His Pleasures and Pain (Book II) (Allen Trilogy 2)

by Chevelle Allen

  “You are Sir!”

  “Ah, there it is. Say it again. Louder.”

  “You are Sir!”

  He closed his eyes and let out a deep resonant moan. He opened the razor again and slid it between the laces of her corset at the base of her spine. In three quick upward slashes, he cut the laces as the corset fell to the floor. Next, he cut the thong panties off of her as well. He methodically ran the blunt side of the razor along the welts on her ass before smacking it harder with his hand. He gripped her rippling ass, squeezing hard, knowing how much it had to hurt. As she cried out, he spanked and squeezed again finding himself for the first time truly entranced by her wails of pleasure and pain.

  He felt as if he could no longer control himself as he slipped into a far darker space than he had experienced before. He felt lost with his emotions running a gauntlet of pleasure, confusion and anger, while his body was on fire with raging lust. He stepped back from her, quickly removing his clothes, finally freeing his hardened and almost vertical dick. Without his usual lubrication, he positioned himself behind her, spread her ass cheeks and slid his dick into her anus. She screamed at the intensity of his thrusts and leaned away from him. But he grabbed her by the collar, pulling her head back and saying, “You’ll think twice before fucking with me again. Won’t you, Nikita?”

  He held her tightly with his left hand and firmly planted the other on her hip ensuring she couldn’t pull away from him again. Thrust after powerful thrust, he anally fucked her in an animalistic fashion. She moaned and squirmed, screaming out but never once asking him to stop. His dick throbbed and pulsed with each stroke and he could feel himself about to cum. He was so lost to the intensity of his own pleasure, he barely noticed as her body began to quiver beneath him.

  “May I cum, Sir?” she grunted.

  Her question brought him back from this pleasurable abyss he had entered. She had pushed him to a new limit and the intensity of what was happening between them was deeply unsettling—he had lost control. He could never have imagined he was capable of inflicting this level of pain on anyone—nor that he could enjoy it as much as he did.

  He felt powerful yet physically drained and emotionally disoriented. In the midst of it all, he tried to reason with himself. The way she misbehaved took precedence over his need to ejaculate. A good Dom should not and would not tolerate such disobedience. But he also acknowledged he enjoyed what was happening. It was a far darker realization and the euphoric feeling wouldn’t subside. Instead, it was washing over him.

  He prided himself on always being in control no matter the circumstance—especially when it came to his play. But he wasn’t in control anymore. Nikita had seized it from him. He couldn’t focus and he had to end this—the intensity was too much for him. This whole scene was vastly different from their normal play.

  “No!” he said as he withdrew from her abruptly.

  “Sir, please!” she begged.

  He mustered his will enough to give the pretense of his continuing dominance.

  “The next time, I expect you to remember your place and do what you’re told,” he said far less commanding.

  “I’ll be good,” she teased.

  “Yes you will, or you’ll be punished again,” he said as he released her from the restraints.

  Insatiable and with coquettish pleading, “Sir, please! I’m sorry.”

  “We’re done,” he replied. Her bratty playfulness was quickly gone. He knew she was thoroughly confused and moving into a very dark space emotionally. But it was a space they now shared. He always took care of her afterwards, talking about what they shared during the play. They’d talk about what they wanted to try the next time while he massaged oils and anti-inflammatory cream on her to minimize any pain and bruising. But tonight was different. Deep down he knew it had little to do with her—he was disgusted with himself.

  They both stood silent for what seemed like an eternity before Nikita gathered her things off the floor and walked towards the front door. He followed her out of the bedroom but didn’t see her to the door. He grabbed another beer from the fridge barely acknowledging her presence.

  “Sir, I don’t understand.”

  “You’re not supposed to right now,” he replied sharply. “Go home, Nikita.”

  She got her coat out of the closet, slowly buttoning it over her naked body. She turned to him hoping he’d say something to her, but he just stared at her as he took a long drink from his beer. Without another word, she walked out the door.

  With beer in hand, he flopped down on the couch realizing he had just potentially made a messy situation worse. With all the good happening in his life, he felt strangely disconnected—mostly from himself. What had just happened between him and Nikita was clear evidence of that.

  “What the fuck am I doing?”

  CHAPTER 2

  By age sixteen, Michael understood the duality women lived with regarding their own libidos. He had seen the dynamic play out growing up with his older sister. To be a “good girl,” women were expected to be chaste and never express their own sexuality outside of a defined relationship. Even under those circumstances, the expectation was for women to comply to the needs of men first. They could be objects of desire, but never the subject with desire.

  As a sexually experimenting teen, he found it odd when the girls were more knowledgeable about and skillful at giving blowjobs but had no idea how their own bodies worked to achieve an orgasm. The thing he found equally perplexing was other boys had little to no interest in discovering these things for themselves. It was all about their “nut,” amplified by the insane notion a “tight” girl was the best. Michael knew all too well, a “tight” girl was someone who was not aroused.

  Like most teen boys, he was intrigued with pornography, but understood quickly much of what happened in those films was more about camera angles and editing. But from amateur films, he observed manipulation of the clitoris and anus could bring waves of pleasure to women if done properly. Always a voracious reader, he actually took time to learn about various pressure and sensitivity points on the human body. He learned how these techniques helped release endorphins and enhanced pleasure. Being the son of a renowned surgeon he had access to medical books and journals on a variety of topics.

  The more he sexually experimented, the more he found he enjoyed helping girls discover things about their own bodies. He became skillful getting flirty girls to verbalize what they wanted him to do to them as graphically as possible. Based on what they said, he’d perform the task with advanced skill. In the process of it all, he discovered his real turn-on was actually hearing them beg him to do things to them. But girls talked, and soon their offers of sex ironically made him feel objectified. He didn’t like it.

  By the time he was a senior in high school, he had greatly curtailed his sexual behavior. He had grown bored with prep school girl antics and their limited imaginations when it came to sex. At eighteen, a little over six feet tall and well-built, he could easily blend in at a nearby university. He started attending parties on campus where the range of women made for far more interesting interactions. Michael thought college girls were more adventurous. They knew what they wanted and were more willing to try new things. Being away from parents and communities, he assumed this gave them greater freedom to explore. But he also discovered that college girls could skillfully match the “tell me” games he played. He loved the balance and release of power. Admittedly, some of the things he heard surprised and enticed him. But one incident changed him.

  While attending a campus party, he met an attractive brunette with full hips, slender waist and small breasts. She swayed and danced seductively towards him before coming over and planting a ravenous kiss on his lips. She took hold of his shoulders reaching up on the balls of her feet to lick and whisper in his ear. She told him she wanted him to tie her up and fuck her. He had never heard anything like that before, but was intrigued and decided to take her up on her offer.

  She took
him back to the apartment she shared with two other roommates. As soon as they were through the bedroom doors, she kissed, groped and pulled at him roughly. She then reached under her bed for the rope and handed it to him. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do, but he complied. She lay back on the twin bed with her arms stretched overhead and said to him, “Tie me up!” He wrapped the ropes loosely around her wrists ensuring she could free herself. But she protested they weren’t secure enough, so he tightened them further. In the midst of his trepidation, he was confused at the level of arousal he was experiencing. Once she was securely tied to the bed, he began carefully unbuttoning her blouse, but again she asserted he wasn’t doing it right.

  “Stop being a pussy for God’s sake! I brought you here to fuck my brains out—not try to be in love! If you can’t do this, then get the hell out!”

  He didn’t know what to think, but he resented her antagonizing. He tried to pace himself, taking in what was happening, but she became more aggressive. He attempted to go down on her, but she kneed him in the chest and repeated, “Fuck me, damn it!” Before he knew what he had done, he shoved his penis in her mouth gagging her. As he pulled back, she sucked and licked him roughly at first and then eagerly. Feeling himself about to cum, he withdrew from her, hurriedly putting his condom on before fucking her. It was exhausting and glorious, but when she seemed to be nearing her orgasm she yelled out, “That’s right! I know you like this white pussy! Take it nigger, because you won’t get it again!”

  Up to that moment, he had never experienced this level of arousal. The roughness of the sex and their interaction was more powerful than he ever imagined. But what she said to him was an immediate and visceral reaction of disgust. He had sex with white girls before—hell that was the majority of the female population at his prestigious D.C. prep school—but no one had ever said anything like that to him before.

  He withdrew his penis from her and got off the bed. In the haze of his anger, he considered leaving her tied up. But surveying the scene he knew if anyone found her, what happened between them could land him in jail or worse. He untied her as she screamed at him for being a punk and not finishing the job. He hurriedly put on his jeans and left.

  When he got back home, he entered quietly hoping not to wake his parents. Fortunately, the house was large so it was unlikely they knew he was past his curfew. He went straight to his bedroom, undressed to his underwear and sat on his bed. A panic began to sweep over him as he reflected on what happened. What if she told someone he raped her? What if he had actually hurt her? He didn’t know what to do. He paced back and forth across the floor as his panic turned to terror. He reached for the phone and dialed the number to his brother’s pager followed by #911. That was their signal. It let his brother know he really needed to talk to him.

  Michael and Rick were almost eight years apart but the age difference didn’t create distance, instead it produced a bond for which Michael was grateful. Rick was patient and kind with a wicked sense of humor. He often recruited Michael to execute his silly pranks when they were kids. But above all, Rick was his protector and confidante when he needed one—and he needed him now.

  Completing his last year of medical school, he was in California. Rick was following in their father’s footsteps, which would make him a third-generation surgeon.

  When the phone rang, Michael answered it right away, hoping his parents hadn’t heard it.

  “Rick?” he said.

  “Yeah, what’s up Michael? It’s late, man. It’s what, after two o’clock there?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “I figured that. What’s going on?”

  “I met this girl and…”

  “…And she’s pregnant. What a dumbass! Condoms! Condoms! Condoms! How many times did I tell you to always wrap your shit no matter what she says? There’s shit out here that will kill you, dude! Pregnancy is the least of your worries these days.”

  “No! That’s not it! I did something with this girl and I think…” he couldn’t even form the words. He couldn’t think and he couldn’t calm down.

  Concerned at the level of agitation in his voice, he said, “Mike! You need to chill and tell me calmly what’s going on. I can’t help you until you tell me.”

  “Okay.“ He paused before continuing trying desperately to regain some composure. “I met this girl at a party on campus. She wanted to have sex, so we went back to her apartment.”

  “Okaaay…”

  “I think I raped her.”

  Rick was silent before saying, “You don’t THINK you raped someone. You either did or you didn’t! What the fuck, Mike! What exactly happened?”

  “She was all up on me at this party and then told me she wanted me to tie her up and fuck her.”

  “I’m sorry what?” he asked, slightly amused.

  “She told me she wanted me to…”

  “No, no…I heard you—I’m just trippin’ a little on this. Go ahead, tell me the rest.”

  “So, I get there, and she has rope under her bed. I did what she asked me to, but I guess I didn’t do it right or something—anyway I fucked her. I shouldn’t have, but I did. And then she said something and I just stopped, untied her and left.”

  “Did she ever tell you to stop or that she didn’t want to go through with it?”

  “No!”

  “How was she when you left?”

  “She was mad…screaming at me.”

  Rick started laughing uncontrollably. Michael was dumbfounded and a little hurt. This wasn’t some prank—this was serious and he was in trouble.

  “What the fuck, Rick?” he yelled.

  “Man, listen. You didn’t rape her. She asked you to do it. You had rough sex with a little light bondage! It’s cool. Some girls actually like sex like that. It’s raw and… Look, you didn’t rape her, okay?”

  “What?” Michael was thoroughly confused.

  “You just met a freak. Look, there are some women who like to get a little rough. They like having someone spank their ass or pull their hair. It can get more extreme, but the bottom line is every now and then, they like men to be aggressive with them. What’s important for you to understand is you didn’t rape this girl.”

  “But what if she says I did?”

  “Then you have to tell Mom and Dad. I got your back though. They’ll give you hell, and then they’ll get you the best damn lawyer possible and have this chick skewered.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.” He chuckled a little before adding, “So little Mikey met his first freak!”

  “Man, shut up!”

  “I’m just playing! So, you cool?”

  “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks, man,” he said, feeling much better.

  “That’s what I’m here for. Now get some sleep. And stay on the porch with the other little puppies! You aren’t ready for college girls yet! Next year will be soon enough. Good night,” he said with a brotherly love Michael cherished.

  “Good night,” he said as he hung up the phone.

  He crawled into bed, feeling exhaustion creeping in on him. But as he lay in bed, he couldn’t help but think about one thing Rick said. Some women like “rough sex.” Based on what girls told him, he presumed they always wanted tender, erotic sex. The kind with soft music and candlelight. But this other— this roughness had an undeniable appeal. It was uninhibited and freeing in ways he hadn’t experienced. He wanted to know more, to do more. But he also understood, even then, if he ever had sex like that again he would be in control. He would make sure the woman made very clear—every step of the way—exactly what she wanted from him.

  Attending college in Manhattan, his curious mind and sexual urges took on new dimensions as he learned about BDSM and its variations, his own inclinations as well as his limits. He began to understand himself as a Dom in this newly discovered world. As his explorations expanded, he knew if he had sex with white women again—his first hard limit became no “race play.�
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  CHAPTER 3

  The apartment was almost bare with the exception of a few personal items he didn’t want the movers to take. Among them were several boxes of his leather-bound journals. Each contained his writings on a variety of subjects and personal reflections. It was a practice he began in high school at the urging of his mother. He didn’t write in them daily or even monthly—only when he felt the need. They were the place where he could safely explore his own thoughts and emotions. He carefully lifted one out of the box and randomly opened it to an entry. As he read the passage, he let out a long deep sigh. It was if the pain he experienced ten years before had returned to him.

  August 4:

  I feel like I can’t breathe half the time since she left. I don’t understand any of it. Janine didn’t even have the decency to talk about it in person. A fucking phone call! Who does that to someone you love?

  I know she’s afraid—hell so am I, but why didn’t she just say that instead of leaving me? I should have known she had doubts about getting married when she wouldn’t go with me to choose a ring. I jumped the gun and I pushed. That was my mistake. I’ve never pushed her about anything. Never. What’s that saying? You shouldn’t have to chase love—if it’s yours, it’s yours.

  “Michael, I took the job in Chicago,” Janine said, “I leave next week.”

  “Why didn’t you accept the offer here in D.C.?”

  “The Chicago offer was better,” she replied.

  “What does this mean for us?” His tone was somber as he tried to maintain a modicum of composure in the midst of this unforeseen situation. But he also knew she had been intentionally obtuse about her job prospects since graduation.

  “I think maybe we need some space…to work things out.”

  He knew her well enough to know there was more to her decision. For reasons he couldn’t understand she wasn’t sharing them with him.

  “That’s going to be hard to do with you in Chicago and you know it. Just say it. Tell me why you’re leaving me.”