by John Argus
His right hand slid down over her churning tummy, and his fingers nimbly popped the catch at the front of her trousers, the timely touch of his lips against her throat causing her to melt again and silencing the protest she knew she should make.
His hand crept down into her trousers, down into her panties, cool fingers instantly finding her wet sex, brushing her clitoris. The intensity of her reaction shocked her, and her hips rocked forward.
‘Watch,’ he whispered. His teeth bit lightly into the nape of her neck and she shuddered. She felt a finger curving in and up, felt the soft, swollen lips of her sex spread aside as she was penetrated. She rolled her hips again as his finger pushed deeper, and she felt a wave of shame at how wet she was even as she arched her back in helpless pleasure as the fingers cupping her breast pinched and rolled her nipple through her blouse and bra.
He bit more fervently into her throat, his teeth pricking as they clamped onto her smooth flesh. His hand drew up and out of her trousers and she moaned and swayed, then squealed as he wrenched open the front of her blouse, sending buttons popping onto the floor.
‘D-don’t,’ she pleaded, secretly thrilled at his dominant strength, but he contemptuously tore the blouse right down the back from collar to hem, as if it were paper, and the two ragged tatters of material slid off her shoulders and down her trussed arms. Her bra was removed with similar disregard, and then he was somehow before her, his fingers sliding through her hair, pulling her head back as his teeth bit at her mouth, his tongue darting in and out, his lips voracious, and the sexual tension was more powerful than she had ever felt in her life before.
She collapsed into his arms and he bore her downward to her knees, his mouth still upon hers, his breath drawing hers from her overheated lungs, his tongue leading hers in a ritualistic dance. His hands left her hair, gliding up and down her back. Then one squeezed between them and she felt a throbbing nipple caught between a thumb and forefinger. She trembled as they closed against it, rubbing gently, then squeezing, pinching, rolling the nipple until it sparked like a live electrical wire, then pulsed with pain as they clamped vice-like.
‘Do you understand yet, Leah?’ he whispered. ‘Do you understand yet?’
And then she was alone. Or at least she felt alone. His body was no longer against hers, no longer touching her. She sagged back dazedly, but now she was on her knees her wrists were held up and to each side and helped support her. She moaned wearily, slowly drawing her head up, and saw him rising tall above her, a hand slowly lowering the zipper of his immaculate trousers.
His cock was dark, like him, and beautiful, like him. It rose at an angle even as it emerged from his clothing, swelling and lengthening before her widening eyes as she gasped at its impressive length and girth. He grasped her hair, filling his fists with its silkiness, forcing her head roughly up and back, and then with one calculated thrust of his hips he thrust himself into her vulnerable mouth.
Despite being a strong-willed woman, Leah let him force her jaws almost painfully wide, filling her mouth with his erection, feeling herself dropping into an utterly submissive role which both frightened and exhilarated her. She raised her eyes and met his, felt herself drowning in his stare, and hardly noticed as his stout cock slid deeper into her mouth, probing against the entrance to her throat.
It pushed deeper still, yet she felt no urge to gag, no sense of choking or panic. Her eyes remained locked to his as inch after inch of him stretched her straining lips, moved across her trembling tongue and down into her throat. Then his torso blocked her vision and she felt her forehead pressed against his abdomen, her face against the soft fabric of his trousers.
Her jaw ached, especially as he began to grind his hips back and forth. Yet aside from a desperate sexual heat, a sense of tranquility and serenity filled her too. She could come to no harm with him. He would never hurt her or allow her to be harmed. And even as her head pounded and her lungs burned from lack of oxygen she did not panic, watching instead, with a strange sense of delight, as his glistening shaft forged in and out of her mouth.
He drew out at last and she inhaled deeply, violently, her head falling back as he released her hair, her body swaying, the pull of the chains on her wrists increasing as they kept her from falling.
He was behind her, drawing her trousers down her thighs to her knees. She groaned weakly as her hips were pulled back, her knees pulled out from under her. The trousers slid down her legs and off, and her legs dropped back to the floor. She was almost hanging by her wrists, the pain as the metal dug into them severe, yet it did nothing to distract from the shameful sexual hunger gripping her body and mind.
A part of her psyche fluttered like a desperate butterfly, shocked, horrified, wondering, amazed. But she ignored it, whimpering in pleasure as she felt his hands on her thighs, spreading her legs and drawing them back, lifting her bottom and positioning her on her knees. She was leaning forward, her torso held up only by the shackles gripping her wrists and spreading her arms wide. She felt his cock against her sex, felt the slippery wetness of her juices and the saliva coating him. Then she felt herself opening against the pressure, felt it mounting as he tried to enter her. Perspiration was meandering down between her breasts. Her body was on fire, both from within and without, and her breathing came in sharp gasps and pants.
She winced at the discomfort against her sex, her brow furrowed and her eyes closed as she felt her labia spreading wider than ever before to accept his mighty cock, and when it slid slowly into her slick sheath she wanted to cry out in wonder and exultation… and then she realized she was.
His hands roamed her body as he drove deeper and deeper, beginning to pump, fighting the tightness of her muscles, plowing his way through them as he rode her trembling body.
Leah bucked back against him, gasping, wild-eyed, ignoring the dull pain as she impaled herself. She needed him deep inside her, all of him. Leah MacInnes, renowned for her calm self-assurance and total professionalism, was chained and being fucked by a member of the public she was supposed to be interviewing regarding a serious investigation! It was unthinkable… but it was exquisite, too.
He was too big for her. She felt his rigid shaft utterly filling her, felt the delicious ache as he moved, pulled back, moved forward again. She shuddered with each of his thrusts and trembled with longing. And she was too tight for him. His impressive cock stretched the taut lips of her dripping sex, the blunt nose forcing aside the walls of her cunt as he buried himself in her body.
The peak of her pleasure came when she was absolutely filled with him; so full she ached. Then he would draw back and she would groan in helpless denial as her pussy grasped for him, the muscles in her arms and legs tensed and straining. Then would come the next deep thrust and the next peak, and as he rode her the pace of the fuck increased. His groin slapped against her buttocks and his fingers dug into her flanks as he rutted in and out of her with remorseless power. Her body shuddered violently beneath the savage onslaught and her dazed mind spun in wonder.
She felt his hand moving, and as his cock again embedded itself deep inside her his fingers found her swollen clitoris, and she was in ecstasy. Leah had never known anything like this before. Her body thrashed in its chain bonds, gripped by a shockwave of intense pleasure. Every nerve spasmed and every muscle tensed. Her insides roiled with the violence of the sensory storm screaming through her. Her thoughts shattered. The world fell away. Nothing could exist at the centre of such a storm.
Almost nothing. One thing remained; the determined thrusting of his stiff erection as it drove deep inside her, and the jarring impact of his groin against her bottom, again and again and again. The rest of the universe was a white wall of sensory overload as her nervous system screamed with the task of conveying such shocking pleasure to an already stunned mind.
Leah came to, and knew nothing at first but a dull pull on her wrists. Her head felt heav
y, intolerably heavy, and after a long minute she dared open her eyes and gazed down between her own perspiring breasts.
She was lying on the floor; at least her legs and pelvis were. Her wrists were still shackled to the posts, holding her torso up at an angle, her head hanging.
Eventually she raised it, gasping weakly. She had never felt so exhausted, so utterly drained. As awareness returned she felt the many aches gripping her body. Her hands felt numb. Her legs moved feebly, scrabbling on the floor as she sought to get her knees beneath her.
She let out a soft cry as a hand gripped her hair and yanked her head up and back, and she stared into his eyes and then moaned as his mouth met hers in a possessive kiss. He dragged her forward into his arms, his hands sliding down her back to cup her bottom and knead the fleshy cheeks.
His fingers slid between her legs and discomfort flared an instant before the pleasure. She cried out helplessly, an orgasm instantly rippling through her, although nothing like what she had just experienced. This one was the kind of gentle orgasm she enjoyed at home while using her own fingers or favorite vibrator, but still it left her breathless.
He moved to her side, his strong hands gripping her hips and raising her bottom, lifting her to her knees.
‘I—’ she started, but his hand cracked across her bottom and she gasped at the unexpected and shocking sting.
‘Silence,’ he said, and she moaned gratefully as his hand caressed her back, down between and across her buttocks.
‘But—’
Another crack of his hand on her bottom silenced her, delivering another sting and inducing another gasp. Yet she made no protest, nor thought to.
His fingers slid between her taut buttocks, down to her sex. She trembled as he cupped it, his palm squeezing gently and rhythmically. Another small orgasm made her head loll down again, hanging limp from her shoulders, causing her hips to roll back against him.
‘I think,’ he stated quietly, ‘that I shall keep you.’
Two fingers sank into her sex and began to ease in and out. Comforting pleasure enveloped her and she whimpered gratefully, moving back against him as his other hand slipped beneath her tummy, his fingers skillfully locating her clitoris. She climaxed yet again, sobbing wearily, faintly aware of his throaty chuckle.
Crack!
His open hand slapped her bottom again, jolting her physically and mentally. ‘Naughty girl,’ he mocked.
Crack!
Leah’s back dipped sharply. Again he was rolling her swollen clitoris between thumb and forefinger, driving her mad with the intensity of the pleasure.
Crack!
‘Tell me you belong to me, Leah,’ he coaxed smoothly, and she gasped for breath, unable to utter a word, her mouth dry.
Crack!
‘Tell me, Leah.’ The conflicting pain and pleasure induced by the spanking and the clitoral stimulation was continuous and growing more and more intense.
Crack!
‘Are you mine?’ he coaxed.
‘I… I… please…’ she wailed.
Crack!
‘Are you mine?’ he persisted relentlessly.
‘Yes!’
‘Say it, little one.’
‘Oh, I’m yours… please.’
‘You belong to me?’
‘Yes, I belong to you,’ she confirmed deliriously, not caring of the consequences of her commitment.
His fingers pressed between her thighs again and she felt herself melting like butter before fire. His other hand began to spank her bottom again, more quickly now, more steadily, punishing her despite her vow of obedience, and she sobbed pitifully as she came yet again.
She drifted back to consciousness a second time to find herself unshackled, lying on her side on the floor with him smiling down at her.
‘You had better go,’ he said. ‘Your colleagues will be looking for you.’
Leah had barely enough time to remember what had happened or where she was before finding herself outside in the darkness on his stoop, naked, the imposing front door closed behind her.
She had to hold the post to keep from falling, so shaky were her legs, then her uncertain fingers slid down the smooth wood and she knelt, gasping, her head whirling with confusion, her body utterly drained of all energy. She groaned as she slumped back against the rail of the small portico, her trembling fingers moving to her sex.
There were several police cars parked along the street, including Scott’s. All were unmarked and empty, the detectives making their way along the houses, carrying out interviews. She could see, just up the street, a suited man standing in the doorway of an old brick house, talking to a woman holding a baby in her arms.
Her fingers gently stroked her moist sex and she shuddered. She felt so sore, so tender, so battered, yet every touch made her moan softly with carnal longing. But her mind was returning to some state of awareness, accompanied by a sense of shock and fear.
She snatched her fingers away, recalling her whereabouts, dismayed with herself. She scrambled with her clothes, tugging her trousers on then pulling her blazer around her shoulders and thrusting her feet into her shoes. She did not see her underwear or blouse, and had no intention of going back to ask for them. Instead she staggered down the path to the sidewalk and then, swaying and weaving, made her way to her car. The chill in the air helped revive her a little, and she felt a rising sense of awe, shock, stunned amazement, and incredulity.
Fortunately in the trunk of the car she found an old white uniform shirt in a bag, probably thrown there some time before to be laundered. With trembling fingers she removed her blazer and pulled on the shirt, and despite it being too big for her she buttoned it up, tucked it in, and slipped her blazer back on over the top.
Scott would notice it missing, she supposed, but would have no idea what had happened to it.
‘Shit!’ she whispered angrily. If anyone knew, if anyone guessed, if anyone even suspected what she’d just done whilst on duty. Unprofessional did not even begin to describe the conduct she had just engaged in, and aside from being intensely angry with herself for such a serious lapse, she again couldn’t believe that on a personal level she had put herself in such a potentially dangerous position. For all she knew the man could have been a serial rapist and she should have known better, particularly bearing in mind the reason for the investigation she was working on.
What had happened? How could it have happened? If she’d had anything to drink she would have been certain he’d drugged her – but she hadn’t so she couldn’t use that as an excuse.
Her body still felt a kind of aftershock from those impossible climaxes. Not so long before she’d had to test new stun guns with her colleagues, just to know how it felt. After the shock there had been a kind of frazzled afterglow for long minutes, like a physical memory, and that was what she was feeling now, as if she had just been shocked with a kind of high voltage sexual electricity.
Her fingers patted and straightened her hair, trying to bring it into some semblance of order before someone remarked on it. She was Leah MacInnes, always poised, envied and admired by the other policewomen at Chelsea station, but currently she was a trembling mess trying to pull herself together.
The darkness helped a little, and she stood at the back of the group as the other detectives returned and compared notes before Lieutenant Bradfield. Then she got into the car and let Scott drive, speaking as little as possible, staring without seeing out the side window, wondering if there was still a stunned expression on her face.
Chapter Two
‘Morning, Leah. Sleep well?’
‘Yes, thanks,’ she replied, her soft voice containing the slight southern burr which testified to her Georgia roots.
She wore Louis St. Laurent in gray, small gold buttons down the front of the blazer, a green, high-collared sil
k shirt beneath, drawn closed around her neck, with a silk scarf wrapped around it.
She had been a little shocked, had cringed that morning at the sight of the bruises around the nape of her neck, with neat little bite marks in several places. The collar and scarf hid it all, and the long sleeves of her blouse, combined with a thick watchband and a bracelet, would hide the shackle marks ringing her wrists.
Her suit was businesslike, but still with a definite feminine touch. Her trousers were form fitting, and hugged the near perfection of her rounded bottom, but that would raise no eyebrows for her blazer hid the fact, and all which would be seen were the razor-sharp creases and the turned up hems brushing the surface of the most expensive black leather running shoes she could find. They were so expensive, in fact, they gleamed as if polished, and none of her superiors, not even the fussy Captain Gladwyck, would realize they were anything but the formal dress shoes required of all non-uniformed staff at Lakewood District.
Beneath her stylish suit she wore rather more feminine things than Captain Gladwyck would probably approve of, for he disapproved of women on general principles, at least those who did not know their place, disapproved of young people almost entirely, and had no time whatsoever for anything which smacked, to his deeply religious sensitivities, of indecency.
It was unlikely then, that he would approve of the delicate silk thong she wore. It consisted of little more than a tiny ‘V’ of purple fabric over her mons, and two thin strings moving diagonally up across her abdomen to curve across her trim hips. A third string slid up between her buttocks, broadened to an even smaller, inverted triangle of fabric at the cleft, and joined the two small waist strings.