Capture

by Flora Dain

I feel him tap the diamond-encrusted metal sheathing my wrists. His eyelids lower.

  ‘When you wear these you wait for instructions. Arms behind you, hands together. Arch your back. I want a good view of these.’ He touches his lips to the swell of my breasts, where my taut, lowered neckline presses into my soft flesh.

  I splay my thighs either side of his lap as he wrenches my sleeves down my arms and scoops my breasts out of my bra-cups so now I’m part-porno, my heavy breasts thrust into his face.

  He buries his head in them, pulling me close, his hands folding over mine, and now I feel his erection, huge and hot as it nudges me from underneath. Heat surges through me and in seconds it thrusts up inside, its slick heat surging in and drawing away again, powerful as the pull of the sea.

  My eager belly closes around it as his designer tailoring rasps on my splayed places and the tough little hairs bristling around his root do their work, teasing me closer to orgasm again and again. Never close enough, though I arch and strain against him. My climax floats just out of reach, tormented to frenzy by his unhurried and very deliberate movements.

  He knows. It must be written all over my face, my desperate, sluttish yearning, my alley-cat need. He’s laughing now, making the most of my handclasp submission at the small of my back as he rides me powerfully from below.

  ‘Close, are we? Ask me nicely if you can come. And maybe I’ll let you.’

  I plead, I writhe. I lurch forward to match his stroke. I pull away again in despair. His laughter grows deeper as he evades my every move, the torment in my swollen, pulsing folds sending me wild as he teases me with his superior strength.

  At last he clasps my wrists with one hand and guides my face up to his with the other, impaling me with his tongue as he slows for the finish. At the same moment he stifles my moans with his greedy tongue, his mouth taking control of my building excitement, and just as I peak he jolts into climax. The feeling is extraordinary as we fuse together, conjoined on the very cusp of pleasure.

  Later he carries me upstairs, still limp as a doll in his arms. He holds me close, like I’m precious. ‘More?’ His breath rasps on my throat, warm and arousing.

  I nuzzle into his neck. ‘You should sleep.’

  ‘You too. More, then.’ More is delicious, and slow. So is sleep, when it finally comes, soon after we have, several times. And eventually morning comes too, far sooner than we’d like.

  * * *

  Next day I’ve no classes so I stay at the beach house. I work with adults now so discussions with parents are no longer an issue, but I still have to prepare detailed reports for visiting COs and team leaders during the morning. But as it’s an unusually warm spring day I take the afternoon off for a trip in my boat.

  The water’s clear and calm, and for once the glass panel is a real joy. No scary, gawping faces today. I gaze down fascinated into the murky beauty of the kelp forests far below and the pretty clusters of sea anemones, bunched and green, different from the spiky red fronds I’m used to in Maine – where right now, I gleefully remind myself, it’s over twenty degrees colder.

  After a while I’m so absorbed I hardly notice the high whine of a small, powerful engine getting steadily closer. But soon I see I have company. Out in the bay a lean, dark figure is showing off on a jet ski. As I watch he turns, as balanced as an athlete and speeds straight towards me, tall and powerful and clad head to foot in black neoprene and goggles.

  Too late to panic. In seconds he’s reached me, giving me no time to form any kind of plan. I look wildly round but there’s no one in sight. We’re not far offshore, just drifting a little way past the headland.

  But I’m all alone out here …

  I stand up in the boat, nervous now as he draws alongside. He grins at me and pushes up his goggles. ‘Hi. Race you to the cave.’

  ‘Darnley?’ I laugh out loud from sheer relief and then scoop up a handful of water and fling it at him. ‘You scared me.’ I duck too late as he splashes me back, soaking my jeans and my goose-down gilet.

  ‘I’m a scary kind of guy. Last one there’s a sissy.’

  ‘Why the cave?’ I shout, as he sets off, impatient to win, already grinning over his shoulder as he leans on the throttle.

  ‘You’ve got a date with a troll.’ His deep voice tails off in the rush of the wind and the high-pitched whine of his powerful little engine. I fire up too and head after him.

  Inside the cave our engine noises make a deafening roar for a few seconds and then cut into heavy, rippling silence. Now all we hear is the water lapping angrily on the cave walls, magnified over and over as the sound bounces round us like an echo chamber. Light glances off the water, making creepy patterns crawl constantly up the walls.

  The first time I came in here I found it simply scary. Now I’m with Darnley, lean and taut in his wetsuit, his gaze intent, I feel the air around us zing with tension, just as scary but for a very different reason. Why does he want me in here?

  I always thought one guy in a wetsuit looked much like another. Now I know I’d recognise him anywhere. I know his body well, but it’s not his shape so much as the lithe grace in his every movement that tells me it’s him. As I drink him in I feel a surge of arousal, explicit and direct.

  The shifting light, bright from the water, makes the walls seem to shimmer and move. I see him oiled and ready for combat, a gladiator come to rescue me from my chains … or some ancient hero, like Perseus come to free Andromeda from the ravages of the sea monster and lingering afterwards to claim his reward in full …

  I swallow.

  I’m already deep into a cave-fantasy and we only just got here.

  ‘Hey. You OK?’ He sweeps me with a dark look, his expression thoughtful.

  I lick my lips. ‘It’s very, um, private in here.’ I can’t take my eyes off him. Something about this place is working on me. In his wetsuit he looks mean and dangerous, more than a match for a barrelful of trolls. Bring them on …

  ‘Private?’ His eyes gleam. ‘Sure it is. Why did you think I brought you in here?’ His eyelids lower for a moment. ‘High tide’s in about an hour. Higher than usual this time of year. We better leave before then. The entrance will be submerged.’ He hitches the jet ski to a ring in the rock and springs onto a narrow ledge, holding out his hand. ‘I want to show you something.’

  Hastily I loop the painter over the ring and climb out to join him. ‘Will the boat and your machine be safe here?’

  He grins. ‘No parking meters, so yes, I guess so. Mind you, the troll’s another matter. This way.’

  The cave has a low roof but it extends quite a way. At the end, way overhead, there’s just enough reflected light to see that the roof disappears up into a jagged cleft.

  ‘We did a sweep of the cave system when we first got here. It’s checked regularly. This is the widest part. The rest are just cracks in the rock. This is what I wanted to show you. See up there?’

  I peer up to where the cleft disappears high overhead, like a rough chimney. ‘How tall is it?’

  He shrugs. ‘We’re not sure. The fissure branches out in a few places. May even reach as far as the headland. But somewhere it probably breaks right through the surface of the headland. And that’s what makes the noise.’

  I frown. ‘How come?’

  He pulls me into his arms. ‘If the tide reaches this high the movement of the water sucks out the air and slaps back against the cave walls. The cleft funnels the sound into a kind of hollow boom. So that’s Chet Newson’s troll.’

  He turns to me with a gleam. ‘And now you’re about to meet yours.’ He captures my mouth, his lips salty, his tongue masterful. I feel a wave of sensation that settles into a deep, insistent throb somewhere in my lower belly.

  When he pulls away he’s eyeing me with a gleam. ‘Grab hold of those rings up there over your head.’

  The new note in his voice can have only one meaning. Excited now, I glance up. ‘What are they there for?’ I can hardly keep the tremor out of my voice. I f
eel heat in his look as he picks up on my excitement.

  His voice lowers as his mouth twists at the corner. ‘Troll-bait. When they’re not mooring rings for fishing boats. Reach up and hold them tight. Spread out your legs.’ His expression grows more intent as his eyes glimmer. ‘Wider.’

  All at once my troll-fantasy’s getting real. I lick my lips. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Scare you a little, tease you a little. Fuck you a lot.’ His slow smile makes me shiver. ‘If you want to steer clear of trolls you should stay away from caves.’

  He arches an eyebrow. ‘And frankly, you looked kind of hungry back there. Lucky for me there’s plenty in here to tease you with. Don’t move.’

  Move? I’m pinned to the spot, trembling with excitement.

  He wrenches at my clothes and now my gilet’s halfway up my arms, my damp jeans halfway down my legs and my tight, stretchy top is already way tighter, as water splashes around us from the churning wavelets.

  I’m suddenly keenly aware that my nipples are tensing to pebbles from the chilly droplets of seawater, and forcing painfully against the jersey fabric.

  Not for long. He scoops my top down under my cleavage and surveys the result with satisfaction as my breasts are forced upwards, bulging generously under his calm gaze. My nipples are taut and jutting, rosy and exposed as I hang onto the rings, my ribcage arched.

  His eyes gleam. ‘Wow. You always leave off your underwear when you come out here? I should come out with you more often. This scary enough for you?’

  ‘That’s putting it mildly.’ I tail off abruptly. Maybe now’s not the best time to tell myself that only yesterday I found him standing naked in front of his slashed portrait – holding a knife.

  But his mind’s clearly on other things. ‘Now then, how shall we do this? Let me think.’

  Absently he caresses my breast, circling my nipple with his fingertip until it puckers and stiffens under his touch. His eyes glitter in the shifting light.

  ‘Ah,’ he says softly. ‘I know just the thing.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ‘Let’s see, what would a troll use? Something like this, maybe?’ Darnley’s calm smile sends a shiver through me. His deep voice echoes in the empty quiet of the cavern.

  Something in his tone makes me catch my breath. Keeping his eyes on mine, he yanks a length of seaweed off the rock where a great bunch of it hangs in thick, broad ribbons nearly to the floor.

  As he does it he leans down and skims my earlobe with his lips, his breath warm and stirring. At the same moment he winds a long streamer of the stuff around the top half of my face, instantly blotting out the light. It smells dank and salty, like seawater. It feels cold and smooth, like wet leather.

  Now he trails soft, light kisses upwards along my throat until he reaches my mouth. He captures my lower lip in his teeth and teases it, snatching it back each time I try to edge away from his mouth enough to cry out. At last I pull it free.

  ‘Wait. You’re scaring me.’ It’s not just the coldness and sliminess of the stuff, it’s the wild look in his eyes as he did it and the thought of his picture, slashed to pieces – and him standing there in front of it and not knowing if he’d done it …

  Maybe he finally has gone crazy. Maybe he’s always been crazy …

  And in a flash I know all at once that if he’s crazy, I am too. I find this place distinctly creepy, the echoes terrifying. Places always get to me, this place especially so. But he just wants to play. To him it’s simply a game.

  Fear of caves runs deep. The poet in me feels this place could easily be the evil lair of a troll. Like this I can see nothing, but all the sounds around me are instantly louder, more intense – the slap of the waves full of menace, the echoes weird. But the woman in me relishes the power he’s building, the crackle of electricity that flashes between us when we’re together like this.

  Faith may move mountains, but lust rocks the universe, even blindfold.

  He’s laughing softly, enjoying my plight. ‘You’re in my clutches and I’m the big, bad troll. What shall I do to you, Ella? You’re at my mercy now.’

  I shiver with excitement as he runs his hands over me, deliberately tormenting my nipples until they stiffen under his fingertips. He slides down further, where I’m exposed and vulnerable, spread-eagled and helpless against the dank, unforgiving rock.

  With the light blotted out every sound is magnified, his every move a new sensation that captures all my attention. Every touch of his fingers sends hot prickles straight to my most private places, raising the tiny hairs everywhere else.

  All the sounds and sensations around me are louder, scarier – the rippling water, the salty sea-smell of the weed over my face, the faint tang of his cologne masking the dark, sensual aroma of his skin.

  As I finally open my mouth to plead for mercy he stops it with his own in a full-on invasion of his tongue that makes me arch, yearning against him as the power of his hands and the magic of his searching, controlling fingertips send jolts of sensation through me.

  All at once I stiffen. I can hear something – the faint whine of a motorcycle. He catches it too. He pulls away for a moment to listen.

  ‘Some tourist up on the headland.’ His low murmur could be a growl. He lands once more on my mouth and probes me again, his long, slender fingers firm and persistent, seeking all my pressure points and exploiting them to the full. In my leathery, seaweed-scented darkness I sense from his lingering touch that he’s deaf to my pleas. They simply turn him on – even more than my easy capture. ‘And now for some fun. Turn round and face the rock.’

  I do it, whimpering as he fondles my backside, his hands warm and sensual, and his stroke firm. ‘What kind of fun?’ Try as I might to sound casual, my voice is thick with excitement.

  ‘You’ll see. I’ll muzzle you for this. Hold still.’

  I feel the soft, cool slap of another piece of weed, like a wide, cold ribbon, as he passes it round my back and loops it up tight so it slices between my breasts.

  ‘Take the ends in your teeth,’ he says softly. ‘And bite hard.’

  In my teeth? I clamp my lips firmly together. I hear him chuckle.

  ‘It won’t hurt. It’s quite clean. Washed by seawater twice a day. Plus it’s healthy. Full of agar. Bite.’

  Shuddering, I bite. The stuff feels clammy and tastes of salt. I moan deep in my throat as he fondles and squeezes my trapped, rigid breasts, swelling now under his touch. My nipples tense and sharpen and all at once I feel the cold, smooth swipe of another strand of seaweed. He’s holding it like it’s a whip. Is that what he wants? It’s gliding over me, its slow, sensual trail making me shudder.

  ‘Hold still,’ he murmurs, ‘or this will take longer.’ I writhe and squirm as the stuff slides all over me. But soon his hands follow it. He unhooks my stiffened fingers from the iron rings.

  ‘Now bend over. Lower.’

  His voice is thick with emotion as he prods and positions me to his liking, spreading my legs, teasing open my thighs, fondling my bottom with long, full sweeps of his hands, prolonging the contact. The effect on my nether regions is electric, my belly aching and taut. My splayed places tingle and quiver, craving his touch to fire my arousal. Soon I’m all a-quiver, scared of what’s coming but craving it too.

  He makes me bend low, still holding the rings, my mouth full of the leathery bonds securing my breasts. In my enforced darkness his teasing, tormenting touch fires me into an agony of suspense as he prepares me for what’s coming next.

  ‘Now we’ll try something a little harsher,’ his low voice murmurs in my ear. As I writhe I feel a sudden rush of air followed by a sharp, stinging blow from the flat of his hand. And then another. And another … Soon I’m gritting my teeth, biting down hard on the kelp as the stings blend and glow in a hot, heady storm of arousal.

  As I jerk and twitch under his steady blows I sink my teeth into the leathery seaweed in an effort not to cry out. As it is I’m keening deep in my throat
, the sound thin and feral, like something inhuman. It seems to excite him. I can feel him leaning into me, his taut, muscular body hot on my stinging rump.

  But wait – I can hear something. Over and beyond our ragged breathing, the lapping water and the thudding noise of his slaps, I swear there’s something else. Another person breathing? Or is it an echo?

  I strain to listen, rigid now.

  ‘Ella? What’s up? Too much for you?’ His deep, stirring voice sends a tremor through me, drowning out the rest. For a merciful second he edges the kelp away from my aching jaws so I can answer.

  ‘This place gives me the creeps.’ I shudder again.

  ‘Hey, easy.’ He runs his hands over me, warm, reassuring, soothing me like I’m a shivering animal. ‘Sure it does. That’s what trolls do. They work on your senses and give you the creeps. That is, when they’re not laying into a deliciously pert little ass like yours …’ He stoops to kiss me, first on one side and then the other, and then slaps me again, hard.

  ‘And now we’ll fuck. But we’ll do it indoors. It takes me for ever to get out of this damn suit.’ He reaches round to fondle my breasts with warm, probing fingers. ‘And we’ll give these a thorough workout when we get there.’

  He pinches me hard, making me cry out for real. I continue to whimper as he laughs softly. ‘But before we go, we’ll give the seaweed a workout too. Hold very still.’

  He unwinds my seaweed blindfold. I blink in the shifting light from the water as he winds it around his fists.

  ‘Can you guess what’s coming next?’

  ‘Must I?’ I’m half kidding. I’m all on fire, his hot, stirring hands doing what they always do, igniting something in me that’s so unlikely, so shaming that I never want to admit it even to him – I want to come, I want him inside me – and I want more.

  ‘Trolls like their victims to keep still.’ He slips the long strand of seaweed under my thigh and starts to saw it gently beneath me, slowly increasing the pressure as he goes. The pressure is startling.

  ‘Keep looking at me, Ella. I want to watch this.’