Dementor (Rolling Thunder MC Birmingham Book 1)

by Candace Blevins

  “I’m willing to bargain a little. What would you be willing to trade for an orgasm? Or, better yet, for three orgasms?”

  “I don’t know, Sir. No safeword for the rest of the night?”

  I stopped moving. Did she truly trust me that much, or was she that desperate? I rubbed her back. “That sounds a little drastic. Here are two options: One. I torture your tits and clit a little, maybe your cunt and asshole some while I’m at it, and then I face-fuck you for my final orgasm. You don’t get one from me, but you’re free to get yourself off once you’re away from me.”

  “I don’t like that option, Sir.”

  “Two. I coat your clit and nipples with the cinnamon mixture, clear the living room of furniture, put you in the center, and horsewhip you. I’ll restrain your hands up and out of the way, but you won’t be bound in place. If you can stay within a six-foot-across circle for ten to twenty minutes — my call when it ends within those parameters — then you’ll get three orgasms when I fuck you again.”

  “I can’t stay still while you horsewhip me, Sir.”

  “I’m not asking you to. You can spin and dance all you want, so long as you stay upright and you don’t go outside the circle.”

  “And if I go outside of it?”

  “You’ll start with three orgasms. You’ll lose two of them the first time you go outside of it. You’ll lose the all of them if you go out of it twice. At that point, I’ll restrain you so you can’t escape the horsewhip and I’ll finish, then I’ll torture you a bit and finally face-fuck you.” I took a breath. “But there’s another component. If you take the second option, you agree not to orgasm for the next seven days unless I give you explicit permission.”

  I backed my dick out a few inches and slid all the way home again. She groaned and whined, and I breathed in the sweet, sweet scent of her arousal.

  “You want to control me outside of sex, Sir?”

  “I want to control your sexuality. So long as you’re safe, I will never want to control anything to do with your job or anything else outside of sex, but yes, I want to control when you can orgasm.”

  “Seven days? And then I can get myself off again?”

  “That’s all I’m asking for in this agreement.”

  “Please use me and hurt me, Sir. I’ll take option two, please.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ember

  He put a bondage collar on me first, followed by wrist and ankle cuffs.

  “Clasp your hands to the back of your head.”

  I did, and he connected my wrist cuffs to the back of the bondage collar. This was how he was going to keep my arms out of the way, so he didn’t hit them with the horsewhip.

  “You ankles are free, for now. You have the cuffs on so they’ll be handy if you go out of the circle twice.”

  I couldn’t help but admire his oh-so-fine ass when he walked to the island in his kitchen, but then my heart flip-flopped in my chest when I realized he was bringing the hell-concoction back with him.

  “Lean against the wall for balance and spread your legs wide.”

  I backed up until I felt the wall and moved my feet apart.

  “Wider.”

  Fuck. I moved them farther apart and was thankful for the wall.

  “Another eight inches.”

  You know how guys’ balls can escape up inside them? My clit desperately wanted to be able to do that, but it couldn’t. It was just out there. Exposed. My heart raced in my chest. My fight-or-flight response desperately wanted to flee, but I anchored my feet to the floor and refused to move.

  He squatted in front of me, poured some of the concoction into one hand, put the bottle down, spread my lips and lifted my clit hood with the fingers of his other hand, and then smashed his palm over my clit before rubbing it all around. He’d put perhaps a tablespoon of the oil in his palm, and now it was all over my exposed clit. He removed his hand and used his fingers to make sure the oil was everywhere — even at my entrance.

  Everything in me wanted to pull my legs together and stand, but I couldn’t breathe. I was frozen in place. My eyes watered. My nose ran.

  He stood and put way more than was necessary on my nipples, too. I felt it, of course, but the burning pain on my clit overshadowed everything.

  “You can stand up straight when you’re ready, but stay against the wall for now.”

  It didn’t take him long to wash his hands and move the furniture out of the way, crammed up against the far wall. Two chairs were moved to the kitchen. When he had way more than enough space clear, he dropped a yardstick on the floor and circled it around a point as he used painter’s tape to make a slightly lopsided circle. He had an extra five feet on two sides, and about three or four feet on the other two sides.

  “I’ll be right back. Need to get the whip.”

  I’ve been horsewhipped before, but I’d never been expected to be still for it. Usually, Able had connected my wrists to something over my head. I could dance and spin, but the rope above me didn’t let me move away from the whip.

  Dementor’s whip looked as I expected it to. Hard to tell with it coiled, but I guessed at around five or six feet long, give or take. It was thick and braided near the handle, not as thick on the end, but still substantial. I’d likely need to change to heal, but only because I had classes the next day. I’d love for him to use it on me when I didn’t have responsibilities for a week, so I could feel the marks and be reminded of them as they healed.

  He walked me to the center of the circle, leaned down, and his lips crashed into mine. His kiss stole my breath, and if he hadn’t held me up I’m certain I’d have fallen. His lips opened mine, his tongue invaded, and I fully submitted.

  When he finally stood up straight again and ended the kiss, he touched my chin and asked, “You’ll stay in the circle for me?”

  “I’ll do my best, Sir.”

  “I intend to work up in intensity.”

  He stepped to the edge of the circle and I screamed, jerked, and jumped several feet away from him at the first strike. I was inches from the tape, but still on the inside. I’d been whipped ten or twenty times harder than that, but I’d never been able to run from it, before.

  “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “Come back.”

  I walked back to the center, but I had to force myself to do it. “Please. I don’t think I can... that wasn’t even hard, Sir!”

  “You’re correct. Three of those this time. Figure out how to stay in place or you aren’t going to orgasm for a week, and I’m going to have so much fun edging you for the next seven days.”

  And he knew that since I’d agreed not to masturbate or get myself off, I wouldn’t.

  Fuck.

  I managed to stay in the circle through perhaps two dozen strikes, but eventually, I ran all the way to the kitchen to avoid the whip. “I’m sorry! Fuck, I’m so sorry! I couldn’t help it!”

  “I know. We’ll work on it. No need to apologize, but you need to come back.”

  I danced around inside the circle, my hands at the back of my head while the whip relentlessly struck, again and again. The horsewhip wraps around you and hurts so much more than you can imagine, if you haven’t lived it. It’s like a live snake, whipping and striking. My legs were in constant motion, and when I was coherent I tried to keep track of where the tape was in relation to my feet, but I was a mass of screaming, crying, panicked female through most of it.

  When I went out the second time, he moved two, one hundred pound hand weights to the center of the circle and connected each ankle cuff directly to them. I wasn’t going to run anywhere now. Well, unless I fell on the floor. Would he keep whipping me even then, I wondered.

  But he wasn’t finished.

  He tied a rope to the front of my bondage collar and threaded it through an eyebolt I’d never noticed, at the very top of a wall near the ceiling. The tension was only snug if I leaned back or bent my legs. It would keep me from falling in any direction.


  “The timer stopped when you went out of the circle. You lasted four minutes, so you have between six and sixteen still to go. I can whip you so much harder now, but I can’t let you scream terribly loud, so I’ll need to dampen the sound.” He approached me with what appeared to be a washcloth. “Open.”

  It was thin and small, so it didn’t stretch my mouth uncomfortably. I could still breathe around it. It wouldn’t keep me from screaming, it would only dampen the sound. His immediate neighbors would still hear me, but the ones across the complex wouldn’t.

  And then, without further ceremony or warning, he stepped to the edge of the circle and thrashed me from above my knees to my armpits. He walked around the circle as he struck, so the cruel, supple whip wrapped and curled around and into different body parts. He aimed it so when it snaked around my hips, it hit my clit. When it circled my ribcage, sometimes my back took the brunt, other times, my breasts. I could handle it curling and whipping the backs of my thighs, but not the front. Why does it hurt so much worse on the front?

  He used the entire twenty minutes, and I expected my body to be crisscrossed with bloody lines from the whip, but I wasn’t bleeding. Anywhere. The end of the whip had created a few knots with blood under the skin, but the skin wasn’t broken.

  He put the whip away, took the tape up, and moved the furniture back in place before he disconnected me from the ceiling and floor. His first move was to release the cuffs from the bondage collar and then connect them behind my back. My shoulders ached, and the new position didn’t help, but I didn’t complain.

  When he’d disconnected me from the ceiling rope and the weights, he walked me to his bed and situated me on my back with my head hanging backwards off the side. He clipped my ankle cuffs together, bent my legs all the way so my feet were by my pussy, and then pushed my knees out and to the side. This position opened my cunt as much as possible and left my clit open and exposed all over again.

  “Please, Sir. No more cinnamon!”

  “A little weaker mix this time. Heat without a painful burn. Or, that’s the goal.”

  He tilted me to the side. Released the wrist cuffs from each other, but connected a short piece of rope between my wrists and ankles. My arms and shoulders were a little more comfortable, but now there was no way to straighten my legs.

  “Tap your feet together five times. Use as much motion as you can.”

  I did, and he said, “That’s your safeword for this portion of the evening. Five times. I’ll see them and stop.”

  In truth, I didn’t want a safeword. I didn’t want to be able to stop him. However, it was clear he wanted me to have one, so I didn’t argue.

  He played with my pussy and clit the entire time he face-fucked me. When my knees came up, he slapped my inner thighs. Hard. Ten to each the first time. Twenty the second. Thirty the next. I did it five times, and fifty to each thigh had nearly made me come undone. I managed to keep them down, after that.

  He didn’t just play with my cunt. No, he tortured it. He used his belt, his hand. Strike after strike, and then he’d grab my clit and twist and pull and pinch. He stuck four fingers in my cunt and pressed his knuckles like he might try to fist me, but thankfully, he didn’t.

  And all the while, his dick went in and out of my throat. It stretched my jaw. He ordered me to fold my lips over my teeth, and they dug into the inside of each lip.

  When he finally came deep, deep inside my throat, tears ran down my face into my ears because I needed an orgasm so fucking bad, and I knew I wasn’t getting one.

  Through all the torture and whipping, I wasn’t injured badly enough I could even argue he had to let me orgasm to change. I’d be fine and we both knew it.

  He rubbed something on my muscles from my neck all the way to my feet. He told me it would help with the bruising, and I was disappointed when I wasn’t striped with bruises the next day. Was that warped? Probably, but he’d hurt me bad and I had nothing to show for it! Well, not nothing, there was some bruising, but it didn’t accurately reflect the pain.

  He edged me four times before it was time for me to go to class the following morning. He also fed me steaks, bacon, and homemade blueberry pancakes with blueberry syrup and lots of whipped cream.

  Yeah. I could get used to this.

  And in a weird way, the orgasm denial thing worked for me. I’d resented Able when he’d done it, but he hadn’t put me on my honor. He’d literally taken my clit when he didn’t want me to orgasm. Dementor had given me a choice. The choice kind of sucked, but still, if I’d ended things right then with a facefucking, I’d have been able to get myself off in the shower this morning, or I could’ve pulled off into an empty parking lot and masturbated on my way to school. I didn’t resent D for it because I’d agreed to it.

  I mean, sure, I was frustrated and a little pissed during the edging sessions when they ended and I was still so horny I wanted to cry, but I also adored him for doing it and not backing off.

  Chapter Twenty

  Ember

  Our week went better than I’d dared hope. We had dinner together Monday evening since Blaze is closed on Mondays. He worked at the spa during the day, but was home in time to have dinner on the table when I came home exhausted from a martial arts class. I’d managed most of my homework between classes, so I could give him my entire evening.

  And no. I didn’t get any orgasms, but he had three.

  I asked him to wake me up and fuck me when he got home Tuesday night, which I suppose was actually Wednesday morning. Sure, it would be yet another time I’d be denied an orgasm, but that was due to my choice. It felt important he had full use of me at night. He shouldn’t be penalized because I wanted monogamy.

  And wake me he did, every night without fail — though he was clear that I needed to text him to let him know if I got in bed later than usual and needed sleep.

  I had a big project due Thursday, and I was up late finishing it Wednesday night, but I didn’t let him know. The very idea of telling him I wasn’t available hit a sour spot inside me.

  By the time I left my final class Thursday, I’d run out of gas. Me, not my car. I blew off my evening jiu-jitsu class to go home and fall asleep. Dementor wouldn’t be home. He wouldn’t know.

  Only he did know, and I was just drifting off when he came in the door. He sat down beside me on the bed and smoothed my hair. “You okay? Your scent is off. It was off this morning, too.”

  “I just didn’t get much sleep. I need a nap.”

  A good thirty seconds of silence, and I scented his displeasure. “I’m guessing you stayed up to finish your speech and polish it, and didn’t text me to let me know?”

  Yes, but he needed to understand why. “I like my middle-of-the-night time with you. I love being awakened and manhandled and used for your pleasure.”

  “So, when you promised to let me know, you were lying?”

  My eyes finally opened and stayed open. “No! I meant it when I said it, but I’ve survived on a lot less sleep, and I didn’t want to dictate terms to you!”

  “Sit. Up.”

  I did, and blinked my eyes a few times to try to properly awaken.

  “You want to be my toy, and I’m more than happy with the arrangement, but there has to be limits so it doesn’t spill into your everyday life. I have to be able to trust you to be honest about your needs, and you’ve just broken that trust.”

  My heart tumbled into my feet. Fuck, that wasn’t what I’d wanted to do.

  “Consequences. Take my shirt off and go stand in the corner in the living room. Pull the end table beside the sofa out into the middle of the room first, so we’ll have plenty of space. I need to get something from the kitchen and I’ll meet you in there.”

  When he came to me, he had a large bowl of uncooked rice. He had me step back, and then he distributed the rice on the floor.

  I was now completely naked, and he was fully dressed, which always makes you feel even more naked. He pointed to the floor. “On your knees, hands beh
ind your head.”

  I followed his instructions and immediately realized how badly the rice was going to hurt. I was wrong, of course, because it ended up hurting so fucking much worse before it was over. He had me lean forward with my hands clasped behind my head, and then ordered me to brace my elbows on the two walls. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, he had me pull my feet off the floor so all my weight was on my knees.

  “Fifteen minutes.”

  I assumed I’d be able to zone out and find a way to enjoy the pain. If you accept the punishment and don’t fight it, it’s usually easier.

  But Dementor knew what he was doing, possibly more-so than Able, and I hadn’t thought anyone would ever be able to handle me like the Owl King had.

  At first, my spine arched to try to save my knees, but this made my back ache and I had to straighten it, which pushed the rice into my knees even more. I don’t think I was more than a few minutes into it before my body was trembling from the stress of the position and the excruciating pain. My eyes watered, and before long I was crying.

  And yet, it was chilly in the corner, and my nipples went so hard they screamed for attention, which of course had my clit aching with need. The strain on so many muscles of my body combined with the pain made me break out in a sweat. The small trembles turned into outright shakes, but I fought to hold the position despite the pain. How many times had Able or one of his people told me punishment is supposed to hurt?

  And every tiny movement was another lightning bolt of pain to my knees. I whimpered and sometimes yelped when I needed to make a big adjustment to keep my balance.

  Long before it was over, tears dripped off my nose and chin. Snot threatened to flow from my nose. There was no mental escape from this pain.

  “Time’s up,” he said from behind me. “Clean your knees first. It’s going to hurt. Then you’ll need to sweep the corner. You’ll find the broom and dustbin in the closet by the door. Make sure you get every grain of rice or we’ll do this again tomorrow. Once you’ve cleaned the corner and yourself, I expect you to sleep until morning.”