by Linnea May
I don't know how to reply, so I just lower my head, trembling in confusion.
A desperate shriek escapes my lips a moment later when he lands another blow on my tortured ass. It‘s so low this time that I'm sure I don't imagine the pain on my labia.
A swooshing sound announces another stroke that’s quickly followed by another one, and another one. I'm breaking out into a sweat, trembling as I breathe through the pain, my hands clenching around the sheets on the bed, my cries turning into groans. The pain travels through me with fiery vigor, consuming every part of me, my mind, my body... and my heart. I pant in agony. My ass is glowing with heat, enduring more jabs, each one of them placed in a slightly different spot than the one before, and each inflicting its own burn.
Sweat is running down my spine and drenching the sheets, as I'm shaken by spasms. My sweat is mixed with tears.
And then everything changes. As if a switch is turned on inside of me, the pain... changes. The stings remain the same, but the effect they have on me turns into something completely different. They're no longer pure agony, but now another emotion comes into play.
Pleasure. Bliss. A warm tingling flickers through my core each time the cane lands on my ass, and especially the ones that leave a stinging taste on my pussy.
I find myself leaning into the strokes, hollowing my back and spreading my legs, providing better access so the cane can reach my center. He notices the shift and grants me my wish, landing a particularly intense strike on my pussy. And then he throws the cane to the side.
I explode on his fingers just a second later, my core still heated by that last intense blow. I‘m throbbing and clenching around him shamelessly as he fingers me, barely caressing my swollen clit.
"Good girl, very good girl," his soothing voice hovers over me as I tense around his fingers.
My vision is blurred and I can barely hear his voice, as wave after wave of euphoria robs me of my senses. I feel nothing but bliss resonating through my entire body, stirring inside my belly, my chest, all the way through my shivering limbs.
I would have collapsed onto the floor if he hadn’t caught me just in time. He wrapped his arm around my limp body, keeping his other hand at my center, applying gentle pressure as the last surges of the strongest orgasm I've ever experienced culminate in a grand finale.
Chapter 39
Laura
I'm not alone this time. His calm breath greets me when I open my eyes. He's holding me in a soft embrace, spooning me from behind, his warm breath tickling my neck.
Have I fallen asleep? Again?
I blink a few times, trying to gather my bearings. My memory is foggy. The last thing I remember clearly is succumbing to that overwhelming climax he forced out of me, the way I cried and moaned, too dizzy to maintain my composure. He caught me before I fell to the floor, and then he carried me to the bed, curling up next to me while I wept myself to sleep. I can feel the dried-up tears crusty on my cheeks, and I'm still overcome by exhaustion. Enduring the pain, the lust, the devastatingly beautiful orgasm – all of it has taken a toll on me.
Something broke in me. I feel as if he destroyed something within me, only to immediately rebuild it with something new, something stronger, a trait that has always been inside me but never saw the light of day until now.
As hard as it is to grasp, I feel like I've been reborn. I let go of something that had been restraining me from becoming who I truly am into the person I'm supposed to be. There's relief and a new sense of strength. What he did to me was horrifying, a pain so dire that I thought I wouldn't be able to handle it.
But I did. I made it through, and I was rewarded with so much more than I ever thought possible.
And I have him to thank for that. Ryan, my master. The man who's holding me in his strong arms right now, dozing calmly.
Is he really sleeping? The way he breathes suggests he is. I try to stretch, just a little as to not wake him up, but he moves nonetheless, mumbling something unintelligible as his arms tighten around me, his hands squeezing my tits.
"Mine," he whispers, pulling me closer.
He squeezes me so hard that it steals my breath. My sore skin presses against his hard body, and I'm painfully reminded of the harsh caning earlier.
And the orgasm.
I practically came while he was using the cane on me. The pain was stronger than anything he had inflicted on me before, but so was the mind-numbing bliss when it ended. He said he would make me love the cane, and he did. Even though I'd still argue that love may be too strong a word to describe my relationship with that devious stick.
My stomach is growling, and I hastily press my hand on it, as if trying to hush it. From behind, I can hear him chuckle and feel his body shaking against mine as he laughs.
"Orgasms make me hungry," I quote him.
"I can tell," he replies in a soft voice.
He squeezes me again, tickling me with a kiss on my neck. I pull up my shoulders and try to fend him off, but those efforts are futile. He decides I'm allowed to move freely, and instead of letting me go, he digs his teeth into my exposed neck, biting and sucking on my skin until I squeal in a mixture of amusement and pain.
"Master, that hurts!" I protest, but my words are accompanied by a giggle.
"Good," he says after letting go of me. "I want to leave as many marks as possible on my doll."
His embrace loosens, allowing me to turn around to face him. The first thing I notice are his incredible eyes. They are only half open, still heavy with weariness, but they are laced with something that could be mistaken for love.
Of course, that can't be. He can't love me. That's not what this is about.
I quickly cast the thought aside. My hazy brain shouldn't allow for such a ludicrous idea.
The second thing I notice is the stubble outlining his strong jaw. It‘s definitely more prominent and darker than I've ever seen on his otherwise clean-shaven face.
It‘s also the only indication of time available to me. It must be time for me to leave soon.
"How are you feeling?" he asks in a dreamy tone.
"Good," I reply. "Very good, actually."
"Was it too much?"
I shake my head, and a small grin eases onto my face. "No, master. It was perfect."
"I was very strict with you, but you earned it," he says, his index finger stroking across the side of my face. "You did great, doll. I'm very proud of you."
"Thank you, master."
I hesitate for a moment. I want to share my thoughts with him, but suddenly I feel shy about it. He might think I'm an idiot for feeling the way I feel. It sounds silly in my head, and it doesn't sound a lot better when I finally summon the courage to speak.
"I feel different," I utter, biting my lower lip as if to stop myself from saying anything more.
"Different how?"
"Hard to say," I murmur. "New, somehow. Like I've grown? Or changed? Something is different. I feel like something broke inside of me, and then it was put back together, but with like... stronger glue?"
I cast him a coy look and can't help but try to cover the implication of my words with a laugh.
"I'm sorry, you must think I'm crazy."
I try to lower my eyes away from his fixated stare, but he stops me by placing his finger beneath my chin.
"No," he says, his gaze serious as he looks at me. "I don't think you're crazy. I understand what you're saying."
"You do?"
He nods.
"You went through something very challenging, confusing, new. It was tough, and it took a lot out of you," he says. "I'm sure it was overwhelming. I was there, I saw you experience it. I was the one who made it happen, doll. You're not crazy. You just learned something new about yourself."
I smile at him as his words wash over me with a comforting warmth. I've never felt so understood by anyone before. This man can see right through me. He likes whatever it is that he sees hidden behind the walls I’ve built up, the walls no one has ever
been able to break down before. He knows me, and he understands me.
How am I ever going to go back to my old life? If anything, he's made it even harder now.
"I wish I could stay," I breathe, choking as I suppress the tears that threaten to emerge at the memory of our arrangement.
He creases his eyebrows, casting me a dark look, but he doesn't say a word. No warning, no reminder of never mentioning the reality of our situation.
"How long do we have left?" I ask, realizing that the question is a breach of our agreement.
He lets go of me in an instant, rolling to the other side and getting off the bed in a hurry. My heart sinks as I watch him walk to the door in wide, angry steps.
"Master, I'm sorry!" I cry out, bobbing up from the bed. "I'm sorry! I know I shouldn't have-"
I don’t get to finish. I'm interrupted by the harsh sound of the door slamming shut behind him.
Chapter 40
Ryan
I can't catch a fucking break. I needed to get away from her. The way she looked at me was killing me. Those vibrant eyes, their emerald green color sparkling with desire, joy, and trust as she confided in me. She trusts me, she may even be about to fall in love with me.
And all I know to do to stop her from that is to treat her like this. Leave her, alone and confused, filled with unanswered questions, before my hunger drives me straight back to her. I know I won't last long because I'm still craving her as if I've never had her. Like the fucking addict I am.
Everything is falling apart around me, things growing worse by the minute. I step into my office, frantically running my fingers through my hair. I‘m greeted by chaos – piles of papers and notes, the blinking light on my phone indicating waiting messages, my open laptop, my cell phone – all just other reminders of my failed nature.
I know there are calls, texts, and e-mails waiting for me. I know that even a two-day absence can unleash chaos if you're a man like me, a man with responsibilities, a man whose company is in the middle of wrapping up negotiations for its biggest acquisition ever.
A man with an addiction.
Lemon is entitled to freak out in a case like this. He has clear instructions of what to do if and when it happens – and I was the one who gave him those instructions.
He's doing everything he's supposed to do, but I was smart – or dumb – enough to include a loophole for myself. There's a reason why Lemon doesn't have this address. I told myself that it was about privacy because this is the place where I bring my girls every year. This is where I make room for that obsessive monster that lives within me. This is where I let it roam freely, living out its dark fantasies that have haunted me most of my life. It was all about creating a way to deal with it in what I hoped was a sane and safe setting for everyone involved.
But I still am the one holding the power to throw everything into disarray, and that's just what I did by inviting Laura inside my home.
I step into my office, pacing back and forth with my hands raised to the sides of my head in a mock effort to stop my insanity from taking over, to keep the monster from escaping.
"Fuck!" I yell, knowing that no one can hear me. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"
I glance at my phone, my eyes blinking frantically, as if that could make the blinking light go away. That damn blinking light, telling me there are missed calls and texts, trying to bring my attention back to the real world.
I can't deal with any of it right now, and my instinct tells me to completely ignore it, run back to her, fuck her, keep her in my arms, take in her scent as I sleep next to her.
Yes, this is all I want, all I need. I shouldn't even look at that damn phone.
But I still do. I can't stop myself from grabbing my cell phone and turning on the screen. As expected, I'm bombarded with missed calls and texts, most of them coming from Lemon. They start off innocently enough.
"I hope you remember our meeting with the guys today at noon," is the first message I read.
He wrote that one on the day I returned from California. Two days ago.
"Where are you?" reads the next message, sent just a few minutes before the scheduled meeting. Then he tried to call me a few times. The calls stop for about an hour shortly after noon. I know that's when he had to explain my absence to everyone, coming up with God knows what excuses to tell them about why I didn't show up for one of the most important meetings I've ever had in my life.
The messages become more aggressive after that.
"Where the fuck ARE you?!"
"FUCK, Ryan! I'm going to come over now."
A few more calls follow after that. The next few texts let me know that he tried to reach me at my penthouse address, the only one he knows. He threatens to break in the door, but I know that legally he can‘t. His threats remain empty.
I throw my phone down. My heart is racing, hammering against the cold clasp tightening around my chest, and I'm overwhelmed with guilt, anxiety, and premonition. It's always the same. Dark shadows are closing in on me, their horrid darkness filled with shrieking beasts, lost hope, and the terror of loss and failure.
I should let her go, kick her out of my life, free her from me before she falls in love with me. But it might be too late for that. And I know that I'd only fall even deeper into the deep, dark abyss surrounding me without her.
I can't let her go, ever. Even now the pain of being apart from her is stronger than the fear of having to face her questions.
She's beginning to suspect things. She knows that our time is up and I'm no longer playing by the rules of the game.
There's no safe place for me, neither here nor with her, but I'd much rather face the trouble that awaits me downstairs than having to deal with this.
I'm pulled out of my horrid stream of thoughts when a shrill, merciless sound screeches through the room.
My phone is ringing.
I stare at it for a second before I let the piercing sound chase me out of the room.
Laura. I have to feed her.
Yes, that's what I need to do. It's been more than half a day since she's had her last proper meal. She must be starving.
I must feed my beautiful doll.
Chapter 41
Laura
I'm scared. Something is terribly wrong with him, with us.
When he came back after storming out on me, I didn't find the courage to confront him about the passing time again. I could sense that he was still mad at me, and all I wanted was to bring things back to the way they were before. I wanted to be back in his warm embrace, my body still pulsating with post-coital glow and nothing but relaxation on my mind. I miss the comfort of those minutes, the feeling that everything was perfect as long as I was with him. No worries, no future, no outside world waiting for me bring it in order. Just us.
But I broke it by asking him about the time we have left. I broke one of the rules he laid out for me, but as easy as it would be to blame myself for killing the mood between us, I just can't.
Because I know he's hiding something from me. I know something is off, and I can't ignore this.
Why should I have to stick to the rules if he isn't?
My suspicion turned into fear when I realized that I couldn't leave even if I wanted to. Every time he leaves the room, I can hear the lock clicking after the door slams shut behind him. Still, I tried to open it when I was by myself, only to confirm that I was locked in. I never even approached the door during my first time here because I had no interest in leaving. I was happy and perfectly content with the way things were going. The contract stated that I wasn't allowed to leave the room, so I never even thought about trying.
But our time now has run out, I can feel it. I can’t be absolutely certain because I still have no way of telling the time, but I'm not completely dumb. Or blind. The stubbles on his face haven't been there before. I've never seen him like that. He was clean-shaven as always when he picked me up in California, and I've never seen him otherwise. Until now.
More than twenty-four
hours have passed, yet he keeps me locked in, storming out in angry rage every time I try to ask about the time that has passed since we got here.
I'm his captive, and I have no idea when he intends to let me go.
Or if he will let me go at all.
He took everything from me, my clothes, my bag, my phone. I wasn't allowed to keep anything. There's no way for me to reach the outside world, and I don't even know where I am. Would anyone hear me if I screamed for help? I doubt it. I wish I knew what's going on in his mind, if he's just prolonging our time together by a few hours, or a day. Why won't he tell me? Why is he refusing to talk to me?
I need to know. I need to talk to him, but I'm scared to confront him.
He left the room again after we had dinner together. Or breakfast. Or lunch. He ordered pizza for us, something that I would have taken as a peace offering if his mood hadn't continued to be so sour.
Again, I tried the door, and again I realized there was no way for me to leave.
I retreated to the bed, wrapping the blanket around myself, creating a little cocoon to gain a sense of safety and comfort that he no longer provided. This is how he found me when he came back, only a short while after leaving me alone. Neither of us spoke a word to the other as he crawled into bed with me. I was trembling, sad and scared, when he wrapped his arms around me.
"Hush, little doll," he whispered. "Let's sleep."
His voice soothed me, despite the alarming awareness of my situation. I pushed everything aside, my questions, my fear, and my doubts, and I fell asleep in his arms.
And that's where I woke up, his embrace pinning me to the bed and against his half-naked body. He's not wearing a shirt, holding me tight against his hard chest.
There it is, the comfort that I have been craving. But it's overshadowed by concern.
"I'm scared," I whisper, unsure whether he's even awake to hear me.
"You should be," he replies, his hoarse voice close to my ear.
His words send a cold shiver down my spine, and I tense up in his arms. My eyes are immediately wide open, staring into the nothingness before me, as his words bounce back and forth in my skull.