The other woman’s cries had become louder and more guttural. In fact, as I listened—hard, her sounds alternated between soft, low purrs and loud, piercing cries. Soft, then loud, without ceasing. I forgot about the pain for a moment, transfixed by the woman’s sounds. The harder I listened, the more I seemed able to discern. She seemed to be enjoying it. Suddenly, an undercurrent of deeper, heavier moans prevailed.
I remembered those moans from earlier as he lapped at me with his tongue. Heat burst throughout my body at the memory—more sweat, more dizziness, more whimpers. Shame, pleasure, and I hadn’t stopped thinking about it. I closed my eyes. Why couldn’t I just fucking black out? His sounds became a little different, angrier and more labored, a runner trying to finish a race. I grit my teeth and leaned forward for reasons unbeknownst to me. My shoulders burned. My struggling hadn’t helped.
The woman screamed, hoarse, rasping screams that seemed to come from deep in her throat. She was yelling something. I wondered if it might be his name. The thought thoroughly irritated me for some reason. Here I was, here, in this place, tied to a fucking bedpost like a thing while some other woman screamed his name. No doubt during intense orgasms. Meanwhile, I had to call him Master. I wasn’t allowed to say his name. Not even when I came, not that I would anyway, that wasn’t the point.
She yelled again and this time I couldn’t help whining his name out loud, not in ecstasy like her, but in agony. I’d never said his name before, and I hadn’t realized until now. I’d thought of every day since I’d arrived here. He was Caleb in my head, always, but I’d never let his name slip past my lips. I said it again, daring myself to call his name a little louder, willing myself to outdo the competition. New aches assailed me, heavy, warm, and wet between my legs. I pressed them together.
“Caleb.” I groaned.
“Caleb!” she screamed.
I pushed forward in my straps, ignoring the pain, ignoring the burning in my legs, anything that distracted me from listening intently. I could hear him. “Caleb…” I pressed forward. He was panting, low and hard. His sounds picking up pace even as the strange woman’s moans became elongated and alien. Panic swelled inside me. The sweat. The fucking sweat, sticking to me, irritating me, driving me toward frenzy I had never felt. If I thought I might be the least bit successful, I may have tried to chew through my arm like a coyote to get free.
“Let me go!” I screamed. “Let me go!” I cried piteously, panting and sucking in air as fast and hard as I could. I whispered his name. My muscles spasmed. My screams mingled with hers, with his, all of us together in a symphony of pleasure and pain. I heard her peak in one shrill scream that faintly outdid my own. I fainted. Finally.
I don’t know how long I remained there, vulnerable as I hung, gone to the world.
What I do remember is waking to the feeling of warm and dense weight straddling my thighs. I didn’t even feel a twinge of panic. My hair was wet, but clean, smelling of familiar lavender. Strong hands pressed my shoulders into the soft mattress beneath me and unable to resist I both moaned with relief and whimpered at the memory of the pain. I knew they were his hands, no matter who touched me in the future, I would always know his hands. What I didn’t know, was what to make of it.
His thumbs pressed on either side of my spine between my shoulders and rode my flesh to the base of my neck. His fingers speared through my wet hair and tugged gently. My scalp tingled, my body followed.
I felt I should say something, do something. Rail at him, punch him, kick him, yell at him, do something violent to inflict unimaginable pain upon his person, but his hands felt too good and my aching body needed them too badly. Besides, I never won against him anyway. His large hands pressed against both shoulders. I exhaled a long breath. No. No fighting him.
Then, because I just couldn’t help myself, I asked, “Why are you doing this? Why me?” He inhaled sharply then exhaled. He never stopped rubbing me, nor did he pretend he didn’t know what I was asking.
“Why not you, Kitten? Would you choose someone else to take your place?” Gentle began to transition to rough. “If I agreed to let you go in exchange for some other girl, would that be better?” I wanted to scream yes.
Silence.
Only his hands kneading my flesh.
“What’s going to happen to me?” I asked quietly, almost hoping he hadn’t heard. I wasn’t sure I wanted an answer.
There was no answer—then, “Whatever I wish.” Before I could speak again, his fingers were doing that thing in my hair again. Only this time he gently tilted my head, pressing his thumb along the curve behind my ear. My mouth went slack. I closed my eyes, unable to think of anything else but the sensations coursing through me. Had I always been this starved for touch? The answer eluded me.
“Who was that woman you were with?” His fingers stilled and I cursed myself for being so…me. And yet, my heart sped up as I waited more than eagerly for his reply.
I narrowly avoided purring and stretching under him like a cat when his fingers once again trailed along my scalp and behind my ear. “My, my, Kitten, what big ears you have.” He laughed and the sound of it sent an obscure thrill through me.
“Hey!” I said indignantly, “My ears are not big. Not even a little bit.” And they’re not, really! His laughter spurred me on, “It’s not like she was trying to be quiet. ‘Caleb! Oh, Caleb!’” His laughter abruptly died and his grip in my hair became less than pleasant, though the reaction seemed involuntary. I stilled, biting the hell out of my lip. Would my stupidity never cease? “I’m sorry, Master,” I whispered.
It was over too quickly, no more talking it seemed. Unexpectedly he went to the bathroom and returned with a bucket of water and a sponge which he set on the floor. He lifted me without a word as to his intent. I didn’t speak either, too frightened of provoking him into some other form of torture. He set me on the ground. Next to a big wet spot.
“You pissed the floor,” he said, his emotions masked behind a placid expression. I looked away, both embarrassed and scared. He walked toward the door and stopped, his hand grasping the knob. With his back to me he said, “Don’t ever call me by that name again, Kitten. You don’t know me. Not like that.” He left and shut the door behind him. As I stared at the large stain in front of me, I heard the door lock. My face burned with the heat of my embarrassment. Why did my chest hurt? I blinked away the threat of tears.
I didn’t know what to make of Caleb, at times so kind and gentle and at others, I feared him down to my soul. Who the hell was that woman? Why does she get to call him Caleb?
*
Time went on, and on. I never heard the woman again, but I often wondered what happened to her. My life became monotonous, filled only with Caleb, my punishments, my occasional orgasms, and the endless dark. It’d been so long since I’d seen the sun, or the moon, or any other light that didn’t come from candles or nightlights. I lost track of the days. I used to be able to tell by the food that he brought for me, not anymore. Now I knew Caleb fed me whatever he felt I should eat, whenever he thought I should eat. I was losing it. If only I had some sense of time, I could…I don’t know…something.
Finally, I became so angry I pulled the nightlight out of the wall and threw it as hard as I could, hearing it break. I spent what felt like several hours crying in the pitch black darkness, afraid to unplug the nightlight in the bathroom and move it, because I probably wouldn’t be able to find the plug. I put my eyes near the bottom of the door, hoping I could see something, but all I saw was dark. I banged on the door with all my strength, screaming and crying, but no one came…no one cared. I stared into the dark wondering if death felt like this. I lay on my back, imagining myself in a coffin staring into nothingness, utterly forgotten. I think I even slept with my eyes open.
Though I couldn’t know for sure, it seemed as though Caleb’s visits to my room became more and more infrequent. Meanwhile, I became less and less unnerved by his presence—in fact, it became more soothing by the day. Bu
t he, on the other hand, seemed increasingly aggravated with me. More troubling, his anger often became my punishment, and I was obsessed with avoiding them both. When he touched me, I strained to remain immobile. When he spoke to me, I said not a word. When I could not help but resist, I immediately begged his forgiveness. But the more I gave in, the crueler he became. I didn’t understand.
“Surrender,” he had said.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I had insisted.
I turned my head slightly, hearing something familiar. My hearing had gotten better, and it only took another second for me to know. Dishes. I sat up quickly, banging on the door. There was no response. I lay on my back, pressed the soles of my feet against the door and proceeded to do something I knew was stupid. I kicked at the door wildly, demanding he acknowledge me. Again, there was no response. I started to panic in earnest. “Please!” I yelled. “It’s dark in here and I want to come out!” When I heard only silence I cried out in despair. “Caleb! Caleb…please open the door.” Nothing. That is, until someone kicked the door so hard I saw a flash of color. I scrambled backward, scared out of my mind. For once relieved the door was heavy, sturdy, and locked.
I had never been filled with more foreboding than when I heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. For the first time, I considered the dark an ally. I scrambled beneath the bed. It was an incredibly tight fit that left me pinned snugly, unable to turn my head between the floor and the box spring at my back. I held my breath as the door opened. The beat of my heart literally moved my entire body. I shut my eyes tightly, willing myself to another place. A voice in my head chastised me. Under the bed? Stupid. Just fucking stupid.
“What the fuck?” I heard him whisper. Relief was short lived as I realized it was Caleb who had entered my room. “Oh Kitten, what have we done now?” he taunted.
“I’m sorry,” I said, but I don’t think he heard me. The door shut. I listened…only my heartbeat.
There was rustling. I knew he moved about the room but I couldn’t discern where exactly he was until I heard his shoes against the tile of the bathroom floor. I bit into my lip so hard I tasted blood in my mouth. His voice filled the room. “Tell me something, Kitten…”
His steps felt nearby.
“When exactly did you imagine yourself as…” he seemed to be searching for a word, “my lover?” My heartbeat vibrated my skull. “Was it the first time I made you come with my mouth? Or one of the many times since that I’ve put you over my knee? You seem to like that.” I felt the bed dip above me with his weight. Unfortunately, it was on the side I wasn’t facing. I was openly crying now. He knew where I was and he was toying with me.
“I’m sorry, Master,” I whispered.
He scoffed, mocking my pathetic nature without a word. “If I drag you out it’ll be very painful. It’s best you manage on your own.” he crooned.
Sobbing, I told him I was going to come out, begging him already not to hurt me. I felt ridiculous, crawling on my belly like an animal. Crying, begging, unable to show any emotion but fear. And frustrated because once again, I had pretty much brought it on myself.
Once I was out he stood me up and pressed my head to his chest, rocking me back and forth gently. I gripped him tightly, both arms holding fast to his waist. It had become natural for me to seek shelter in his arms, even if he had just used them to hold me down to spank me. I told him repeatedly I would never to it again. I told him I was sorry. He sighed and held me closer, his lips against the shell of my ear, “You will be, Kitten.” In a flash he pushed me face down onto the bed. I whimpered but didn’t struggle. I wanted to show him how obedient I could be, how sincere I was in my promise to never say his name again. To never assume we had that level of intimacy between us.
With deft fingers he managed to lock my wrists together between the bars of the headboard. My body tensed, bracing itself. His weight left the bed. Then I heard him undressing. This was different. Very different.
I pulled against my restraints. “Please no.” I couldn’t resist saying.
He was slow in his preparation. I stared into the pitch black of surroundings, trying to catch a clear glimpse of him. My blood pounded in my ears and my fear was almost tangible in the air around me. His weight shifted the bed and I instantly knew there was no avoiding what was about to happen.
He laid his naked chest against my bare back, his weight all but crushing me. “Do you want to be my lover, Kitten? Is that why you called to me by name?” I bucked wildly, trying to throw him off my back and pulling at my wrist straps. It was less than useless. I felt him grow hard between my thighs. I lay motionless. He was completely naked. He’d never been completely naked before. I sobbed into the sheets. He didn’t sound the least bit out of breath as he continued speaking against my ear. “I’ve made you come so many times, but not once have I made you return the favor. You have to earn the right to call me by name.”
“Master, please.” I cried out into the dark.
He pressed into me, his erection impossibly hot and hard between my trembling legs. “No, don’t call me that, not tonight. Call me by my name since you’re about to earn it.” I only cried harder.
He sighed, harsh, angry—disappointed?
He rolled off of me, his large frame forcing the mattress to creak as he lay next to me. I couldn’t stop crying, though relief did wash over me. Why was he doing this!
He stroked my hair for a long time, touching my face with his fingertips. The bed creaked again as he repositioned his body to massage my back, my arms, and my legs, slowly, gently…practiced. I cried softly into the bed, then not at all as he managed to lull me into an irrational sense of safety. I tensed all over when he lay his body back down over mine. He urged me over and over to relax. He kissed me everywhere, not like before, not angry. And God help me, it shouldn’t have made a difference, but somehow it did.
I had never been this close to a man before. I had never known how the heat of his bare body pressed against mine would affect me. I struggled against reflex. My body wanted to curl into him and my mind told me it would be a horrible mistake. What would it be like to touch him the way he touched me? Would he be as thoroughly under my spell as I seemed to be under his?
Despite my best efforts I lost myself in his gentle caresses, soft moans escaping my lips. His hand palmed my backside, squeezing, gently prying. I didn’t fight him. Not even when his fingers followed my crease over the curve of backside and spread the outer lips of my sex. Fear breached, but desire bloomed as he encountered the traitorous little knot hidden therein. I gave a start, but forced myself to settle into his touch. He’d done this to me before, used his fingers against that traitorous aperture to bring me to the heights of ecstasy. And he was right; he’d never asked the same of me. Not once. I needed this. I needed to forget everything, even if for a few minutes. He made me feel good, so good and it was difficult to resist when he’d only force me anyway. He rubbed me endlessly, wrenching the moans from my chest. It was coming, the tingling that led to the explosion.
“Open your legs,” he whispered, his throbbing cock rubbing against the outside of my thigh. The thought of it made me moan more loudly than I ever had. I didn’t know what was happening to me. I only knew I needed to open my legs. “Wider,” he groaned and I obeyed.
I shivered uncontrollably as my orgasm gripped me from deep inside. I tilted my hips back, searching for his fingers, begging without words for a firmer touch. He gave me what I wanted and I clung to my orgasm as long as possible. It barely registered in my mind when he rose up on his knees and took up a position between my wantonly spread thighs.
The moment something came in contact with my ass, I shot up. His hand pressed between my shoulders, “Put your head down.” His fingers scooped up the wetness I had created and he adeptly applied it to the tight ring of muscles. I shook uncontrollably. I was very surprised to discover that my fear stemmed in equal parts from deafening embarrassment at being touched in such a secret place as well as
the pain involved with being penetrated there. This was not a part of my body meant to be seen. I’d certainly never seen it. When one of his fingers breached my opening and assailed that secret part of me, it became the only part I knew existed. I flexed against the intrusion, but it mattered very little. He pressed in slowly, asking me to relax before he slid out and then in again. It seemed to go on forever and the entire time I felt more focused on not embarrassing myself further than on what he was actually doing to me. Before long, it didn’t even hurt anymore. Apparently satisfied, he held me steady by the small of my back.
Something impossibly huge pressed against my opening. I froze. There was no damn way he was going to get that thing inside me. I bucked. Fought the inevitable. “Relax, Kitten. Relax. Take a deep breath…good, now another.” I was being split open. My universe flipped upside down. He held me firmly as he pushed his way inside me, all the while coaching me along. I listened intently to his steady words and tried to do exactly as he asked. Whilst the pain outweighed the pleasure, I tried my best to cram the sheets into my mouth. It took a long time before he filled me entirely. He stilled, and laid his head on mine, speaking to me gently. “Don’t fight.” He caressed my breasts, my belly, kissed my shoulder, once again making me moan with pleasure against my will. Against your will? Really? My body relaxed and the enormous size of him settled inside me. His breath warmed the nape of my neck and he let out a grunt. The sound of it, so male, so primal, I marveled at it.
“Please.” I whispered, but I didn’t know what I was asking him for. He was inside me, in every cell. His penis throbbed inside me and I could feel it. But more than that, I knew he could feel me. Not just my shaking. But me.
Each day I was more vulnerable than the last. Each day he stripped away more of my sense of self. And now he’d taken the last of it, the last of me. But who did that make me? An extension of him? Someone new? I didn’t know. Didn’t want to know.
Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire Page 238
