Sacred Revelations

by Roxy Harte

  I pounded my forehead again. Emotional trigger. The answer becoming as clear as the sky, he wanted to discover what made me tick, what I reacted to, what or who causes me to react. Yeah, I reacted all right. Damn, damn, damn! Each mental curse punctuated by my forehead hitting metal. I stopped when I felt rather than heard the vibration of his motorcycle, but didn’t turn to look at him until he skidded around me, braking directly in front of me, revving the engine before killing the power. Sitting on his ebony and chrome Harley, he looked dangerous. Straddling the swing-set leg, I was certain I looked ridiculous, but couldn’t figure out how to disengage myself gracefully.

  I held myself very still, chastising, “There’s no motorcycles allowed on the grass.”

  “Do I look like a man who obeys rules?” he challenged, holding out his hand. “Come here.”

  Taking his hand, I stepped over the metal leg and took the single step closer he required. Still holding my hand, his other hand brushed my bangs off my forehead. “You seem to like hurting yourself entirely too much. That is unacceptable. Understood? If I want you marked, I will mark you. Already, it looks like your forehead is going to bruise. That doesn’t make me happy.”

  Really? I didn’t think I’d pounded my head that hard but then my head reacted to his words and suddenly my forehead was throbbing. He ran his hand up my bare arm, his thumb tracing the tender, circular-shaped imprint of my teeth. My arm, too, beneath his massaging fingers seemed to hurt more, whereas before he’d mentioned it, I hadn’t felt it at all, not during, not while it bled, not after. I’d been numb.

  Trying to jerk my arm free of his prodding thumbs, I realized just how not numb I was. “Ouch! That hurts,” I complained.

  “Remember that in the future, Kitten. If you hurt yourself, I will make it hurt ten times worse.” He dug his thumb into the teeth print to illustrate his point, taking me almost to my knees, controlling me. He pulled me into him, whispering against my face, “Only I hurt you now, Sophia. Got it?”

  Tears sprung to my eyes. Yeah, I understood, but I couldn’t say it out loud. He was going to hurt me, physically and mentally, make me think, make me remember.

  Pushing into my tender arm, pulling me the direction he wanted me to turn, he controlled me with pain, pushing me over the front of his motorcycle seat as he scooted back to make room, leaving me face down, belly against warmed leather where my shirt was raised.

  “Lift your skirt and pull down your panties,” he commanded, releasing my arm.

  I started to rise off the bike, but he pressed his hand into the middle of my back, holding me still. “Do it from the position you are in.”

  We’re in a children’s playground! My mind screamed. Granted there was no one there, granted we were shielded from the road by a few trees, but anyone could arrive at any time, taking the same path from the row of houses that I did through the green space. Lifting my skirt to fold over my waist, baring my ass with a slide of my panties, the only thought on my mind was that I pass Lord Fyre’s test, and if we got caught, I was pointing the blame at him.

  “Are you ready to submit to me fully, Sophia?”

  I cringed at the name only my mother had ever called me, fighting back tears because I had not heard my name since her death and, unable to speak, I nodded.

  “Say it!” he barked.

  “I submit to you fully and without question, Lord Fyre,” I said, my voice choking on emotion. I blamed it on missing my mother, but she had been gone a very long time, so she wasn’t really a good excuse for the emotion clogging my throat with snot as I struggled against tears.

  “Good.” His answer was soft, his hand sliding over my exposed bottom. “Look to your right, over to the parking lot.”

  I looked. Garrett stood next to his car, leaning back against the shiny, freshly waxed surface. I started to rise, to hide myself, but Lord Fyre held me down. “A little late for modesty, sweetheart. He’s been here all along.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s becoming Ice for you—so that when you are ready, he’ll be ready. He needed a small reminder of who he used to be, and by seeing me in action, he’ll start to remember. Count to twenty.”

  I chewed my bottom lip, not obeying, looking at Garrett. Why, I’m not sure, I only knew that I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

  “He sees you in action at the club every night,” I argued, still not counting.

  “At the club, he sees me physically going through the motions. We, his dominants, are just landscape. Here, it’s not just watching, not just going through the motions. This enables him to feel the emotions he’s been hiding from, been numb to, for a very long time. This will make him jealous and angry. I can’t help him become Ice again until he’s good and angry. I can’t act in your best interest until I am sure that I will be able to give you to Ice when I’m done with you. Now, no more talking. Count.”

  “One.” I obeyed, starting the count, thinking I knew what was coming, but his hand didn’t fall against my ass. I looked up at him, bewildered, waiting for his hand to fall.

  “Count,” he mouthed.

  “Two.”

  His hand slid over my bare ass, but it wasn’t a spanking he had in store for me. It was a stroking, the barest of touches, so fucking soft I thought I would die with the sheer pleasure of it, bringing to mind the pleasure I’d felt at Garrett’s hand the night before.

  “Hell no,” I cried out, trying to rise off his bike. “Not this! Please. Spank me, hurt me.”

  “Look at Garrett…” he commanded as his fingers teased the sensitive skin running along my crack. “—while you count.”

  I can’t do that!

  “Why are you doing this?” I asked, my voice sounding pathetic, pleading. I felt like such a baby, wondering who had started this game and what in the hell was I doing smack dab in the middle of it? Oh yeah, me. This was all my fault. This was my punishment for playing with fucking sadists!

  His hand left my ass. “Count or go to him. Your choice.”

  I turned my head, looking at Garrett, seeing that he hadn’t taken his eyes off me. I wanted to mouth the words to him that would tell him how sorry I was, but knew he was too far away to see my lips. He was still leaning against his car, dressed for work, dark slacks, black Armani dress shirt, and black silk tie. I once told him it was my favorite look on him. I counted, “Three.”

  “No, Sophia, you stopped. Now you start again at one.”

  “How long are you going to call me Sophia?”

  “As long as I want to. I will call you what I want, when I want, and for now, I will call you Sophia.” He stroked the inside of my thigh from knee to pussy and I shuddered. “Did your mother call you Sophia when you were bad, or only when you were good?”

  “Leave her out of this! Please stop calling me that!” I covered my ears with my hands, still lying over his motorcycle seat, crying openly. “Why are you calling me that?”

  “The better question is why shouldn’t I call you by your name?”

  “Because it hurts too much!” I sobbed, clutching my hands into tight fists. “Does that make you happy that you are hurting me?”

  Lord Fyre drew his leg up the inside of my thigh, his warm leather-covered knee pushing against my wet slit as he bent his body over me, whispering against my neck, “I want you to feel, that’s all. I want your emotions. I want your mind. I want your body.”

  I looked at him through slit eyelids as he pulled away—his body, his knee—until he was standing behind me again. Closing my eyes, I waited, waited for him to tell me to leave. Waiting for him to tell me I was unworthy, but then I felt him running his fingers through my wetness, teasing me, sliding through my folds, rubbing my clit, before going back to my wetness. I humped his hand, not meaning to, and not able to stop myself, breathing hard, harder as he whispered promises. “I will hurt you in every way there is to hurt someone, mentally, physically, emotionally, spiritually. I will make you feel because of the pain. I will make you beg for more pain because you wi
ll become addicted to feeling. Tell me to stop touching you, Sophia. Right now! Tell me that you don’t want me to hurt you so that you can go home with Garrett and live happily ever after together, because this is going to change things for all of us. Every action creates reaction…in you, in me, in him. Are you ready to take responsibility for the repercussions of this action?”

  “I don’t know,” I sobbed. “You’re confusing me.”

  “What do you want, Sophia?” he screamed at me.

  “I want to face my darkness! I know that only you can help me find it!”

  He growled into my ear, “Count!”

  “One.”

  Standing, he softly stroked inside my thigh, making me quake, drawing his fingers between my labia to press his finger against my clit, making me squirm, not realizing that I had stopped counting until he reminded me, pinching my clit. He growled, “Start over, Sophia, and this time count to twenty, or I will drive away and I will not master you, not ever, understood?”

  “One,” I started again and his fingers slid through my slickness. I closed my eyes against the sight of Garrett, counting on auto-pilot, his fingers sliding, pressing, playing with my clit. “Two, three.”

  “Look at him, Sophia, remember last night. Did he touch you like this?”

  “Four.” I didn’t answer his question but looked at Garrett, remembering his nakedness, his perfect body, the shadowed lines of rib and muscle. The dark trail of hair that led from the large swath covering his chest to the narrow trail of hair that led to his cock.

  “Did he lick you and kiss you here?” He rubbed my clit softly, butterfly-soft touches that at once brought back to my mind the hours I spent with Garrett loving me tenderly. The vision of Garrett’s head between my legs, his dark hair spilled against the creamy whiteness of my thighs, his blue-blue eyes rolling up to look at me as I came on his tongue flooded my headspace. I counted without thinking, “Five, six,” as I remembered my screams as Garrett took me with such gentle softness.

  With each count, Lord Fyre plunged and withdrew, plunged and withdrew. He was fucking me with his fingers, plunging with each count and, as much as I hated what he was doing, fucking with my mind, I couldn’t stop counting.

  “Nine, ten, eleven.” I grew wetter, writhing over the narrow padded seat as Lord Fyre touched me mercilessly, softly stroking then flicking my clit.

  “T-twelve,” I stuttered, swearing loudly, “Oh God!”

  Whispering, “Thirteen,” so softly, I was surprised when he didn’t comment, but then, for a moment, I couldn’t count at all, whispering in curse, in prayer, “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” as he kept the rhythm of his fingers consistent.

  “Fourteen, fifteen.” Flick. Flick.

  “Sixteen, seventeen.” Flick. Flick.

  “Seventeen.” An orgasm washed through my body.

  Flick. Flick. Flick. “You said seventeen already.”

  I quaked against air, his fingers hovering over me, waiting for my count, but I couldn’t think to count. All I could do was spiral and crash, my orgasm making my knees weak, my breath a ragged, shuddering sound. Only the motorcycle seat supporting my weight kept me standing.

  “Eighteen, Sophia. Count.”

  I repeated, “Eighteen,” forgetting why I was counting, but then his fingers were there to remind me. Soft slide. Flick.

  I cried out, my clit super-sensitive post-orgasm.

  “Nineteen,” he said. I repeated it, “Nineteen.”

  Flick.

  “Twenty.” I whispered, waiting for the painful flick of his fingers, but his hand was gone from between my legs. He pulled me off his bike, standing me on shaking legs, the dampness on my thighs a mockery of what just happened between us, my panties still around my knees. I fell against him, only the strength in his hands wrapped around my upper arms keeping me from falling. He held me like that a long moment, long enough for me to be embarrassed by what just happened, long enough for me to feel his body heat. I was standing on my own before I realized he’d released me.

  “Pull up your panties, adjust your skirt, and wait for me on the swings.”

  Starting his engine, he pulled away, leaving me to do as he said, but I didn’t move. I stood there with my panties around my knees, lip caught between my teeth, dampness sticking my thighs together. It was a short ride for him to reach the parking lot, pulling the motorcycle to a stop in front of Garrett, blocking my sight of him. Hearing voices, I quickly pulled up my panties and straightened both my skirt and camisole before I turned back toward the parking lot, hoping I could see what was going on between Garrett and Lord Fyre.

  Two children and their mother arrived swing-side, distracting me from the men in my life. I thanked God they weren’t there a few minutes earlier before turning back to face Lord Fyre and Garrett. Too late, I turned just in time to see Garrett pulling out of the parking lot and Lord Fyre hiking up the small rise to the swings. So much for the tough guy who doesn’t obey rules. I guessed when children were present, he obeyed.

  “Darling, come to me,” he called, his normally smooth accent sounding thicker, more guttural, his hand waving me to meet him halfway. Somehow, I managed to make my legs work and followed him the short distance to his bike. The damp stickiness between my legs sickened me. I am such a slut. Putting on his sunglasses, he was already mounted and expecting me to climb on behind him.

  “Darling?” I demanded.

  “In public, yes…in private, slut, Sophia, or any other name I choose.”

  I used to be such a nice girl, a good girl. “Can I ask a question?”

  “First answer me this, how much weight have you lost?”

  I was sure my whole face frowned, forehead, eyebrows and all, but I answered, shrugging, “Thirty-two pounds.”

  “Jesus,” he swore, demanding, “Since I took you home from Garrett’s the day he threw you out?”

  I shrugged again but answered, “Yes.”

  “You didn’t have half that much to spare. You look like shit.”

  I shook my head, looking at the ground, asphalt more appealing than the judgment I saw in his eyes. I didn’t need this man to tell me I was ugly. His hand lifted my chin and I struggled, losing badly. He wiped the fresh damp track made by a single tear from my cheek and lowered his own head to make eye contact.

  Reading my mind, he promised, “You are still very beautiful, Sophia, I didn’t mean that, but you need food. You need sleep. And I’m going to take a wild guess that you haven’t been getting much of either.”

  I nodded, agreeing. Sleep? What is that? If it was a struggle to sleep before meeting Garrett, post-Garrett I don’t sleep. For a while, at least, I made an effort. Lying, tossing, turning…thinking too much…wanting him to take me back, if only to hurt me. Hurting me would be so much better than ignoring me. At some point, I stopped dressing for bed, stopped crawling under the sheets. Instead, I wrote all night…memories? Memoirs. I didn’t tell Lord Fyre any of this though. I just looked past him to the swings, wondering if he too would make it onto the written page of my life.

  Lord Fyre still held my chin, forcing eye contact. “I am taking you to a place away from here, a place where we can be alone, without memories or distractions that would interfere, but I will not start the process until you’ve gained at least five of what you’ve lost. So plan to eat, plan to sleep. Do not expect pleasure or pain until you’ve gained some weight. Understood?”

  I nodded.

  “Being my slave isn’t a tea party. I’m tough.”

  I never doubted it for a minute.

  Looking over the top of his shades, he prompted, “Ask your question now.”

  “Whose benefit was that show for?”

  “You don’t know?” he asked incredulously.

  “You wanted to prove I would let you touch me, even if he watched, but why?”

  “You’re a smart girl, Sophia, your brain is wired just like mine. No why. Just because. Just as you said, to prove you would. Now, kneel before me.”


  Nervously, I looked over my shoulder at the woman and children on the swings to see if they were looking. His fingers bit cruelly into the bite mark on my forearm, his thumb pressing into the spot between the two big bones, but he had my attention. He jerked me around to face him with just the pain radiating through my arm.

  “That hurts,” I cried out, trying to pull away, his fingers biting deeper, until I dropped to the asphalt, my bare knees scraping against the hot pavement. “Please, stop,” I begged, hoping for release, but he didn’t release me right away. I writhed in agony on my knees, finding no escape from the strength held in just one of his hands. “You’re hurting me!”

  “Isn’t that the point, Sophia? I can hurt you. I will hurt you, whenever I want. This pain isn’t because you didn’t obey me with immediate obedience, although you would have earned it for that reason alone, this pain is to make you focus. I am the center of your world now. No one and nothing else will distract you from me.”

  I laid my forehead on his knee, saying “I’m sorry.” I think I meant it, but more I was just trying to escape the power of his eyes and the truth caught there.

  He released my arm to rummage in his saddlebag, I kept my head on his knee, soaking in the warmth of his leg, beginning to feel how right it could feel to sit, neck bowed, on my knees. With my head in his lap, I wondered, if I surrendered completely would it stop being role-playing? It seemed like with Garrett it was role-playing.

  The sun pounded into my back, heating me, baking me, but I didn’t lift my head. A drop of sweat trickled down the side of my face, but I didn’t wipe it away, and even when my knees were too sore to kneel any longer and my curiosity got the best of me because he held something in his hands that I felt him twisting, I didn’t move. I didn’t look. I surrendered to the nothingness that pressing my forehead into his knee afforded me. With no thought, no cares, I seemed to float and even the pain in my knees disappeared.

  “Lift your face to me.”

  I obeyed.

  “I think you need something to focus your attention, so I’ve made you a collar out of hemp rope.” He held it out to me. “Feel it.”