Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire

by Aleatha Romig

  Jodie

  ‡

  Klaus had his fist in my hair. He’d screwed my hair into a single rope then anchored his hand in it. I could feel twinges of pain from the pull on my scalp. With my hands cuffed at my back, I wasn’t going anywhere. I gulped as he raised my head so I could take in the living room.

  My dining room table was in the center. Mattress on top, along with pillows, and long black straps tied at the four corners. Loose straps. Like they were meant to attach to me. I swallowed, looked at Klaus out the corner of my eyes. After the caning, and his promise of three more hits, I was wary. The way he’d organized everything, I couldn’t ask what he had in mind without more hurt.

  Unless I stopped everything. BDSM had safewords. Where was mine, I wanted to ask. But capture fantasies didn’t have those. I was stuck in this little weird world. I had loads of questions, but if I stopped things, somehow I doubted he’d start it up again with new rules stated by me. He would not be happy. Not this Klaus. Go with the flow. I had a sore butt, sore pride, but I was still, in a perverted way, curious.

  “Move.” He pulled me over, head down, by my hair.

  A blissful sensation rolled through me. This hair thing, I liked. It sorted some primitive thing from my flesh and made me go, yes, take me. He’d done it in the past, but half-heartedly.

  My groin warmed. The way the seam of the catsuit rolled across me down there as I walked already had my clit wanting more. Embarrassed, I kept my legs together as much as I could. All the…mess down there meant he’d need to give me something new to wear soon anyway. Thank you for something, hormones. From the moment he’d made me put it on, I’d wanted to exchange this stupid catsuit for something else. Something less slutty.

  As he undid the clips at the back and freed my hands, I stood there feeling a bit woozy. All I’d had since breakfast was that fruit. Evening was creeping in, cool and busy with insects. Crickets were starting up their chirrups, and bugs tapped and buzzed against the window screens as they zeroed in on the room lights.

  “Up.” Klaus indicated the table. “On your back.”

  Hell no. It looked like some sacrificial table. A bed, I wanted an ordinary bed at the least. Then there was the cane lying on the couch. That, I knew. It scared me as much as a mysterious snake slithering in long grass. And belly up? What did he mean to hit?

  I started to back away. But his hand was at my back.

  “No. Up.”

  I shuddered, eyed the cane again.

  “That?” He gestured at it then leaned down and said to my ear. “Only three as long as you get up now. Struggle and I’ll have you ass up here on the floor, cuffed, and I won’t be gentle. Rule. You obey, or I punish you.”

  Another rule? They’d be coming out his ass soon.

  His gray-green observant eyes were no longer my favorite color. I tensed as I ran through all the possibilities.

  Run? No. Argue with him? Ugh. No. I let my shoulders slump and I shut my eyes for that last bit of privacy inside my head, the one place he couldn’t go.

  Despite my reservations there was an attraction for me. Being tied like this would make me vulnerable. That appealed, and I think was a part of why I’d read all those books. In a way, this came closer to what I wanted in a capture fantasy than anything he’d yet done.

  Okay. I can do this.

  With a chair in place I climbed up and lay on my back. Trying not to show my nervousness, I let him clip the straps to my wrists and ankles, and haul them out, tight, stretching my arms above my head and my legs down and out. My thighs had been pulled open. The grip on my wrists and ankles put me in an X-shape.

  God. I breathed a little faster and tried not to think of how helpless I was. He’d arranged it so pillows were under my rear and my back. It made my lower half arch up like… I swallowed, shut my eyes…like I was presenting my pussy for him to look at. My thighs angled down to where he tied my ankles to the other table legs.

  Couldn’t close my legs, couldn’t get away, and he could do what he liked. Yet my whole body ached for this man to touch me. The see-through clothes left me nearly as exposed as naked and I couldn’t stop panting. I tensed my ass, then did a little squirm on the spot as unobtrusively as I could. I kept my eyes closed. If he saw my eyes he’d know this was getting to me. To be so aroused and so open, yes, I was embarrassed.

  There was no camera, or none that I’d noticed. Whatever happened next, I doubted it would be something I’d show to anyone.

  Was I being stupid? If he truly liked causing pain I could be in for anything. Maybe next week they’d find me in an unmarked grave with a hole where my heart had been?

  Trust, it all came back to that. Maybe he was just going to fuck me? That, I could handle. In the old rules sex had been off the agenda but the reality was, I’d hoped he wanted to. Like any woman, I wanted to think myself irresistible to men, but to Klaus in particular. I guess he was kind of my ideal one night stand guy, except I wanted more than one night, didn’t I?

  Years ago, I’d almost thought I’d loved him, even if something had been missing from our relationship. What was love though? Really? It had all petered out to nothing.

  When I opened my eyes and looked at him looking back at me, studying me like some science project, I chilled. It hit me hard. I wasn’t sure anymore who Klaus was.

  I clenched my hands into fists and rasped out, “What are you going to do?” To me. Those last words, I only thought. Oh shit. I spoke.

  “Whatever I want to.” He put his hand on my throat and kissed my jaw. “You smell good, Jodie. That’s twenty-one strokes, I think. I lost count.”

  For an accountant that seemed the ultimate sin—not keeping track of numbers. I giggled despite that threat. Agony, not to be able to say that out loud. His odd expression made me giggle some more.

  “Ah. I get it. Bad woman.” Then he smiled and the warmth in that smile astounded me.

  He drew back and gently wrapped his hand around my wrist. Then he looked at my body like a man with all the time in the world. I was on display, and pain simmered where he’d caned my thighs and my rear. Yet desire arrived in a hot trembling wave.

  His hold on my wrist slipped away. He walked around the table, but kept his fingers on me, sliding them soft as moonlight over the catsuit. There was less than a millimeter of cloth between his fingertips and my skin. When he reached the curve of my breast, I was shocked into heightened awareness. As he circled my bellybutton, I parted my lips the smallest distance and half-closed my eyes. When his hand travelled along the crease between my thigh and the triangle of my mons, I sighed and strained not to arch into his touch. For a few agonizing moments he stopped there, standing at the far end while he retraced, up then down, that line… a mere inch from my engorged clitoris. I recalled in vivid detail the occasions when his tongue had played there. I didn’t look at him. I just prayed he’d move on.

  By the time he returned to the head of the table, but on my right and not my left, I was having trouble staying outwardly calm. I forced my breathing back to normal and focused on a vase of fresh geraniums on the faraway sideboard on the other side of the room. Who had picked those?

  The sun was going down, the shadows stretching, and the colors were fading from the room.

  “Look at me,” Klaus said softly.

  The seconds plucked at me, ticking past, and slowly the strength of his words made me turn my head to look up at him. Only I found him at my eye level, resting his chin on his forearm.

  “Hello.” He stirred the curls of my hair that lay on the mattress. “Capture fantasy. Maybe.” Now he touched my lip, venturing in with his finger to play with the line of my teeth.

  “Suck.”

  I hesitated, but then I closed my mouth into a wet circle around his finger and tentatively sucked. The sexuality of this little act sent a signal down below. I swelled. I’m sure some moisture leaked from me. And I couldn’t look away. My pussy did one of those tiny spasms telling me precisely what my body wanted. After
all he’d done to me, and this, I still wanted him to do dirty things to me. Things no sane person would want.

  He withdrew his finger then slowly plunged it back in and out. “I think… I think you’re my slave right now, Jodie. Or close to it, in your mind, and in mine. To be honest, nothing we have ever done together has been as amazing as this. I’m in love with making you hurt and wince and scream, but I also want to watch you come. I want to fuck your gorgeous mouth and your ass more than I ever did before. I want you mine more than ever before.”

  Oh crap. How much was true, how much was mind fuck? I didn’t know. From cringing at the pain notions, I’d flown straight into being enthralled. My libido was sitting up and panting with its ass in the air.

  “But first I want to see you masturbate in front of me.”

  Ick. No. Uh-uh. I squirmed inside and my libido ran away and hid.

  “You haven’t said a single word. That’s so fucking good. It pleases me. Never thought this sort of power would get to me. But it does. Another thing,” he murmured. “I don’t ever want to let you go again.”

  Everything screeched to a halt. Not let me go? That might be good, or it might be very bad.

  “What are you thinking?”

  A question. I could speak. I licked my lips, remembering the feel of his finger sliding in. “I’m thinking that…” The words seemed odd on my tongue. “That you’re not that good an actor.”

  He smiled slightly. “True. I’m not. And?”

  And what? “And so what you just said is fucking scary.”

  “Don’t swear.”

  My throat tightened. Just because he didn’t want me to I was worried. The cane, the whole way he’d taken hold of the situation, of me, it all muddled up together. I didn’t want to swear. Not with him staring at me like that.

  “As soon as you masturbate for me, we can move on.”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to “move on” anymore. I was confused and horny and scared and so fucked up in my head. At least I could swear in my mind.

  Fuck fuck fuckitty fuck.

  No, that hadn’t helped.

  Evening had arrived and it was dark outside. When he switched off all the room lights except for the softer up-lights, the room became an isolated cave. The front windows were open and the louvers rattled in the sea breeze, but no one could see us. I was alone with Klaus. Tied up and alone. I strained at the cuffs until the edge of the leather scraped my skin, twisting my wrists, seeing if I could slip loose an ankle or a wrist. No. Loose but not loose enough. I was unable to stop him doing whatever he had in mind. And that, admit it, that turned me on.

  “Done wriggling?”

  He smirked at me then went and set up the standing lamp that I used in jewelry making. By screwing back a knob he focused the light down into a small circle on my crotch. I could feel the warmth of the light. I could tell I was very wet down there. I could also tell the catsuit would be concealing almost nothing because it had gathered between my labia.

  I was horrified. It had been a warm day and I’d suddenly become sure I needed a shower.

  The reflected light on his face showed he was rapt in what he saw. Me. All icky and ugh and I wanted a damn shower, and a change of clothes, and then I wanted him to do nasty sexy things. I wasn’t doing anything without a shower first.

  Again he touched me, massaging my inner thighs and my feet, my legs and my body, but not going over any erogenous areas. So close to where I wanted his hands.

  If I held my breath, I could imagine his fingers straying sideways, bumping and sliding over the lip of my labia then dipping inside, playing in my moisture. I remembered his fingers from other nights—thick, manly, just right for fucking me. When he shoved two or even three of them inside at once, the stretch on my walls was electric.

  I got so wanton I angled my pelvis sideways an inch or two to encourage him. No luck.

  I exhaled as quietly as I could, small shuddery breaths while the want pumped in, filling my body to bursting.

  God. Touch me already!

  But, he teased me, got me aroused, then he went aside and sat on the couch and read a book. A book! I raised my head and glared. After a minute or two, I squirmed once, wishing I could rub my legs together. Another few minutes and I couldn’t help squirming some more. I wanted his touch. He kept reading, the pages turning methodically as if I wasn’t tied up half-naked on the table.

  Bastard. I could see where he was heading with this.

  And just the idea of it kept me thinking about coming. I squirmed some more. For half an hour he alternated reading with massages then he went to the kitchen and returned with a jug of water. Ice water that he dripped onto my groin and my breasts until I gasped. At least I was cleaner. Numb in spots, less horny, but cleaner.

  To my annoyance he kept up the dripping until I was certain the mattress would be getting soaked. His warm palm touched my thigh and he held me there. He stopped me from dodging the icy coldness with that big hand of his wrapped across my inner thigh muscles. I flinched. The contrast of hot skin, him controlling my leg, and the cold water dripping onto my clit confused my body. I shot straight back into arousal and had to bite back a groan.

  The massages and the cold alternated. He remained silent. A moth came in and flew about the lights, battering itself endlessly. I was ready to combust, but I kept myself fairly still and quiet even if now and then I clenched down there. Even if my clit was standing up hard under the cloth. With the light focused on my crotch, I could think of nothing except how much he wanted me to come.

  Then he went away again and returned with one of the white candles I kept in reserve for power failures. I squeaked at the flame as it danced in the breeze. Lycra melted didn’t it?

  “Worried?” He inserted his hand under the cloth above my leg, tented it up. I watched anxiously as he dripped wax onto the cloth over his hand. “Don’t be. I know the melting point. I give you permission to scream if it hurts, but if I check and find you lied, I’ll punish you.”

  He hadn’t followed through on that last punishment but I wouldn’t lie. It wasn’t worth the risk.

  Rigid, I waited for the first drip as he held the candle above my leg. It hit and heat spread. Bearable. I relaxed as the line of wax advanced up my thigh and only tensed as it neared my groin. I pulled at the cuffs, wriggled my butt a few inches up the pillows to get away until he held me down. I squeaked at the impact. Warm only. The first drips there pattered around my clit. He moved up my body drawing a line toward my breasts. Tap tap tap. My nipples budded tight and poked up like tiny beacons.

  “These are mine,” he whispered, and his hand gripped the base of my breast. The candle was above me. The pool of wax at its top end glinted when he tilted the candle. I groaned before the droplet hit my areola, as much from his possession of my body as from the promised heat of the wax.

  This time I couldn’t stop myself arching into the air. From my nipple, the heat flowed to where he held my breast in the half circle of his hand.

  “Want something?”

  I wet my lips but only stared as he shifted his hand and took hold of my other breast. Then he warmed the tip of that nipple with more drops of wax. Desire trembled up and down my body, rippling, gathering where the wax sent liquid heat into my skin.

  When I was panting aloud at each new drop, he blew out the candle and left me in the dark. The wax dried. My need waned and I became aware of the stiff wax crinkling the material. Arousal was there but lessening.

  The creak of the couch and the floorboards told me he was coming over. Metal glinted then I heard the distinctive purring snick of scissors opening and closing.

  “Interesting. I wondered if you’d beg to come after that.”

  Not a question. How could I beg without speaking? I guess I’d wriggled enough, though, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking I was that malleable. And I couldn’t conceive of doing what he wanted. Just the idea of masturbating in front of him made my lady bits shrivel.


  “I could try to get the wax off with a knife but I doubt it would work. And so…”

  For the first time he touched me directly and intimately. His finger and thumb found one nipple. I had time to squeak once before he tented up the material, brought the scissors close and snipped away a circle. In the half-dark. He’d cut right next to my nipple, in the dark. I shrank and tried to merge with the mattress. Damn. Then he grabbed my other nipple and did it again. Jeez!

  When he grasped at my groin I was ready and only caught my lip between my teeth and whimpered. There was light down there. He wouldn’t cut any of me off. Would he? I held my breath while I listened to the metal blades scissoring shut, as they cut. The pull on the catsuit lessened. Cool air brushed my nipples and clit.

  “Better.”

  I squinted into the light. The coolness there made it clear he had done what I thought he had.

  “Want to say anything, Jodie?”

  “Why?” I shook my head. “I’m still not doing that and I need a shower, and now I need new clothes.” Unless he wanted me to parade around with holes there. But, I guess he did.

  “A shower it is. I have to cane you first though.”

  Crap. He hadn’t forgotten? I wanted to stay where I was. Twenty-one was too many by far.

  But he unstrapped me. Once I’d climbed down on shaky limbs he linked my wrist cuffs at my back and forced me to my knees, then pushed my head down.

  He hissed. “The sight of you there, waiting, is dick-hardening. Twenty-one.”

  Twenty-one it was. I flinched as each hit burned across me. Not as intense as before, nowhere near it, but enough to make me sob and catch my breath in little gasps. I couldn’t lift my forehead from the floor for a few precious seconds.

  On the march to the shower, he stopped to feel between my legs. With one hand anchored on my shoulder, and forcing me to bow down, he sent his other hand cruising along my slit. Tingles erupted into my body. I was so wet I could hear the slick sound. My lower lips were extremely swollen—a natural landing strip for cock, or his fingers.

  I shuddered and gave in. So unexpected. I hadn’t thought he’d do this. Though his fingers stayed outside of me and fire still possessed my rear end, with all the wax and the massages and with my skin naked in just those naughty places, I’d become excruciatingly sensitive. He pulled his fingers back along my slit, brushed gently over my clit, then waited with his other hand still on my shoulder.