A Shimmer of Silk

by Raven McAllan

  "I understand, My Lord, I can but hope you do." She switched from English to rapid, colloquial French, not noticing how her accent changed. "I do not wish to be untied unless it is your preference. I must begin to fight my demons. My name is Aurore. I am … was French. I escaped the terror as a babe, but I remember things, dark things, bad things." She shuddered so violently the ties holding her shook and shimmered in the lamp light.

  "Go on." His tone was even. One could even call him disinterested if it was not for the muscles at the corner of his mouth that jumped, and the white line above his eyes.

  "What is there to say? Our house was burned. My parents, my family, all perished at Madame Guillotine. Luc's parents bribed a guard for my life. I am told they said I was their daughter, and taken by mistake. Whether he believed them, or was greedy for money, I will never know. People were starving. I was but a few years old, but I can remember the fear, the hunger … the knives." She closed her eyes to block out the shadows that reached out to her.

  "Open your eyes. Look at me." His voice was harsh and unyielding.

  Deborah blinked. "Ah."

  "Ah indeed. So the knife play? To show they can no longer harm you?"

  He understands.

  "Yes, My Lord. And to cheat death, and gamble on my continued life. Every time, I have that split second where I don't want to intercept the blade. Then I remember, I owe it to those people who died to live. But it is so, so, hard."

  "The candles? Fire eating?" As he spoke he stroked her ankle and slid the back of his hand up her leg. The sensation was akin to that of a feather passed over her. In spite of her worries, if she had been a cat she would be purring. His touch elicited such strong emotions.

  "I think so. It helps me feel in charge, feel safe, and able to do anything I wish. As the wax stings me it reminds me I am here, I am the lucky one."

  His fingers had reached her knee and were inscribing circles over it. The touch made her want to clench her legs together, to rub her quim and relieve the ache there. Fastened as she was, it was impossible, and she moaned softly. With no hairs to coat, it would be so easy to use her juices to cover her cunt, to use them for friction and to rub her nub. Arousal built inside her, like a tidal wave, rushing ever on, overcoming any obstacle in its way. She wanted, no needed to let it crash over her, to explode in her cunt and destroy the fears. As she looked down her body toward Oliver, she could see her cum glistening on the top of her legs, gravity aiding its path.

  "Do you want to be in charge?" If he had noticed her squirming he chose not to comment. Instead, he stroked her upper leg, almost circling it, before inching ever closer to the apex of her thighs.

  "No, My Lord."

  "Then stop trying to be." The slap to her quim was unexpected, and she gasped. There was no pain, just a slow sting and tingle that spread outward in increasing circles of pleasure. Deborah arched up into his hand, silently asking for more.

  Oliver pushed her firmly flat onto the bed. "Not yet. We still need to talk. So, where does the fire eating come into all this?" The tone was level, soothing.

  If it hadn't been for his questing fingers that gently circled her nub, she would be relaxed. As it was, she was a mass of overloaded senses. Every nerve end buzzed and sent tiny shockwaves of pleasure through her. Could she really stay so aroused and not come? The gentle pinch on her nether lips reminded Deborah she hadn't answered him.

  "I consume the fire, it does not consume me. Ahhhh, so good." He had slipped one finger inside her, followed by another and was circling her channel. Deborah clenched her cunt muscles around them, holding them in place, silently begging for more.

  His fingers stopped their sensuous movements as he tapped her mound three times in quick succession, each one harder than before. The stings prickled and zinged. "No coming, no demanding, or dictating. Behave or I stop. So knives?"

  "Ah." Her brain wouldn't work. One minute he was lifting her high, creating a flow of red-hot lava to course through her, the next changing her pain level limits and erogenous zones. Then demanding answers to questions that in her sensation induced fog she could scarce comprehend.

  "Deborah." Just her name in a tone so devoid of emotion it gave her goose bumps—for all the wrong reasons.

  "I know not if I know this or have heard it spoken about, you understand. Adults forget children listen and remember." She shuddered as those memories rushed up to claim her. A ruthless determination she hadn't known she possessed enabled her to clamp them shut. "When our house burned, it was sheer chance we were not inside. We escaped the area, with loyal servants near us on our journey. I was in a cart, under some sort of vegetables with my parents and—" She gulped. "And my older brother. They, the soldiers of Napoleon, used knives to dig through the vegetables and find us. The others were killed. Luc's parents, who had been following as peasants, saw them lift me out. With great presence of mind, they claimed me as their own, cruelly taken by my parents."

  Oliver's look of comprehension and sympathy was almost her undoing.

  "Yes, well, whether they believed maman, as I called her I don't know, but when they handed over all the money they possessed they left me with the … well I will say Dalmians, for indeed we have used that name for so long, it is now ours. For many years we lived in a tiny hovel, for we had nothing. It was not a life as such. It was a day to day scramble to survive. When I was about eleven, I believe, I pulled at a candle and the wax dripped over me. It was strange, but the pain made me realize I was there, not dead, not used as I had heard others were, but loved and safe."

  "So each drop that touches you reaffirms that?"

  She sighed. "It seems so. However, never before have I felt as I did when you were the one to anoint me thus."

  A kiss on her mound, so swift, so light, it was as if he had brushed her with a feather, once more set her juices flowing.

  His laugh was triumphant. "So from now on, we will work to replace all those negative memories with positive, loving ones. Do you trust me?"

  Chapter Eight

  If ever a man had waited more anxiously for a reply, he would be amazed. He ached with the effort to remain impassive. To untie her, cuddle her, and promise her the world was not the way to continue. Oliver knew his limits, his needs, and he hoped hers. The look in her eyes gave him optimism. As did her answer. It was one of hope.

  "Yes, My Lord."

  He nodded, trusting his exultation didn't show. "I will push you, Deborah, make you take things further than you ever thought possible. But it will be for us, our desires. Ignore all you have ever heard about domination and submission. This is us; Oliver and Deborah—or would you prefer I call you Aurore?"

  "Perhaps, when you have set me free from my past, My Lord? Then I can truly be myself once more." That made sense to him.

  "Then, my love, let's start to create our future." With less than his normal grace he stood up and went to the hook that held the cat’s cradle of ropes high above.

  A shudder rippled over her skin as she followed his movements, and she swallowed.

  "You trust me." He reminded her in a harsh voice. No matter he wanted to untie her, hold her, and promise her anything. Those feelings would not sustain him for long. "Anything I do will be beneficial for both of us. Both of us." He stared at her, willing her to keep her eyes on him as he wound down the harness to a foot above her head. Her eyes were wide, but to his pleasure, she didn't invoke her safe word. She just stared.

  "I do trust you, My Lord. If it seems that I do not, I apologize. My faith is in your superior knowledge."

  "Liar." He spanked her quim once more, hard enough to draw a sharp exclamation from her, which she cut short. "You resent it, are scared of it, and hope to put your faith in it. Am I right?"

  She bit her lip. "Yes, My Lord."

  "Better. Have you seen one of these in use?"

  "Er, I think so, though it was not like this. In the entertainment room here on the night we came to be judged fitting to perform." Ah, yes he had forgotten
that a harness exhibition had been on that evening. Felton had asked his opinion of it, and it was there, he had seen Deborah, and knew she had to be his. Her subsequent brief act in front of the select few, who chose the entertainment, had reinforced his decision.

  "And?"

  She wriggled, rubbing her arse over the linen cover, as if to test the restraints she was held by. Oliver thought it was more to reduce the feelings of arousal in her cunt.

  "And, I wondered," she said, in a low voice.

  "Louder, Deborah, I can scarce hear you."

  Oh ho, the look in her eyes was pure rebellion. He lowered the ropes to set the ties in motion, so they swayed gently a foot or so above her body. Her gulp was audible.

  "It scared me until I saw how much enjoyment the lady had. I could see her arousal slick on her body. When her partner set the harness in motion, and spanked her each time she came toward him, I … I almost came." She finished her sentence in a rush, and looked away from him, as if in shame.

  "Look at me. That is good. You have feelings ready to be unleashed."

  "Perhaps, but…"

  "No, no buts, Deborah. Trust me as you say you do." He cranked the ties ever lower.

  She swallowed but said nothing. A faint sheen on her skin gave notice of her arousal even if she didn't.

  "Good girl. Now keep your eyes on those silken binds. Imagine the silk caressing your skin, touching your quim; your juices changing the color from silver as they seep into them." He watched her eyes dilate, darken, and open wide.

  "Ohhh."

  Yes. She was ready for him.

  "Later." Relief warred with disappointment on her expressive face. Oliver schooled himself to remain impassive.

  "You enjoyed my creation in wax on your chest earlier. I have no need to go there again." He moved to rest inside her legs, bent forward, kissed her lips, and let his tongue slip through them as she opened for him. With one hand he slipped inside her channel to gather the juices there. Her muscles clenched around him. How he looked forward to feeling his cock deep in that warmth, thrusting into and filling her.

  He lifted his mouth from hers, enjoying her moan of disappointment, and rubbed her lips with her pre cum. "Taste." His tone brooked no arguments.

  She opened her mouth to his digits, which were liberally coated in her juice. Then she sucked.

  His cock responded with a surge of heat that would have threatened to rip his breeches was he wearing any.

  Her eyes widened as tiny drops of pre cum left the tip to drip onto her stomach.

  "Soon you will suck my prick in such a manner. Before I impale you on it for a session, so deep, so intense we both will scarce be able to move."

  With a studied deliberation he rolled her nipples between his fingers, changing the pressure, the way he moved his hands over her areolae. He caressed each soft globe. If it was possible, it seemed her breasts grew under his ministrations. Deborah began to pant; her skin was slick with arousal. He could see the fine hairs on her arms stand up.

  "You will not come until I say so, Deborah, you need to learn restraint." To his delight she chuckled.

  "It seems I am to do so, My Lord, in more ways than one." She looked up at the ropes and ties above her.

  Ah, how he loved these unexpected asides from her. "As ever, you are correct. But not all at once." Was that disappointment that showed for one brief moment? He rubbed the tip of his cock over the entrance of her hole. She arched toward him and he nipped her nub. "No, stop dictating. Are you sure you are a submissive, my love? For you so often try to direct me."

  To his horror she paled. "My Lord, I …" She shook her head and closed her eyes. "I want all of you. I see heaven in my grasp, and I'm scared it will slip away before I experience it."

  "Deborah, look at me. Or I leave and Felton will release you and send you on your way. For one who says she trusts me, you show little evidence of it." He surged into her in one smooth thrust, filling her as his balls hit her. "Perhaps I have been lapse in showing you."

  With one hand he held himself up so as not to crush her. With the other he pinched her nub. "Come now."

  She screamed as he pushed her over the edge; her moans, mewls, and shudders surrounded him. It took every bit of his determination to pull out and spill his cum onto her body, not inside her. His cock quivered as it emptied onto her breasts and stomach. Under him Deborah jerked as her orgasm took its course, until slowly she quieted. His chest heaved and he took great mouthfuls of air. He had not intended to play the scene that way, but he could not be displeased with the way things had turned out.

  He took his time as he leaned over her and untied her hands, rubbing her wrists until she sighed her relief. For one not happy with restraints her composure and reactions were magnificent.

  She groaned as he let each arm rest at her sides and turned to release her ankles. He followed the sequence of rubbing and stroking until her moans of pain turned to those of pleasure.

  "Assume the position, Deborah." He wondered what her reaction would be. Did she even know what he meant? "On the floor."

  It seemed she did. In one smooth flowing motion—amazing as she had so recently been restrained in one position for so long—she swung one leg high over him to enable her to slide gracefully off the bed and kneel before it, head bowed and hands behind her back. Oliver moved to the very edge of the bed and rested his feet on the floor either side of her. With his index finger he lifted her chin.

  "You are eager, love. Shall we play some more?" Her eyes dropped to his prick, semi erect and growing harder as he contemplated the woman kneeling before him.

  "I think I would enjoy that, My Lord."

  "Hmm. I wonder… Bring me the uppermost knife from the wall."

  ****

  Had she really heard him right? Deborah half rose and fell back onto her heels. Above her Oliver was silent, waiting. Why was she hesitating? Had he not shown her she was safe? It really was now or never.

  With a show of indifference she didn't feel, she rose and walked to where the knives were. Her skin tingled, that sparking telltale giveaway she had felt when he watched intently as he had created candle wax patterns on her earlier.

  The knife glowed in the flickering lights from the candles in the sconces above them, creating shifting shadows over the smooth metal. Her body seized as she tried to direct her arms to the hooks holding it in place.

  I can do this. Come on. It is easy. He will not harm me. I love him… Where had that come from? Surely it was not possible? Lust for him, eagerness for his touch, but not love, not on such short a relationship. They barely knew each other. The thought jolted her. She wanted to know him, to see what developed.

  On that thought, she reached up and took the knife down, weighing it carefully in her hands. It was no hunting knife, the balance was wrong. No doubt he would explain when he was ready. As she held it out to Oliver, Deborah was pleased to see her hands were steady. No nervous shake or twitch betrayed her anxiety.

  He took it from her with a dip of his head. "Do you know what this is for?"

  "No, My Lord."

  Oliver twisted it over and over between his fingers before he carefully touched the back of one of his hands with the tip. "There is more than one type of knife play."

  Her heart stopped beating. She forgot to breath. His gaze was ever watchful, waiting for her reply. Oh heavens, if he is to tattoo me with it, can I cope? She couldn't speak without clearing her throat. How she wished to take the glass of wine from the nearby table and drink it down in one mouthful. "I, er, yes, My Lord."

  "So, do I tie you, or will you stand for me?"

  Those butterflies were back in her tummy again, beating their wings, demanding to be let free. She would not give in to them. "As you wish, My Lord."

  "And I wish for you to decide."

  Bastard. She cocked her head to one side, knowing there was no right or wrong answer. "Perhaps untied? To try my ability to remain still?"

  "And so you can move away easil
y?"

  He knew her so well for such a brief acquaintance. "Um, yes, My Lord, but it also means I could be injured, if I move and disturb whatever you may be doing."

  His gaze unnerved her; it was unwavering. "Lie face down over the bench. Rest your tummy on it, leave your cunt and breast away and not touching it. Grab each bar." He gestured with the knife to a wide padded bench just beyond the bottom of the bed. "Face toward the bed. Good girl."

  Even before he had finished speaking she was on the move. Deborah stared at the thick padded seat dubiously. It looked like any soft furnishing, except for holes spaced along the wooden base at regular intervals. She couldn't—wouldn't—hazard a guess what they were for. Settling herself as he directed, she felt open and on view, a strange feeling when she was lying face down.

  His hand caressed her back.

  Deborah jolted a little. She had been so immersed in her thoughts she hadn't heard him approach.

  He moved his hand across her arse and traced the crease between her cheeks. His finger circled her anus and she clenched her muscles together.

  "Relax, not there, not yet. Have you ever been fucked in the arse, Deborah? Felt that sweet pleasure pain as you open like a rose unfurls, and a thick ready cock fills you?"

  She hadn't, but the picture he painted made her moan and spill her juices. "N… no, My Lord."

  "But you would like to." It wasn't a question, though she chose to interpret it thus.

  "With you, yes, I would."

  His finger edged in slightly, not far enough to penetrate the ring of muscles denying access. "Then one day soon we will. First though." She felt a slight nip as if he teased her skin with a needle. It wasn't pain. It was tiny bee stings, trailing up her spine, and across her shoulder.

  "At any time you can use your safe word, love. Until you do, I'll carry on. This is a tiny bit more intense. The sting will last longer. I'm not cutting you. There will be no lasting scars, but for a few days you will have my mark etched onto your skin." For a few seconds the pinpricks stopped as he paused.

  She presumed he was waiting to see if she was happy. "It's good. It stings, but hints at pleasure, not pain." Was that the way to describe the surge of sensation rolling through her?