by Eden Myles
He gripped my hips, angling my pelvis so he could scent me between the legs. I cried out and gripped the chains above my head in a death grip as his lips found me and his beard scratched me and he licked and then sucked my clit deep into his mouth, the way I had done with Jasmine, only fiercer. The pressure built and built in the back of my spine, and just as he used a hint of teeth, I shuddered to orgasm and came in his mouth, thrusting against him, the chains clattering together far above. He drank me down, and then suckled me there, softly but intensely, looking for more as I cried out, this time as much from the shame of our intimacy being made so public as the pain of his constant and unrelenting attention on my oversensitized flesh.
He let me fall in the chains after that, and rest for several minutes, my heart clocking in my chest, as he climbed off the bed and circled it, watching me, trying to decide on how he would mete out the punishment he had promised me. He went to a wardrobe and searched through the contents for several moments before turning to face me, armed with the one thing I had dreaded more than anything else since meeting him that night in Malcolm’s kitchen.
He was sporting a cane made of bamboo. I felt my panic edge up a notch as he approached me, drawing it over the front of my body as he had the rose, and despite myself, I immediately felt the wetness gathering between my legs. He saw. “It excites you, doesn’t it? I told you I would cane you, Rachaela. That I would take you, make you my courtesan. Bend you to my will.” He smirked. “Do you know that it’s commonly believed that the cane is the most painful tool in a gentleman’s arsenal? Reserved for only the most difficult of courtesans. You hate it, but you also want it. I can tell. You’ve been waiting for it.”
“I don’t want it,” I protested as he slid the incredible hardness of wood between my breasts, making a beeline toward my belly. My entire body quivered and I suddenly felt the need to test the chains again, not that they were going to suddenly give for me. “Please…” I said as he moved the tip of the cane down over the front of me and tapped gently at my mound. I didn’t care if I sounded weak and pathetic; the sudden fear of that length of wood had galvanized me. It had broken my pride.
He moved around me, dragging the cane against my skin. I quivered where it touched me. He rubbed it against the small of my back and then further down over my ass as he waited to hear the safe word from me.
“Wolf, please…” I nearly sobbed. I yanked at the chains.
The cane cracked against my left buttock, smartly and suddenly, and I screamed—not in pain but in sheer horror. For one second, I felt nothing, and the crack simply echoed in the room around us. Then nothing could have prepared me for the uniquely concentrated pain that followed, and I screamed again as that pain built and built, dragging me along with it almost to the breaking point.
He didn’t wait, hitting me on the opposite buttock almost immediately. I screamed again, unable to contain myself. The pain was unbelievable, less like pain itself and more like when he was inside of me, at that last moment when he came, when he was pounding against my cervix so hard the feel of him transcended pleasure or pain and became something else entirely. I wondered with a kind of detached delirium if the cane was made to delay the pain, or if my brain was simply working to try and accept this new level of degradation. And yet, despite their intensity, the waves of pain didn’t last. They seemed to fade in a matter of seconds, leaving me writhing and clawing at the chains. The true horror of the cane was not that it hurt, exactly, but that it was like an arousal that wouldn’t break into orgasm or go away.
After he’d caned me five times, he moved around to face me. He stood there in his open dressing gown, the cane resting against his shoulder, observing me with that cruel and sublime expression of his, as if he were drinking in the pain of me, feeding on it. My body kept heaving, and a cold sweat covered every inch of my skin. The last blow he had dealt me had finally forced an orgasm out of me so I hung in my chains with the wet, sticky cream of my latest release running down the insides of my legs for anyone with eyes to see. He observed this with strangely detached interest. Jesus, I thought, he was giving me his blank poker face, the one he used when he did business, and yet I noticed that when he moved, his thick and heavily veined erection slapped against the flat plain of his belly.
“More?” he asked, and I felt a kind of quivering, almost psychic vibration coming from him. I knew what he was really asking. He wanted to know if I’d had enough, only halfway into my punishment. He wanted to know if I could handle him. If I could endure more of this. If I couldn’t, I just needed to use the safe word and he would let me go.
And maybe that was the real reason Wolfgang Beck was so ethically promiscuous, I thought. Maybe it had nothing to do with him wanting to sleep around, wanting as many women as he could conquer. Maybe it was because he couldn’t find the right woman to satisfy his unique hungers. Maybe he just kept looking and looking, but the girls kept disappointing him. I clenched the chains in my hands until my knuckles hurt. I held his even gaze, and I said the words. “More, please.”
“Please, what?”
“Please, sir.”
He grinned and I saw those teeth, the teeth of the big, bad Wolf. “Excellent,” he said with something close to religious elation. “Let’s continue.” Abandoning the cane, he climbed up onto the bed. I hadn’t expected that. He came up behind me and slid his hands around my ribs and hugged me against his body until my breath caught.
His embrace was warm, almost sweet, but then he pressed the incredible girth and hardness of his cock into my back. He kissed and licked the back of my neck even as his hands moved up my sweat-slicked body, palmed my breasts and pinched my nipples into sharp points. He made a low, growling noise of satisfaction against my hair, and it was all I could do to keep from wriggling against him, wanting him, wanting to impale myself upon him. I was always wanting him now, so it was a constant, empty ache inside of me. I was sore with the want of him.
“We’ll mete out the remainder of your punishment a different way,” he said and gripped my hips to steady me in the chains as he took me from behind. He grunted as he pierced me, hard and fast, but I was so wet there was no resistance at all. He moved in all that wetness inside me, and the first hard impact forced some of his seed out of me from his last fucking. I felt it drip down my legs, and I realized, belatedly and with enormous shame, that the whole Wedding Suite smelled like roses and sex. Then he was in me deep, up to his balls, and he was slamming into me, and each thrust rocked me in the chains. Each made me scream as his balls slapped against my already sore and thoroughly caned ass. He grunted and thrust and battered at my sore, tender cunt all the way to the end, until I couldn’t cry out anymore, until all I could do was whimper and submit to the tyranny of my gentleman’s lust. He came with a lunge, filling me once more and muttering out words in German, which sounded as much like a growl as anything else I’d ever heard from him.
He sagged against my back as he softened inside me, but didn’t immediately withdraw. Even soft, he lay lodged securely inside me, plugging me up. In a hoarse voice he called Jasmine to him and had her undo my cuffs. I nearly wept with relief as I dropped onto all fours and rested my head in Jasmine’s lap, with Wolf still firmly embedded in me from behind. I wanted to move, to dislodge myself, but Wolf growled with disapproval and just increased the pressure of his body until I stopped struggling to escape. I was too exhausted to fight him. I crouched there with my head down and my ass obediently in the air.
“Wolf…” I begged. I needed rest. I was simply too sore to continue. “Please, Wolf, no more…”
“You’ll take me,” he told me. “You’re my courtesan. You’ll take me whenever and wherever I deem it, Rachaela. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Tell me you understand.”
“I understand, sir.”
He licked along my spine and his ponytail of hair flopped over one of his shoulders to tickle along my back as he waited to stiffen inside me once more.
More conditioning, I thought. This last time wasn’t about sex. He meant to prove his dominance. It didn’t take very long, and within minutes, he was holding me down and thrusting inside of my tenderness once more, working my sore little cunt until all I could do was respond to him. My cunt tightened down around him as my body sought to milk him one last time. When he came at last, I was very near to using a safe word. I couldn’t take anymore of Wolf at the moment. Everything inside of me felt painfully stretched and used and battered.
Sensing I was finished, he withdrew in that careful way he had, trying not to cause me any more pain than he already had. He rubbed himself against my ass, and I groaned at the feel of him spurting one last time, not inside me but against my back and ass, marking me as his. Finally, he was done, milked clean. He gathered me into his arms so we lay together on the pillows with my ass spooned against the front of him and all the sticky end results of our play between us. He curled his arm tight around me and buried his face in my hair. When I shivered, he gathered the big, heavy folds of the dressing gown around us both. Jasmine lay down on the pillows, facing me, and I thought how pretty she was, and how I couldn’t possibly hate her after the intimacy we had shared. I kissed her gently. She was like a sister to me now, a lover.
Wolf gathered his robe around her too. “My pets,” he said. “After this, I just may have to keep you both.”
***
BOOK 4: BEAUTY AND THE BEAST
In the dream, I was wandering through a dense forest of giant pines and fir. I was dressed in long skirts and a flowing poet’s blouse bunched around my shivering shoulders. I didn’t recognize the forest, but I had the insinuating feeling that I wasn’t in America, that I wasn’t in my own time. There was something old, almost medieval, about the trees. They were huge, hundreds of feet tall, and close together, as if no human had ever cut an inroad here.
I was racing upon a soft blanket of fragrant pine needles at least several feet deep, but not so densely packed as to make travel easy. Every time I set my foot down, I sank to the ankle in the needles. It was dark, with only the gravid moon to guide me, its light glinting through the tiny seams in the trees. I had to fight for every step, and soon I found myself tiring. I might have stopped, except for the crackling of the pine needles behind me, and the hoarse animal noise breathing through the trees. The sound sent a trill of fear up my spine as I struggled on, going a little faster.
The crackling and breathing increased behind me, as if sensing my panic, as if enlivened by it. I caught the scent of something wild in the air, and the smell—hot, very male, very much alive—made the little hairs stand up on the back of my neck. I tried to increase my speed, tried to lift my legs a little higher with each step, but the pine needles seemed deeper than ever so it was like trying to tread water. I ripped through low-hanging pine boughs, seeking purchase to help me along. The trees were slowly thinning out into a clearing a few hundred feet ahead.
The creature behind me snorted. It had caught my scent. It howled, a long, hoarse noise that didn’t sound like anything I’d ever heard from a horror movie. My panic edged up a notch. The pine needles were almost knee deep now. I stopped trying to run and tried to crawl across them instead—I knew I had to run, to escape the creature hunting me—but I sank relentlessly into them, like a trap with no way out. I made a strangled noise in my throat, a prey noise, as I clawed my way across the earth. I had just reached the clearing when I felt the presence close in fast behind me.
I twisted around, determined to meet the creature head on…and screamed. It was gigantic, something like a man, but also something like a beast, though what kind of beast I couldn’t be sure. It seemed a little of everything—wolf, lion, bear—a great chimera of a monster with pale, moon eyes, slavering jaws and a frightening, liquid grace. Its cock was fully erect. It lunged and sank its almost manlike claws into my skirts, rending them into ribbons as the creature dragged me across the needles. I twisted, trying to escape, but the creature only growled and dragged me relentlessly toward it. It mounted me quickly from behind, its jaws snapping over my shoulder, its furry belly and balls raking over my ass, its massive cock penetrating me at once. Its heat and musk made me dizzy. Its bite made me scream.
I jerked awake from the dream, not screaming, but gasping from the impact of being roughly sexed from behind in that dreamy half-state between sleep and full wakefulness. It was a uniquely intense experience, like dreaming you’re awake only to find that you’re still asleep. My wrists were still in the cuffs bound to the headboard, the way they had been when I’d fallen asleep. Wolf had me pinned to the mattress, though he was elevating my hips slightly so he could penetrate me more easily. He breathed roughly into my hair as he fucked me, his thrusts short and brutal. I listened to the terrible groaning of the bedsprings. I groaned too as he plundered me so deeply and completely. We came together, struggling and shivering, with Wolf’s seed jetting deep inside of me.
He withdrew from me and undid the cuffs, and we wound up snuggling together against the pillows of my bed with the sheet bunched around us. “Do you always wake your woman this way?” I asked when I finally had breath again to speak.
“Only my courtesans.” He cradled me as if I were something very dear to him. I watched his pale, dreamy eyes, that shimmering wash of Viking hair that, unbound, fell to the level of his shoulders, and that breathtakingly sculpted, model-slim body. I wondered how I had ever thought of him as unattractive. When greatly aroused or in deep concentration he looked hard, almost cruel, but for the moment he wore a sweetly satisfied and very male expression. “You’re very pretty,” he told me, his voice a low, vibrating growl in his throat.
“I was thinking the same thing about you, sir.”
He snorted at that. “I’ve been called many thing, but never that.”
I wondered about those things. “What was it like, Wolf, growing up in Africa?”
“It was lonely.”
“I can’t imagine, in a place with so many people.”
He seemed to think about that. “For the first eighteen years of my life, I almost never ventured off my father’s estate. He made it sound like the people of Namibia would kill me if they saw me. That was during the Apartheid, you see. I had servants, of course, and a valet, but no friends.” He paused a moment. “Then my father died suddenly, and I was expected to take over the family business. For the first time in my life, I saw outside the borders of the estate, and I was appalled by the poverty and despair of my father’s people. They lived little better than animals.”
He didn’t often talk about himself, so when he did, I made a point of remembering everything. “Is that when you began your plans for the development?”
“If I don’t do it, Rachaela, no one ever will.” That was something one of his own men had told him.
“You work hard and you play hard,” I said as he looked me over like he wanted to eat me and was trying to decide on which end to start. “Viking philosophy.”
He blinked like he wasn’t quite sure he understood. Or didn’t care why he was like he was. Wolf never seemed concerned about such things. He lived in the moment, thoroughly and completely. “Touch yourself,” he told me, and my heart started doing that gallop I was so familiar with. “I want to watch you come, Rachaela.”
Lying against the pillows, I scissored my legs apart. One of my hands moved between my legs and I teased the petals of my cunt. Wolf watched with great concentration. I captured one of the roses that Wolf had used to bring me the night before and brushed it back and forth against my opening, then spread myself even wider so the folds of my labia were open like the petals of the nearly destroyed rose. Wolf’s expression remained unchanged but I could see his pulse ticking in the hollow of his throat, very fast. I rubbed my clit in small circles until I could feel the dew gathering there. I wetted my fingers and then slid them inside my pussy. I rubbed deep inside until he stopped me, until he drew my fingers out and licked and sucked them deep into his mouth.
; “I need a shower,” I explained as I watched him halve his eyes as if he’d never tasted anything sweeter. “Jerrel will be dropping Asia off in another hour.” Jesus, I hated the nervous quality of my voice, the way I sounded like some stupid battered wife dreading the return of her abusive husband.
“Turn over,” he said like he hadn’t heard me. “I want you on your hands and knees.”
I obeyed him, lowering my head just a little and elevating my ass the way he liked.
He found the Ben Wa balls in my nightstand that we had been experimenting with for the past few weeks. They were larger than any that could be bought at a regular adult toy store, weighted stainless steel, incredibly heavy and uncomfortable. I hadn’t liked them at first, so Wolf had reserved them as a form of punishment. I wondered what I had done to deserve them now. He parted the folds of my labia and forced them into my slit, five in all. I cried out like a wild animal as the last went in. That didn’t stop him, he just forced them deeper, until I could feel my entire cunt spasming around the uncomfortable weight of them. I tried to wriggle away, but he had me pressed into the bedclothes.
He leaned forward, and the pressure of his body shoved the balls even deeper inside of me so I cried out. He stopped and spanked me smartly for my outburst, warning me to be silent. I bit the pillow and worked on enduring this new conditioning as he mounted me again. I shivered at the feel of his sleek, broad chest pressing against my bare back. He gripped my breasts to anchor himself more securely as he rubbed his cock against the increasing wetness of my slit, then pushed the head of his member a little ways into the tightness of my ass.
The sudden penetration ripped a scream from my throat as he stretched me wide, but what made the sensation all the more exquisite was the feel of the balls moving in their weird, mechanical way inside my pussy as my body took him inch by inch, for no other reason than because it could not. There was no escaping him. I was impaled twice over, his courtesan, his doll to use and fill and fuck.