I try to speak again, beg even, forgetting the gag, and mumble instead, hoping he hears me. There’s another sharp sting, his hand joining the other one between my legs. This time it isn’t as intense, or maybe it is and I’m too lost in this shadow to give a fuck. It just throbs, all of it. It makes my insides pulse, grabbing for him to be inside me. And then he loops a chain around his waist, one side of it tugging me wider open, until I see the end of it. It’s a clamp, and I realise that’s what the sensation is below. He’s put clamps on me, ones that pull me open more as he sharply tugs the chain again and snaps it in his hand.
“Dirty little brat, hmm?” The sight makes me squirm and widen my eyes, unable to process what the fuck is going on, but relishing the feel of the dull throb nonetheless. “You want me inside your cunt, little brat?” I whimper again, desperate for exactly that as I feel the last of the clamps bite in, tears welling as I move into the pain rather than away from it. He chuckles, his hand skating across my clit, and all four of the clamps suddenly engaging. I try to focus again, blinking the water out of my eyes, and find him leaning backwards and forwards, his eyes trained between my legs, watching me open and close. “This is true beauty, Alana. Fucking and grinding, giving in to what’s inside of you.”
He lowers, his body disappearing as I prop myself up a little to gaze at him, the chain slipping up his back to around his neck. It slides around his neck as he moves, linking me with him as he inspects and probes at me, his fingers beginning to forage their way inside. The moment one does, I sigh, the miniscule contact already bringing with it a sense of relief as my head lolls back, and then another joins in, prodding and pushing, opening me further than I already am. I rattle my cuffs, impatient for the ache to be taken away, only to hear him chuckle again as I shove my hips towards his face. And then one long, slow lick of his tongue lands just above my clit, his hair rising up my stomach towards me. It yanks on the chain as it goes, his shoulders moving to let the metal fall around him. Teeth begin nibbling as his hands work their way inside. A third finger, a fourth maybe, and then a shove, his knuckles grating on my bones, searching for a way in. “Open that cunt up, Alana.” Oh god, I can’t breathe, or think, and no matter how wide I stretch my legs I can’t open anymore. But I want him deeper. I need him deeper.
He keeps pushing, his lips and teeth roaming my body, his other hand slowly making its way across my skin up towards my face. And when it gets there, it yanks on my hair, ripping it sideways, making me snivel and scream into the gag again. “Tell me you like the pain.” Do I? I don’t know. I just know I need him to fill me up, to give me something to make the ache go away as he keeps forging his hand in deeper. It crawls in slowly, the slippery sides of me slowly giving way to his continued demands, and my body moving to accommodate it. “Your body is begging for it.” He’s right. It is. I am doing. I’m shaking my head still, frantically, my toes curling with need for something I can’t get. And I’d scream for him if I could. I’d shout pleas into the air, hoping to give him quicker access, crack myself open wider somehow. He’s so far into my screwed up mind, teasing it with nothingness and silence, taunting me to break through this last barrier. He’s just not far enough inside my body yet. I know that; I can feel him missing from me. I’m still empty, regardless of his continued foraging, void of substance. We’re not together.
The pressure suddenly stops as quickly as it began, his hand withdrawing slowly, his mouth backing away from my chest as he runs his fingers over the length of me again. It makes me catch my breath and close my eyes, taking them away from him, feeling wretched to have disappointed him so much. That other girl managed it, why couldn’t I? It’s as troublesome a thought as the very act I’m participating in. Disappointed? I’m strapped down, gagged, bare of clothing, clamps of some sort pulling my genitals apart, and I’m bothered about disappointing him? I feel the tears prick my eyes again, their flow nothing to do with the pain anymore, more the sense of loss I feel because I couldn’t do what he wanted, or confusion over why the hell I’m doing any of it.
I end up turning my head to the side, embarrassment or humiliation taking over rational thought given the context of what’s happening. I can’t think straight again, but I’m mortified nonetheless, ashamed even. They’re both emotions I’ve not felt for so long. They’re awkward to me, making me cower to the side, trying to hide my face in the padding of the bench somehow.
“Look at me, Alana,” he says, a quiet lilt to his voice as I feel a sharp tug on the clamps again. I shake my head, dulled to the pain and still embarrassed. I don’t even know how to find my power again. It’s gone, as if I’ve lost all strength because of this thing he’s made me do. I feel small and pathetic, inadequate. Not worthy of what his hands can do. It’s black here. Black and cold. It makes me internalise everything, the gag in my mouth preventing any eruption I’d normally deliver, questions too. Not that I can see any answers, and not that he’ll answer them. “Alana, look.” Still I don’t turn, the thought of his displeasure too overwhelming to contend with in my current state. His displeasure. All I can hear is the word Sir being banded around in my head, as if my feelings mean nothing other than cause and effect. Sir’s displeased. Sir’s mad. I couldn’t finish what he started. It just causes yet more internalisation until all I’ve got is a black hole in my mind, one as empty as the cunt he couldn’t fill.
A hand slaps my cheek quickly, barely giving me chance to linger in my own thoughts about what’s happening to me. It lands hard, shocking me and fostering more tears, but they’re from the sting again, from the pain. “Don’t you lose yourself yet.” I don’t know what that means. Lose myself? I’m not lost. I’m alone and tired. So fucking tired of trying to achieve everything for everyone. “I’m not finished with you yet.” There’s another slap, followed by my body being yanked towards him, my arms stretched back in the cuffs as he pinches his fingers in. I just lie here and let myself be dragged, still with my eyes closed and my head turned away. I can’t face him, don’t want to. I’ve let him down, let myself down. I under achieved. Didn’t cut the grade. Couldn’t deliver the end product.
His fingers dig in again, the crunch of my thigh muscle turning over in his hands as he pushes and pulls. It’s mesmerising in some ways, slowly drawing me from my thoughts back to the present as I churn my teeth on the ball. There’s an authenticity to his hands, a focus to bring me back from wherever I’m heading. They’re warm, tactile, even in their excessive grasp. They’re real.
“Blaine.” His name mumbles out of me, the gag preventing any volume as saliva builds around it. It makes me choke and cough as the spittle slides down my throat, causing anxiety to build again. “That’s it, come back, little dove,” he says, a hand sliding behind my cheek to lift my face back to him. Little dove? I like that. It’s dreamy, sweet. It reminds me of Noah’s ark, being rescued.
My eyes slowly open as I feel his fingers pinch in around my cheeks and hold me so that I’m facing him again. Dark, brooding eyes stare back, not an ounce of disappointment etched into them, only a glimmer of the love he denies. He’s so still, like any minute he might erupt or explode. The calm before the storm, ready to decimate what’s in his hands if I’ll let him. And I will. I’m here, laid bare and open for use, ready for him to push himself inside and find all my hidden secrets if he wants them. He’s right; I do want all this. I want to ebb down inside myself and find who I used to be, swim in his current for a while, get lost in it.
I mumble into the ball again, trying to get his name past it. Not Sir, Blaine. He smirks. Just slightly. It’s barely there really, but I can see it hiding behind the scowl. And I can feel it in the way he watches me trying to shake my head at this restriction in my mouth, his grip holding me still. He’s enjoying my degradation, playing with it, arousing himself with every whimper that comes from me. So I give him another one, my legs opening further as I push myself as far down the bench as my wrists will allow, hoping he’ll put himself inside me again to fill the void. I don�
�t want alone and cold. I want to join—be joined.
“Mmm, better.”
They’re the only words he gives me as he slowly releases my head and drags his hand down my body. He just gazes then, the occasional pinch to my nipples, another tug here and there on the clamps, causing yet more whimpers and howls to try to break through the gag. And then his finger rubs my clit, sending shockwaves racing across me, my back arching immediately and causing the ache to become nearly unbearable. He just keeps teasing it, neither giving enough pressure to cause explosions nor allowing me to retreat from it. It just keeps coming, flick after flick, followed by another tug on a clamp. I writhe, trying to induce my orgasm, or maybe trying to back away as he keeps smirking and taunting. I can’t keep up. It’s painful. Raw. The sensations bite and twist, rubbing me the wrong way and making the hole inside me weep for attention as I scrunch my eyes away from him again. The slap happens instantly, and it’s so hard tears spring into my eyes.
“Try fucking harder,” he growls, his chest moving down towards mine, his tongue licking my stomach as he gets there. “Earn my cock, little dove.” Oh god, it’s all I want. I want it shoved into me, forced. No niceties, no preparation. My insides burn to have him there, to feel the skin rubbing against me, to feel his heat there. I’m desperate, desperate enough that I scream into the gag, begging for him to fuck me. I want that pressure he won’t let me have. I want it consuming me and driving us together again. “Say it again. Ask for me.”
I shout louder, my voice trying to elevate itself over the blockage. Spittle pools again as I suck in breath, ready to stammer back into it, my hands battering about in the cuffs. Please springs out, followed by more begging and pleading. I’m actually grovelling for the fucking he’s withholding. Desperate for it. Over and over I beg as he keeps taunting and goading, his hand gently dabbing when it should be ramming in. I don’t even know where I am anymore as madness takes over. I’m just so fucking desperate, and I can feel him in there even though he’s not there yet. Please, I just keep chanting it, mumbling it, desperate for the sensation to go away or get stronger, harder. He’s all I need. Him and this fucking hole he seems to own.
The gag suddenly falls from my mouth, saliva falling away with it as it goes. And the first words that spring out are the ones I’ve been reciting.
“Please, fuck me. Please, Blaine…. Please.” He licks again, something hard finally rubbing at the aching hole that screams for him.
“Keep begging.”
“Please!” What more does he want? “Please, Blaine, please.” I can’t even find any other words. He swipes that cock across me again and starts to nudge at me. Please, that’s all I have. Please and the need to feel full. It makes tears weep out again. Makes them erupt as my legs shake and quiver, my wrists grinding into the metal to give me more pain.
“More.”
Then the shunt comes, hard and fast, forged in to maximum depth. It widens every nerve I’ve got, sending a ricochet of nerve endings spiralling out of control around my skin. It electrifies everything, rendering my mouth open and no more words left to say as I sense him settling in. I’m just immobile, lingering, my back still arched and my spine feeling like it’s on fire. I can’t breathe, can’t move, and I so wish I could grab onto him, my own nails grasping for air, hoping to embed into his skin.
“Please…” It comes from me again, no longer knowing what it’s begging for. Pace, speed, harder. I don’t know. I just look down at him as his mouth climbs up my body, his lips sucking on my nipples as he passes them. They keep coming, elevating whatever desire it is that I’m travelling through, sucking and licking, biting down, making me gasp and groan as his hips move a little at last. The relief is almost immediate, another shock of pleasure following the one I’m trying to claw onto. “Fuck me, Blaine. Please. I need you. I need the—”
The rear back and slam in make me scream, my head tossed back again before I’ve got a chance to suck in air. Pain hits me, merging with all the other sensations coming at me, creating something new, something barely sane. It’s a mess of reactions, all converging and causing exhilaration, something to be chased, reached for. My hands screw tighter onto nothing, making me squirm and writhe again until I feel something touch them and widen their grasp. It makes my eyes fly open to find his mouth hovering over mine, his fingers linking into mine as he climbs onto the bench and moves my weight with his knees.
“You’re a rare thing, little dove,” he whispers, his breathing ragged as he hovers there, watching my mouth pant. “A gift.”
A gift? Oh god I can’t breathe. His mouth is just there, taunting me and showing me passion only he has to give. He moves, settling over me, his hands tightening in mine, holding me still as his hips grind, the tug on the chain inducing more pain to counter the moment. And then he shifts backwards again, causing another pull on all the clamps and he surges his cock further in. “This is everything I need from you.” He does it again, the same move, over and over, causing yet more whimpers and moans to come from me, his own stare trained on my eyes as he makes them happen. “Fucking with courage,” he muses, his lips gently brushing against mine, somehow managing to maintain his composure in the middle of my disarray. I’m lost to the pain, riding it and finally finding a sense of ownership in its tormented pull on my skin. It makes me sigh into his mouth, ready to let him deliver anything he chooses to as long as his lips stay with me. A swipe of his tongue has me reaching for it, my mouth searching so I can suck it inside me, to make it belong to me. And he gives it to me, his lips smirking as he pushes it towards me, and finally allows me my reward. I’m on it like a dog in heat, my hips rolling into his, the feel of his cock as incapacitating as his weight above me as he speeds up slightly. And my orgasm climbs inside me immediately as he roughens his movements, giving me more friction to press against, the continued tug and yank of the clamps becoming more severe with every push and thrust. It’s blindsiding, sending me delirious as I suck at his tongue, inching forward to make our lips meet again and trying to get us closer somehow. We couldn’t be any closer. We’re bound in a way I’ve never been bound before. Our skin is slick with sweat, our breaths joined somehow as I hear his ebb and flow. I’m so full, so full of everything I’ve never felt before. It’s hot, sticky. His fingers tighten on mine, the sweat between them making everything glide and groan together. I can’t begin to stop the climb as it races through my body, his hips continuing to grate against mine, his lips rolling more and more kisses to suck me into them.
“Blaine, please.” They’re my last words as I break away, trying to gasp in air. It’s all I’ve got left to say. There’s nothing else but him and these sensations driving me over the edge of sanity and into a new place, one I’m never leaving. He’s right; I’m like him. Just like him. I want more of all of this. I want him fucking me, holding me, giving me some purpose, exposing me. I can’t hold it any more as I feel him swell, the increase in his drive a sure sign of him coming. It’s all I can do to scream my orgasm into the air, letting it guide me through whatever the fuck he’s made happen here. It’s explosive, deliberately shattering every nerve ending I’ve got and making me jerk and spiral, gasping for breath and trying to find something I can hold on to. There’s nothing but his hands, them and the mouth that finds mine again, snatching me back to him and proving his feelings whether he wants to admit them or not. I lose myself completely in them, allowing whatever he wants as I feel the pain turn to a pounding weight on me, his heartbeat escalating against my chest as his teeth rip at my lip. That’s all there is left, just a heavy weight and friction, the shattering elation of my orgasm still riding my skin as he does the same, connecting the sensations into one. It’s all one. One mind. One body. Me and him. Savage growls and grunts, spit flying. A sense of blinding clarity being washed though two bodies as metal clinks and clanks, merging us into one. Until all there is left is him inside me, him all over me. Him and the thought of love quaking my insides, defeating my last fight.
; Chapter 6
Blaine
“A lana, get up.”
Still she hardly stirs. Part of me couldn’t give a fuck. I’d watch her lie here all day if I could, probably ramming my hand inside her again while she slept for the fun of it, but I can’t—not if she wants her damned dates anyway. I check my watch and snarl, wondering if the dates matter as much as I want them to. They don’t in reality, not with regard to my feelings for her. I’d stay in these four walls forever if I could now, just pushing her body further with every new session and indulging in the luxury that brings me. But they matter to her. They’re her reward for good behaviour, or for putting up with my heavy hands. The thought makes me chuckle as I gaze out towards the sea and remember her walking the beach before she went for her eventful swim. I turn back to gaze at her body again, wondering whether she should go wade through it before we leave, salt the wounds, but the cream I’ve applied for the second time since last night should do until tomorrow. If it doesn’t, so be it. I’ll go and wade with her, wash the fucking stains away with my own hands, because no fucking way is she going down there by herself.
The End (Stained Duet Book 2) Page 8