My Dark Knight

by Virgini Bellarica

  He scoops me in his arms like a baby and carries me inside the house. “Nice place,” he whispers approvingly. “I love the huge open-plan space. Great taste your father has.”

  “He built this house with his own bare hands,” I reply proudly. “My room is just around the corner here on the ground floor. Actually, I’ve just remembered, my dad’s out for the night seeing a friend.”

  “A fuck-buddy type friend? I thought he was dating Cecile.”

  “She’s not interested. Won’t return his calls. He’s an attractive man, my dad, he can’t be expected to live a monk’s life.”

  “No, of course not.”

  We go into my room and Max lays me gently on the bed, all the while kissing me ravenously. By the time he slips his fingers inside me, I am a pool of liquid jelly.

  “Always so ready to be fucked by me, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” I whimper. “I need you even more than you need me.”

  “The only problem is, Arielle, you’ve been a really naughty girl.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m going to have to punish you.”

  More feather beating, I think. I know there’s no Nutella in the house so...

  “This time I mean business though.”

  “What kind of business?” I breathe into his hot mouth.

  He says seriously, “Look, you know about my fucked-up past. You know how I feel about men hitting women after what that fucker did to my mother and sister–”

  “I know, Max, I’m not asking you to–”

  “Let me finish,” he interrupts. “Secretly I want to raise my hand to you and give you a good hiding.” He pauses and then adds, “Let’s put it this way, I’m a clandestine Dom, but you must have guessed that about me already with your female intuition.”

  “I had my suspicions,” I admit.

  “I want to beat you and then fuck you. Fuck you really hard. I need to punish you for hurting me, Arielle, for humiliating me so badly.”

  “Why have you kept this Dom side of yourself so secret?” I ask. “It’s not as if it’s illegal, lots of people–”

  “Because I felt ashamed. Ashamed inside. I felt as if I would be betraying my mother in some way, betraying Jenny, too – as if I was psychologically sick ever wanting to hurt a woman in any way.”

  I can feel a gush of new wetness gather hot and horny between my legs. I want him to do it. I want him to dominate me, to punish me. I want to be all his even if it means getting hurt.

  “When you disobey me Arielle, it makes me angry. But it also excites me, gets me hard and makes me want to sort you out, fuck you, punish you and fuck you again.” He trails his hand along the nape of my neck and a delicious, shimmering shiver courses along my spine. “Do you understand why I want to punish you?”

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  “You’re a spoiled Star-Spangled brat. Independent, testy and always doing what you think best. Not your fault, of course, you American women are born that way. It’s in your pioneer blood. But it makes me want to fuck it out of you. Beat that disobedience out of your peachy arse, fuck it out of your tight little pussy. And I don’t want anyone else coming near you,” he says with a threatening gaze, eyeing up my Baywatch swimsuit that’s slung over a chair. “You’ve been prancing about in that?”

  “Yeah. All the guys on the beach have been staring at me; it makes my tits look great, you can see my nipples really clearly,” I tease, knowing that I’m riling his jealous side.

  He laughs. “An insecure man would get flustered by that remark, but me? I know it’s me you want. All those men can stare at you all they want, but it’s me you want to fuck. But just to be clear, Arielle. You’re mine.” He strokes the inside of my thigh with his long fingertips and slips one inside my wet hole. “Do. You. Understand.”

  He’s hovering over me. My high bed is on the same level as his crotch. I take his fly and open it, letting his erection spring free, and I pull his jeans down. No underwear. “Yes, I understand, Max.”

  “Good girl. Now be an obedient fiancée and suck my cock. Are you over that penis phobia, baby? Do you think you can suck me so I come hot and heavy in your pretty mouth?”

  “Oh yes,” I murmur. “Oh yes,” and I take his erection in my hands and then run my lips over his soft, warm crown. My tongue flickers on his one eyed-jack and I lick off the pre-cum and taste his welcome salty-sweetness. I take his cock and tease my nipples with the top of it and then pop it back into my mouth. My groin is on fire, and even more so when he groans and thrusts his hips forward into my face so it goes deeper. “That’s right, baby, keep sucking, oh yeah, oh yeah, just like that. I’m going to really fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before. That little lesbian fiasco? I knew it wouldn’t last because you crave cock at the end of the day, don’t you, Arielle? You like a huge, hard cock inside you, fucking your hot, tight cunt, isn’t that what you want?”

  “Yes, I want ‘ock,” I say, gagged by his massive size, hardly able to get out the words coherently.

  “Whose cock, baby? Whose cock inhabits your brain every waking hour and in every wet dream?” he says rocking his hips forward.

  “Yours, Max. Only yours,” and I wrap my lips tightly about his huge penis sucking as tight as I can as I claw onto his firm butt with my hands, drawing him as close as possible to me.

  “Good girl,” he groans and I feel him expand inside my mouth. A rush of cum shoots at the back of my throat. He continues to moan and gently thrusts back and forth, fucking my mouth very leisurely as his orgasm slowly fades. I swallow desperately, lapping up every drop, savoring his taste.

  “This is just the beginning,” he warns. “I haven’t finished with you yet.”

  He pulls out from my mouth and he’s still erect. Round two ‘coming’ up. I run my eyes along his rock-hard abs, that sexy fine line of hair, thin as a pencil, from his belly button seeping into his crotch does things to my brain. He still has a faint tan left over from the summer, his golden skin soft and smooth. I stroke my hands around his ass, his thighs – feel the strength of him, his powerful body, his flexing muscles. I practically come myself just drinking him in (ha, ha, yes I giggle to myself at my joke). Max is Beauty incarnate. I have genuinely never seen a man as handsome as he is. No male model or movie star can compete. He is incredible in every way. It’s true; all those pumped-up surfers can stare all they want at me, but it’s Max I desire.

  And only Max.

  As I’m gazing at him, he suddenly spins me around so I am in a letter L on the bed, my torso spread out flat and my butt on the edge of the mattress, my feet almost touching the floor. He’s standing over me, lording it over my wetness, my trepidation, my excitement. He starts circling my ass softly with his palm and trailing his index finger over my opening, at one point dipping it inside as if it were nectar. I can feel myself clench. Oh wow, I’m so ready for this, whatever ‘this’ may be. Then he ties my hands together with a silk scarf he seems to have in his jeans’ pocket and puts my wrists above my head. Did he plan this? He seems so prepared. He takes my hair and gathers it in his hands, tugging at me so I can’t move.

  He starts a rhythm, chanting a tune that I learned as a child, a song from the American War of Independence. How does he know this song?

  Left, right, left, right left

  I left my wife with forty-eight kids

  On the verge of starvation without any Johnny cakes

  Oops, by golly, by left

  Right, left right left....

  At the ‘left’ he smacks me on my left butt cheek and then on my right... wallop! Both with his right hand. His left hand is still fisted in my hair, making sure I don’t escape. And then, on the last ‘left’ of the song, he crams his erection into me hard and then withdraws immediately. Each time the smarting spanks are a warm-up to what I’m craving more than anything – the hard thrust into my opening on the last ‘left’. The pain is bearable...in fact...delectable, and I await each plunge.

  I’m groaning
. Waiting with baited breath, screaming Max’s name. On the next thrust I know I’m going to climax. This is so sensual so...erotic despite the hard stinging slaps. And then it comes, that last hard shove inside me and it tips me into an ecstatic roll of emotional, orgasmic fervor, my brain and body ringing and trembling from deep within. This time he doesn’t pull out but lets himself rest within me as I spasm around him, my muscles clenching onto his length like a limpet clinging to a rock. He comes too, his enormousness filling my walls, pulsating inside me with his groaning climax as he empties himself with a cry.

  “Arielle–”

  I hear bells sounding in my ears – no not bells, music so sweet. I blink my eyes. What’s the music? It’s coming from above. It’s She’s a Rainbow by the Rolling Stones...‘she comes in colors everywhere’....

  Yes, I think. I come in colors. I see flashes of red and gold – the orgasm is still sparkling within my body lighting me up like a firework display.

  I lie there panting and open my eyes from my sexual stupor. It’s no longer dark outside but dawn is creeping slowly through the bedroom window. I move my wrists...but wait...why aren’t they tied? My eyes fly open and I feel my hands, not above my head but between my hot, wet thighs, my post-orgasm still tingling through my core. My wrists are free. I am not splayed across the bed – no, I am tucked up under the sheets. I turn over to feel for Max. The song is louder now. It’s my father’s ‘alarm’ – he likes to wake to music instead of a clock.

  I sit up with a jerk. Max is nowhere to be seen.

  Of all the nightmares I have had, this is the worst of all.

  Because this was nothing but a dream.

  16

  EMMA AND AMY HAVE BEEN here for two days. Emma is like the sister I never had, and I’m so grateful to have her in my life. Coming here was just what the doctor ordered. She needed to get away and gain a little perspective. Being under the same roof as Johnny, while he procrastinated about what he wanted or didn’t want, was not doing her any favors.

  Johnny. Johnny Cakes. Funny how dreams mix up everyday occurrences and names and places with fantasies. There I was the other night dreaming about bondage accompanied by an American Civil War marching song about Johnny Cakes (sung by a Brit, no less). Needless to say, I haven’t shared that with Emma – a little too bizarre, especially as Johnny played a symbolic role – ‘without any Johnny Cakes.’

  When we walked into my father’s house, after I had collected Emma and Amy from the airport, I noticed something I hadn’t anticipated:

  My father’s expression the moment he set eyes on my friend. He has known Emma for years but hadn’t seen her for ages. He wasn’t expecting a new, slim version of her. He still had the Annie girl in his mind, the chubby-cheeked redhead. At least, that is what I deduced, judging by the way his jaw dropped when she walked through the front door. All he said was, ‘My, how fabulous you and Amy both look.’ But I could see a sparkle in his eyes. I’m not sure how I feel about my friends and co-workers (Emma and Cecile) being offered up as love fodder for my father. Luckily, Emma hasn’t noticed, and I have kept silent. The last thing she needs right now is more complications, but still, nice to have someone be so attentive even if he is twenty years older than she is.

  Little Amy is in Seventh Heaven. Coming from a city it’s a big change; she is free to roam about in the garden, and when we go down to the beach she has no end of admirers. She has a sassy sense of humor and it isn’t long before she has a throng of people gather around her, keen to hear a five-year-old’s outtake on life. She has an old soul for such a feisty child, and even though she doesn’t seem to know what is going on with her parents, she comes out with things like, ‘Don’t worry, Mom, everything will work out just fine,’ and ‘Look at the waves, Mom – sometimes nature can be really powerful, more powerful than we are, so don’t sweat the small stuff.’ She has made friends with one of the surfer’s children; a little boy named Pete.

  As Emma and I are having a light picnic on the beach and Amy and Pete are busy making sandcastles, Emma tells me about a new plan she has hatched. Payback for Johnny.

  “I’m not actually going to do anything, God forbid, but I’m going to let him know how it feels.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, trying to catch on to her runaway train of thought. Every day she comes up with something different. A new-fangled plot to punish him.

  “I want him to feel what it’s like being in my shoes. I’m going to pretend I’m having a fling with a surfer.”

  I try to suppress a grin. Emma is being dead serious.

  She raises her eyebrows. “Maybe that will shock him into action.”

  “Yes, but what kind of action? It could make him run into the arms of Mrs. Phoenix all the faster.”

  “You have a point there.”

  “The truth is, Emma, honesty really is the best policy. Playing games is not the best line of action. At least if you are honest with your feelings you can hold your head up high with dignity. Because if you lie to him, or to yourself, it could catch up with you in the end.”

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  “But at the same time, you can’t be Johnny’s doormat. You need to be strong and have barriers. There are things you have to let him know that are not acceptable. It is not acceptable for him to expect you two to remain under the same roof while he makes up his procrastinating mind.”

  Emma sighs. “I wish I had some of that ‘fuck-you’ money you told me about. Then I could get my own place.”

  “Yeah. That’s what every woman needs. You never know when things can change. It’s always good to be prepared. A woman needs to be like a one-band army. Ready with her ammunition, ready with her armor, yet actively seeking and living a peaceful existence. But if she’s attacked emotionally or physically, she has the tools – the strength to protect herself.”

  Emma pulls her curly red hair into a high ponytail, which sets off the cheekbones on her pretty freckled face. “In a perfect world,” she says with another sigh.

  “I know, easier said than done.”

  “I’m just not making enough money yet. I have a few clients, but I depend on Johnny’s income. I can’t just get up and leave.”

  “Such an archetypal scenario,” I say. “Women the world over are in this predicament. Worse. Many of them are being physically abused or have five kids to feed. Think about it, Emma. Maybe you and Amy should move in with me to my new apartment.”

  “How do you feel about that? Max paying for your apartment when you aren’t even with him anymore.”

  “I told him I couldn’t accept it, that I wouldn’t move in if it was him paying.”

  “And what was his response?”

  “He said it was too late, that all my stuff had been moved there, and if I didn’t take it, it would sit there empty. That’s why I came here. I needed time to sort my head out. I still don’t really know what the next step is.”

  “Maybe we should all move here to Costa Rica,” Emma suggests with a giggle. “Life would be so much less complicated.”

  “That’s what my dad keeps telling me.”

  “So what are you going to do about Max?”

  “There’s nothing really I can do, he’s decided for me.”

  “For your own peace of mind, I think you need to talk with Natasha.”

  “I’ve tried calling. I’ve left messages.”

  “Well maybe you need to go and see her. She might be ignoring your messages because she’s scared of Jenny finding out and doesn’t want to attract attention to herself. You need to talk to her face to face. Sort out all this Jenny stuff once and for all.”

  “What difference does it make now? Max and I aren’t together anymore.”

  “You say that, Arielle, but do you remember last time you split up? He came back to you. He was still in love with you. If that happens again, the Jenny problem will still be there. You need to know for sure what happened.”

  “She tried to kill Natasha and pretended it was an a
ccident.”

  “You really believe Jenny would have risked that? That’s attempted murder, Arielle. Surely Max would have guessed?”

  “Not when it comes to Jenny. He can’t see the wood from the trees. He protects her no matter what. His loyalty is unwavering.”

  “Well, I still think you need to see Natasha – one on one.”

  “Fly to London?”

  “You can stay with my mum, she’d be thrilled. I can set you up with some mates of mine – they’ve all heard about you – all dying to meet my beautiful, American, best friend, Arielle.”

  “You’ve told them about me?”

  “Yes, of course. Only terrible things, though.”

  I laugh, then grab a handful of sand and let it run through my fingers like an egg timer. “I need to get back to New York, though. This ‘break’ has morphed into too long a vacation. But still, at least I’ve been able to spend time with my family. Kevin and I have patched up our relationship, and I’ve gotten to know my dad better. We’ve bonded with the surfing. It’s been a very healing time for me. Adversity sometimes brings hidden gifts.”

  “So what’s happening with Finders Keepers Enterprises?” Emma asks, her eyes fixed on Amy as she rushes towards a wave with her little bucket.

  “Cecile and I are carrying on the company. I’ll finish Fighting the Wind, which has now started filming.”

  “Who was the movie star they picked in the end to play the male lead?”

  “Nobody famous – the budget simply wasn’t available, even with Jenny’s input. But he’s an excellent actor and very handsome. I received the final script. It’s good, actually. I think it’ll turn out well.”

  “And then what?”

  I pour some iced-tea from a thermos flask into a paper cup and hand it to Emma. “Back to documentaries. There are so many topics that deserve attention.”

  She takes a sip. “Good for you, Arielle. Do you feel deflated? Disappointed by all this?”