“Your collar. You offered yourself to me. Tonight, I accept,” he said. I stared, then blinked, then smiled. He smiled back, a thin hint of approval.
“Come.”
I could walk myself around most of his house by that point, but I followed him, anyway, nervously adjusting my new gift. It was thick, and there was a small metal ring attached to the front. It was loose enough that I could fit a finger easily between it and my neck. Even so, it felt exhilarating to know it was there. The new weight on my body, the unusual sensation of having it on, was like a string tied around my finger—every time I felt it, I was reminded why I had it and why I was here.
Calvin steered me away from his bedroom and toward a door leading to his basement. It turned out not to be some small storage space, but a huge open room with gray, rough-hewn stone walls. The lighting was low and uneven, and only when I looked up and saw no lights did I realize that the room was lit entirely by a huge fireplace on the east wall. Its flames sent shadows dancing across all the walls and reflecting off the glass of the four large, framed paintings mounted on the west wall. A lone chair sat in the middle of the room.
“Undress. I’ll be back shortly,” Calvin said before leaving me alone.
I walked to the chair and circled it. Wood, cushioned arms, a cushioned seat. It looked comfortable, a nice place to sit and watch a woman perform. I peeled off my clothes and stared into the fire. I felt half mesmerized. Despite the warmth the flames threw, I felt cold. It was anticipation. It was being alone. It was not knowing. The fire danced wildly, and I began to feel a rising sense of urgency in the pit of my stomach. I trusted Calvin; I knew I could. I trusted myself. I knew what I was getting into. I wanted to do what I assumed we were about to do. I’m ready, I thought to myself.
I’m ready.
“I’m ready,” he said. I nearly jumped at the sound. Behind me stood Calvin, his brow raised and his thick, hard body loosely covered by a crimson velvet robe with black lapels. Around one arm, he held a coiled length of black rope. With the fire reflected in his eyes, he looked almost diabolic. I swallowed dry air. He was so handsome. It wasn’t as though I hadn’t noticed before, but at that moment, I was hit with it so acutely. It was his mouth. The corners of his lips peaked in small upturned points. He looked relaxed in a way he never had. He looked confident. He looked unbound.
“Calvin…”
“Master,” he corrected me.
“M-master,” I managed, “would you like to sit?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he clasped me by the shoulders and pressed until I collapsed into the seat myself. It was comfortable.
“First, I’m going to tie you. Then, we begin. The safe word is fire.”
I felt my thighs tense just thinking about it. I spread my fingers over the end of the chair’s arms and watched him as he wove the rope around me. It is difficult to explain what he was doing—some of it was behind me, some under my arms, some knots he made looked too complicated to understand, whereas others were just in places I couldn’t see. What I was aware of was the feeling of the rope roughly rubbing my skin. My flesh raised with goose bumps, my nipples grew hard and flushed red. It felt good to be restricted and, once he was finished, it felt amazing to be stared at. He did stare—I couldn’t tell whether at his work or me—but it was exciting, nonetheless. I felt low, degraded. I wanted more.
“You do look precious tied up like that,” he decided. I felt warm between my legs. His tone was strong and patronizing. Why did his talking down to me feel so good? Why did I get such a rush out of being his property?
We’re going to have fun tonight, you and I. It’ll hurt, but that doesn’t mean it won’t feel good,” he said as he walked behind me. Wood and stone grated as he spun my chair to face directly away from the fire. Before I could grunt, his hands descended over my shoulders, pulling two thick ropes together to squeeze my breasts. I moaned. He was right; it felt amazing to be so absolutely at his mercy. His fingers pinched my sensitive nipples, caressed my tingling skin. I felt, perhaps because of the ropes, an intense need to move. I wanted to squirm and touch myself, and I couldn’t. I felt fear, a livid sort of claustrophobia, and although I didn’t know how I felt about that, his touch pushed my worries to the back of my mind.
“Master…,” I moaned. He gently pinched my nose and pulled it up, while pulling my jaw down. I let my mouth open and he slipped something between my lips. It was long and a bit hard. At first, I thought it some sort of phallic toy, but the taste quickly gave it away. It tasted like wax.
“If only you could see yourself right now…,” he mused sadistically and removed the long candle from my mouth. I tried to look up at him, but he had disappeared. I turned my head and saw movement near the fireplace out of the corner of my eyes. When he returned, he walked around the front of my chair, his sleeves pulled to his shoulders and the candle, as white as milk, burning in his hand. I reacted immediately, recoiling in my chair. Something about the fire set me on edge. I felt like running, but I was trapped. I felt like crying. I didn’t want to be so afraid; I wanted to be ready. I wanted to be his. I wanted to be turned on, not frightened.
But it was all so out of my control. I didn’t know what to do.
“Sabrina,” Calvin said softly. His hand rose and caught a tear as it dropped from my eyes. I felt so ashamed, and not in a good way. I turned my head aside. I couldn’t even wipe my face.
“I’m sorry, Calvin. I…” I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even know what I was, or how I felt, or if this was even somewhere I wanted to be. Was I just embarrassed now? Was that why I wanted to rip off the ropes and sprint for the door? Was this whole submissive thing not for me? Was there something wrong with Calvin? Was I afraid of a candle?
“Hey, none of that,” Calvin whispered. He let the candle drop from his hands and sputter out against the floor. In a minute, the ropes joined it, and I was free. I sat, my hands coiling over each other in my lap. I felt like a complete failure.
“Were you scared?” he asked.
“I guess,” I answered, though with little conviction.
“Well, we can stop. Take a few seconds, and just breathe. If you want to stop, just say the word.”
And then, I really did start to cry. I fell into him like a child and began to sob into his shoulder. His strong embrace felt better than any ropes, and when he kissed my ear, I felt warmth spread through my cold skin.
“I’m nervous,” I admitted into the skin of his neck. He rubbed my back in gentle circles.
“Of course, you are. Why wouldn’t you be?” he asked, peeling our bodies apart and giving me a gentle smile. “That’s very normal. I might be able to help you, if you’d still like to try it. If not, I can drive you home. ”
“What can you do?”
“I can try to relax you. All you have to do is sit and listen to my voice.”
That didn’t sound so bad. I really didn’t want to run away, so I nodded and leaned back into the seat behind me. Calvin took a position behind me and laid his hands on my shoulders. He cleared his throat, as though about to read from a book.
“Close your eyes,” he ordered.
“I want you to relax your body, starting with your toes. I want you to feel the tension in your toes disappear. Let them just sit; don’t let them twitch or move at all. Once your toes are relaxed, relax the rest of your foot. Let your foot release any tension you’re carrying in it. By the time you’re finished, you shouldn’t even try to feel your foot. Pretend, if it helps, that you’ve buried it in sand.”
Whatever he did, it worked. I felt the muscles in my foot relax at his urging. Although they didn’t feel quite numb, they did feel almost weightless.
“Now, your calves. Let go of the tension, relax…”
With his handsome voice to guide me, I allowed the peaceful sensation, so much like being buried under warm sand, to take over my limbs. He guided me all the way up my legs, then from my fingertips to my shoulders. Then my stomach, then my shoulders,
then my neck. By the time he was done, I almost felt as though I weren’t even there. Somehow, despite myself, I felt at peace.
“Very good,” he said. “Now, I want you to imagine yourself floating on water. I want you to visualize it. Feel the water on your body. Feel the sun above you shining on your skin. You’re drifting slowly, but you’re going nowhere. You feel at peace, you feel as if you’re floating over the waves. Let feelings of worry and anxiety drift away. All that will be left is calmness.”
Slowly, I breathed. With each breath, I imagined more. I felt the rolling waves under me, lifting me and bringing me down, but never forcing me to move or swim. I felt the sun against my face. I did feel comfortable. I did feel calmer.
“Now, I want you to imagine that I am the water,” he said. “I can push you, pull you, move you wherever I want. You trust me as you trust the water. When I speak, you yield to me.”
It was dreamlike. I could hear him, sure, but I couldn’t see him. Somehow, in my head, I had crossed the wires that thought of him as a man and as an ocean because, suddenly, I was there—floating on the waves. His voice surrounded me. Every time he spoke, the water pushed gently against me, sending me here or there. Whenever it did, I yielded. Something about his voice sounded so genuine.
“If you can hear me, say ‘yes’.”
The voice that answered him seemed disembodied, and I didn’t recall opening my mouth to use it. There was only the feeling of the ocean and the sun where I was, and the sound of his voice.
“Good,” it said. “Now, listen. When I snap my finger, you will leave the water and come back to my house. Once you’ve woken, you’ll no longer feel any anxiety. You know I have no bad intentions toward you, and you know I won’t judge you. You’ll wake wanting to have fun and to try the new things I want to show you. I’m going to snap my fingers in three seconds. When I do, you’ll wake up. One, two—”
My eyes shot open. Strong hands massaged my shoulders, and I looked around, confused. The basement, the pictures…
“Wow!” I said.
“Nice, isn’t it?” he said with that casual confidence.
I felt like a new woman. Not only did my body feel completely relaxed, but I also felt more clearheaded than I had in a long time.
“I can’t believe how horny I am,” I blurted. Calvin gave a low chuckle.
“I’ve heard that can happen. So would you like to try again?”
I absolutely did. Crazy as it sounded, Calvin’s little talking session had relaxed me so much that I felt ready for anything. It felt different from just pushing my worries away. I felt truly relieved. I promised myself I’d ask him how he did it later. His prediction while I relaxed had come true—I wanted to try the ropes and the candles. It didn’t take him long to tie me back up. This time, though, I was a bit more playful. I tested my restraints, nipped at Calvin’s ears when he leaned in to tie a knot. I felt wetness between my legs. I wanted him badly, and I knew that would only make the restraints all the more erotic.
Once I was bound, he grabbed the sides of my face and kissed me. I relished the feeling of his tongue invading my mouth, lashing against mine dominantly. The back of my head was pushed into the chair from the force of him, and I moaned desperately.
“All better?” he asked, as our lips parted. I nodded eagerly. He walked away to light the candle again.
This time, when he held it in front of my face, all I felt was excited. I could feel the flame as it came near my skin, and when the droplets of wax fell off it, I hissed with satisfaction. The pain felt good, just as he said it would. The splatter cooled almost immediately, but it stuck to my skin in lewd white pools between the ropes on my thighs. Repeatedly, he did it, torturing me while he stared. His eyes were narrow, contemplative. Mine were teary and squinting. I yelped; I hissed; I moaned when he took a moment to massage between my legs. Compared with the pain, the pleasure of his touch was twice as good as it usually was. My skin was so sensitive, and his fingers exploring inside me made me want to scream with delight.
“I told you you’d like it,” he said, seeing the desperation plain on my face. I wanted to kiss him; I wanted to jump from my chair and rip that robe off him. I wanted to fall to my knees and send his cock deep down my throat. I wanted to inflict on him the pleasure he was inflicting on me. It almost hurt to be unable to move. I strained against the ropes, trying to kiss his skin. He leaned back, a cruel smile on his lips.
“Getting a bit restless? Let’s see if we can’t do anything about that,” he said and removed a black cloth from his robe’s pocket. I recognized it immediately—he’d blindfolded me with it so long ago. My eyes went wide. He wasn’t going to— He did.
I tried to fight, but he tied it easily around my head. Suddenly, the world was black. I knew how amazing pleasure was when you didn’t see it coming, but this was too much. I couldn’t writhe, grab him, kiss him, or anything. Seeing him was my last refuge of sanity.
“What is that?” I asked, as something touched my leg. It felt like… I didn’t really know. It felt a bit like my collar.
“Riding crop,” he said before smacking it against my thigh. I cried out. Like the wax, the pain was minimal. The surprise was not. Where had he gotten a riding crop? Was he going to hit me again? Where? Obsessing over it was all I could do. Without sight or movement, all I had in my arsenal was moaning and thinking. That was the brilliance of it all. The rope, the cloth over my eyes—it all left me helpless in my mind.
Alone with my thoughts and his teasing torture, I could only feel and obsess over the feeling. There was no release, no reciprocation. I was a thing used to gratify my master. My little yelps and twitches were no doubt making him hard as a rock. Was it mad that all I could think of was how great it felt to be used? No, it wasn’t mad; it was exactly what I’d come for. I wanted to be that thing in Calvin’s life he could use, the woman on which he could let himself free.
Another smack. Another gasp. He kept hitting the same spot, and each light tap stung a bit more than the last. With such little effort, I felt my will breaking. I wouldn’t say the safe word, though. I wouldn’t bend to him so quickly. It was his role to use me; it was mine to be used. I wouldn’t give it up for anything.
“You like the riding crop?” he asked seductively.
“Yes, master. More please?” I answered. Repeatedly, he slapped my leg with the leather. Repeatedly, I twitched and pulled against the ropes. I felt them tighten around my skin, squeeze my breasts, rub the inside of my thigh. Soon enough, I was panting. It was like being slowly choked by a snake—I was a victim, and the more I tried to struggle, the easier it was to keep me trapped.
“Enough of the crop, I think,” he finally said. I sighed in relief. I felt his hands reach behind me and untie the ropes. I stood and stretched my limbs. It felt so good to move. His hands guided me to a wall. He pressed my face against it. He made me spread my legs and push out my ass. He put my hands flay against the wall.
“Don’t move.” With the blindfold still on, I had no idea where he was going, but I had some idea of what was coming next. When it came, I took it with a stoic grunt. The slap on my ass reverberated through the room. The sound of skin on skin sounded so good, so right. Our bodies made the same sound when he fucked me. I loved that sound.
“Does it feel good?” he asked, “Do you want more?”
“Yes, sir,” I whined, “More, please.”
He gave it to me. Each slap sent my skin shaking. Each hit made the warmth between my legs grow. I felt bad, terrible, dirty—I felt like a whore, a slave. The primal feeling of pain was so exhilarating that I found, surprisingly quickly, that I shook with anticipation after each spanking.
“Please, more!” I cried out when he paused. I was surprised by how enthusiastic I sounded. I got what I asked for. But after, I felt him wrap his arms around my body. I didn’t move. He hadn’t told me to move. Instead, I stood there with my hands on the wall and my ass jutting as he squeezed my breasts and kissed my neck. I felt his
manhood sliding between my ass cheeks, rubbing its length up and down between them. Wetness trickled down my thigh. I pushed back against him and felt him rub against me harder for it. He was so warm and so stiff.
“Please, sir…” I moaned, as his fingers pulled my nipple.
“What do you want, slave?” he whispered, though kindly.
“Please fuck me,” I begged.
I felt his cock slide from between my cheeks and aim for my soaked pussy. I felt an explosion of warmth as he slid himself inside me. My breath fell into tattered gasps as he slid his length inside me. A strong hand grabbed a thick tangle of my hair and pulled my head back. I felt his teeth on my ear as he bucked his cock deeper. I struggled to bow my back to accommodate him. His hand slid from my sore nipple down the side of my body to grip my ass. He grunted as he thrust into me and let his thumb press against my hole.
I felt him work his way inside my ass as he fucked me, and the sensation of being penetrated in both holes drove me wild. Soon, I was pushing off the wall like an animal, leaning my body as far away as his hand in my hair allowed. He returned my enthusiasm with roughness, punishing me with each long thrust, until my insides felt almost numb from the overabundance of pleasure. I was faintly aware that I was screaming by that point. Begging was long since something I’d forgotten how to do. All I could think about was the hot wax sending my skin alight, the riding crop punishing my sore thigh, or his hand slapping my ass. All I could imagine was his cock deeper, harder.
Without warning, he ripped himself out from me. I gasped at the friction and balked as he spun me. I felt my feet leave the ground and my back rest on the stone wall. I couldn’t see, but I could feel his arms loop under my thighs and his cock touch my wet lips. He kissed my mouth and penetrated me at the same time. I groaned. My hands looped around his neck. Not seeing made everything so vivid. Each strong push of his cock inside me spread me around him so wonderfully. I could feel his head flare when he finished his thrusts; I could feel the smooth skin of his manhood rub against every inch of me. I squeezed him inside me, and he moaned with satisfaction.
Chambers of Desire: Opus 1 Page 20
