“You see how easy it is when you stop fighting me,” he says, his shoe appearing in my line of sight by my knees. Fighting? I’m not fighting. I’m asking questions. What’s wrong with that? I’m not sure how anyone’s supposed to learn if they don’t question reasoning. My mouth opens, the weight of the movement dropping my chin open only for him to close it for me with his fingers and then crouch down to my level. “Just stop fighting me, Alana.” I don’t understand what that means. Seriously. How have I fought him? “Fighting me will only provoke me. You didn’t come here for that.” I gaze into softening eyes, ones that seem like he’s trying to explain something to me in terms I don’t understand. “You came to learn, not to be my toy.”
“But…” The word slips through my lips, and before I’m given a chance to get the rest out, he stands up and backs away again, all elements of softness replaced by tough scowls. I hover the train of thought, wondering what response is best. Challenge again, or accept whatever plan he has. Seems I’m not that interested in placating him with mollified offerings of acceptance. I want whatever it is he’s not delivering.
I stare at the floor rather than at him, tracing the lines of gauged out rivets that have been formed by the pews over the centuries. I’m not concerned with the pleasantries of the scene, nor the idea that one kneels in some state of obedience. I know that sort of top line information. It’s not dissimilar to the way people kneel for God, I assume. What I want is the whys. Why should I kneel? Why should I submit? Why would I want to?
“Tell me why?” I ask, my body pushing itself upright to stand in front of him again. He sighs, his fingers reaching for his brow as he steps half a step away.
“You’re not giving me a chance to, Alana. I’m doing it like this for you.” Like what? For god’s sake this is all becoming farcical. I just want information and a reason why.
“For god’s sake, Blaine. Stop with —” He grabs at my arms, swinging me around into his hold so my back is against his chest as one of his hands grasps the side of my g-string. It’s immediate and harsh, causing me to gasp at the contact and collide into his frame. I struggle against the sensation, not sure if I’m ready for whatever he’s suggesting and confused about the sudden aggressive nature of his hands as his hold increases.
“Is this what you need to stop fighting me?” No, no. I’m just asking questions. I try to turn, my feet tripping over themselves so I can get to his eyes again. He doesn’t let me, and his advancing weight behind me starts pushing me down to the ground as he keeps yanking at the g-string. Panic surges through me as I twist in his hold, as if that’s just nature’s way of retaliation, my body struggling for freedom. “Get on the fucking floor and stop being a brat,” he growls, grunting as my elbow connects with his ribs. No, screw him. My arms flail again, grabbing at nothing but air and muscles, as my left knee hits the ground. He pushes again, one of his legs hooking around my shin as his fingers brace the back of my neck and force me downwards again. I have no strength left to fight him with. My own power strains against both our bodies, my arse trying to wriggle free of his grasp as my hands brace the stone below. He suddenly halts his momentum, his frame freezing above mine while his lips drop to my ear. “Pliable is the reaction you should be offering now.” I pant out, grabbing some much needed air before rallying my bones for more exertion. “I suggest you try it on for size before I take your unwilling cunt and strap it for disobedience.” The image of anything strapping my bits causes my skin to crawl, sending nerves to places they absolutely shouldn’t be enjoying the prospect of. His breath warms my neck further as time just stops for a few seconds. I let the sensations travel my veins to help me understand them, flicking my gaze around the empty space and wondering if God’s watching the performance unfold. A calm begins washing in, laced with exhilaration. A rush of sorts, making me ache for something to feed the cunt he’s talking about. And the fact that same cunt is beginning to rub against his knee, my arse rising higher to accommodate the friction, only confuses the situation more as my nails grate against the stone. “Better,” he says, his voice hovering over my ear as he steadies his thigh against my grind. “Fuck yourself on it.” I can feel the elastic of my g-string rubbing against my own thigh, digging into it and chafing back and forth as I relay the same motion. I don’t even think about why I’m doing it as I stare at the crucifix on the wall. I just do. It seems acceptable, like I’ve got no choice against the ache that longs to be fed. I feel empty, as if I need filling, desperately. So much so that my arse rises higher, one of my hands daring to move back to grab hold of him. He can fill me in this moment; I know he can, just like he did on the floor we rolled on. Right here, right now, I want nothing more than for him to fuck the boredom out of me while my arse is in the air and his teeth bite into me.
“Fuck,” I breathe, the grinding causing so much pleasure I couldn’t begin to hold the word in. I’m not sure if I’m asking for him to do it, or just expressing a need. I’m so lost in the abandon of it, blindly allowing desire to take over as my rubbing increases in pace. Back and forth, the pressure escalating as I keep up my momentum and moan out the torment. “I need you to… Oh, god. Fuck.” That’s all I’ve got again. There’s nothing more. There’s only his thigh, the impetus to ride it like a lunatic, and the thought of him filling me with anything.
“What do you need, pretty thing?” My head shoots up, momentarily broken from my train of thought. I see Priest standing in a corner, a woman standing to the left of him dressed entirely in black and smiling at me. Oh god, what am I doing? My whole body stops, recoiling into Blaine and trying to forget the fact I’m nearly naked. Blaine growls, his hand splaying on my back and pushing me forward and back down onto his thigh.
“Keep fucking yourself. You want to play this way. This is your reward.” I don’t know what that means and try to retreat again. It doesn’t work. His splayed fingers just hold me down firmly then creep up to my neck. “Answer him.” I can’t. I don’t know the answer. I’m barely able to keep the sensation I had before going given the sight of another man and woman. And Priest beginning to walk along the alcoves towards us really isn’t helping my nerves. There are just long echoed steps heading my way as he drags his fingernails across the wall beside him and smiles. The sound grates through me like a chalkboard, reminding me of discipline in school and teachers who glowered at misbehaviour.
“No spirited comeback this time?” Priest says, his smile spreading into something that shows complete control of the space around him. “Or is that confession confusing you?” He stops five feet in front of me, his hands clamping behind his back as he looks down at my face. And at the same moment Blaine inches my head further to the floor, fully releasing it as my lips kiss the ground.
I’m still motionless, desperately holding my shivering thighs for fear of rubbing against Blaine, as I look up at Priest’s hollow eyes. I feel so exposed, belittled. It makes me glance over at the woman, her heels clipping the floor as she sways in Priest’s direction and looks over me at Blaine. I don’t know what the feeling is, but it’s not stopping the ache from willing me backwards onto something solid. My body simply doesn’t care that I’m on display, or that this is surreal and peculiar. It wants what these two men are doing to me. It’s not even just Blaine or the attraction I have for him. It’s Priest, too, perhaps even the presence of the woman. I frown at her, confused yet again by their sudden involvement here which seems to make me feel more inclined to continue, not less. I’m throbbing down there, teetering on the edge of not giving a fuck and grinding backwards without thought. “Tell us what you need, pretty thing.”
I want to say nothing. I want to tell both of these men, and her, that I don’t want anything, but I do. At least my body does. It calls to Blaine, offers him something of me I’ve never had before. It’s that damned connection again, quieting my argument. I can’t say I feel treasured or cherished as my core relaxes back onto his thigh, and certainly not loved. But I do feel desired. Needed. I feel a part of
something greater than just me, and as my clit slides over the thick woollen material again, sending a shockwave through me, my gasp confirms what they all already know. I want this. I want him. That’s my confession, whether I like to admit it or not. It’s nothing to do with rape or any of this. It’s about Blaine and my feelings for him, because I am desperate for this in whichever way he chooses to push me into it. I am desperate for him.
Blaine’s hand suddenly hits my backside so sharply it sends my face further into the ground and makes me scream out as the sting spreads. I actually gasp for air as I let the burn penetrate my skin, my hands trying to push me up a little to create space between the ground and me. The moment I do, my thighs connect around his again, forcing my clit against the rough material and sending more spasms through my aching body.
“Answer him,” Blaine says, his hands nowhere near me as his body folds across my back. “Tell us what you need.” Fucking. I need fucking. I know that, much as I don’t want to say it.
His tongue is tracing my spine before I know what’s happening. It goads me into the next tentative movement, my eyes looking back at Priest and wondering how any of this came to be. Did they plan it? Is this the way it always happens? Is this what kink is? Oh god, the next swipe over his thigh closes my eyes in ecstasy as I let the sensation crawl through me. I rise to accommodate it, levering more purchase against him and hoping another hit comes to spur me on further. Christ. It’s never felt like this. It’s never had such an intense effect on me. Never sliced through and cut to the very core of me until there’s hardly any breath left. My groans further my momentum, hardly able to care that either of them is here, only that Blaine gives me a platform to come against. My body begins to use that without regret even though my mind can’t keep it. It begins in earnest as my calves help the movement and I let myself fall into Blaine’s lips on my spine. It’s so good, and yet so confounding. And something makes me want his teeth rather than his lips, as if some sort of pain is required for finality.
“You’ve still not answered,” he says quietly, his teeth beginning to scrape along my jugular as he smothers me and I keep grinding. “Find the words to ask me for it. Let them come.” Oh god, the ache’s frantic now. It’s surging through me, battling me between the rights and wrongs of this. And I don’t care enough to stop anything. I just want this, all of this. I want Blaine inside me. I want Priest watching. I want the woman touching me. Visions even come of Priest handling his own cock as he watches a rape scene I’m thinking about, his fingers wrapping around a present I’ve yet to see. The thought makes me wheeze, part disgusted at myself and rendering me breathless once more as I groan out in torment. And then it comes, Blaine’s teeth bite down for the first time sending me into a frenzy of need, any sense of remorse leaving me the moment they make contact forcefully.
“Please…” The word comes out with no thought. There’s nothing here anymore, just sensation and visions and images of unpredictable fucking. That’s everything I want as my warm cheek heats the stone beneath me. Fucking. I’m desperate, and now grating myself back and forth like I’ll explode if I don’t get it. My hands scramble again, the material of Blaine’s jacket scrunching into my hold as I feel my orgasm coming. It chases itself through my body, my moans announcing a need I knew nothing about previously. “Please…” Oh god, there it is again. Desperation. Begging. A hysterical and anxious need for something that little bit more to fulfil a moment I can’t control, don’t want to. My eyes prise themselves open, for some reason needing to see Priest, perhaps hoping that will make me come, or bring visions of the sin I’m wanting more and more by the second. He nods, but not at me. He’s not even looking at me. He’s focused on Blaine, and in the next breath I’m shunted forward off his thigh. It makes me catch my breath as I land heavily on the stone, my hands trying to brace me away from it. I’m not given a chance to, rather pushed further down against it and manhandled roughly.
“Ask me,” Blaine growls, his voice hoarse and sounding as desperate as I feel. I turn my head, wondering what’s happening and find such concentration staring back at me it scares me into movement again. His eyes have become pools of black liquid, churning with anything but the control I usually see. My knees grate, the coarse ground scuffing in and causing pain as I reach for Priest, a slight and strangely irrational panic setting in. He just shakes his head and backs away a step, leaving me alone to deal with whatever’s coming.
“Ask him, pretty.” That’s all I get, that and a sneer that would unnerve the gods as he takes another step away from my outstretched hand. I don’t even know why I’m reaching to him. He’s not on my side. He’ll only help Blaine, not me. And then I hear rustling behind me again as hands grab at my legs and drag me back along the ground. It makes my top half spin once more, intrigue and fear mingling together, confusing me further as my core cries out for more and I brace my hands out at him.
“Ask for it.” The strain in Blaine’s voice is palpable. It matches the tension in his hands as I watch one of them ripping at his belt and the other batting my fingers away from his face. My mouth opens, unsure what my mind’s response to this is, but once again my body’s panting with need and ready to delve headlong into this hedonism. “You know that cunt needs it.” It might do, but I’m still hostile to the thought as my hands lash out again in a display of non-agreement. I don’t know why. He’s right. I am ready, more than ready. Perhaps it’s just the scenario, or maybe it’s the thought that I’m enjoying this aggression and I can’t comprehend why. I stare at him, my body primed to run and yet wanting nothing more than for him to hold me down and fuck any other man out of me.
“No.” The word leaves my lips at the same time as my leg kicks out, renting the side of his thigh and forging me away towards Priest again. I’m confused, unable to make a decision between my needs and thoughts. This isn’t right. It’s wrong. I’m in a church with two men, another woman watching on, and one of them is about to fuck me because I’ve been acting like a slut all over his thigh. And I want to ask him to do it. I do. I want to say those words and welcome it, all of it. But now I’m fighting him again because I have the need to run. It makes no sense. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. All I know is that the sight of him there as I spin my head back again, his fingers attached to one of my ankles as he drags me back easily and smiles wickedly, is the most erotic image of hate I have ever seen.
Chapter 15
Blaine
“F uck you,” she says, her breath filtering through my skin as she tugs again. Good little brat.
Malice heaves, pitching any thoughts of serviceable training to insufficient memories. The back of my spine tingles, beckoning out all power through my fingers as I latch on to her ankle and pull her backwards into me. She can battle all she wants, but she’s not getting away. She’s pushed and prodded, focusing all my thoughts on letting loose as she integrates her rebellion into my mind. Most subs stay quiet, bowing down gracefully because they want to learn. Not Alana Williams. She defies, questions, and bleeds every instinct out of me to just show her without conversation or consent. Maybe she doesn’t know what she is. Maybe she can’t wrap her head around what is happening to her or between us. Either way, I don’t give a fuck anymore. I’m too wound up, too aggravated by her ass in my face, her cunt on my thigh, the heavenly stench of come drifting under my nose and the way her mind tries to escape her body’s requirements.
Delaney nods again, his arms still clenched behind his back as he watches on carefully and offers a sense of rationality. I’m not convinced it’ll work, but again, as her leg heaves and kicks out in confusion, I don’t care. She’ll understand in a minute. She’ll feel it and lick the fucking ground as she does, gasping for breath and screaming at the pain she’s about to receive.
I let go as one foot slams against my chest, amused by the notion that she’s still not giving in, only to give her three seconds grace to almost get to Delaney before yanking her back into my hold.
“You asked
for this,” I grate out, welcoming the nails that reach for my hair as I grab at her hands to restrain them. “You pushed and disobeyed.” Delaney laughs, the sound of his feet walking away as he gives me room to play.
“Fuck you,” she shouts again, her body twisting in my hold as she tries to get to Delaney again. I don’t know why. The man will only push her back. And if he doesn’t, his current partner in crime certainly will. They might be standing there seeming unaffected, but they aren’t. And it will only take one nod in return for this to turn into more than one of us fucking her.
I grip her wrists, tightening my hold without any graduation until she mewls and quietens her explosive frenzy, her body finally coming to a stop in front of me as she pants.
“Finished?” She gives a sudden knock back of her head, perhaps trying to engage it with mine. I let her, leaning my cheek down into hers so she can butt at me as much as she likes. I enjoy the argument, want more of it. She fights like she’ll never give in and I don’t want her to. I want her scratches and rebellion. It’s why I feel like this now. Desperate and ready to drive insanity into the core of her, regardless of how much she denies it. She isn’t a general sub; she wants aggressive play, demands it with every question and rallied intent to deny her needs. She wants rape play, holding down and having the life sucked from her until she’s a quivering mess of tears and distress. For me, one of the few who require it this way, she’s sheer faultlessness. Exactly what I want from a woman and exactly what I should be running from.
Once Upon A (Stained Duet Book 1) Page 25
