Do not let him fool you. This is Klaus. Friendly Klaus. Trustworthy Klaus.
“One.” I heard him say in a matter-of-fact tone.
Fuck. He is hitting me.
The whistle warned me it was coming. I tensed on my toes, rose up. Thwack. Fire cut my ass. I jerked and screamed once, then danced in a little useless toe-circle on a one-foot-fucking area of floor while whining through the gag. Holy fuck! Crap! After a while I managed to breathe slower. There were nineteen of these? It hurt so goddamned much. On top of the residual pain from the spanking, he’d striped a line of acid.
“Two.”
I shook my head madly. No, no, no!
Air whistled—the cane travelling away. It would return. I tensed, curled my toes, and tried to will my butt into another dimension.
Chapter Eight
Klaus
‡
The next four strokes to her ass made her scream squeakily one more time, then choke out a whole row of little gasps and whines to the accompanying jerks of her stretched-out body. I watched her as she tried to get away. My grip on the cane trembled. Five. I’d hit her quite brutally. Deliberately so. An unholy need to see what this plain-looking stick could do to a woman had reared up and grabbed me. And wow, just fucking wow. Even if I never gave in to the temptation again, now I knew. I absorbed her pain as though it were the finest vintage wine. The camera was there too, with me. But that recording was not the same as this gut memory of her response.
She’d asked me to do this. Always, I kept that to the front of my mind. Not precisely this, but it was necessary for the charade. Though I knew that a part of me was also stunned at how easily I’d slipped into wanting to do this for other reasons.
I was too nice? Her earlier words resonated. Now she knew better. This was me as Mr. Not-so-nice.
I stared at her. My victim.
I’d thought of this me as a cave man. But no, this was more like a monster me.
Did every man have some version of a monster inside him, deep down? Maybe we just needed the right circumstances to set it loose?
I rolled my shoulders to work away the tension. I just had to remember where my monster hid so I could shoo it back into that place in my head when the time came.
Desire rekindled.
Walking softly, I went to her and ever so quietly put my palm on the curve of her ass, soothing her with sounds as I caressed her. Her gasps petered out. She swung her head and stared blindly and shook her head forcefully.
I breathed out slowly as I thought of my answer.
“No, Jodie. You don’t get to say when I stop. This pain is teaching you. Take it. Let it pass and remember next time, not to speak unless I say you can. Okay?” I drew the tip of the cane up the back of her thigh, stopping at the crease of thigh and butt. “Okay?”
After a pause, she nodded.
I closed my eyes. Yes. Another milestone.
I had to see the damage my strokes had made. With her struggles, the catsuit had rucked up higher onto her butt. The very hint of a red line peeked from under the cut cloth. My dick stood up and hardened as I examined her. I knelt behind her and inched first one side of the white fabric up to the highest curve where it would stick, all bunched up, then I did the other side, smiling at the red lines this revealed.
Her skin quivered and she croaked out, “Mm mmh!” through the gag.
“Was that a no? No noes, remember?” I leaned in and bit her once, delicately, over a line, and tasted salty sweat. Expecting a gasp of pain, I was surprised at the almost inaudible moan she let out. Arousal? I wasn’t going to touch her sexually. No, she would have to do that, but…
I went to the rope where I’d tied it at the wall and lowered her hands a little. Then I forced her thighs apart and bit along another cane line—one that was already a darkening bruise. Her whimpers and moans were a pretty symphony. This time, I bent down and looked along the seam of her sex. The cloth had rolled into a very moist, half inch wide section that had worked up into her cleft.
“I can smell you, sweetheart. See you down here. And I see you like the cane at least a little, maybe a lot.” To close in and lick her was so tempting I could taste her on my tongue from these few inches away. As I slowly raked my nails down her hurt butt, I exhaled warm air over her pussy. She clenched there and her thighs tensed, but she said nothing.
Concealing her reaction? It didn’t matter. She liked this…or something about it. Maybe not all the pain, but some.
I rose. Then I delivered another fifteen strokes at varying strengths, mostly lighter. The last two made her scream past the gag.
Fuck. I wanted to screw her. But no. Not yet. I wanted to make her ask me to fuck her, and I figured she didn’t like pain all that much, not yet. So getting her to beg while in pain would be the best result, ever. I could picture her doing it. I was going to make that come true.
I let her down, but kept her wrists linked and I massaged her arms and her legs while she stood there and shook.
But she didn’t speak. Not one word. Her obedience was amazing—so good, and after only two of my improvised lessons.
As I kissed and tasted the tears that had leaked from under the blindfold, I said in a harsh whisper, “I enjoyed seeing you scream and try to escape, loved seeing you dancing away from the cane. Your ass—I’d declare it a work of art. Yeah…” I touched our foreheads together and looked down over her face, stared into her blindfolded eyes, and at her trembling full lips and those amazing tears. I traced my finger down the wet track on one cheek.
My murmur was soft but as deadly, I hoped, as a knife thrust. “I never thought I’d say this, but I enjoy this. You might be in trouble.”
Truth and mind fuck rolled into one scorching bundle. Yes, she was in trouble, but then so was I.
I wanted to do it again. I’d saved her and cared for her so many times. She was a beautiful woman, with a mostly beautiful heart, and I wanted to hurt her and swallow those screams. God, I was so fucked up.
I removed the gag and gave her water, took her to the toilet and waited for her outside the door. Then I cuffed her hands again, sat her down on her mattress with the drink bottle, and gave her five minutes to talk to the camera. From her shifting about and the occasional hiss she made, her backside was stinging. Not surprising.
“Don’t touch the blindfold,” I said, backing out the door. “Drink some more, if you want to, or talk. That’s all.”
With the euphoria dying away, I sat on the couch upstairs with the TV screen showing the live camera footage. I watched her and I prayed she would say stop, and I prayed she wouldn’t. She didn’t say a single word. A few times she glanced up at the camera or above her and her mouth moved as if she would speak but, after a while, she just sat and stared at the floor between her legs. And she didn’t touch the blindfold. At the end of the five minutes, I looked at the circles of red where my nails had cut into my palms.
There’d been a time at the judo club when she’d shifted a ladder aside and a hammer some idiot had left on the top had hit her head. I’d seen her fall, unconscious. Praying she was okay, I’d rushed her to the nearby ambulance then followed when they’d taken her to the local doctor. Though she regained consciousness, she’d been sent to the mainland hospital for scans and tests. I’d stayed with her, taken half the next day off work so I could be with her and make sure she was okay.
What the hell was I doing?
She hadn’t spoken, but if she had, what would I have done? If she’d said, no more, would I have stopped?
I ran my fingers through my hair. This was how far I’d let this fantasy warp my imagination. That I even asked myself this was ridiculous. The answer had to be yes. Had to be.
Chapter Nine
Jodie
‡
There are times in your life when you feel yourself going in a different direction from where you planned to, and you resist, because change is weird and scary. Same ol’ same ol’ is calming. But always, there is the what-if facto
r. So here I was. I’d set this in motion but now I wasn’t sure how far to go. Most of all, I wasn’t sure how far Klaus meant to go.
It was black behind that blindfold but I’d never been frightened of the dark. If anything it settled me, but I wasn’t exactly calm either. I picked at my nails while I thought.
Angry, I was so angry! The pain had made me want to spit on him, to chew him out and tell him how this was not what I’d wanted. With a deep exhale I rocked my head back, looking up at the ceiling I couldn’t see. Why? Why had he done that? Did he truly enjoy it? Or was that a lie to mess with me?
Yeah, it scared me if he liked that. Truth be told, I’d wanted sex with him. Rough sex—shoved against the wall, hair-grabbing sex with lots of moaning and humping. But not getting whacked by a fucking piece of bamboo. Shit. Gingerly, I probed one raw line on my lower butt.
How was this fun? It wasn’t. Reality hadn’t been anything like what happened in the stories.
Sex with Klaus was not on my agenda anymore. Not until he apologized for going too far.
The camera footage would be great, though. I could see how that would have viewers oohing and ahhing. Always find the bright side.
I needed to set a chickening-out point. Past that, if things were going haywire, I should stop everything. Damn and fuck it all though. Already, the pain he was willing to inflict had gone way past what I thought necessary. And yet, when I remembered…my clitoris, that all-knowing judge of everything sexual concerning me, Jodie Partinger, was remembering how aroused I’d been when he’d hit me with that bamboo cane. While I’d been tied, helpless and blindfolded; while I could do nothing to stop him, he’d hit me.
That had got to me. It had hurt, but also it had somehow, just for a few minutes, felt good. When he’d gone behind me and looked at my ass, I’d plain throbbed. If he’d moved aside the crotch of my clothes and shoved into me, I’d have welcomed it. But the man hadn’t. Why? I was sure he’d wanted to from his words and actions. Had his sense of right and wrong stalled him?
I guess, it had seemed like rape. Though whacking me with that cane until I screamed hadn’t been that much less illegal.
I swallowed. Chicken point, remember? I thought some more.
Any irreparable damage to me was a no-brainer. That would make me shriek stop fast, but by then I’d know I should stop things anyway. Problem was I didn’t know what he intended. I rested my chin on the back of my clasped hands. Frustration gripped me. When and what?
Scariness. If I got too scared, that would be it, and I could see Klaus meant to make this scary. I hadn’t thought he could do this but he’d found his inner Neanderthal.
My ass and thighs stung. Thorough man. I smiled. He was the epitome of someone who lived by the motto, if you’re going to do something, do it well.
I squirmed, trying to find a better way to sit, but it still hurt.
My natural tendency was to defy him. I imagined my fingers removing the blindfold, and then I imagined what he might do. Ugh. No. I relaxed my fidgeting fingers. Not this time. I’d be…good. I’d keep myself happy by thinking of how I’d kick his balls up into his teeth afterward, if I needed to. Judo or no judo.
I wish I had a mirror to see. Blood would have freaked me out, though. I prayed there wasn’t any, but my ass and thighs burned like hell.
Chapter Ten
Klaus
‡
I went down into the room and squatted in front of her. From the lifting of her head, she knew where I was. Quietly, I leaned in and took off the blindfold.
Big eyes. Beautiful eyes. Mine, a voice whispered at the back of my head. There was something about being a man and controlling a woman that was immensely pleasing.
Each time, this got a little easier, being her boss, her dominant as the books called it, but I never forgot how abnormal this situation was.
Be bold.
“I’ll leave the gag out, Jodie, so long as you don’t speak. Say anything, and for every word…” I paused at the thought of what I was about to say. A throb started in my dick. “Each word means I’ll cane you three times.”
One word. Three times. How would she like that?
I could tell I would. I wanted to see her jump at the stroke of the cane again. So I taunted her.
“Nothing to say? Don’t want to tell me to fuck off?”
Her eyes narrowed. Yet though she inhaled through her teeth and glared at me, she said nothing. Whatever swear words were in her head, stayed there. My soul did a song and dance. The power.
Temporary, temporary. Remember?
This is all in the name of the documentary. I’m just doing what needs doing to create this fantasy.
I clung to that. Best excuse, ever.
I’m sure what I did next was the last thing she expected. I led her up those stairs and got her to dry and put away the dishes then sweep the upstairs floor. The irate looks grew darker and more frequent. I decided to leave them be even though they were her way of protesting. Give a little, then show her how trivial this performance of hers was. Let her rise a notch, then I’d pull her down again. What a game. This was like chess with her mind, and the wrong move on her part meant I got to do things I could never do out there in the normal world.
While she worked, I peeled and chopped up a banana, an apple and an orange, put it all into a bowl and poured on fresh yoghurt. From the sounds coming from her stomach and the looks she cast at the fruit, she was hungry.
For a startled second, I thought of telling her that she had to give me a BJ to get food. I was sure I could get her to.
But, I could do better. I wanted to make her beg me to let her come. Then I’d get her to masturbate in front of me. It was in so many of her stories. I wanted it like a thirsty man craves goddamned water. When we’d gone out together, it had been another of her no-nos—masturbating while I watched. Sexy, but I’d never seen her do it. I wasn’t certain how I’d make her, but I would.
I let her eat then I cuffed her wrists to her ankles with her lying on the kitchen floor before I went to set up the mattress in the living room. I took a last, leisurely look. Hogtied. Such a promising position. Her body bowed backward and the dark areola of her breasts showed through the white lycra. Without looking I knew her crotch would be bare apart from that thin line of cloth. Maybe wet too. I wondered if she was. Did bondage, being helpless, turn her on? It did me, seeing her like that, but I didn’t touch even when she glowered at me.
“Wait there.” I smiled and I left her.
When I returned a light cream cat was curled up next to her, purring.
I raised an eyebrow. “Yours?”
Jodie said nothing and only compressed her lips tighter together.
In this I saw defiance too. She knew I expected an answer.
“Cat got your tongue? If I ask a direct question, speak. Rule. You get punishment for not answering.”
“Not my cat, no.” Her voice was croaky, as if already she was getting rusty through lack of practice.
I crouched and gripped her jaw. The liquid shimmer of her eyes drew me. “Whose cat is this then?” I held her tighter, felt the movement of her muscles and bones as she prepared to speak. This too was power. Being able to touch her when I wanted to.
“It’s a stray. Turned up weeks ago and comes by for food some days.”
I let her go and slowly studied her breasts, the arch of her body. When she huffed indignantly, I smiled and moved on to look at the cat.
The creature was thin but not terribly so. Jodie had always been a sucker for animals. So was I. One of our points of intersection. We had many of those despite the ones where we disagreed. I hated those more, though. How had the cat gotten in? Ah. I spotted the cat flap at the bottom on the kitchen door. New. She didn’t do carpentry and a hole had to be cut to place that in the door. All for this stray?
I remembered the day we’d found a litter of kittens under an abandoned wheelbarrow in her garden. Their mother had never returned. I’d fetched a cardboard bo
x. Feral as tigers, the kittens had spit at us when we carried them into the animal refuge. I was more a dog person, but cats were cute.
Jodie stared at me, maybe thinking the same.
The cat drew the real back in. It blurred the strange little universe I’d been manufacturing. The universe where I was Jodie’s master and could do what I liked.
The black cuffs showed stark against her skin. Like badges of kink. I took in her predicament, made by me, took in the red lines on the backs of her thighs, also made by me. I stirred the cloth with a fingertip, traced one line as it ran up her ass and disappeared up beneath the white catsuit. She whimpered when I pressed on a bruise.
I should let her go. I should. Neither of us knew where we were venturing.
I blinked and centered.
Should. She hadn’t said to. I’d wait for that. “Cat food?”
“Let me go?”
For a mind-freezing second I thought she was calling everything off. No. She meant the hogtie straps.
“Uh-uh.”
She screwed up one side of her mouth but swung her head toward a cupboard. “There.”
Inside, I found a box with tear-open sachets.
The cat tucked in like it was starving—and it probably was. The fish smell permeated the kitchen.
“Name?”
“I call it Baxter. It’s a boy.”
I gave Baxter a pat, feeling the rumble of a purr vibrating its body even though it barely paused in its eating. “Okay. Fixed one problem. Now you.”
“Me?” she squeaked.
Ah. Opportunity arises. I wasn’t letting this past me. This would make her think.
“That’s one word. I didn’t ask a question. Which means three.”
“Uh.” Her mouth clicked shut and she licked her lips. Frown lines shifted on her forehead.
Fuck yeah. Power.
Chapter Eleven
Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire Page 87
