.
“Tighter,” he said.
“No. It’s dangerous.”
“I don’t care.”
She frowned and he laughed at her expression. “I figured you out while you were at work,” he said. “You want someone you can do anything to. Everyone before, you were gentle, right? You held back. You don’t have to do that with me. I’m bad. I deserve it. You’re justified.”
“No, I wouldn’t even be considering going as hard as you’ve asked for if I didn’t know how badly you wanted it. That’s what I like.”
“That might be what gets you off, but that’s not what justifies it. It’s okay that you’ve tortured me for so long, right?”
“I didn’t do anything because I wasn’t ready yet. I’m still not sure I am. I don’t trust you.”
He leaned in. “That’s what makes it fun,” he said.
“Whatever you say.” She sounded annoyed now, and he grinned wider.
“You’re more afraid of you than you are of me. You’re afraid of what’s going to come out of you.”
She glared at him. “Do you want me to beat you or do you want to psychoanalyze me all night?”
He laughed again, a manic edge in his voice, bouncing on his heels. “Beat me.”
“Good. Go into my room and lie on your back on the bed.”
He did, and she followed. She chained him to the bedposts, securing his hands and feet with heavy-duty locks. His limbs were stretched a little too tight, and he moaned. She straddled his hips and ran her hands slowly up his chest. When she dragged them down again, she pushed down hard with her nails. He arched into the pain.
“Fuck,” he said.
She kissed him hard on the mouth. His wrists strained against the chains as he tried instinctually to touch her. She pulled away and reached over to her bedside table to pick up a knife. Twisting his head, he saw that the table was covered with BDSM instruments he hadn’t noticed when he’d first come in. He’d been too eager to follow her instructions, too eager for this to begin.
She ran the flat of the blade over his skin. It was cold, but quickly warming; his heart felt like it was going to break his chest open. He wondered what it would feel like if it did.
After a few long moments of teasing, she made a small cut on his chest, near his right arm. He made a noise somewhere between pleasure and frustration, and she looked at him.
“Deeper,” he said.
“If you don’t stop telling me what to do, I’m going to gag you.” Her voice was calm, even slightly amused. “And wouldn’t you miss the sound of your own voice? I wonder if you could even come without hearing it.” She kept making short, shallow cuts that kept him moaning but wishing for more, sometimes out loud.
“More. Deeper!” he cried.
She threw away the knife, rose, and began unlocking his chains. He started to panic. She couldn’t be stopping already. He shouldn’t have tried to tell her what to do. He should have just let her hurt him. She knew what she was doing. She was—
“Turn over,” she said when she had finished with the chains. “On your hands and knees.”
He breathed a sigh of relief and turned over. She chained him, and again it was too tight, and most of the weight of his upper body was on his wrists, making the chains cut into his skin. It was heaven.
His cock was just barely above the bed. When the first blow came and he jerked forward, it rubbed against her covers. “Fuck,” he moaned. “Harder.”
When she hit him a second time, it was lighter, and he made a frustrated noise.
“Harder!” he commanded.
She barely tapped his ass with the paddle, and then she waited. He said nothing.
“My, my,” she said. “You can learn. I’ll alert the media. Maybe they’ll agree to rehabilitate you someday instead of just sending you to the electric chair.” She hit him again, this time nearly as hard as the first.
“You can rehabilitate me,” he said.
“It would save the taxpayers some money,” she replied, striking him twice, much harder now. “But I’m given to understand that vigilante justice is generally frowned upon.”
She sent a volley of sharp smacks against his ass, making him cry out in pleasure and pain. He moaned when she stopped and pressed her hand to his ass, caressing the skin lightly.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “More. Please.”
“That’s an improvement as well,” she said softly. “Asking. Begging would be even better.”
She put down the paddle and picked up a stiff flogger. She didn’t bother to start gently as she brought it down on his back over and over. He writhed in his bonds. Next, it was some sort of switch on the backs of his legs. Then she slid under him like a car mechanic and affixed clamps to his nipples, nasty ones with little biting teeth. He cried out and tried to rub against her, make any sort of contact with her, but she’d slipped away again. Now she was beating him mercilessly, ass and back and legs and fuck fuck fuck would it never stop? He prayed she’d never stop, and when it all came to a head, he screamed.
She stopped.
He looked back at her. “Why did you stop?” he demanded.
“You screamed,” she said.
“So why did you stop?” he whined, feeling like he was going to cry. Oh, what the fuck was this?
“I thought you were in pain,” she replied. “And we foolishly didn’t set a safe word.”
“I don’t want one,” he said immediately. “You can beat me ’til I pass out for all I care. I wish you would.”
She looked curiously at him. “Why do you want so much pain?” she asked.
He
gave the best approximation of a shrug he could in the position he was in. “I always have.”
“Do you think that’s why you do such terrible things? Because you want to be punished?”
He stared at her. “Are you going to beat me or psychoanalyze me all night?” he asked finally.
“A little of both,” she replied tartly. She put down the cat-o’-nine tails she’d been holding. “Eyes front,” she commanded, and he looked ahead.
He heard a rubbery snap, and a moment later her finger, cool and slippery with lubricant, was circling his anus. His breath caught, and when the finger pushed inside him, he groaned and tried to lean back on it. She added another finger, and he pressed his cock against the covers.
She worked her way in a little deeper and hit his prostate. He jerked forward, the wave of pleasure leaving his body limp.
“Maybe you want someone else to be responsible for your decisions,” she said thoughtfully, starting to slowly thrust her fingers in and out of him.
“God, fuck,” he moaned.
She stopped moving her fingers. “What I mean to say is, you knew you’d get caught, and then you’d be in jail so you wouldn’t really have free will anymore. That’s why you did what you did.” She shoved her fingers in and out of him hard. His cock throbbed, still constrained.
The fingers were suddenly withdrawn, and he turned to protest, only to have something much larger slammed into him. He yelled, savoring the burn. He tried to see what it was, but there was no chance of being able to twist around that far.
Some kind of toy, he thought. Who cares, as long as it hurts?
And hurt it did. He wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he was bleeding a little. The pain and pleasure were making him almost dizzy. He started chuckling low and attempted to collapse onto the bed, but the chains made it impossible.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
He grinned. “It’s true. You can only do like this, this rough, this mean, because I’m bad, because I deserve it.”
“I told you, I can do it because I know how badly you want it.”
“No one ever wanted it this hard?”
She paused, looking thoughtful. “No… a couple people have asked, at the club, and once privately.”
“But you wouldn’t do it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure. I think I was afraid I’d break them because they couldn’t take what they thought they wanted. Maybe I was a little afraid of what I might do, if given free rein.”
“That sounds closer to the truth.”
She met his eyes, seeming not to have heard his last statement. “I don’t worry about breaking you.”
“Oh, you can break me. Just not in the way you were afraid of breaking them.”
“How, then?”
He attempted another shrug and turned away. She pulled out whatever she’d shoved inside him, leaving a strange, empty feeling. It hurt, but not quite as much as it had going in and not nearly as much as he wanted. In a flash, she was beating him again—was that a whip? Whatever it was, it stung and burned and sliced into his flesh. She went hard, and within minutes he was blissed out on pain. He was laughing again—it passed and he was screaming—she didn’t let up. He went limp, accepting the pain, ready to feel it for the rest of his life.
She stopped. He was barely aware of it. His back, ass, and legs were on fire – even his sides and chest hurt a little where the whip and floggers had wrapped around him. He didn’t notice she was unchaining him until his limbs were falling onto the bed. He lay in a heap and groaned.
“Oh, fuck. I think I love you,” he sighed.
“Roll over,” she ordered from behind him.
He complied, wincing as his weight pressed fresh cuts and bruises against the cloth. Though he could tell it was soft, it felt rough against his wounds, catching at them whenever he shifted. She bound him again, handcuffing his hands over his head. She took off the cock ring and carefully rolled a condom over his erection. The contact and anticipation made him squirm. She rose once more and took off her clothes, not quickly but not making a show of it either. He watched her, watched her, watched her. If it weren’t for the pain in his body, he would have thought he was nothing but eyes to see her with.
She returned to the bed, straddled his hips, and kissed him hard. He pressed back just as hard, and when he slid his tongue into her mouth, she bit it, making him jump. She bit and sucked at his lips, then kissed them again so fiercely it was like she was trying to hurt him rather than caress him. She raised her hips, grasped his cock, and positioned herself. When he slid into her tight, slick heat—in in in fuck!—he screamed again.
She froze, raising an eyebrow at him. “I don’t remember performing any cock torture tonight,” she said. “Beyond the ring, that is.”
He grinned. “You’ve been torturing my cock since you let me stay here,” he said.
She smiled at that and leaned forward to kiss him, rocking her hips slowly. He writhed and moaned and cursed under her as she rode him, biting and sucking at his neck and chest. He cursed because it wasn’t fast enough, because his hands were cuffed and he couldn’t touch her, and because it was finally, finally, finally happening. When he was getting close, he began screaming, and this time she didn’t pause. She only reached up and unlocked his handcuffs. He could hardly feel his hands, but he ran them all over her skin. Wishing he had more time, his hands landed quickly on her hips and held them in a death grip until he came with a shudder and a loud groan, almost anticlimactic after all the yelling.
He blinked and started to laugh again, a weird sort of giggle. She lay down next to him, their skin only brushing in a few places. He stopped laughing and turned to her, staring intently into her eyes.
“You know I’m still wanted,” he said.
“I know that,” she replied.
“And you know that after this, I’m never going to leave you alone.”
She was quiet for a moment. “I figured as much,” she said.
He grabbed her hand in both of his, squeezing it urgently, still staring into her eyes. “I’ll never let anything happen to you. Ever. Police, lawyers, and people like me—they’ll never get you.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
Peace de Resistance
by Kris Cherita
Linsey winced as Brianna kneaded her back. “Jesus, girl,” said the masseuse, “you are a fucking mess. What the fuck have you been doing?”
“Just working.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” her friend asked, with a hint of a sigh. “Why did you take that job, anyway?”
“They forced money into my hand,” said Linsey. In truth, she’d been offered the position of principal of Maria Goretti College over many colleagues with seniority because of her excellent track record as a teacher. She’d accepted it in the hope of being able to improve the school as a whole, and had scored some minor victories, but only by micro-managing as much as possible. “Ow!”
“You getting any exercise?” Brianna asked.
“No.”
“Getting laid?”
“No!”
“Thought not. When was the last time?” When Linsey started doing the math, Brianna shook her head. “Not since Phil left, right?”
“No,” she admitted, with a slight twinge. While her ex-husband had had many faults, he was undeniably good in bed—a vast number of beds, unfortunately. She’d been hugely inexperienced when they’d started dating, but he’d soon changed that: He was a silver-tongued actor and dancer with the ability to arouse her to the degree that she would agree to almost anything. “I’ve been on a couple of dates, but none of them…well, you know. None of them turned me on.”
“How much of a chance did you give them?”
“What?”
“Did you try talking about anything other than your job?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
Brianna was silent.
“I don�
�t get many opportunities to meet anyone—”
“Bullshit,” said Brianna. “There are plenty of people out there, and you still look damn hot—okay, not in that straitjacket you were wearing when you came in, but you do now. Pretty face, big tits, nice curvy butt, good legs…you just have to learn to show them off a bit. All it takes is some effort and a bit of imagination.”
“I can’t go cruising the bars, or anything like that. I have my position to think of. I’m having enough trouble at the moment with parents trying to sack one of my best teachers for saying that abstinence-only sex education isn’t enough, and we should tell the girls about alternatives, including contraception and masturbation.”
“Maybe you should take that advice yourself. Start thinking about alternatives and different sorts of positions. Do you masturbate, at least?”
“I’ve tried that. It doesn’t work for me, either. I can’t…”
“Let yourself go?”
“Something like that.”
Another sigh. “You always were a control freak. You’ve got to learn that sometimes you have to make the choice to let someone else take control instead. Always being in control fucks you up almost as bad as never being in control. Then you can decide when to take control again, because you want to or need to, not because it’s just a habit.”
Linsey didn’t reply.
“Okay,” Brianna said, after a moment’s thought. “It’s your birthday next month, right? And I owe you something for introducing you to Phil in the first place. What say I arrange a party for you, out of town so you don’t have to worry about meeting anyone with daughters at your school?”
“I don’t know…”
“Did I ever tell you about the time I worked in a brothel?”
“You what?”
“Just as a receptionist. I needed the money. Besides, I wanted to play Blanche duBois, and this seemed like a good chance to watch the working girls. Anyway, I found out some interesting stuff. For one thing, a lot of our clients were lawyers or judges. And after a while, I learned what their kinks were.”
“I’m scared to ask.”
“Judges, and a lot of lawyers who’d just won a case, wanted to be dominated, even tortured. Restoring the balance, if you like: They’d meted out punishment, and wanted to be punished for it. They’d taken away someone else’s control over their lives, and they wanted to surrender control themselves, if just for a few minutes. It sounds to me like you should try doing the same thing.”
Wicked Pleasures: Stories of Kinky Love Page 7