by EM BROWN
“You agreed to ‘anything and everything.’”
“That was before...”
“Before what?”
“Before I knew about Carmen.”
It’s early in the day, and the place seems deserted. Tony and I might be the only patrons here.
“What do you care about Carmen?” he asks. “You don’t know her.”
“I don’t have to. I just—I just don’t want to be in any form of soap opera.”
“And how would that happen? You think Carmen’s worried about you?”
I manage to pull my arm from him. “It’s—it’s...bad juju.”
Okay, that wasn’t the most sophisticated thing to say, and it’s clear that Tony doesn’t know what I’m talking about, but I couldn’t think of a better response.
I improve in the next statement. “And it speaks to the type of person you are.”
He crosses his arms after he gets to the bottom of the stairs. “Which is what?”
I stop on the last step. My gaze is nearly level with his. “A cheater. If Carmen doesn’t know what you do, then you’re a liar, a deceiver.”
“And why should Carmen know?”
His question confuses me, but I reply with the obvious, “Because she’s your fiancée. That’s reason enough.”
My words give him pause. Surely he gets what I’m saying?
He uncrosses his arms and looks almost amused. “Carmen and I aren’t really engaged.”
That’s an awfully convenient excuse, I think to myself. Aloud, I say, “I saw a news article and a photo. You were about to kiss her—or something.”
“That was staged. We secretly broke off our engagement weeks ago, but her grandfather had been thrilled about our engagement. He’s on his deathbed, and while he is still alive, we’re pretending we’re still engaged. The engagement shouldn’t have happened in the first.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Tony grabs my jaw and pins me to the wall of the staircase, trapping my backpack uncomfortably against me. “Don’t believe me. Believe I’m a cheater and a liar. And those are my nicer qualities. You should run from me, ma petite. Run very far.”
I might do just that, but I’m still in his clutch. And then his mouth is on mine, smothering me. My senses fill with him, and it’s not a bad way to drown.
No! I didn’t agree to this yet.
But my body is already warming, already succumbing. And he knows it. Somehow he knows it. He presses his body to mine, and currents shoot up my spine. His mouth plumbs the depths of mine. He’s ruined kissing for me. I know I’ll be comparing all future kisses to his.
I want so much to pull him to me, to wrap my arms about him and thread my fingers through his hair. But I left him for a reason.
And that reason was?
His engagement.
Oh, right. I’m in trouble.
“I told you, you should have walked away from me,” he murmurs atop my lips with anguish. “I was trying to be better. And now...I can’t.”
His lips still locked to mine, he picks up my legs and grinds himself between my thighs. And I miss this. I miss feeling his ardor thick and hard against me. I kiss him back. My arms encircle his neck, pulling him closer as he dry-humps me.
Holding me by the legs still, he carries me into Cell Three. He kneels on the mattress and sets me down. He cups my face with both hands, and his lips move almost reverentially over mine. I haven’t been out of his presence for twenty-four hours, and I’m starved for his touch.
His hands drop to the straps of my backpack, peeling them down my arms. After removing it, he puts it aside on the floor. He wraps a hand about the back of my neck, massaging away the last of my feeble resistance. His mouth takes mine once more, and I wish I had worn something sexier than my flannel shirt, sweater vest and jeans. He looks sexy and dreamy in his button down shirt beneath a beige pullover sweater with the sleeves rolled up. Of course he looks sexiest with nothing at all on...
Deciding I want him in that state, I thrust my hands beneath his sweater and start to unbutton his shirt. That makes him kiss me deeper and harder. Feeling like a horny teenager, I unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants. My sex throbs. The soreness is practically gone, and I won’t be satisfied till I feel him inside me.
He whips off his sweater and sheds his shirt. I happily run my hands over his pecs, brushing over his scar, and then his midsection, down to his crotch. He’s wearing boxer briefs. Tight boxer briefs. I rub his erection through the cotton/spandex fabric.
He takes off my sweater vest and pulls open my shirt, sending buttons flying.
“Hey!” I cry.
“Merit your twenty thousand and you can buy yourself a new shirt,” he says in between biting my bottom lip.
I had forgotten about the money. “How do I earn it?”
He brushes his knuckles along the curve of my breast above my bra cup. “Make it through...without using your safety word.”
Don’t do it, Virginia. It’s a trap.
“Without my safety word,” I echo. “At all? Under any circumstance?”
His gaze hardens with desire. “I told you not to trust me.”
He pulls down my bra cup and his mouth latches on to a nipple. It’s not fair. He works me up so that I’d do just about anything while exonerating himself because he warned me about him.
God Almighty.
The more he sucks and licks my nipple, the more my better judgment fights a losing battle. I slide my fingers through his thick hair and moan at the pressure on my nipple, at how it seems to send signals to my pussy, causing the wetness to flow.
“Be careful what you choose,” he says before pushing my bra over my breasts and switching to my other nipple. He cups my crotch with one hand.
It doesn’t even feel like a choice anymore. His rubbing penetrates through my jeans to my clit. He nibbles more aggressively on my nipple. I’m officially a hot mess.
He yanks my shirt off, undoes my jeans, and pulls it along with my underwear down my hips, creating enough room for him to slip a hand beneath my crotch and caress my folds and find my clit.
Yum.
I purr at his fondling. It’s so good, I want to come right now. Make me come, Tony.
I stop caressing him because all I can think about is the craving between my legs.
“You want to come, Virginia?”
I practically pant like a dog awaiting its treat. “Yes, Sir.”
“Then beg.”
“Please make me come. Please, Sir. I would do anything.”
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
“How about I spank you?”
“Spank me, Sir.”
“Flog you?”
“Flog me, Sir.”
His fingers have me in a frenzy. I grip his shoulders and remain still as if my life depended on it because the slightest movement might ruin his perfect strokes, his perfect application of pressure, his perfect positioning.
“How about I fuck you?”
“Yes, oh, yes, Sir!”
“Hard?”
“Please fuck me hard.”
“How hard?”
“As hard as you possibly can.”
“You think your little pussy can take it?
“Yes, Sir. Fuck me till I’m screaming. Then fuck me till I can’t scream.”
“Mon dieu.”
He pushes me onto the mattress, and I fall on my back. He pulls out a condom, tears it open and pushes down his pants and underwear. I think I’m about to get what I asked for. I say a quick prayer for myself.
With the condom on, he pushes my legs, which are locked together by the fact that my jeans and panties are still about my thighs, up and to the side. My body forms a twisted ‘L’ position. He points his cock at my entry and pushes in, stretching me, undoing the healing that took place during the reprieve. It’s uncomfortable and wonderful at the same time.
I’m grateful that he takes his time and doesn’t shove his entire le
ngth in all at once. Instead, he withdraws a little, sinks in deeper, withdraws again, and presses in further. Ripples of delight wave through my loins.
“Play with your breasts, your nipples,” he commands.
I put my hands on myself and lightly tug at my nipples.
“Pull harder.”
I pull my breasts into pointed peaks.
“Nice. Now pinch and twist them.”
I follow orders.
“Harder. I want to see tears, ma petite.”
He demonstrates, making me gasp and cry.
“Your turn.”
I try, but self-preservation will only allow me to inflict so much pain on myself. He compensates by slamming his cock into me. I scream loud enough for the entire building to hear.
There’s no turning back now. He buries himself to the hilt over and over, pushing my body to its limits, making the safety word so tempting. Only I don’t remember what it is! What the fuck is my safety word? I wonder in desperation and panic.
The force of his pounding seems to have no end.
“St-stop!” I squeal.
But that isn’t the safety word. He continues with the rough and relentless fucking. He’s got his tears now.
“Sir!...Sir!”
He slows, and I gulp in relief.
“That hard enough for you, Virginia?”
I mew. “Yes, Sir.”
He pulls out, straightens my legs, and walks over to the dresser, where he finds a vibrator. My body is a single note of hurt, and I’m not sure if the vibrator will do it. He slides it between my thighs and turns it on. My body isn’t used to the mechanical vibrations and jerks away, but he presses down on my abdomen, holding me in place as he nestles the vibrator head against my clit. It doesn’t take long for pleasure to replace the pain. Soon all that matters is my need to come.
Which I do with another loud scream. I shake against his hand and buck against the vibrator. So beautiful. So awesome. So worth it.
I wait for the chance to sigh with the descent of my climax, but he continues to hold the climax in place.
“Thank you, Sir,” I whisper.
My clit starts to protest.
“I came,” I tell him louder.
“We can pull another one from you,” he replies.
My eyes widen. No way. My clit is too sensitive. This is no longer feeling good.
“Just push through it.”
“No, please! Tony! Sir!”
I clench my jaw and shut my eyes. How in the world am I supposed to...?!
But he’s right. There is another plateau. The discomfort from the oversensitivity hasn’t disappeared, but there’s a second wave of pleasure that drowns it out, and it’s even more potent than the first. Back arching off the mattress, limbs trembling, I am nothing but spasms. Thrilling, decadent spasms.
The vibrator retreats form my madly pulsing pussy.
He turns it off. “Next time we’ll wring three from you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
As I lay on the mattress, feeling the blood pulsing and bubbling through every vein in my body, I murmur, “I don’t remember my safety word.”
I suspect that I’m going to need it.
“Tar Heel,” Tony provides as he pulls off my shoes and strips off my jeans and underwear.
Right. How could I have forgotten?
Flipping me over, he unclasps my bra and kisses his way from my shoulder, down my back, to my butt. He caresses and massages the same path with his hands. I release a satisfied breath and close my eyes to soak in his touch. He knows just when to be gentle, when to be firm, and when to be rough. I don’t know what he has in store for me next—I know better than to believe he’s done already—but for the moment, I am relaxed.
He sheds his shoes and the rest of his clothes. He reaches for a black bag on the mattress, and I assume he’s putting the vibrator away in it, but a shot of adrenalin disrupts my hitherto content state when he pulls the bag over my head. I immediately sit up, my hands grasping at the hood, but he pulls on the strings of the bag, drawing it tighter about me.
“Relax,” he murmurs in my ear. “You have your safety word if you need it.”
I still and try to calm my racing heart. I’m not sure what I thought was going to happen, but I can’t see anything through the hood, and for a second I did think he might try to suffocate me. But now that I take a step back from complete panic mode, I realize I can breathe just fine. In fact, I can sense that the fabric about the mouth is not as thick as it is about the eyes.
He’s sitting behind me and pulls me to him. I lean back against his chest and try to settle the rest of my nerves. His hands knead my breasts, then caress my midsection. He reaches one hand between my thighs, stroking languidly, tenderly.
“It wouldn’t have mattered if I was engaged or not,” he says in a low voice, almost to himself. “I had no chance against you.”
I’m not sure what he’s talking about, so I remain silent. Plus, I don’t want to use up too much of the air inside the hood, which is growing too warm for comfort.
“I wanted you too much,” Tony continues. “From the moment I saw you.”
Really? I knew I was drawn to him but had no idea he felt that way about me at the beginning.
“Bon sang. I don’t know why.”
Me either.
I think about how young I was when I knew I wanted to be with Lila. How could I have possibly known at that age? It was just an instinct.
I was right about Lila, but could I be mistaken about Tony? Is it just my lust talking?
He squeezes a breast and rolls my clit around, making me groan. I had noticed that he hadn’t come yet. I can feel his hardness against my backside. The soreness has returned, but my body doesn’t care. It wants to come again. It wants to be there for him.
"Do you remember if you preferred the stinging or the thudding sensation?" he asks.
I quietly groan but answer, "I think I liked the thudding."
"Then we'll start with that."
"What?!" Are we doing both?
"A little punishment is in order."
"Why?"
"Because you left without permission, without even telling me where or why you were going. And because you just came, twice, without asking permission to come."
Crap.
He pulls me up to my feet and gently walks me over to a different part of the room. I try to remember what the room contains. Am I next to the cross? The cage?
I hear what sounds like a padlock. My pulse quickens. Tony bends me over until my neck comes to rest against wood. He sets my wrists on either side of my head. I know which apparatus he has chosen now. It's the pillory. I hear him closing the top of the wood frame over my neck and wrists. I hear the click of the padlock.
I hear him walk toward the armoire and dresser, then silence. He's probably contemplating which of the implements to use. I hear a drawer opening. The suspense is killing me. I want to be able to see, to anticipate what I should brace myself for.
He returns to stand behind me. I'm not sure what implements he's chosen. He caresses my rump, then plays with my clit. When he withdraws, my body is desperate for his touch, whether it's pleasurable or painful. Anything is better than the vacancy.
I hear a whack and realize he's struck his hand with the paddle. I can handle this. I survived his last spanking.
"You've been a bad girl, Miss Virginia."
I swallow with difficulty. "Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir."
"You deserve to be punished."
"Yes, Sir," I acknowledge, happy when he caresses my ass again. I just hope he gives me some warning before he spanks me.
"What is the lesson you need to learn?"
"To ask permission before I come."
With his thumb, he moves my clit from side to side. “And?"
"And not run away.”
He doesn't give me a warning, and the paddle sends my shoulders crashing into the stocks. Shit! That was hard!
"How b
ad are these transgressions?"
"Very bad... Sir"
The second blow makes me gasp so hard the hood is drawn into my mouth. I spit it back out. The air inside has grown even warmer and more humid.
He caresses my burning ass.
"How badly should naughty girls be punished?"
"Very badly, Sir."
"Correct answer," he says before landing another forceful whack.
My legs start to quiver, and tears sting my eyes. I wish I knew how many of these blows he plans. I can maybe last seven or eight more of these. After that, I'll seriously have to consider using my safety word.
"Do you think I should go easy on you because you're new?"
I readjust my number after the fourth blow. There's no way I can take seven or eight more of these. My ass will break apart before then.
"Well, Virginia?"
I whimper, "No, Sir."
I cry and shake against the pillory with his next strike. It's like he's trying to hit a fucking home run on my ass. Maybe I should've responded that I preferred the stinging sensation.
"You should thank me for the punishment I'm giving you."
"Thank – thank you. Sir."
I feel something smooth against my folds. Whatever it is, he rubs it back and forth along my slit, coating it with my juices. It's not the vibrator. It feels smaller. It is smaller. He presses it inside me until my pussy swallows it whole.
I jump when the vibrations start. It was novel enough experiencing the vibrations on my clit, but now they're inside of me. No matter how my body twitches or jerks, it can't escape the vibrations. I start to pant. My legs want to buckle. And then the vibrations stop.
"Hold still," he instructs.
Whack!
The force of it sends me onto my toes and slams me again into the pillory. My lower back feels tired from being in this position. I make a note to myself to do more core exercises.
"Do you like your punishment?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Would you like more?"
It's a trick question. I groan, "Yes, Sir."
The paddle bites into my ass, pushing tears out both eyes. I consider the safety word, but the vibrations are back, making me reconsider. If I use my safety word, there's a chance I won’t get to come. And I want to come. I suffered enough. I deserve to come. I want to show him I can do this. I want to meet or exceed his expectations. And the money would be nice, too, if he’s sincere about me earning it, but that reward is a secondary consideration in the moment.