Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire

by Aleatha Romig

  “Move too much and you’ll pull the needle upward. Got that?”

  She whined a yes at me.

  “Good.” I cradled her jaw, stroked along the line of the bone with my thumb. “Because I aim to make you want to wriggle and squeak. Though I can’t lick these anymore since you’re a damn porcupine.” I flicked her nipple with my fingernail. “I can do other things to you.”

  I drifted my hand downward from her neck, caressed both breasts, smoothing the underside, weighing them, playing some more. Because they were mine. Her breathing slowed, deepened. I could see her surprise at the awakening of arousal. I moved my hand lower, taking my time. Her belly button served as a waypoint as I circled and circled it. Then down across her belly, and into the territory of her mons. She was bare—I kept her that way and shaved her most days. I smiled. From the apex of her slit, I could already spy her clit poking its way out.

  Her breasts looked pretty circled by the needles. There was no blood apart from the tiniest blebs. All was good. Damn though. Now I couldn’t use the nipple clamps.

  “I’ll be back.” I kissed the side of her breast.

  Quickly I went around the table, undoing all the extra ropes and strap, careful not to catch anything on the points of the needles. The massager got plugged in next and I advanced on Jodie.

  “You are not to come,” I said sternly. “If you do, I may decide to use more needles. Clear?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Shit. I hadn’t asked her to call me anything like that. Not for days. She wasn’t talking so what was the point. Sir. It sounded good. I think a fire was burning behind my eyes by then. Certainly Jodie, after one short period of meeting me eye-to-eye, flinched and kept her focus elsewhere.

  “Sir, sounds good. Use that in future.”

  Her reply was weak. “Yes, Sir.”

  Oh fuck. I’m done. I’m caught. Who was the captor here? Me or her?

  I was an accountant. A fucking good accountant. But, I regarded Jodie, tied up, nipples stuck with my needles, flushed, breathing hard, and with her cuffed thighs spread far apart, showing me how much her slit glistened with moisture. Little muscle movements in her thighs betrayed her. She wanted this. Needles, all that, whatever. She was aroused and quivering.

  So much for punishment. I laughed inside. Orgasm denial would have to be enough. I turned on the massager and prepped her well. I cruised the vibrating head over her—body, breasts, inner thighs, and around her clit, until she was begging me with urgent eyes and moans. I played it on her clit in bursts. I finger fucked her slowly in between times when I turned it off.

  Her G spot was swollen up inside there. I paid it some attention, then left it alone. Jodie trembled, groaned and strained so hard I swear I heard the thigh cuffs creak.

  With her sweaty and whimpering, I stepped back, dragged off my T-shirt, undid my pants, and tossed them aside, then slipped off my underwear last of all. My cock was standing up like a flagpole by then. I was so stiff. I’d been aching to fuck her for the last hour. If anyone should have been groaning it was me.

  “Nothing hurting in your legs?” I wasn’t concerned about her arms, they weren’t tight or folded. “Pins and needles?” Her color everywhere was normal.

  “Noo. I just want to come. Sir.”

  Damn it. For calling me that again, I nearly let her. I cleared my throat, gripped my cock. “No. Do not come. Not. Okay?”

  “Yess.” Her word quavered. “I’ll try.”

  “No. You will not!”

  “Yes,” she replied weakly.

  “Good girl.” I hauled her to the edge of the table.

  I aimed at her entrance, and sank in balls deep in one long glide that made me close my eyes in appreciation. Her cunt fitted me tightly. Wet, juicy, and hot as a volcano.

  “Damn,” I gasped out.

  I opened my eyes and leaned over her, still deep within. The string to her nipples was taut. Her back bowed off the table, her lower spine arched upward too but her thighs had fallen open in utter surrender. I pumped a few times, watching her closely, watching her quiver and sigh and moan. Her small grunts of pleasure were adorable.

  I thumped in harder, thrilling at the spasms I felt on my cock and the wet sounds from her pussy as I shunted in and out. That I could put needles in her and still get her like this…damn that spoke to my bones. Loved it.

  I fucked her long and hard until I came so explosively I wondered if my eyeballs were going to be sucked away. I collapsed partly over her. My shaking forearms rested either side of her on the table and I could barely stay up. Exhausted. Her little weak noise made me raise my head.

  “What?”

  “Can I come now? Please? Sir?”

  “No.” I grinned at her pitiful expression. “No. You may not.” Damn, maybe I was evil.

  I figured I was fit enough to do the Olympics after that. And I decided I would torture her some more, for the next three days. No orgasms but loads of teasing. It would make the day after all of that ever so much more interesting. She’d be twitching in her sleep if I did it right. I grinned to myself.

  Now to take out those needles. I wondered if it would hurt her pulling them out. And then I wondered if she’d come when I did. If she did, I’d excuse her just that once. Some things were worth seeing.

  She didn’t orgasm. By the time I pulled on the last needle, she might have been in subspace. She barely gasped when I inched out the shiny steel. Her skin tented outward as if clinging to the point. I laid aside the needle, gently kissed her lips. Rope slid on rope. Knots unknotted. Clips were unclicked. The mechanics and humble use of my muscles to free her sank me. Thoughts twisted, slowed. Serenity flowed in.

  Blinking, I undid the last piece of rope. I set my hands on her and rolled her onto her back. Her flesh rocked as I massaged her limbs. Her eyes stayed closed. Satiated, sweaty, my captive.

  What better reward than this: her, as mine? I smiled. Soft as the drift of a breeze, I drew the knuckles of my hand down her cheekbone, and I rolled open her lip.

  Then her eyes opened. I stared into that wonderland. This time I didn’t see blue. I saw sea. I saw sky. I saw the outside world, the fracture between now and what might be.

  This was ending.

  Pain seized my chest.

  Breathe.

  And I fell again, into the real. For the first time in many weeks, I let the old me return. We had to stop. No. I had to. Because I wasn’t sure Jodie knew how to anymore.

  I played with her lip and she licked my thumb, slowly, my little trusting animal. I found courage. She wasn’t mine, or not for much longer.

  Weaning meant slow withdrawal, right? At the end of the next three days, I’d talk.

  The goggles and the mittens could go first. The next morning, the skimpy clothes would go. Sure. I’d do it then.

  That night, I let her sleep beside me, the last night as my pet.

  But temptation clung to me. My mindset as her Master, ditto.

  The morning tested me.

  When she knelt before me, naked, after stripping herself of the skirt and bra—no man could resist that. I bent and kissed her sweetly as I cupped her pussy and fondled between her legs. God, those soft moans. I’d wean all right. I’d tease her like I’d thought to. She wouldn’t come, but neither would I. We’d both learn control.

  “Obeisance,” I croaked, pushing her down. I went behind and nestled my cock there in that moist valley, listened to the signs that told of her arousal, of her body readying itself for me. I fastened her to the floor with a palm on the small of her back and I squeezed my cock in slow.

  If I didn’t come, we were getting somewhere. I would not hurt her. I could hold that part of me back. I hissed and sucked my dick back out, just as slow as it went in. My hips shook like an earthquake was imminent.

  No sadism. For three days.

  My head would burst if I kept this up and didn’t come. I withdrew, and stood. I tucked myself away, zipped myself up. There, was that not control?


  “I can do this,” I whispered. At the end of three days, we’d sit and we’d talk. I’d get her used to just being mine. With that as a basis, and her predilection for BDSM activities, we’d have a starting point. Like Moghul said—talk, find your common ground. The man knew more than I did about this, surely?

  It was hard though. And Jodie didn’t make it any easier. On the second day I went out for milk and bread. Opening the door I found her waiting for me like I’d told her to days before, and forgotten to rescind. She lay belly down, draped over the small hall table, naked, with her legs apart just enough for me to have a clear view of her vulva.

  Heart thumping, I placed the plastic bag with the groceries on the floor, and I stepped up to her. The curves of her pale ass led the eye to her nude sex. The split there was cradled by the subtle ridges of her labia. A hint of dampness glistened. The opening gaped.

  What man could resist? Slowly, I unzipped my pants. She had the side of her face on the table and at the sound of the zip, her eyelashes fluttered, her lips parted. Her ass swayed the tiniest amount. She’d put on bright red lipstick. New. Her own idea. Once upon a time, I’d told her how alluring that was.

  Afterward, I wondered. Had I deliberately, subconsciously, known she would wait for me like that if I forgot to say don’t? As penance, I made sure to tell Moghul that I…we wouldn’t be coming to the play party he had arranged. We weren’t ready for it. I hadn’t even told her about it.

  The third day, I was more restrained. One more day and this was over. One more day. Jesus. I gave her back her denim shorts and top, but I had to tell her to put on bra and underwear. The look she gave me was piercing. We both knew.

  How did you end a capture fantasy documentary that had gone off the rails like this had? I sure as hell didn’t know. My attraction for her hadn’t lessened as I’d hoped. It had multiplied a thousand times and mutated. I had changed. Jodie had. She still wasn’t talking to me, because I hadn’t told her to. Interesting how she held to that.

  Of course we couldn’t keep on as we had. I’d known that, though I’d managed to keep myself from remembering ninety-nine percent of the time. And yet, I found myself looking at her, wondering…if.

  But then, what would I be? She would be a prisoner of mine and I would be imprisoned by my own mind. I had to change this. It wasn’t legal or right.

  That night I would tell her she could speak. I’d thought and thought about how to do this. I hadn’t touched the cameras, or the footage on the hard drive, or the kinky and fetish gear scattered about the house. But I had thought for ages, through the bleak cool hours of the night, head in hands, staring at her sleeping on my bed.

  If I did this right, I could keep her. It was a mental thing. Obviously. Let things slip the wrong way and she’d feel she could get the upper hand. I needed to loosen the reins, but not by too much. What we’d had was untenable anyway. I couldn’t have her blinded and gagged forever, could I? We could be partners, not equal, but partners.

  I wanted a woman I could discuss things with. To live life with. It was natural to want that, and I did.

  The other, though, wasn’t a want, it was an obsessive need—my need to hurt, to dominate. Pandora’s Box had been opened.

  Needs could be controlled. It took determination, and patience, and made me feel like I was locked in a box with wet cement pouring in, but I could do this, even if the pressure burst my head.

  Find a solution. There must be one.

  Okay, I’d let my darkest desires out for a while. Now they could damn well go back into hiding until I called them again.

  So I set up her little circular timber table in the garden, dusted it, and arranged the two wrought iron chairs, the candles, and the lacy white tablecloth that matched her flowing dress. I took five minutes to just breathe and still my trembling hands.

  Then I brought her out.

  At my gesture, she hesitantly sat, sweeping her dress from beneath her out of the way of the chair.

  This Indonesian-style dress I’d found in the usual place except this one was demure and ended in a hem that sloped sideways from knee to calf. Gold stitching decorated the front. A row of cloth-covered white buttons closed it all the way to her waist. Her breasts threatened to burst from the scooped neckline if she inhaled too hard.

  She was beautiful.

  And I yearned to tear the dress from her. I bunched my fists.

  Simmer down. Count. Count to fifty. Math came to my rescue. By fifty I still had a steel-hard erection but I was calmer.

  Never had I had this problem before. I was set in my ways, I guess. A month of fucking her when I wanted, making her my slave, and I regarded her as property, to do with as I wanted.

  “Stay there, please,” I growled. Then I walked away.

  We were barefoot, but I’d dressed in a button-down shirt and black pants. The Thai restaurant had done a great selection of food, and I dished it up and took it out to where I’d told her to sit—with her back to the sea and the clifftop twenty yards beyond. I poured the chilled white wine into the glass goblets. Dusk closed in as we ate. The candles blew out in the wind and the full moon shone down on us, bathing Jodie in silver.

  Neither of us did more than nibble. Despite her attempts to beat me to it, I gathered the dishes, piled them. I stood there gripping the dirty plates and cutlery and said the words I’d held within for the last half an hour.

  “When I return, we will talk. You…may talk.”

  The moon had risen enough that I could see how still she was, but with one hand she toyed with the white tablecloth, and with the other she turned her goblet like jerky clockwork.

  When I returned, she remained mute. The chair under me crunched and settled in the sandy soil as I shifted my weight.

  “You can talk,” I said again, enunciating the words carefully, hoping she’d find something to say. Though her lips moved, she merely stared at the table then at me, as if I were something new and terrifying.

  The answer dawned on me. I’d imagined this experience had forged a soul-deep bond between us.

  But, this situation was so foreign, so out-there, that once exposed in the real world, it would shatter. I knew her from many past conversations, and she knew me. I could list how she took her coffee, what she liked doing on days off, her favorite sport and movies. And she could do the same for me. Yet we hadn’t conversed for a month. I’d made myself her Master and her my slave and that had made us both strangers to each other despite our profound intimacy.

  There must be a way to bridge the gap? Discussing the documentary would be so so wrong. Tomorrow, daytime, business-time, for that. This and now was personal.

  I’d delved into, gloried in, my fantasies more than hers. I’d never asked her what she wanted since that first day.

  “Jodie.” I waited.

  “Yes?”

  “I want to know your fantasies. Tell me. Apart from your capture fantasies.”

  She made a small noise and shrugged in a way that spoke of uncertainty. I took her hand, marveling again at the delicacy of her bones and muscles when contrasted with mine. When she tried to pull away, I laid my other hand over the top. “Stay. Let me hold you.” One last time? Perhaps.

  I was scrambling for common ground. Tomorrow I might lose her. In the back of my head, a little part of me despaired. The contact of skin on skin calmed me though, and her too perhaps? Her shoulders lowered and she focused on how I enfolded her hand.

  The worn groove of our Master-and-slave arrangement was proving difficult for both of us to escape from.

  “Tell me. Tell me, now.”

  “Do I have to?” So quiet.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.” She pouted then sucked in a deep breath. I wanted to shake her to get her to answer. I was good. I waited, and I waited, stroking her hand.

  “Okay.” Then she continued on in a quiet voice. “I guess apart from my capture fantasies I’ve always liked the idea of being tied up and at someone’s mercy.”

 
“That, we’ve done.” Not, I’ve done to you. I was learning. Back to the real.

  “Mmm.”

  “More?” I wondered, hoping to hear that she’d always dreamed of being flogged or spanked. “What else?”

  “I guess, I suppose, if you’re looking for one that’s different…”

  “I am.”

  “Okay, well, I used to dream of being taken by more than one person, of being shared. Even of being made to. It’s just…hot.” She shook her head. “Stupid. No one does that.” Her voice caught on the last word. Our eyes met.

  Laughable. After our month of debauchery, she could still say that?

  “You think? Men or women?”

  Another long pause. A very long one interspersed with much screwing up of mouth and eyebrows. This question was agonizing to her. Cute though. “Both? Maybe? I guess?”

  Ah. Now that was hot. “Sometimes people do the things that no one seems to do.”

  Like the light of morning lining the horizon, I realized, this could be my solution.

  Kink was alive and well, and I knew just where to get it. This was something that bridged that gap. I could let her explore, join her in this, and show yet again how this fascinated us both. Was this going too far? I pulled out my phone and held it hard enough to hurt my bones. No, it wasn’t. I’d have to be careful, though. Doing anything in public daunted me too. Things could go wrong. I only knew Moghul.

  Would anyone there know us?

  Damn. Stop stalling.

  I sent a text, then waited for the reply, gave Moghul some more details in the next one. I sent another to Jon to check the whereabouts of his boat. Done. All good.

  “We’re going to a party.”

  “What?” A frown worked its way onto her forehead.

  For this to work properly, I needed Jodie thinking as my slave yet again. If my subconscious laughed at my recent vow for that about-face, I smothered it. One last time.

  Because maybe, if I showed her this was a two-way thing, that I could accommodate her needs too, she’d stay.