I have to agree, even if I miss the work I love, it’s not worth it for the peace I would have to sacrifice.
He tells me we’ll work out something useful for me do to here, but being contained in our relationship is the first order of business, that, and enjoying the new sexual appetites we both now so freely express.
Steven continues his job in the city, but more and more brings his work to the beach, where I can watch him and he watch me.
I love him with a multi-layered richness that my mind alone cannot comprehend, but which my body understands and takes it in as spiritual sustenance.
I am not his slave, nor his property. He thinks too highly of me to entertain the idea of my being a lowly animal in a male-dominated kingdom of made-up 10th Century rules. In general, he has difficulty with the trappings of the Bdsm lifestyle scene. He hates being pigeon-holed. He hates the idea of people being stuck in roles that are only temporary, fleeting states of mind. He sees the silliness of dungeon games and refuses to enter that world with me.
That does not mean he can’t take me to the depth of my submissiveness the way he saw Daniel do. But it becomes an outgrowth of the day, the mood, and even, perhaps, the position of the stars. Who knows? The only agreement we have is founded on the premise that I will submit to his good judgment—argue my point if I have one that I think is valid—but I agree, at least for now, to let his decisions stand. So far, I have no quarrel with those decisions.
I did test him the first time he left me alone at the beach house with strict orders to go nowhere, not even down to the water, without him here. I was soon going stir crazy since I still had none of my personal things, no books, no movies—the TV is an old 19”… no cable. With Steven gone, my life suddenly became a desolate wasteland where my mind screamed for something to occupy it besides the decision about when to sleep, or what can of food I’d open for dinner. It was just two days; I thought I could handle the emptiness until Steven returned. But when he denied me the option of walking along the beach, all I could do was sit on the porch and watch the endless surf and the mist above, and listen to the music in the crashing roar. Though it might have been calming for a time, I was soon feeling its restlessness, not its tranquility.
Unable to stand myself and the tiny house a minute longer, I finally took off down the stony cliff path to the beach and ran. I ran, lifted by the swells of the ocean breeze, feeling for a time as if I were flying. I ran until I exhausted myself, until panting and out of breath, I finally turned around and took the long walk back to the house.
Oddly, I wasn’t even afforded the chance to lie about my brief defiance of Steven’s rules. As I returned from my run, relishing the freedom, my inner buoyancy quickly vanished when I spotted Steven standing on the cliff rocks above, watching every step I took.
Damn! Two days and I’ve already failed him!
The feeling of shame drove away any contentment I’d gained in the last hour.
“I’m sorry,” I mewed, bowing my head sheepishly once I climbed the last step.
His expression was solemn. “Some problem here with doing what I ordered?” he asked.
“I was struggling, Steven. Bored out of my mind, hateful, angry, pent-up, depressed… I just ran. That’s all. I just ran. I wasn’t gone more than a half hour.”
“Two days and all that?” he asked. “Bored, hateful, angry, pent-up, depressed…”
“I’m hopeless, aren’t I?”
“I don’t know why you should say that. I was intending to give you permission to run on the beach all you want… I checked out the neighbors and didn’t see anything to worry about. But you have no patience, Michelle. None.”
For a moment, I thought I was going to escape a rebuke, but I was not so lucky, and quite honestly, getting punished was exactly what sent my disgruntled mood packing.
Steven took me to the woodshed at the back of the house, and after gathering a bundle of lean switches from the woods, he thrashed my bottom until it was almost bleeding and the switches were in tatters. He brought to the act so much love, so much tenderness, and so much protective authority, that despite the horrifying, foot-stamping, blistering pain of his repeatedly laid-on blows, my insides turned into a lusty furnace.
Steven refused sex for several hours afterward, telling me tersely that I needed to get the message before he was going to reward me. I flippantly suggested that he send me to the corner to brood about my insubordination and he smilingly took me up on the ritual. He pulled one of the hard-seated kitchen chairs into a corner of the living room. The chair faced out, but I was ordered to straddle the seat and lean against the back with my red-striped fanny facing the room, my nose in the corner. I felt like a six-year-old, with my face as red with humiliation as my ass was red from the punishment.
This was all tongue-and-cheek from Steven’s perspective. But I think he relished the power to be able to make me do it.
When we finally got to bed that night, sex scored another all time high. He pined me down, fucked my face and ass in a ruthless taking of pleasure before he settled into my cunt and we climaxed simultaneously.
I remember thinking afterwards—this was how my life was meant to be—sex, containment, and surrender to a loving man.
Tonight I anticipate something special. There’s a restiveness in the air about the cottage. I feel Steven’s disquiet and it disquiets me. I ask if there’s anything the matter, and he says nothing. When I get more firm with him, insisting that I know something’s up, he looks up from his research and says that if I really want to help him out, I’ll go down to the beach, take off my clothes and stand naked near the seawall, where he’ll screw me.
I study his face for a minute, trying to decide if I heard him right, or he’s just kidding me. I see that he isn’t.
“You really mean it?” I still ask.
“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”
“May I ask what brought this on?”
“Honestly, Michelle, I don’t know. But you know how your obsession for hard play wracks your body with need?”
Hmm. I can feel his need now. And his eyes. I’m scared, at least until I remember that this is Steven… no Broc, no Aman, no demon, no terrorist villain. This is my sane and mostly mild-mannered lover.
“Yes, I do,” I answer him.
“Then now’s a good time for you to practice surrender.”
“Yes, sir,” I say and I turn to the door.
“Take your dress off now,” he calls to me.
It’s not as if anyone will see me on the beach that makes my stomach flutter so nervously, but just the idea of running naked in the out-of-doors give me a squeamish, naughty feeling of excitement.
Though I hesitate, I finally toss my sundress onto the chair and step out into the dusky twilight, practically dancing to the cliff and down the seawall steps, where standing close to the rock; I feel some degree of protection.
I expect a simple fucking in the dark, cool sand, but when Steven finally arrives minutes later, he’s carrying rope.
He uses a complicated method of bondage dress that leaves my torso successfully tied at the breasts, the belly, and all the way down to my thighs, while deliberately leaving my cunt uncovered and available.
The rocks behind my back slope slightly toward the cliff above. And this is where I’m told to lean back. He then drives pitons into the rock face with a heavy hammer, and after cuffing my wrists and ankles in hammered iron cuffs he fashioned himself—not for comfort but for looks—he stretches my arms and legs wide to either side and secures them to more pitons. I must look like a Grecian sacrifice to the gods.
I shudder with fear as I note the expression on his face… the darkness there belies the kinder man I love, as if another being has entered his body and taken over. I know that’s not true. This is just another sadistic leap for him into territory I’ve already explored in my masochistic submissiveness. Though the threat of his cruelty claws at my belly, I need to trust that the gentler man will
eventually prevail against this more ruthless one.
He’s not finished with me. He hangs clamps from my labia and clitoris, which dangle heavily between my spread legs, then ties thin cords around my hard nipple buds, so that they cut into the flesh and hold tightly as he tugs. He gathers the cords in his hand while looking into my eyes with a hard, cruel stare.
“Where do you feel it?” he asks.
“Everywhere, sir.”
He tugs again and I wince.
“And where do you suppose I feel your pain?”
“In your cock, sir?”
He sneers and steps back, stretching my breast flesh as the nipples stretch taut.
“This hurt?” he asks.
“Yes, sir.”
He tugs again. “And this?”
“Yes, sir.” The pain gets rougher by the minute.
Another jerk and my face twists into a grimace.
He nods pleased. After a few more vicious tugs, he wraps the cords around his fingers, making a knot at the ends of them, and hoists the knot over a piton hammered into the rock overhang above my head. I can’t move without stretching my skin to impossible degrees.
Once I’m pinned, he tears off his clothes in front of me, seeming to rise above me in his naked, sinewy splendor, that Grecian god taking his sacrificial virgin.
He leans in, impaling me.
As his hard cock bangs into my cleft, the heavy weight of the clamps dance frenetically. I don’t recall a pain like this ever, or the strange light in Steven’s eyes, or the grim expression on his face as his eyes remain locked on mine while his hefty body jerks against me. My breasts bounce cruelly; my nipples feel as if they are tearing away. I’m tempted to look but Steven’s eyes have my eyes as bound as the rest of my body. He becomes the embodiment of the darkness I love, the cruelty I desire, the abuse I need to complete my life.
He cums and I shriek into the wind as my cunt clutches around his spewing member. I orgasm from the pain. Not once has he taken his eyes off of me, nor have my eyes broken their fixed gaze on his.
Yes, he is the one who will see me through my life, just as I will see him through the truth of his cruel alter ego. I’ll love his shadowy self and he’ll learn to love it too, because of me. No other woman could give him what I do. He needs me. I need him.
“I belong to you, Steven,” I breathlessly gasp. “I am yours.” The wild night wind takes my words and tosses them into the wide-open sky.
And Steven nods in agreement, saying silently with his eyes, “And I belong to you.”
More Erotic Fiction by Lizbeth Dusseau
Seven Days in Cell Block 7
Memoirs of a Sex Toy
Innocense Defiled
Honeymoon In Bondage
Labyrith
Carly On Her Knees
Taken Before Dawn
Punishable Offenses
Betrayal of the Virgin Bride
Sexual Mischief
Bounty Hunter
The War of the Remingtons
The Truth About Marianne
Master For A Desperate Slave
Poor Little Rich Slut
The Humiliation of Hannah
The Scandalous Demise of Lily Lake
The Secret Sins of Lizzy Barton
Pagan Dreams, Lesbian
Outer Island
Into the Dark Wilds
Force Me To Obey
These titles and many more, plus erotica from over thirty quality writers, all available in paperback and ebook.
For a complete catalogue of Erotic Fiction…
Pink Flamingo Publications
P.O. Box 632, Richland, MI 49083, 1-877-629-0051
E-mail: [email protected]
Website: http://www.pinkflamingo.comAbout the Author:
Lizbeth Dusseau has been writing erotic fiction since 1989, and has authored over 125 novels and short story collections. In 1994 she and her husband, Kendall, founded Pink Flamingo Publications, which currently published the erotica fiction of over 30 authors. She and her husband live in rural Michigan.
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