Going Down

by Vonna Harper

He was alive today all right with a helpless and sexy woman at his command. Her eyes like burning coals dared him to press the limits, and his belief that her movements were designed to challenge and taunt grew with every breath she took. They both knew he could keep her like this as long as he wanted, but that didn’t stop her from arching her back and rolling her hips. Her breasts, inches from his chest, begged to be touched and held, caressed and sucked.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.

  Don’t you get it? At least that’s what he read in those burning coals. Her silence chewed at him, he who could go days without speaking. What was going on inside that head of hers? Even more germane to the moment, what was her body saying to his?

  Like he didn’t know.

  Driven by a hunger so deep he couldn’t guess at its source, he brought her hands together so he could hold them with a single paw. Once he was certain the grip was going to hold, he spread his free hand over her throat. She instantly stopped struggling.

  “What is it, Saree? Not so sure of yourself after all? Maybe you want to be punished, is that what this so-called fight has been about? You need to get off and being punished is a surefire way to make it happen.”

  “You bastard.”

  “Words? Is that all you have, words?”

  She wanted to scream profanities at him. The urge was so strong that he felt it in her taut muscles and saw it in her hate-filled eyes. But was that really hate and rage or was something else at play?

  Time to find out. For both of them.

  Barely blinking, he began a journey from her throat down her lush body. Her eyes remained wide, her body still but ready. Although she might be able to free her hands, she wasn’t trying. Neither had she aimed her free foot at his crotch. As he caressed the valley between her breasts and then her breasts themselves before journeying to her midsection and from there to her belly, her lips parted and the fire in her eyes darkened and began to speak of something else.

  Damn but he loved seeing her like this. She was lost to her body’s needs and demands, just like him. She’d become primal, elemental, breasts and cunt and arms and legs.

  Her job required that her pussy always be shaved, and although his fingers noted the finest stubble, the newborn hairs did nothing to detract from the silken flesh. The pain of his swollen cock straining against his shorts made him curse the damnable garment, not that he was going to stop what he was doing long enough to get rid of it.

  He loved these moments, loved them! Not only was she ripe and hot and he hot and horny, having absolute control over her was something he’d only mentally explored before.

  She was under him, on his bed, tied to it, naked, struggling to breathe around her arousal with her eyes now searing his and the distance between her thighs widening. He smelled her excitement, the scent adding yet more to the size of his cock.

  “Where’s your fight, slave? Strip you of it, did I?”

  Her silence answered his question; she wasn’t fighting because she had no choice but to hand her body over to him. For a man who’d never thought he’d say the word slave and mean it, it felt right now. Along with the other reasons he’d taken this job was one he hadn’t faced before—he wanted to control her.

  No, he amended as he ran his fingers over her cunt, not want. He was controlling her. “Don’t move,” he commanded. “No matter what I do, you aren’t to move.”

  The quick jerk of her head might not be compliance, not that it mattered because restraining her was an easy matter. In truth, he relished the idea of a no-holds-barred struggle with her. He might hold back a bit to make the fight more equal for as long as it entertained him to do so. Then when he was ready to kick things up another notch, he’d forcefully remind her of what he’d just called her, his slave.

  His.

  Trying not to give anything away took more concentration than he wanted, but for reasons he wasn’t interested in examining, he needed her to believe he was totally in control as he forced her to the edge of sanity. Taking his time, he released her hands. When her fingers twitched, he pressed down on them. “What did I tell you?”

  “Not to move.”

  “Then why did you?” He kept the pressure going, not enough to hurt her of course but firm enough that she’d have no doubt of his determination.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Master,” he spat. “Call me Master.”

  Fire again danced in her eyes. That along with the way her legs had started to tremble left him with no doubt that he’d said what she’d wanted to hear. “I don’t know why I didn’t obey, Master.”

  Giving her an indulgent smile, he patted her fingers and then released her hands. The effort of not moving was being played out in her expressive features. She wanted to play her role and yet she didn’t, same as him. She needed to be submissive as keenly as he needed to control. And it didn’t matter that neither of them understood why.

  “You’re not going to let that happen again, are you?” he insisted. “Because you know the consequences if you do.”

  “I—I’ll try.”

  “No!” Plastering on a stern look, he loomed over her. “Try isn’t good enough, slave. If you’re going to please your master, you must put his demands first.”

  “I understand.”

  Did she? Did either of them?

  Although he felt far from wise, he nodded solemnly. Then he straightened so he could look down at this creature who was willing to turn herself over to him. The shift in their relationship had happened so quickly, going from captor/captive to master/slave in a matter of minutes. Things could and probably would shift back, but as long as the same spell covered both of them, he’d embrace it.

  He had no choice, not after a lifetime of wanting this and not knowing it.

  “Your body is no longer yours,” he heard himself say. “It exists to please me. In exchange for submitting to whatever I want, I’ll keep food in your belly and chains on your body, you understand, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “You will worship me just as I worship your subservience. We’ll feed off each other and find our own pleasure, won’t we?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  What he’d just said had been easy, but now things were going to change because even with the fantasy wrapped around him, he couldn’t forget his task. “And you’ll do whatever I order you to. Even if you don’t understand and feel humiliated, you won’t question. You’ll feed off your fear and make it part of your performance.”

  She’d intertwined her fingers, but although she’d disobeyed him by moving, he didn’t want to distract either of them from this vital lesson.

  “Do you understand what I’m saying? I want you afraid.”

  “I—what do you want me to say?”

  “Nothing. In fact, you aren’t to say a word until I give you permission.”

  That didn’t set well with her as witnessed by her narrowing eyes. Taking her expression as warning that she wasn’t as deep into their game as he wanted her to be, he decided to test her limits. And although he told himself that the test was a vital part of their reason for being together, he knew different. He needed to see her struggle between her self-will and his.

  “Sit up.”

  Confusion followed by disappointment rolled through her, and no wonder. Weren’t her splayed legs proof of what she wanted? And what he did too.

  “Do I have to punish you? Sit up, slave.”

  The grace with which she complied let him know she was testing him. Fine, he loved the challenge, which was why he didn’t move so she was forced to rub her body against his. He waited until she was curled next to him with her free leg tucked under her and the other near the side of the bed. Her nudity in contrast to the multipurpose bracelets and anklets on her wrists and ankles gave rise to endless possibilities, and yet he wanted to introduce her to something new, to keep her as off balance as he felt.

  He extracted a narrow key from his pocket, and he inserted it in
to the lock connecting the leather strip to her leg, unlocking it. “Go to the dresser,” he continued. “There’s rope in there. I want you to bring it to me.”

  She tensed as the ramifications of this latest order sunk in. Fascinated by thoughts of what it would take to melt her, he nevertheless grunted. Looking back over her shoulder at him, she crawled to the edge of the bed and slipped off it. He wasn’t surprised to see her glance at the door, not that it would do her any good. Just the same, the thought of chasing her throughout the house and beyond quickened his breath.

  Doing as he’d ordered didn’t need to take as long as it did, making him wonder if she was trying to get him to punish her. Then he noted that her hands were shaking as she dropped the soft white rope on the bed.

  “Kiss it.”

  Not looking at him, she bent over and ran her lips along the length. Her movements were slow and languid, her body angled so he had a clear view of her flank. Giving into the challenge, he ran his hand over her buttocks and thigh. Maybe her quiver should have given him a sense of security, but all it told him was that she was as deep into whatever was happening as he was.

  When he’d told her to get the rope, he’d had only a rudimentary idea of what he intended to do with it, but touching her flesh solidified his thoughts. He wanted to see that magnificent body encased in what he’d wrapped around it. Giving a silent thanks to the rigger and model he’d taken lessons from in preparation for this assignment, he picked up the rope, folded it in half, and draped it over the back of her neck. From there he crossed it between her breasts, then ordered her to turn with her back to him. Her eyes closing, she did as he commanded.

  Imprisoning her arms behind her with her elbows bent at a right angle and her forearms resting against each other took considerable attention because he didn’t want to compromise her circulation. In addition to strands that went around her upper arms and both under and over her breasts, all but immobilizing her upper body, he also lashed her forearms and wrists together before securing the whole with a final loop around her waist. Completing the complex tie called for her turning in circles as he worked. Although she’d opened her eyes by the time he’d finished, she didn’t look at him. Good. It was time for her to exist as his possession and not a complex woman.

  Stepping back, he studied his handiwork. The rigger had been adamant that ropes weren’t to press on nerves or blood vessels, and from the looks of things, he’d managed that. The strand around her neck, although particularly arousing, didn’t so much as touch her throat. From the waist down, she was as free as she was beautiful while the rest of her belonged fully and completely to him. The strands near her breasts caused her breasts to stick out more than usual. Pinching them between his fingers, he drew her toward him.

  Her eyes were glazed over, her mouth open, nostrils flared. Feeding off her mood, he leaned over and took a nipple into his mouth. Not content with simply tasting her, he lightly closed his teeth over the firm nub before pulling back. Her spine arched, and she stepped toward him. Intrigued, he took a backward step while keeping his hold firm. Moaning low in that lovely throat, she matched his stride. Although he’d have loved to have seen how long he could have guided her this way, he couldn’t hold this position for long. Reluctantly freeing her, he noted the saliva he’d left behind.

  Thinking to show it to her, he reached out. Shaking her head, she leaned away.

  Anger raced through him. She was his slave, damn it, his possession! How dare she think otherwise! “Stop it!” He punctuated his order by slapping first her wet breast and then the other. “Don’t move, damn it, don’t move!”

  “Master! Master, please.”

  The words feeding his fantasy, he slapped her again. This time he didn’t bother telling her why. She was no longer trying to get away, but unless he was the biggest fool in the county, she was trying to incur his wrath by whipping her body from side to side in a futile and beyond sexy attempt to protect those incredible breasts of hers

  They battled. There was no other way of saying it. The more times his open palm connected with her full mounds, the more she hissed and growled. She’d arched her body again, which meant her breasts were front and center, challenges offered. He met them as he knew they both wanted until her milky flesh had turned red and her nipples were like rocks.

  His clothes, his damnable clothes! What the hell had he put them on for?

  The next time he reached out, it wasn’t to continue punishing her. Instead, he wrapped his fingers around the rope over her breasts. Then, using his hold as a cowboy might handle a captured horse, he dragged her to the bed. “You asked for that,” he threw at her. “You knew the consequences of fighting me and yet you did.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Why?”

  “So you would punish me.”

  There. The words he’d known were in her spoken aloud. “Do you believe you’ve been punished enough?”

  She took a deep and long breath. “No, Master.”

  “What more should I do to you to make sure you’ve learned your lesson?”

  11

  Saree had been asked that question any number of times, but it had always been rhetorical. This was different, excitingly different.

  “These ropes,” she began. “they aren’t enough.”

  “You want more?”

  What she desperately wanted was to be encased head to toe. Being rendered incapable of moving a single muscle was an incredible turn-on; just thinking about a crotch rope caused her crotch to weep in anticipation. “I do.” She kept her head downcast.

  “What else?”

  “A whipping.” Taken aback by the hungry eagerness in her voice, she swallowed. “Master, this worthless slave needs to feel your whips on her body. Only then will I learn everything I need to.”

  “What if I don’t want to whip you?”

  Was he tormenting her, denying her what she most needed? Maybe and yet maybe he was simply testing her. “You—I can’t tell you what to do. All I can do is beg you to teach me your lessons.”

  “Maybe I don’t have any.”

  “These ropes have a purpose. I know they do!”

  “Perhaps I simply like the way they contain and contrast with your skin.”

  Although she could and perhaps should have thanked him for what she took as a compliment, she decided on a different tactic. Her gaze as submissive as she could make it, she dropped awkwardly to her knees and tried to suck his clothed cock into her mouth. He stood there with his knees locked and his hands fisted while she covered his shorts in saliva.

  She was a wreck, a wretched, turned-on wreck! Being restrained always got her juices flowing, but what she felt now went beyond those familiar sensations. The difference was easy to determine—reality versus play. He’d known what he was doing when he tied her, making her wonder how many other sex slaves had felt his restraints on their bodies.

  Sex slave? Yes, she had put that label on herself.

  No way could she gnaw a hole in his shorts, but although she found it somewhat humiliating, she couldn’t make herself stop any more than she could get back on her feet. She belonged on her knees before him, groveling for whatever tidbits of attention he granted her. As his captive, she’d become his. In her captivity she’d found something she’d been looking for for much of her life.

  “Enough,” he ordered. A hand gripped her hair and pulled her head back. Forced to release him, she stared up at the man she’d called Master.

  “What do you want?” she managed.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Me,” she encouraged. “You want me.”

  “That goes without saying, damn it.” The tugging on her scalp increased. “Stand up. Did I give you permission to kneel?”

  “No, Master.”

  “That’s right, I didn’t. Get up before I punish you.”

  He might consider whatever he had in mind to do punishment, but to her, it was a promise. Just the same, she tried to obey. Unfortunately, without
use of her hands, she failed. Unlike when he’d used this hold to bring her to the bed, he didn’t release her. Instead, he forced her up onto her toes.

  She would have gladly widened her stance if he’d told her to. But with her mind cloudy and her body hot, the best she could do was order herself to anticipate.

  So that’s what he had in mind, was it? To work his hand between her legs.

  “You’re wet.” Features grim, he ran his fingers along her pussy. “Did I give you permission to soak yourself?”

  “No, Master.”

  “Then why did you?”

  The longer he stroked her, the more intense the pressure there and deep in her belly became. If she hadn’t been so wet, the friction would have been painful. As it was, the heat he’d created threatened to burst into flames. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

  “You should be. This”—he slapped her labia—“belongs to me. It should do only what I give it permission to, do you understand?”

  Cheeks flaming, she nodded. Even that small gesture made her dizzy. “I’m trying.”

  “Trying isn’t enough. Yes, I am going to have to punish you.”

  If anyone had said that under different circumstances, she’d laugh at him, run, or fight back, but none of those options fit. “How?”

  “However I want, get it! Spread your legs, now.”

  Suddenly trembling, she did as he’d ordered. Her simple and yet complex obedience added to the suspicion that they were entering a world neither had been in before. She might be mistaken about him of course, but years of exploring submission and mastery hinted she wasn’t.

  “Not good enough. Push your cunt toward me.”

  Guessing what was coming next made it easy to obey. She could only hope she didn’t lose her mind before her punishment was over. She supposed she should be relieved because he wrapped his arm around her before the first blow struck her pussy. A shockwave of sensation shot through her. A second firm but not painful slap followed almost immediately.

  A third, then four, followed by five. No matter that she tried to straighten, tried to close her legs against the fire-falls, they kept coming. Her sex fed off the relentless stimulation and forced sharp animal-like sounds from her.