by Trent Evans
Something about that metaphor made her shiver, and not solely in a bad way. That he might see her as a factious animal in need of training flashed through her mind, and she squeezed her eyes shut, once again turning her head away even as his digits grew bolder with their exploration of her sex.
“So it wasn’t a fluke,” he said, his voice so low she could barely hear him. “I think we’re going to get along just fine, you and me. Once we get you back on the straight and narrow.”
Those fingers splayed her labia wide then, and Falon swallowed down a sob, pressing her face to the leather bench, her face flushing as hot as her bottom. Gathering a damning amount of slickness on the pads of his fingers, Ford wetted her clit with it, circling it slowly with two fingers, making Falon bite down on her swollen lower lip. It felt entirely too good, as if the awful punishment had somehow concentrated so much sensation between her legs, any sort of touch other than agonizing pain threatened to set her moaning for an entirely different reason.
“This… can’t be happening.”
“Oh, but it is, Ms. Moore.”
Falon nearly screamed then, realizing she’d said the words out loud, her mortification worse than ever as he drew a thick finger down between her plump labia, pausing at the very bottom of her slot to thrust deeper, deliberately keeping it there, her pussy involuntarily giving the long digit frantic little squeezes entirely beyond her conscious control.
After the shattering pain of the paddling, she wasn’t sure she’d refuse any other stimulation at that moment.
What about him fucking you? Would you refuse that?
The release of the brutal strap across her lower back relieved her from having to answer that though, his finger withdrawing with a parting pat to her sex, as if reassuring her that he’d be back at her — and soon.
Anything but that paddle. God!
A tissue was presented to her face, and she blew her nose, her frustration blooming once more at the binding of her hands behind her. He cleaned up her face with more tissues, her cheeks tight with tears, her nose running horribly, her upper lip wet, the salty taste between her lips shaming her anew.
The strap over her upper back grew loose, then fell away, Ford moving away once more as Falon took her first deep breath in several minutes, the sensation of her lungs fully filling one of pure bliss.
But rather than releasing her legs, instead she felt fingers entwine in the sodden mass of her hair, pulling her head up so that she had no choice but to look at Ford, now squatting in front of her.
In his free hand, he held a huge black ball gag, the thin straps hanging from his wrists like jet colored asps. But what truly shocked her, what made her bite down an involuntary moan, was the outline of his rather large erection between his thighs, the fabric of his warm-ups drawn tight over the thick shaft, delineating the broad head in perfect — and mouthwatering — relief, down to the darker spot where his precum had soaked into his pants.
Oh my God.
He grinned at her, his dark eyes glinting. “I think it’s time you learn the consequence for using that sharp tongue of yours. Open wide, Ms. Moore.”
* * *
There was something about the way she gripped the black rubber ball with her perfect white teeth. It was a level of subjugation difficult to put into words, but one that had a very real effect on his cock.
Even before he’d shown her the big white massager, she was struggling against the straps. They both knew she wasn’t going anywhere until he was ready.
Her eyes had gone wide as she’d watch him adjust the bench, bringing it up to about a forty-five degree angle. She’d gasped as he’d pressed her naked back to that cool leather, each successive strap pulled tight over her beautiful, stretched body drawing sounds from behind her gag that were more and more frantic, until finally, she was bound fast to the bench.
Now, he sat before her, those long, lovely legs of hers spread wide, the tendons standing out at her inner thighs. Her bare sex was appealingly vulnerable — and already very wet — any protection her legs might have provided taken away from her as easily as he’d deprived her of speech.
“Starting over, remember, Ms. Moore? Back to basics.” He caressed her smooth mound, his fingertip stroking the soft, delicate pink of her inner lips as her body began to tremble. “Control. I don’t just control whether you’re free, whether you wear clothes.” He patted her mound gently. “This is mine too.”
She shook her head, her teeth grinding against her gag.
“Yes, it is, and even your orgasms are mine — as you’re about to find out.”
He plucked the massager from the floor, switching it on, and easing it against her pussy, just teasing her with the lowest setting.
Falon began to squirm as much as the tight straps allowed, and he pulled the massager away. Slipping a finger between already swelling labia, he eased it up and down through her slot, collecting a surprising amount of wetness. He held it up for her.
“Tell me, do you want to come, Ms. Moore?”
She shook her head again, her cheeks flushing scarlet.
He pressed the massager’s broad head against her clit then, bumping it up a setting. “The correct answer was ‘Yes, sir.’”
It took an astonishingly short amount of time before she was steadily moaning behind her gag, her thighs visibly trembling. Every minute or so, he’d pull the massager from her pussy, letting her cool down, extending the torment for her.
She wasn’t the only one suffering though, his cock a rock hard throbbing need the entire time he worked her up.
Then he set it against her once more, at maximum vibration, and her gag-muffled grunts spiraled higher and higher, until she shrieked, her entire body convulsing, her thighs rigid as her belly sucked in and out like a bellows.
“That’s a good girl.” He pet her mound then, grinning up at her, loving the feel of her moist heat under his fingers. “You’re going to be getting lots more of this as long as you remember to do as you’re told, as long as you keep being my good girl.”
The lost groan she responded with could have been defiance or acquiescence, but for Ford, it didn’t matter. He’d work her right back up for one simple reason.
Because he wanted to.
He lost track of time then as he went back to work on that soft, swollen pussy. It wasn’t until her third, screaming, trembling orgasm that he finally allowed himself to play further, slipping one, then two fingers into her spasming heat. She froze as he did it, her head coming up, the sweat pouring from her brow.
“So wet, sooo wet,” he murmured, thrusting slowly within her, pleased to feel her juices already running down his wrist as he pushed still deeper. He thrust all the way in, Falon jerking with a surprised cry every time he played his fingertips over the firm mouth of her womb.
“Sensitive there. I like that,” he said, as if talking to himself. He knew it both embarrassed her and fired her arousal still higher to hear him talk. Her dripping, spasming pussy couldn’t lie — it could only surrender to what it truly wanted.
Falon’s squeal and the clamping of her sex upon his fingers told him he’d found the exact spot along the upper wall of her pussy, each brush of his knuckles against it, making her jerk.
Then he curled his fingertips against it once, again, a third time, Falon’s frantic words reduced to inchoate mewling by the cruel gag. Her hips bucked against the broad strap he’d drawn over her belly just above her plump, smooth mons.
“Yes, something else here that’s sensitive.” He propped an elbow upon her trembling thigh, holding his chin in his hand. “I wonder which way will make you come faster?”
Her eyes went wide, her teeth squeezing the black gag even harder.
“You’re a greedy girl, so I think I’ll use both.”
She shrieked again as the massager kissed the swollen, red clit, his finger just beginning to curl within her.
Losing count of the number of times he drew her up and pushed her over that cliff, his focus beca
me the almost continuous flow of her juices from her pussy as he worked it mercilessly, her sex caught between the rock and a hard place of the unending vibration, and his vigorous, sometimes harsh thrust and curl of his fingers within the tight grip of her cunt. Each time she spurted, incredibly there seemed be more and more fluid, and he spread the slickness over her entire swollen pussy, slickening her inner thighs with it until they gleamed, making sure he gave her deep red, well-worked clit its share of juices too.
It wasn’t until her cries became an almost continuous moan that he finally relented. Sweat dripped from every inch of her skin, her eyes rolling back, her breasts rising and falling with each breath, her hard nipples reaching for the heavens.
“Okay, that’s enough for now,” he murmured, running a palm over her rapidly heaving belly. He grabbed a cloth from the basement bathroom, wetting it with cool water. He held it to her forehead as he cooed to her, touching her everywhere now, as if familiarizing himself with her body. Finally, she calmed, her cries now soft whimpers, her naked form lying limp in her bonds, her blue eyes barely open, a gentle trembling coursing through her muscles like a tiny electrical current.
He undid her gag then, the straps leaving livid marks at the corners of her mouth, the tip of her pink tongue testing them tentatively as she winced. But he was pleased that she didn’t try to speak, instead peering up at him with those big, pretty eyes, the blue now the color of the summer sky at high noon.
Ford smiled down at her, wiping her hair from her sweaty brow. “I think it’s time to get you cleaned up now.”
Chapter 15
The last thing she expected Ford to do once he’d unstrapped her from that awful bench was to gather her up in his arms. When he carried her toward the stairs rather than back to her cell, she met his eyes, the question on her lips. She searched his face, then he gave her a little smile.
“You can speak — as long as you’re respectful.”
But she couldn’t say the words while he looked upon her, so she buried her face against his chest, the feel of all that solid muscle against her more comforting than she’d have ever believed.
“I — where are you taking me?”
Her ass throbbed worse than ever now, the endorphins seeming to have drained away following more orgasms than she cared to think about. Her pussy felt as if it pulsed with the beat of her heart, her tissues swollen, the slickness between her thighs making her face heat. Nobody had ever drawn such a response from her like that. She didn’t even know it was even possible to come as hard as she had, nor as many times as she had.
“I’m taking you to the bathroom, of course,” Ford said, shouldering the door aside as he stepped into the corridor at the top of the stairs.
“Why…sir?”
He smiled at her. “Considering how much your little pussy was spurting all over my hands earlier, I’d have thought you’d welcome a nice hot bath.”
Oh my God.
Falon looked away, her cheeks burning anew.
Up another flight of stairs, Ford’s footsteps muffled by the carpeted risers, and she was brought into his bedroom. It was evening, the room cloaked in deep shadows, and he turned her slightly, using his elbow to flip on the lights.
The bathroom was far larger than she’d imagined, a raised tub dominating one corner, the rim surrounded by a broad base of slate gray tile that beckoned one to sit and dangle their feet into steaming water. A separate shower, frosted glass surrounding it, was set in the opposite corner of the bathroom. A large window along the wall above the tub provided a stunning view across the river, the crescent moon reflected upon the waters of White river.
Ford set her down upon the edge of the tub, the tile mercifully cool against her hot buttocks. He turned on the faucet, watching her, his expression unreadable. Unused to being unbound, Falon hugged her arms around her breasts, the cool of the room making her nipples harden. She drew her knees up, trying to keep herself from shivering, even though she knew it revealed her naked sex. He’s seen everything anyway — staying warm was far more important.
“C-cold,” she said, her teeth starting to chatter.
“You’re coming down from it now,” Ford said, testing the temperature of the water with his hand. “We’ll get you warmed up, girl.”
Falon hissed as the scalding water set alight her swollen bottom once more, but for the rest of her body the bath felt like pure heaven. She moaned, not resisting in the least as Ford proceeded to wash her. She was barely able to keep her eyes open as he rubbed fragrant shampoo into her sweat sodden hair.
“Just lay your head back, girl. Try to relax.”
Falon wasn’t about to argue, leaning back until her head rested against the lip of the tub. She reached for his muscled forearm, holding it gently while he used the wand attachment to wash the suds from her hair.
“You’re… too good at this.” Her eyes flew open, and she looked up at him. “Sir.”
But he gave her one of his gorgeous smiles, like the ones he used to bestow on her before she became his virtual prisoner.
Are you really just his prisoner now, Falon?
After what happened down in that basement, she wasn’t so sure. What she was sure about, was that she’d do just about anything to feel like he’d made her feel. Falon had no idea such pleasure was possible on the mortal plane.
As if to confuse her further, Ford’s strong fingers entwined themselves in her hair, drawing her up to sit once more, though gently enough not to hurt her.
“Put your arms up,” he said, not even looking at her as he charged a soft cloth with body wash. Feeling sheepish, she obeyed, her arms trembling, her exhaustion having rendered her muscles into so much rubber.
She had to bite her lip as the hot cloth coursed over her flesh, his hands paying particular attention to her breasts, each brush of his fingers across her tight nipples making her womb clench. His clever fingers twirled within the well of her navel, then he scrubbed her back.
His hands tangled in her hair once more, this time her roots protesting as he hauled her up.
“Wait — what…?”
But he said nothing, pulling her to her feet, and making her bend over before him, her hands on the smooth, cool tile, her breasts swaying below her, her hair streaming water over her fingers. He laid his big hand across the small of her back.
“Don’t move,” he said, molding the cloth to her sensitive, swollen labia, easing them apart to wash inside her as she muffled a whimper against her arm. “Sore here, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered, trying to avoid pushing her hips back at him. Sore she may be, but the feel of his fingers upon her again brought back the memory of the ecstasy those same fingers had brought her just minutes before.
Get hold of yourself, Falon. You’re giving him exactly what he wants.
Her body didn’t seem to care one bit, heat blooming between her thighs as he spread her bottomcheeks, washing her there as Falon covered her face with her hands.
Then as quick as it began, Ford was drawing her out of the water, the towel he wrapped around her almost as wonderful as the hot bath against her chilled skin. He dried her hair with a second towel, then draped the damp, heavy locks down her back.
He led her to the shower then, pointing at the floor, his eyes meeting hers, the meaning clear.
Is he serious?
But she did it, sinking to her knees right there on the tile. She dropped her gaze, unable to look at him as her cheeks flamed hot under his scrutiny.
“Don’t move unless I have need of you,” his voice rumbled above her.
Of all the things she’d experienced thus far, the simple intimacy of kneeling for him like that affected her perhaps more than anything.
And she’d done it willingly.
Then she heard the sound of clothing rustling, and snapped her gaze up once more, her mouth dropping open.
Ford was turned partially away from her, his shirt already off, the heavy muscles of his back and shoulders
, and the corded, sinewed arms revealed in all their glory. Then he pulled down his jeans — along with everything else.
Oh…my God.
That Ford Mathis was a beautiful man she’d already surmised, but seeing the smooth curve of the mouthwatering buttocks, the immense power exuding from the thick slabs of muscle at his thighs, she’d lost the ability to think straight, frantic at not knowing where to look, and wanting to look anywhere.
A tiny voice told her to look away, but laughter threatened to bubble forth from her lips at the idea. It was impossible to look away from a man like her captor.
Incredibly, he entered the shower, as if she weren’t kneeling right there, a silent spectator of the display of delicious masculinity. She could only see the hint of the shadowed scrotum between those thighs as he stepped in though, the angle of his body hiding what she most wished to see at that moment.
Her eyes tried to follow every runnel of water sluicing down his body, every tendril of white bubbles cascading down his back as he washed his hair, the bunched, hard muscle of his biceps tightening as he rinsed that glorious dark hair.
She knew she was wet again beneath the blessed cover of the towel wrapped about her, her nipples already so hard she wasn’t positive even the thick terrycloth covering them would be enough to mask their prominence.
He looked over his shoulder then, watching her for a moment.
“Take off your towel, then kneel on it.”
“W-what?”
“Towel off,” he said softly, soaping his shoulders.
Knowing he wouldn’t permit further delay, she knelt up, unwrapping the terrycloth, her blush flaming again, as her wobbling breasts were revealed to his gaze once more.
Thankfully, as she folded the towel beneath her knees, he didn’t order her to part her tightly clenched thighs, her sex at least partially hidden from his scrutiny.
His eyes dropped to her displayed charms, and he turned his body slightly toward her, finally revealing the heavy genitals, the dark, thick pubic hair matted at the base. His cock began to rise then, her heartbeat tripping over itself as she watched the thick, veined length of him jutting out into the stream of water. He stroked it as he caught her gaze, a smile spreading on his face.