Hostile Takeover, Page 34

Page 34

 

  He rose and was gone. No, not gone. She could barely hear him, but it sounded like…a chair scraping? A laptop turning on? Yes, the piercing chime of a boot-up filtered through the plugs. He was going to leave her in this position while he worked?

  Not immediately, no. She drew in a breath as he touched her bare ass. Something rigid and small was inserted into her anus, followed by a feeling of warmth. Lube. He was lubing her up to fuck her, use her as he’d use a slave. More thick arousal trickled out onto her thighs. When she tied herself up, she always felt that peculiar stillness enter her, a dense type of arousal. This was ten times more intense, the volatility of an atom waiting to be split. She wanted to whimper, to moan, to cry a little. And she wanted him to keep wrapping her up in restraint after restraint until she couldn’t move.

  Shifting in front of her again, he curled his fingers into the strap on the top of the head mask, a replacement handhold with the hair trapped beneath it. Releasing the chain, he brought her up to her knees, wobbling precariously with that spreader between them, but he held her upright. Unhooking her wrist restraints to bring her arms behind her, he arched her back to attach them that to the spreader bar between her knees. Now she was dependent on her stomach muscles, her own unsteady balance and his hand to stay upright. But in another second that didn’t matter.

  Her lips parted as she smelled the heat and musk of his cock. She hadn’t heard him remove any clothes, but she had a feeling he was still fully dressed, had just opened his slacks to have her service him.

  He pushed against her mouth, and she had to adjust fast, because he didn’t take his time as he had before. He was already hard and huge, sliding into the back of her throat. She reveled in it, knowing her submission, having her so helpless, was making him hot. So hot he stretched her lips cruelly, bumped against her throat. She flicked her tongue on him, sucked, teased, stroked, doing everything to convey how much she loved doing this for him. With her standing on her knees, that arousal was rolling down the insides of her legs.

  She could come just from doing this. His other hand captured her breast, tugged on the nipple piercing, a sharp pain that made her cry out against him. He slapped the breast in reproof, making her gasp again. He did it to the other breast, a rough tweak and pull, followed by that sharp slap that made the breast wobble in reaction.

  He was tearing her up inside, pulling her between cruel pain and pleasure, training her to respond to both the same way. She might know that rationally, but it was like nothing she’d ever experienced. It was frightening, feeling it all spin out of control, but at some visceral level, she understood. He wanted her to let go of everything. Identity, mind, everything but being his slave, because anything else was an attempt to control, and he wouldn’t tolerate that. He held all the control. Whatever she’d imagined, it hadn’t gone this far, but if she wanted him, she had to be willing to fall out of the boat and watch it float away, sink to the bottom of his ocean.

  Now he’d let go of her head, leaving her to work him with her mouth while he grasped both breasts, pinched the nipples, rolled the barbells until she was trying so hard to focus, caught between ecstasy and flinching as he mixed pleasurable squeezes with sudden flicks that sent shards of pain through her nipples. Her back was starting to ache from her position, her jaw screaming, but she didn’t care. He held her up with his cock impaling her mouth and his hands holding her breasts. As far as she was concerned, it was exactly where she wanted to be.

  Taking hold of the headmask strap, he pulled her off him. Moving behind her, he freed her bound wrists from the spreader bar, and each other, but held onto them as he shifted his other hand to the back of her neck, pushed her face to the floor again. Her arms were brought back above her again so her elbows pressed into the wood. The way he took her to the floor was swift, a harrowing descent, blind and with nothing to control her speed but him, but again, she got the message. He was demanding her absolute trust. That was the kind of Dom he was, but she knew it was more than that as well.

  She’d told him he sought his sub’s vulnerability but withheld his own. He always played on the edge, but because he didn’t like the truth she’d put in front of him, he’d take it even closer to that perilous drop because he wanted to scare the shit out of her, send her running back to her playground.

  He was in for a surprise. She was scared, but she was also totally-out-of-control immersed in the world he was creating, and she’d never been so sexually stimulated in her life. They probably weren’t even a fourth of the way through Ben’s version of foreplay. A prayer for strength would probably not be out of line at this point, with an additional caveat for forgiveness for all the sins she was willing to commit for her Master.

  He was being rough, but not violent. His touch was firm, strong, implacable. This wasn’t romance. This was a hardcore Master out and out driving her to the upper level of madness, where her body was going to come completely to pieces before he was done. Cruel, but she craved his brand of cruelty.

  She was moved forward, his arms briefly wrapped around her waist and chest. He pulled her arms out straighter, and directed her to wrap her fingers around what felt like the leg of that heavy piece of furniture before he chained her there, the links winding over her knuckles. Her forehead stayed pressed to the floor until he gripped her hips, bringing her to her feet, her head still down toward the ground, arms low and stretched before her, a modified Down Dog yoga position.

  It strained her muscles in a new way. He wasn’t keeping her in any pose long enough to become painful; just enough to stress the body, like a particularly stringent workout. Maybe he’d been going to Rachel’s classes.

  The desperate humor was gone in an instant as his hand made contact with her ass, a powerful slap. He followed it up with several more, warming her flesh. She was making soft cries in her throat, pleas of alarm, because if he so much as touched her pussy, she was going to come.

  “None of that. ” She sensed the loss of his heat as he moved away from her, came back. Something cool and hard entered her pussy, sliding in like a knife into a peach, a scary thought when associated with her tender regions. Then she felt the discomfort of being stretched, and though she didn’t hear the telltale clicks, a cold feeling ran through her belly as she realized he’d used a speculum, like the doctor used for pelvic exams. It held her wide open, reduced the ability of the pussy to spasm and create its own orgasm.

  She cried out as something else closed over her clit, something ice cold. “Jon’s version of the ice pack,” he said. “It will feel like ice, at least for several moments. Until that hot pussy of yours warms it up. ”

  It was impossible to stay still, but he’d anticipated that, with the way he’d bound her. She was twitching, convulsing, but he had her arms stretched out to that anchor point, her head toward the floor, her legs straight up and spread. Her range of movement was severely restricted. Then he went to work on her with two other tools.

  The first was a flogger with thin straps that stung, eliciting tiny cries. He alternated that with the solid thunk of a weighted slapper, which had more impact. Back and forth, back and forth, and each time her pussy spasmed from the blow, she felt that speculum holding her open. He awoke the still-sensitive nerve endings from yesterday’s caning and it became part of the spiraling agony.

  Ben… Something was tearing open inside of her, something important and vital, and dark. Every fear, every childhood pain was swelling up inside of her, twining with this out-of-control lust in a macabre way, a parade of pleasure and agony that was going to drown her.

  She didn’t stop crying out even as he stopped using the weapons. She had no control over any of her reactions, verbal or physical. As his broad head pushed against her lubricated ass, she made a keening note. She was tight, but he worked against her, spurring her on with the words that filtered through the mask’s cover.

  “You can take me. You’re soaking wet, you want my coc
k so much. Concentrate and take it. You were born to serve a Master who works you over until that smart mouth and far-too-clever mind of yours gives out and you just become mindless, serving him with everything you are. ”

  “You… Born to serve…you. ” She didn’t give a damn if he’d told her not to talk, she wouldn’t let that one pass.

  “I haven’t used you hard enough, apparently. ” His cock withdrew, and she snarled in protest. Said some things she’d never thought would come from her mouth. Did she just call him a fucking bastard? In response, she got a diabolical chuckle and her mouth was forced open. She gagged as a thick rubber dildo was pushed in, so wide it held her tongue down and stretched the mask around her lips. When he buckled it tight around her head, he’d taken away her sight, most of her hearing, and now her ability to speak. She thought she’d been coming apart before. She realized then he wasn’t going to stop until he’d shattered her into a million pieces.

  * * * * *

  “Fucking bastard, hmm? Baby, you don’t know how much of a bastard I can be. ”

  Her fingers dug into the floor but she screamed against the gag as something slapped against her ass. Rubber…flat…like a spatula. Fuck. The danger of a Master who cooked—he had a whole inventory of tools with more than one use.

  Each time he hit her with it, the pain screamed through her nerve endings, made her shriek against the gag. But right after, he’d pause, his palm passing over her buttock. The throbbing would turn warm…and she’d want more. Until the next hit. It was crazy. She knew the type of person she was, that she craved pain as much as pleasure at his hand, but she’d had no ability to prove it other than her own experiments in the privacy of a dorm room or co-op apartment. Though the levels of pain she’d tried on her own might be similar, it was a hell of a lot different from the psychology of being helpless to whatever he wanted to do to her.

  The cold on her clit was becoming an aching pain, it was all becoming agony and excruciating stimulation at once. He gave her four more hard strokes, alternating with stinging taps on the inside of her thighs.