Absorbing White

by Charlotte E Hart

  And he’ll never let go of me again.

  I’m not sure how long I’ve been here but he’s not moved me. He’s still just got his face in my crotch, flicking occasionally and swiping that tongue up and down to prolong my euphoria. Small sparks of electricity are still riding all over me with every touch, and I know I’ll be ready again the moment he starts intensifying himself. But he’s just being quiet with me, almost loving – well, as loving as it can be with me pinned to the wall in the middle of the hall. My arms flex against his weight on them and he instantly releases the pressure slightly, acknowledging the truly wonderful pain that’s coursing across them and giving me a small chance to regain some blood flow. I push again until I can move my hands to his hair, then coil myself around him as he manoeuvres my body back down on him so that I come to rest on the floor again.

  “You still taste perfect,” he says quietly, thoughtfully. I haven’t got much to say to that so just gaze up at him, lips trembling with that emotion that always consumes me when he’s near. “I hope you’re ready, hope I’ve given you enough now.”

  My fingers gently move to his mouth as he licks his lips and stares at mine. They’re soft and warm, full of love and undiluted care, and his eyes, softer than they were ten minutes ago, are far less intense. He wants me to understand, needs me to accept everything and to stop questioning. I don’t know how I know that, but I do. I can hear it in his words, register it in my mind, and feel it in his actions somehow. I know that he’s sent Pascal away to give us this time together, time so that we can become one again. And that’s all I want, to bond with him again and find our way back, or maybe forward.

  “I love you, Alex, all of you,” I whisper in reply. There’s nothing else to say in this moment, no worries or thoughts other than those of love and connection. He smiles and kisses the end of my fingers as he takes my hand in his and begins to walk us up the stairs, to a bed, thank God.

  He waves a hand at the bedroom door and watches me like a hawk as I slowly wander past him towards the bed. Why I’m attempting nonchalance is beyond me because I’m so ready for this. My core is dripping with need, desperate for him to take what’s his and own me again. My thighs clench with every step as I come to a stop by the footboard and remember holding on to the bedpost in Rome, being bound to it. Has he even got rope here? I need it. I haven’t got a clue why I just thought that. Everything we’ve done together, every small kink he’s shown me, and all I can think about is rope.

  “Tie me up.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. Clearly this is a new thing for me, just blurting it all out there.

  “I intend to,” he replies smoothly as he opens the bedside drawer, and removes something small. He walks across to me, smirk now firmly in place, and after kissing me briefly, he keeps going with a wink. Where’s he going? I swing around to watch him heading toward the locked door at the back of the room.

  “What’s in the cupboard?” I ask as he unlocks it and pulls the door wide open.

  “Come and see,” he replies. Why my nerves have suddenly kicked in, I don’t know. My arms fold across my chest as if they might protect me from something, and I wander over to look into the cupboard. Oh, it’s not a cupboard at all, more a small room, half the size of the huge en suite, I’d say. I stand just in front of him and gaze around the space, which is pretty much empty apart from a few mirrors on the wall. “In you go,” he says as he shoves my arse and follows me in.

  “Why do you have another walk in wardrobe?” I ask. He chuckles, but it’s not a funny one.

  He pushes on the wall over by the corner of the room and a large drawer appears from the wall. I peek over to see what’s in it. Rope, it seems, and lots of it. My eyes shoot up to the ceiling and then around the sides of the space. There are ringlets everywhere. How I didn’t see them before, I don’t know.

  “So this is your own private kink room then?” I say, trying for nonchalance, but not achieving it in the slightest. “You said you’d never had another woman in here?”

  “It was designed for that, yes, but I’ve never used it.” Oh. Well, damn good job too. “We’re going to try something, and it’s as much about trust for me as it is for you, okay?” he says. I slowly nod my head, having no idea why he would need to trust me in a sexual situation.

  “Speak, Elizabeth,” he says sharply, that velvety voice suddenly tense and a frown etched on his face.

  “Yes, yes. I understand.”

  “Good,” he replies, quietly again now as he draws out several lengths of red rope and drops them on the floor by my feet. Three strides and he closes the door to the room, locks it and walks back to me with the key in his hand. “Hold onto that. Don’t drop it.” Taking the key from him, I wonder why he’s given it to me, or even locked the door, frankly. He could have just closed the door and left it unlocked, couldn’t he?

  “What am I supposed to do with this?” I ask as I scan my body, which is very clearly naked, and still bloody throbbing.

  “Hold it.” He bends and picks up the rope. “Stand in the middle.”

  I move myself to the middle spot and watch as he starts threading the rope through the ringlets, intricately lacing them backwards and forwards so that they start to form a web of sorts inside the room. I’m so mesmerised that I don’t notice him pick up my foot until rope bites into my ankle, and that ache suddenly comes racing back again. He moves to my wrist and then my waist, wrapping and twisting the rope again until I’m becoming encased in it as well, a part of the web somehow.

  Cuffs are formed around my arms in two locations, one close to my wrist, one on my upper arm, and then both ankles are cuffed, too. Another wrap and two plaits of sorts have somehow appeared over my shoulders leading down to my thighs, which are then also wrapped up. It’s so pretty, if you can say pretty about a sadist in action. But it is, dexterous, clever, ingenious really.

  “Are you comfortable?” he asks, slowly but directly. I’m entirely sure he’s never asked if someone’s comfortable before when he’s done this. But yes, I suppose I am. I look down at all the rope work again and notice how symmetrical it all is, exactly the same on both sides of my body, as if there’s a definite reason for the symmetry.

  “Yes, I’m comfortable, and I trust you. I’m okay.” He nods and wraps the two ends of the rope around his palms.

  “Up you go then,” he says, and with a very practised pull of his arms, my feet lift off the floor and my arms stretch out wide. I’m completely spread-eagled, and as I watch him tie off one of the ropes on the wall, I suddenly remember whose hands I’m in. Nerves race back again as I picture the plane, the arsehole behaviour, the slight sense of fear he’s capable of making me feel. My body moves involuntarily as if desperately clawing for freedom, and in my struggle, the key falls from my hands to the floor.

  “Alex, I-” What? What do I want? For him to let me down again? No, it’s just...

  “I’m claustrophobic,” he cuts in. What? How can someone like him be anything phobic? It’s not possible. He must be joking. I stare at him as he yanks the end of the rope tight against the ringlet and walks back over in front of me. “I’m claustrophobic, and I’m going to turn out the lights in a minute so that you can help me deal with that.” Oh. I’m sure my mouth is gaping, positive in fact. He picks up the key from the floor, places it in my hand again and curls my fingers around it. “I’m giving you the key so that you can tell me when to use it. Do you understand? So that you can have the power over me in here, I’m negotiating.” My mouth opens to say something, but I can’t think of a bloody thing.

  “Okay,” is all I can find. It’s not a lot, but all fear has rapidly dissipated so I just gaze at him and wonder what it’s like to be in the dark if you’re claustrophobic. He nods again and pulls on the other rope in his hand. I’m instantly lifted higher, and wider. I close my eyes and gasp out as the rope constricts tightly, causing that pressure to radiate within me. The rope burns into a more comfortable position and writhes me aroun
d until I settle still and eventually open my eyes to look at him again.

  “I love you, Elizabeth,” he says, his body absolutely still as his eyes pierce mine and remind me of his need for me, his need to find his peace in me. I gaze back into them and see the blue darkening. Whether that’s his sadistic side or his own sense of fear, I don’t know, but I will make this as easy for him as I can. I want him to love me, want him to show me the more we’re both after, and if I can help him in the process then I’ll give him everything I can. His shoulders sigh out a tense breath as I wait and watch him crack his neck to the side. His mouth parts. “Lights.” And the room is suddenly black.

  I mean pitch black. There isn’t a shard of light anywhere. I blink my eyes about in the hope of bringing my night vision into play, but there’s nothing, only the rustling of his clothes and the feeling of the ropes biting into my skin. A few minutes pass as I listen to my own breathing and still try to look around. Eventually, I realise there really is no point so I just close my eyes and take in a deep breath. Fingers suddenly brush my throat, and after the initial jolt of surprise, I smile at the tenderness in them. There’s nothing harsh about them at all. Something wet touches my arm. It’s warm, and I quickly realise it’s his tongue as his lips travel across my skin. Never has sensation felt so strange. Not even a blindfold creates this sense of darkness. It’s as if there is nothing but the impression of heated air circulating. I can almost feel it on my skin, heavy, binding even, and the spikes of trepidation waiting for a touch, a reaction of some sort to ignite the temperature around us, are potent.

  Skin rubs against my thigh and I try to work out which bit of him it is – hard, solid and muscular. It’s only when his forearm wraps around my waist to draw me to him that I get some sense of positioning. It was his thigh. His hard cock jabs into my knee – that bit I do know – and I feel my legs start to lift a little as the rope becomes taut against them again. The weight on my arms relaxes, and I start to understand that I’m being lowered to a lying position as I hear the scuffing sound of the rope as it travels through the ringlets around me. I’m just about comfortable with the idea when the ropes start stretching me tightly, yanking at my joints and widening access points.

  “Stop, Alex,” I shout out. Everything stops instantly. It’s good to know that works even if it isn’t my safe word. I suck in a breath and tug on the ropes for slight release. “I just… I can’t...”

  He chuckles. “Yes, you can. Stop being a pussy, Elizabeth.” Oh, how fucking dare he? “What do you need to say to stop me?”

  “Safeword,” splutters out of me, as I regain my nerve and just listen to his voice. Its calm, amused, relaxed. Beautiful.

  “Good. Now, perhaps this will help ease you.” His hand clamps around my groin and he presses what feels like three fingers straight into me. The moan that leaves my mouth has even me surprised as my head tips back and sends me straight into that noose again. It immediately begins to tighten, but I don’t care. All I can feel is his fingers working me, slow, tantalizing fingers pushing deep inside and stretching me, and oh god, that ache is raging again for him to go faster, harder, further inside, to reach the end of me and spark the magic so I can breathe through this. His thumb lands on my clit and starts circling, small forceful movements pushing me closer to my goal, his goal. I have no idea whose goal it is but I want it. And then my body is swaying back and forth. It’s not his hand moving anymore; it’s me. The web has created a swing and I’m being pumped onto his hand, harder with every rock into him.

  “Yes,” I hiss out, a siren’s voice, the one reserved only for him. “More, please,” I beg. I’m chanting it in my head, over and over again as he increases the speed and lets me bang onto his fingers, a perfect rhythm being created by a man who very clearly knows what he’s doing. The ropes tighten again, painfully this time, and my body tries to coil away from it but there’s nowhere to go so I just concentrate on his hands and let that mist of my happy place call. All noise disappears apart from my panting. All thoughts of anything other than my orgasm building evaporate into space. It’s him that I want, just him, and to come as soon as I can. A sudden sharp pain in my hand reminds me of the key digging into my palm, and then another sting of pain across my arse from his hand, which burns deliciously, and has me screaming from the ferocity of it. Oh Christ, that was good, so good. I want another. God, I want another.

  “Again,” I stutter out on a shaky breath. I immediately get one, this time on the other side, which equals out the blaze sending all sorts of shock waves to my groin. My panting increases to fever pitch. I’m so ready to come, so ready to explode all over him, and... He suddenly stops the swinging and removes his hand from me.

  “Not yet. I want to be fucking you when you come. I’ve waited long enough for it.” Bastard.

  I blow out a breath in anticipation and wait again. The ropes on my arms loosen a little and I feel myself being dropped backwards, at the same time, the neck rope tightens again and forces me to tip my head backwards and down. I have no idea what this position is for until I feel his hands on either side of my head and his distinct scent under my nose. “Let’s see how deep can you take me, Elizabeth.” Oh god, I suddenly realise what’s happening, and much as the thought worries me, I want him in my mouth, down my throat. In fact, I can feel the saliva pooling in my mouth at the very idea of it. But there’s no room for manoeuvre here. I can’t get away from him if I try, and I won’t even be able to speak to tell him to stop, will I? He pushes his fingers into my mouth roughly and I instantly taste myself on them, sweet, salty. I suck for dear life in the hope of allaying my nerves. He pulls them out and I feel the tip of him brush against my lips. A stronger, salty taste assaults my airways as I swipe my tongue over him and revel in his taste. My lips reach out to draw him into me, hungry for more and very willing to comply with any form of deep throating he needs. He pushes, slowly at first, allowing me to find a comfortable access for him, and then when he reaches my gag reflex, he just holds still. My body tries to move away, but there’s nothing to push against and he won’t let me move. I can’t speak. I can feel the shaking all over my body as I wrench my head about to try and get him out but he just increases the pressure on my head to hold me still again, with those fingers digging into my chin a little to keep my airway open and available to him.

  “So fucking perfect,” he growls from above me as he enjoys my struggle, and then slowly shoves forward again, painfully slow. I feel him break through, and hold my lips against his body. I can feel the hair on his groin tickling me as I try to get used to the fullness and find a way to breathe. After a few seconds, he slowly pulls back so I snatch air as quickly as I can and then suck down as he pushes back in again, deeper if that’s possible. My throat relaxes a little as I get used to the intrusion, and I find myself wanting him deeper, wanting him to ram back in again and drown me in his cum. If I could get my hands to his backside, I’d pull him in now and push him harder. The ache is only heightening every need I have to please him, because he’s going to take that away from me, isn’t he? He’s going to make it better and fill me until it doesn’t ache anymore. His hands pull me back onto him so that I’m swinging again, backwards and forwards onto his cock as it somehow goes deeper still and begins to become fluid, a true rhythm of lust being created around slick sounds and groans of desire. This is why he’s holding me so tightly, so that he doesn’t hurt me, so that I stay at the right angle for him. It’s strange, given his sadistic tendencies, but I can feel the love in those hands. No one else would see that, but I do. He could easily make this hell for me, but he’s doing everything he can to make me enjoy this, and I am. His hoarse voice begins growling and groaning above me, as he gets closer. I can hear it in him, feel it in his cock, that slight jumping sensation as he rams in again and almost shudders from the intensity of it. “You feel so fucking good. I could come in you now. Do you want me down your throat?”

  Yes, no, I don’t know. Actually, no, I want him inside me,
but I have no way of telling him that. No sound comes from my throat when I try to say no, so I shake my head slightly in the hope that he understands, and somehow I sense the smile on his face. I can see it clearly in my mind as he slows his rhythm down and eventually withdraws completely. Spittle stretches across to him as I instantly gulp in a lungful of air and try to get some form of bearing again in the blackness. There’s still nothing, no light, no flicker of anything to show me where he is. I feel like I’m back in the safe room downstairs, although this time I’m tied up, and hopefully we’re not about to fight.