Truly helpless, p.22
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       Truly Helpless, p.22

         Part #10 of Nature of Desire series by Joey W. Hill

  The chains holding his arms above his head loosened enough he could drop them to his sides, but he was still bound. A scraping, a chair moving across the room. The noise stopped behind him, and he heard her body settling into it.

  "Turn around, get on your knees and come to me."

  He dropped. She'd given his arms enough slack to be at his sides when standing, but when kneeling, they were raised to shoulder height again, just enough freedom to be frustrating. But he wrapped his hands around the chains and used the anchor to move forward on his knees. He bumped into her leg.

  "Stop there," she said.

  Leaning forward, she ran a strap around his throat, buckling it securely. She hooked his wrist cuffs to the back of it, the chains swaying above him. Now his hands were denied the ability to participate.

  "Use your mouth to figure out how I'm sitting. You don't touch my pussy with it until I command you. And I won't forgive an 'accidental' contact."

  He started with her knee. He had to suppress a quiet oath as his lips trailed over her inner thigh and he realized she was sitting in a chair with arms, and she'd draped her thighs over them, spreading them out like Rod Stewart's double entendre reference to angel wings. He wanted to touch her with his hands, his body, with every fucking inch of himself, but she'd taken away everything but his mouth with which to worship her.

  He stopped over her pussy, and hovered there, breathing hard to inhale her arousal. His head was bowed, his fists clenched. An ache was in the center of his chest, hard enough to clog his throat. What was the matter with him? He could play with her now, soon as she did what he was sure she would, have him go down on her. He would be able to prove how good he was at that. Way better than goddamned Rob.

  Yet when she molded a hand around the back of his skull and drew him to the center of that flower of soft, glistening flesh, all he wanted to do was eat her out like a starving animal, suck on the petals of her labia, bite them, thrust his tongue into her deep. Fuck her with no control, no finesse, just pure hunger, a driving need for her that was riding the edge of violence. He wanted her to gush, to grind herself against his face, scream her pleasure as she suffocated him with her sex.

  He wanted that because he knew his uncontrolled, raw response was what she wanted. His wants didn't matter, and understanding that was such a relief, such a release of weight, he swayed. He didn't want to have a name. He didn't want to be created and released from this goddess's presence to make his way in the world. He didn't want to be Duncan or Marius; he wanted to be the marionette in a goddess's workshop, serving her however she desired, no other demands or expectations on him.

  Not because he wanted to escape his life, but because for the first time, he felt like he'd been given one. Something that mattered. Someone that mattered.

  And that terrified him, awakening the blackest parts of his soul.

  Before she'd pulled the chair over, she'd ditched her bra and panties and shrugged back into his shirt, liking the feel of it but not wanting any barrier between her flesh and his mouth. It was working on her like he'd never want anything but pussy again. She came in a matter of minutes, though she'd intended to hold out longer. Regina arched up, rubbing her cunt against his face, his clever tongue, the firm lips, the roughness of his jaw.

  The chains clanked as he strained against her. He made animal noises of need as savage as her cries. He kept going as long as she needed, and modulated his strokes to a hungry yet gentle licking so she could keep him there, enjoying the aftershocks.

  She was a little amazed at the force of the shudders still coursing through her. God. Goddess. Everything in between. If that was what a little visualization could become between them, coupled with strap-on and oral play, then actual sex might realign the planets.

  She gripped his hair, stroking, pulling. She permitted him to keep nuzzling her. When she finally put enough pressure on him to make him stop, he braced his jaw against her inner thigh, his breath bathing her soaked labia. Her heartstrings tightened at the evidence he didn't want to be pushed away.

  She studied him, the flushed skin below the eye mask, the set of his jaw, the way his body was quivering, his muscles all tight. Intuition told her not to unchain him. He was resting between her legs, but he was not at rest. She could almost feel those demons howling, telling him he needed to get his shit together, take charge of this bitch. Yet she didn't think they had the upper hand yet. From the way his skin was creased around the outside of the blindfold, she suspected his eyes were closed tightly, as if warding off their battle roars. When she stroked his hair off his forehead, he leaned into her touch.

  "Introduce him to the pleasures of submission and safety in the here and now to get to the treasure beneath. There's a trove there." Marguerite's words. Had they gotten there?

  Maybe not, but they'd taken some steps in the right direction.

  He still had some of her "clay" on him. A mix of heated wax, lotion and some other ingredients she'd tailored from a spa treatment she thought could have intriguing applications on a sub. As she'd painted it on him, drawn shapes in it to tease and caress him, she'd enjoyed every reaction of his fine body.

  He probably hadn't realized when he finally started to climax, since the beauty of the wand and sound combo was that the climax had no beginning, middle or end. It was just endless. But her eyes had drunk in the gushing fountain from his cock, the way it had splattered his thighs, the slender rod plinking to the floor, expelled by the force of his ejaculation. That cream still marked him, drying like the remains of the lotion-clay mixture.

  Gentleness could be administered with every bit of ruthlessness as the bite of a single tail. Each sub was different in what could break him down. The key wasn't the degree of pain administered. It was about consistency; not relenting until whatever strategy was employed unlocked what was inside of him. Sometimes that door got blasted off its hinges. She hadn't made it that far, but she was pretty sure she'd made it harder to close.

  Now for the next step. He needed aftercare, but the question was what kind. His chest was rising and falling more rapidly, and the press of his forehead against her was getting more insistent, like he wanted to drive his head through something far harder than her palm.

  In a few moments, he'd be as ready for cuddling as a dangerous animal coiled in the back of a cage. "Sit back on your heels," she said quietly, when she could trust her voice. She had to reinforce it with touch, putting her palm to his chest and pushing him into position. When she rose from the chair, the tail of the open shirt she was wearing--his shirt--brushed his face. He caught the hem between two of his fingers, though his hands were still bound behind his head.

  "Let me go," he said, his voice hoarse and raw.

  "In time. Let's get you settled down first." She unhooked his cuffs from the collar, but left the chains attached. "Sit all the way down on the floor."

  He started to comply; she began to walk away. And then everything happened so fast, even in hindsight, she wasn't sure how he'd done it.

  She'd seen him fight three men in the ring with brutal ferocity, and still she'd underestimated how he could use those skills.

  He was on his feet, had spun her around toward him. With one loop and a shriek of metal, he had the slack of the chain wrapped around her throat. One hand held it taut, his other in her hair, holding her fast against his body.

  He had her in mass and power, which was clear from the unshakable strength of the hold, his mouth a twisted slash beneath the blindfold.

  The most dangerous situation involving a prisoner was when he invaded an officer's personal space like this, leaving very little maneuvering room to strike back.

  "I said"--his voice wasn't steady--"let me go." His body twitched, which meant his fist did as well, twisting the links of chain on her throat. They bit into her flesh, pinching, and the blood vessels started to constrict.

  He could kill her. The idea jumped from surreal to real in a heartbeat. She'd fucked up, not realizing how close to the top
she'd brought his darkness. Aftercare for him should have been her cutting a wide swathe around him, turning off the light and leaving him to lie here for about half an hour, working through a mass of emotions far blacker than a dark room. But she didn't want to leave him alone with that. She didn't want him alone in the dark.

  "Duncan," she said, trying to ignore the break in her voice from restricted air flow. "You're hurting me. Scaring me some, too. Please let me go."

  A split-second calculation and risk, which name to use. She didn't overthink it.

  "Doesn't matter. It's over. Right?"

  He didn't sound as if he was talking to her, but she answered anyway, forcing her fear at bay. It just fed devils; it wouldn't help her at all. "I don't know. I've never had a sub try to strangle me, so I don't have a protocol for it. I could try to knee you in the balls, but I think you're ready for violence." She swallowed and it was painful against the unrelenting steel links. "I think you'd rather lie down and let me curl around you, stroke your hair and hold you."

  His lips became a straight line. "That's what you do to a child. I'm not a fucking child. I was never a fucking child. I want to fuck you. I'm tired of you holding it out of reach like a fucking carrot."

  She realized his cock was starting to stir again, the violence fueling his arousal. "Bringing me to climax wasn't enough?" She softened her voice with the query, kept it calm. "You didn't like that?"

  Something flickered over his expression, at least what she could see of it around the blindfold. "Yeah, I did. I do that."

  "Yes. And you did it. Honestly, purely, and with a hunger that took my breath away. The kind of sub any Mistress would want."

  His grip hadn't increased, but it was tight enough. As her lungs tried to expand, she forced herself to take shallow breaths.

  His lip curled. "Don't want to be any kind of sub, faceless...only faceless for you. But don't want you to care...want you to stay apart. Above me. Don't get down on the ground with me."

  The words didn't make sense, but she thought she picked up enough of the underlying meaning that it heartened her. It was like he was trapped in worse-than-usual sub-drop, a post-session state of mind where a sub floundered in dark places, often thanks to triggers inadvertently tripped during the session.

  "Then let me go." Carefully, she lifted her hand to his on the chain and lightly stroked his knuckles. Blood was pounding in her ears, but she pushed past the roar to move her hand to his nape, her other to his biceps, caressing. A soothing touch. "Right now."

  Clamping down on his neck, she slammed her elbow into the side of his head, twisting her torso to knee him in his side. When he staggered, she shoved him back, breaking his hold. There was a terrifying yank on the chain that bit into her throat like a dog's teeth, but then he'd let go and it loosened. She ducked out of the loop and backpedaled out of his range.

  He didn't pursue, though he looked as if he was about to blindly charge her. If he did, depending on how fast he came at her, he'd dislocate his shoulders when the chains went taut. Training kicked in and she was prepared to move forward, strike against his biceps with all her strength to shove him back again. The tactic could prevent him doing himself that kind of damage.

  Though never mind what he'll do to you if he gets hold of you again, girlfriend.

  "Prison guard." He breathed through the pain, bending over to brace his hands on his thighs. His breath was short from the shot to the midriff. The side of his face was red from the impact of her elbow. "Fucking forgot that."

  "Correctional officer, and yeah, you did." She took a breath. "You got a little lost all the way around. You back?"

  He shook his head, and dropped to his knees. "Stay away. Just leave me here. I'm sorry. Fucking sorry. That wasn't how I wanted that to go." His voice broke, startling her, but he'd turned away. As his fists clenched, every muscle in his back tensing, she reached for the wall, because another wave of lightheadedness hit her. This one came from the cold, hard realization of what could have happened. Her throat hurt. Those chain links were going to leave marks.

  Don't be a fucking child right now. Be the woman and badass Mistress you know you are.

  She went to her cabinet as he spoke dully. "I'll go. I won't bug you again. Tyler was right about me."

  "Of course he was," she said briskly. "The man is right about everything. But what you're thinking he's right about is the wrong thing. Don't start with the self-pity crap or you'll piss me off worse. You tried to choke me. You fucked up. We'll deal with it."

  He removed the blindfold. She saw a flashing, dangerous eye as he tilted his head her way, but there was desperation there, too. She quelled her gut reaction, which was still trying to get her to run far, far away from an imminent threat.

  She tossed a new set of steel manacles on the floor in front of him with a sharp clank and thud. "Ankles."

  They were combination locked, so once latched, the only way out was with the combination. She crossed her arms.

  He stared at them. He wasn't meeting her eyes. Shame or something else? "What if I tell you I'm done? Safe word and all that, let me the fuck out of here."

  "I'd say you're a chickenshit. In addition to being a poor date. Choking me, then taking off."

  His jaw set. "This isn't a fucking joke. I could have hurt you. I would have hurt you." His fists clenched anew. She wondered if he had permanent crescent scars on his palms from how often he fought himself with that physical tell. "I don't want to hurt you."

  "So don't." She hardened her heart against the anguish she heard behind the harsh words and pointed to the manacles. "Trust me to make sure you don't get a second chance. You feel like shit right now about what you did, right?"

  He nodded, wariness in the gesture. "So do I," she said bluntly. "You scared me, and I don't like that feeling. I won't let you make me afraid of you, Marius. You go now, I think about how you scared me and the way things could have turned out, until I paralyze myself with what ifs. For your part, you'll do something stupid, like go to a fight to punish yourself, and end up in a coma or dead. I'm not going to permit you to do that."

  "How're you going to stop me?"

  She blinked. "Those chains are looped over a load bearing beam. I reel them back in, and you'll only have as much slack as I want to give you. I could turn out the lights and leave you here for a week with a couple jugs of water. I'd throw food in once a day."

  She met his furious, confused gray eyes. "If I think it will save your life, I'll do it and won't think twice. Or, you could put on the goddamned manacles."

  He stared at her. Slowly, almost like an old man, he turned toward the restraints.

  "Before you put them on, use this." She moved to the far wall, making sure her stride was confident. Drawing back a curtain, she revealed a small bathroom with a pedestal sink and commode. "I won't have you getting an infection from the sound. After you're done, I expect you to put on the ankle cuffs, then put your arms behind your back and roll onto your stomach. Keep the chains untangled."

  She turned her back on him to move to a cabinet and peruse additional supplies she intended to use. She gave him visual privacy, but was pleased when she heard him use the sink to wash his hands afterward, the chains clinking against the ceramic bowl. As she heard him move back toward the center of the floor, she paid out more slack on the chains so he could lower himself to a seated position. She moved to the back wall to lean against it and watch him with a dispassionate expression. It also prudently kept her out of range.

  He locked the cuffs on his ankles. His expression was stone, eyes cold, but he did it, then rolled on his stomach, adjusting his arms so his knuckles rested against the small of his back. The chains to the wrist cuffs swayed above him.

  Picking up a baton, she telescoped it with a snap, so he'd know she was prepared to use it if he tried anything. She locked the ankle cuffs to one another with a combination clip, and did the same to his wrists. Then she pulled up his ankles and latched them to the wrist cuffs
so he was in a hog tie. She used two rolled-up hand towels between his ankles and knees to cushion the joints.

  As she did that, she was squatting next to him. Since she was only wearing his shirt, she noted his gaze coursing over her breasts, full and firm beneath the open garment, and then down to her pussy. The folds were soft and still damp, thanks to his beautiful mouth. After she finished securing him, she ran her fingertips down over her labia and dipped between, collecting the residual moisture and tasting herself. He swallowed, his body tensing in an appealing way, muscles hardening. From the shift of his hips, she expected his erection was reviving again. Extremes of emotion tended to arouse a male, and she fully expected the shaft would stay stiff and jutting until he calmed down. She could use the former to help the latter.

  She'd brought one other item with her, and she picked it up now, fitting it over his head with a short, firm tug. A head mask, followed by a scold harness that she buckled over his skull, fitting the metal piece in his mouth that held down his tongue and was kept in place by the straps around the jaw and back of the neck.

  The head mask was of a thin fabric that would allow him to see through it, though more shapes than details. Which meant he could see her silhouette. Standing, she used her foot to shove him to his side and pressed her sole against it, letting him feel her weight, the psychological advantage of her standing over him. Dominant, in control.

  "Look at that naughty cock, getting all messy at the tip. It may fuck up your radar, but a woman taking complete control gets you off like nothing else. The problem is, every time you find joy and quiet in it, you fuck it up, Marius. It's a pattern."

  Her tone went from sensual, biting tease to stern and uncompromising. "You've always been a pain in the ass and arrogant motherfucker, but now you're just looking to burn your whole life down, aren't you?"

  He said something against the metal piece that couldn't be understood and she was sure hurt, because the metal had barbs that dug into tender flesh if the wearer didn't keep his mouth still.

  "You don't get to talk anymore tonight, so you might as well stop trying." She came back down to his level, stretching out on her hip in front of him. Her brief hesitation at getting closer to him, even with him bound where he couldn't hurt her, pissed her off. So she slid right up against him, caressing his stretched lips and moving her touch down to his chin and throat. Then over his chest and nipples, pinching and scraping hard so he quivered.