Sacred Revelations

by Roxy Harte

  I press down on her neck, slow, steady pressure as I direct her in what I want her to do. “Go up on your toes and bend at your waist, over the railing.”

  She gasps. I apply additional pressure, pressing into her lower back with the palm of my other hand, seeing that her gaze has traveled the distance to the large boulders and crashing waves below.

  “Relax, I’m not going to let you fall,” I promise. “Go up on your tiptoes.”

  She complies, stretching on tiptoe to bend at her waist. My hands are still on her neck and lower back. Her hands cling to the railing as she bends. I push harder on her neck, bending her deeper over the rail, raising her higher on her toes. She screams and struggles, pushing back against my hand, I shove my knee into her lower back, holding her, digging my fingers into her neck and back, giving her a little shake. “This isn’t going to work if you don’t trust me! Calm down.”

  I feel her struggles cease, leaving her shaking all over. I hold her like that, bent over the rail, shaking. I whisper, “Relax.”

  “I’m scared,” she sobs.

  “I know, sweetheart. I’m here. Remember that. I’m here with you.”

  She nods and I know that for a second I can take my hands off her. She stays still and in position, though I hold her only with my knee pressing into her ass, while I turn at the waist to take the fur-lined leather hand restraints off the table. Taking hold of first her left arm and then her right, I stretch her arms out along the railing as far as they’ll comfortably stretch before securing her. “Okay?” I ask.

  “Yes,” she whispers and I barely hear her over the surf.

  She is bent completely over the rail upside down. I squat to look into her face, seeing that her eyes are squinted tightly closed. I command, “Open your eyes.” I stick my tongue out at her when she does, making her smile. “As long as you can still smile at me like that, we’re okay.”

  Sliding my hands through the bars of the railing, I attach the fur-lined collar around her neck, drawing the pre-attached chain to hook her to the railing. Her eyes don’t leave mine. “Trust me?”

  “Yes, Lord Fyre.”

  “Are you ready for this?”

  “Yes, Lord Fyre,” she answers, looking so unsure, so afraid. I smile at her.

  “Good, stay right there,” I wink at her as I walk back into the bedroom. “I just need to get a few things to make tonight memorable.”

  Chapter 9

  “Only now it had become indispensable to him to have her face pressed close to him; he could never let her go again. He could never let her head go away from the close clutch of his arm. He wanted to remain like that for ever, with his heart hurting him in a pain that was also life to him.”

  D.H. Lawrence, The Horse Dealer’s Daughter

  Kitten

  He’s leaving me. The thought makes me want to scream hysterically though I wait patiently, silently…I want to rant and rave and scream, so great is the pain in my chest. He’s leaving me, he’s leaving me, he’s leaving me.

  I knew this day was coming, but I had no idea it would hurt so badly.

  I face the crashing surf, literally, bent head to heel, only the rail and cuffs keeping me from plummeting to my death. Could dying hurt any worse than this? Yet, I fear the fall, shaking uncontrollably, or maybe it’s the anger.

  I hate his wife. How dare she call now!

  Father forgive me, but I do hate her. I hate her!

  I think about her, imagining her in my mind, the tall, leggy black woman with beaded braids that cascade to the center of her back. I met her only once, the night Garrett bought me at auction. She was beautiful…mean, very mean…but beautiful. She nipped my bare nipple instead of saying hello, although nipped is hardly adequate, because she bit me hard, not hard enough to draw blood but hard enough to leave behind a raised blood mark.

  I hate it that he is going to her. He deserves so much better.

  The sound of his step draws my attention immediately back to him. I close my eyes, counting to ten, breathing. I will not let her destroy our last night together. It is hard, but I release the anger and the hate. She is, after all, his wife.

  I, the fornicating preacher’s daughter am on the road bent straight toward hell. I release that thought to the universe. I will not pray away what I am thinking or feeling this night in repentance. I embrace me for who I am and for what I am doing this night.

  I look between my legs to see him watching me. He is upside down, arms full, the look on his face one of pain. I have seen the look before. He too is hurting. I know it as much as I know the pain in my heart is bent on destroying me. Dear God, what is to become of us apart? We have found our perfect matches.

  Seeing me looking at him, he busies himself, setting a dozen candles on the table and lighting them. He leans inside the doorframe just enough to flip the light switch, casting us into darkness, except for the soft flames. He moves the candles around the balcony, two in one corner, three in another, dispensing the light to cast a soft warm glow around us. The wondrous golden glow fills the air with a sense of magic and purpose. It pleases me that he is going to such elaborate effort to make tonight extra special. He disappears, back into the bedroom, returning with a full-length mirror that he angles to give me a view of myself. He takes the time to angle it perfectly, steps back to see what I will see from my angle, then adjusts it a bit more. He catches my gaze in the reflection. “I want you to see how beautiful you are. I want you to see what I see.”

  I smile at him, he smiles at me. I hate to even think the thought, but I do, I love this man. I love you. I think the thought, not daring to voice it, saying instead simply, “Thank you.” Thank you for this night, thank you for helping me find my darkness, thank you for loving me.

  Watching him almost takes my mind off the burning starting in my calf-muscles. Standing on tiptoe, stretched as far as I can stretch, I find it hard to not fidget, shifting my weight from tiptoe to tiptoe.

  I watch him lift a large, round paddle off the table, relieved that he is ready to begin. He presses the handle between my tightly pressed together knees. I hadn’t realized how taut I’d become, every muscle flexed tight.

  “Open your legs.”

  I shift my feet, inching my toes apart, thinking my calves will find relief in this new position, but I am made even more uncomfortable, the muscles inside my thighs stretching and aching immediately. The rub of the handle between my burning thighs makes me quiver involuntarily. He chuckles, teasing strokes that make me shake, teasing strokes that lead to my sex. “Ah!” I sigh. The pleasure so great in contrast to the discomfort, I am aching with new need.

  “Very nice, Sophia, you are beautiful tonight,” he whispers. “I am going to film our last night together. Does that please you?”

  Reaching up, he adjusts one of the corner-mounted security cameras. Suddenly, it becomes very important that I have a memento from this night. “May I have a copy?”

  “If you’d like,” he answers, turning his attention back to the wooden paddle. He caresses the inside of my thighs lightly, then presses the hard wood into my damp slit, sliding in my wetness.

  I lift my ass higher. “Yes,” I hiss.

  “Are you ready for the pain I offer you tonight?”

  “Yes, Lord Fyre.”

  “Count off,” he commands.

  I peek around my legs at him, wanting to remember him, just like this, strong, powerful, cast in candle light. He is my perfection.

  “Count!” he says more sternly, furrowing his brow.

  “To what number, sir?”

  “Sir?” He chuckles. “So formal tonight. Count until I say stop.”

  My brain freezes, without a target number, I am left feeling floaty, light-headed, but I manage to start the count. “One.”

  He makes the first swat hard, making me dance on tiptoe as the full sting of the swat sinks in. My right ass cheek flames. I consider that he is being kind, letting me know immediately what kind of night I face. He waits for me to stop m
oving before continuing with the next swat, but it is impossible to hold still, my hip flaming, the sting racing up my spine and down my legs.

  “Two,” I scream when his hand falls hard on my ass, directly over the same area as the last swat. Holy shit!

  He angles away, giving me time to breathe. I unsquint my eyes, seeing the reflection of my legs and ass. His handprint blazes in a bright, raised welt. Yeah, that’s gonna leave a mark.

  “Three, four, five, six,” I count faster, barely leaving him time to swat, or so I thought, but his swats keep pace and my body shakes, as I dance on my toes to escape the flaming pain. I count, he swats. The intensity seems less, or maybe I am just bearing up, my endorphins kicking in. The swats warm now instead of rip through my body. I don’t cry.

  I remember crying the first time I was ever spanked. Garrett spanked me the day I woke up at his condo the first time. I swallow hard, thinking that this time tomorrow, I will be with Garrett. Although the thought invades, I don’t want it to. I don’t want to think about Garrett, not yet. I don’t want to worry that I will not feel the same way about Garrett as I did before. I don’t want to worry that I am so changed by what I have shared with Lord Fyre that anything less intense than him won’t be enough…and not intense as just the actions of what we have shared—because the photo shoot on the rocks and the shark cage both rank as the highlights—but the intensity of his personality. Lord Fyre lives the way we all should live, like the next breath he takes might be his last and he doesn’t want to miss a single second of life.

  I love that about him. I love Lord Fyre.

  Yes, I can admit this to myself. I love him and I want to enjoy my last night as his property.

  I focus on watching his reflection in the mirror. I count, he swats. My ass becomes a rosy glow, though a perfectly formed deep purple handprint defines the site of his first swat. I know I will keep this bruise a week, maybe longer. It will change its color, gradually fading, but for a while, I will remember.

  I am grateful for the mark he has left on me.

  At the club I have heard the bruises left behind referred to as trophies and have often wondered at that. For me, it is not so much a prize but a remembrance. If I could, I would immortalize these bruises, and I pray that, true to his word, I am allowed a copy of the film. I have no doubt of his word but I worry that Garrett will not let me keep it. Damn, the man is in my brain again.

  Go away, Garrett. Leave me be this night!

  Chapter 10

  “I never wanted to go away, and the hard part now is the leaving you all. I’m not afraid, but it seems as if I should be homesick for you even in heaven.”

  -Louisa May Alcott

  Thomas

  She shudders when I stop. I run my hand down the smooth center of her back, hip to neck, then reversing the stroke, petting up from neck to hip. I stroke, once, twice, letting her know that for now she is safe, the pain over.

  “Thank you, Lord Fyre.”

  Her bottom glows, rosy and bright. Her flesh blazes heat beneath my fingertips. Two perfect handprint-shaped bruises blossom in the center of her ass cheeks. I bend, kissing her left ass cheek, directly over the bruise. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

  I lay the paddle down on the table. Seeing it go down, she licks her lips, relaxing only once she sees the paddle leave my hand. I pick up the long-handled vibrator, switching it on so that she hears the faint buzz. I run the vibrating head over her calf, teasing the back of her ankle before drawing it up her calf, nudging the inside of her knee to spread her legs wider before sliding up the inside of her thigh, keeping it away from her pussy, knowing how badly she wants me to touch her there. I take the vibrator down the inside of her other thigh. She hisses, not daring to beg. I rub the vibrator over the backs of her thighs and along the curved edge of her ass. Switching the vibrator to my left hand, I rub the vibrator inside the creases of her knees. It is a sweet spot for her. Tickling. She dances on her toes. I ease my right middle finger along the slick edge of her labia.

  “You are so wet for me. You like this don’t you sweetheart?”

  “Yes,” she moans, lifting her hips.

  I press my finger into her, feeling her vaginal lips grip around me. I end the torture, drawing the vibrator up to her clit, tapping then holding it over her most sensitive spot, making her scream as she rides out her orgasm, waiting until she sags against the rail before I pull the vibrator away. Turning it off, I lay it on the table and reach for my next implement of pleasure, a special gift I bought for her and have yet to find the right moment to give to her. It is an extravagance, a solid metal butt plug, the handle shaped like a bird’s head, the beak holding a diamond setting. I hold it down for her to see. “I bought this for you.”

  I tilt my head down to see her better, seeing her eyes glow. “Before you ask, yes, it’s a real diamond.” I smile at her. “Always play with men of means, if you can, it’s so much more fun than getting shagged by a man who shoves a ninety-nine-cent fingernail polish bottle up your butt and calls it plugged.”

  She giggles and the sound is music to my ears. “It sounds like you may have some experience in that department, as well, Lord Fyre?”

  I wink. “None I’m willing to admit to.” I stay kneeling, letting her see me play with the smooth edges of the plug. It will be the largest I’ve ever used on her. It will be a heavy mass inside her, stretching and filling her, but the best surprise will be the weight.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispers.

  “Yes, beautiful women deserve beautiful, expensive toys.”

  Standing, I rub her ass, stroking over the dark purple circles very softly, fanning out my fingers to caress every bit of her bright pink skin. I smack her lightly with my bare hand, smacking as I slide the plug through her vaginal wetness, slicking it, then pushing quick and hard to insert the butt-plug into her anus. It is large and she grunts, but lifts her ass to take it. God, she pleases me.

  “Wiggle your ass, sweetheart.” I want to see the diamond sparkle in the candlelight.

  She wiggles and it is a glorious sight. I am deeply affected by her erotically, the sight of her, doing the things she does…so sensual…so feral, and yet I think over and again that she is unaware of her affect on me—on him. I do not want to let her go. I know I promised Garrett, but the fact remains, I want her. As much as I know he wants her back, I want to keep her.

  I close my eyes against the sight of her, almost wishing I wasn’t taping this night together. It is so hard to steel my emotions against the thought of walking away from her and what we’ve shared here. “Are you ready for me to hurt you some more?” I pray she doesn’t hear the cracking in my voice, forcing myself to focus so that I can complete this scene.

  “Yes, Lord Fyre.”

  “You want me to hurt you while you hold your new pricey toy inside of you?”

  “Yes,” she sobs, closing her eyes.

  “Squeeze it with your muscles.”

  The metal plug bobs, evidence that she does what she is told. “Keep squeezing it until you can’t squeeze any longer. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Open your eyes.” She does, her toy still bobbing in her ass.

  I pick up the riding crop with my right hand, the flogger in my left. I hold them in her line of vision, so that she will see what’s coming. I think it is so much more exciting when the anticipation is allowed to build. I rub them both up her leg, one at a time, tapping her lightly with each, and then stroking again. “Are you ready for this, love?”

  Her brow furrows, showing her worry. “Yes, Lord Fyre.”

  “Stay relaxed,” I warn her, stripping off my shirt, folding it over the chair. More focused than before I am ready to enjoy myself with her, not having allowed myself this particular pleasure until now. I will mark her, leaving behind a web of stripes and welts for her to carry for weeks to come as her trophy of our time together.

  I start on her ass and the backs of her legs with the flogger, warming
her up, light and medium thuds, quick, rhythmic. I set the pace so that I will be able to last a long time, knowing that she will outlast me. We have three hours.

  I make her rosy and pink, getting her to the point where she is floating on endorphins, only then increasing the tempo, punching up the pain level.

  I slap her with the flogger then, lifting the whip, I add its sting, alternating, sting, thud, sting, thud. Even floating on endorphins, I have her undivided attention as I combine flogger with single tail, covering her back, buttocks, and thighs.

  Sting, thud, sting, thud.

  “Oh God, oh God,” she pants and I know she isn’t praying for pain relief. I sting her good, once, twice, leaving a welt, then tease with the flogger, thud, thud, thud.

  “Oh God, Lord Fyre, please, please, please.”

  “Tell me what you need.”

  “I need to come,” she grits out.

  “How?” I ask, near to losing my own resolve to finish this scene. God, I want her badly. “How do you want me to bring you?”

  “Mouth,” she pants. “Fingers, vibrator, I don’t care, just please, please.”

  “Beg me, slave.”

  “Oh God, please, please, please, Lord Fyre, please let me come!”

  I drop to my knees and touch my tongue against her clit. Her taste is a mingling of salty and sweet and her dampness quickly covers my beard. I inhale deeply of her, enjoying the sigh that comes to her lips when I do so. She is soaking wet as I slide in a finger, two fingers, working her gently, and then withdrawing them, taking away the sensation, returning my tongue to barely lick her clit. I hear her gasp. I lick harder, alternating softer, setting up a rhythm I know her body won’t deny and, just as I feel her tension building, I tug the butt-plug from her hole, sending her over the edge. I hold her legs tightly as she bucks and writhes, not letting go with my mouth, licking her, sucking her, making her scream into the night.