Chambers of Desire: Opus 1

by Sophie Moreau

  He moaned, no doubt far earlier than he had intended, as my lips dove up and down his cock. The sound of my muffled groans vibrated into the skin of his shaft with each plunge down my throat. I had practiced, and I hardly so much as gagged now. I wanted him to be impressed by how well I could handle him. I wanted to be the first woman who could let him fuck her throat so deep.

  His hand grabbed me by the hair; his hips began to thrust into me. I kept my composure, riding the waves of arousal I felt pour from him. They infected me like a disease, pushing my lips faster down his shaft, closing my jaw to let my teeth glide over his skin. He bucked all the harder. I wanted more. I wanted to make him lose control. If my mouth hadn’t been so full, I would have begged for it.

  But Calvin was not a man so easily manipulated. As soon as I established a rhythm, he twisted his hips, sending his manhood hurtling down my throat at an angle I didn’t expect. Each thrust became a challenge, one that forced me to maintain my composure. It wasn’t until he slid his wet cock from between my lips that I realized he had made me play to his rhythm. I gasped in the air after he exited me, my half-lidded eyes watching as strings of saliva dripped from my chin.

  “Good,” he congratulated. “Very, very good.” It was patronizing, deliciously so. I looked up at his chiseled body. I was drunk with glee at being congratulated by the man I served. When had this all stopped being a game?

  “Are you ready to do it again?” he asked. I was. He wouldn’t surprise me this time. No matter the angle, each thrust ended in the same place. I took a deep breath and nodded. His hand caressed my face, and I obediently parted my lips. He let me sit for a few seconds, enjoying the look of his slave so willing and ready to receive him, before his fingers trailed up my cheek, over my eyebrow and down my nose to pinch my nostrils shut. My eyes widened, and his manhood shoved into my open mouth.

  For the first few seconds, it felt normal. He slid his cock into my mouth gently, savoring every inch of my tight throat. Conflicting emotions roiled in my stomach. I was pleased because I was pleasing him, but I was worried because I knew that in a minute, my lungs would empty, my nostrils would try to flare, and my body would try to breathe. I looked up, he looked down, and I knew this was exactly what he wanted.

  A struggle erupted in my mind, a conflict of lust and self-preservation. I moaned piteously. His free hand slid over my hair and down the back of my neck, guiding himself in increasingly faster each time. I felt the softness of the skin against my tongue, the flare of his thick head as it filled the back of my throat and pulled back out. He knew I would start to panic; he knew I would start to gag. When I did, when the first convulsion of my throat closed on his shaft, he inhaled sharply. He never looked away from my face, though.

  My lungs began to burn with that horrible feeling of emptiness, and I squeezed my hands into fists uselessly. The fear made me almost giddy, and I shoved my face forward with nervous energy, forcing him harder down my throat. His breathing quickened; it was so heavy I could easily hear it. Every time I nearly pulled him out of my throat, he held me. His eyes were locked on my face as though he waited for something. All I could do was desperately blow him harder.

  “Does it feel good, Sabrina?” he asked, his voice dripping with pleasure. I moaned, but it didn’t sound lustful. It sounded frightened. When I looked in his eyes and saw how wide and gleeful they were at the sound, it struck me. My fear aroused him. My being in danger, this playful suffering, was what made him excited. All the times I had tried to overwhelm him with physical pleasure I hadn’t considered that he wasn’t like other men. What we did was special, deviant.

  Of course, he would have unique needs to bring him to completion. Regular men only needed a half-decent woman to pay attention to their cock for them to orgasm. Calvin was far more composed, far more particular. He was a man who knew what he wanted, not some slave to whatever pleasure he could find. Was this what he had been training me for all this time? Was this the revelation I was meant to have? And even if it were, even if I knew all this…what could I do?

  I moaned again, half a cry. Despite all my turmoil, having his manhood so deep in my throat was hugely arousing. I gloried in how wet he made me, how the feeling of his hand on my skin was like sitting with my back to a fire. I was gagging now; I couldn’t help it. Each thrust elicited a weak squeak of panic out of me. My lungs screamed. My fingers ached from squeezing on each other, and then relaxed. I tried to press the underside of his cock with my tongue. I wanted him to cum. I wanted to breathe. I wanted to make him happy. I wanted to live.

  My body began to shiver; I began to feel lightheaded. My eyes began to droop, and my shoulders began to slouch. My tongue could do no more work. I was tired. My body was in complete panic, but all I felt was an overwhelming lack of energy. Soon, my world was the fast pumping of something long and warm down my throat. I felt filled by it. It was a good feeling. The light began to dim around me.

  And suddenly, I felt a cool rush in my throat. Air. So much air. I was on the floor. Strong hands guided me down. My leg was lifted into the air, but I was too concerned with breathing to care. For a few moments, I felt nothing. Then, it hit me. Something soft and wet pressed itself where my legs met. It snaked over the lips of my pussy, sending overwhelming pleasure through my skin. In contrast to the soft, lifeless feeling I’d felt a moment before, it was like being born again. Something invaded me, slipped inside me once, twice, repeatedly, until all I could feel was wave after wave of sensation. His tongue.

  I tried to moan. Nothing came out. My body was so weak. How could the pleasure be so strong? His tongue licked its way up to my clit, and he began to dart over it furiously. It was too much. I couldn’t move—forget the arm restraints. My whole body was paralyzed by the lack of air. I wanted to writhe; I wanted to scream. I could do neither.

  Instead, I sat there and embraced the torturous amount of pleasure he inflicted on me. It was sensory deprivation on steroids. He hardly had to work at me for a minute before I felt the throes of an orgasm building in me. When it hit, when my body began to shake, and my muscles began to clench and contract, I released a loud moan. He grabbed my ass and squeezed, as though holding on for dear life, his tongue guiding me through the explosion of pleasure it had introduced me to. And then, I felt my leg drop.

  He let me lie on the floor until I caught my breath. It was the strangest feeling, almost losing consciousness. I had no idea it would be so gentle. Once the aching in my lungs subsided, I felt only tired. Coming back from that was like waking after a good nap.

  “Master…,” I said.

  “Slave?”

  “Thank you.”

  I felt him kiss my cheek. It was a warm blossom on my revitalizing skin. What a man!

  “Stay where you are. I’ll be right back.” He said, as though I had a choice. When he returned, life had mostly reasserted itself through my body. With one strong hand, he rolled me onto my front. The cold floor felt almost painful on my breasts. He pulled my hips off the floor and aimed my ass into the air. He had a lit candle in one hand. I smiled, despite it all.

  The pain of the hot wax was heavenly on my skin. Each drop that fell on my ass made me wince, but the feeling that came after, the soft burn that faded so quickly, was like being teased with little bolts of lightning. It was as though my master were blowing hot ashes on my skin. Soon, my cheeks were covered in dried, flaky wax. A single strong slap on my ass sent the stuff flying and sent my face, pressed on the cold floor as it was, pressing desperately against the stone. I gasped in delight.

  “More!” I begged again. I knew how much my gluttony turned him on. He flipped me over, and my warmed ass cooled on the floor. He sat behind me, spreading his legs and letting me recline on his lap. The back of my head rested against his chest. His hand, the one not holding the candle, wrapped under my armpit to tease my nipple. With a squeeze, he aimed that nipple up and tilted the candle over it. The thrill of pain overtook me, and I began to pant rapidly. This was unlike any other tim
e; the wax hardened over the bud of my nipple and left me reeling. He peeled the wax off and did it again, and again.

  After a few times, it began to hurt in earnest. I considered saying something, but fought against it. Did I like the pain? I couldn’t tell. My feelings were so muddled. I could feel his warm breath quicken on the skin of my ear. He loved this, and I loved turning him on. His arousal made me aroused. I wanted to feel his cock grow harder against my back. I wanted to know that my pain translated into his pleasure. It wasn’t so bad—no worse than when I lost my virginity, no worse than being fucked like an animal when he laid in to me. It was a feeling I knew I would grow to enjoy.

  The pain helped me slip into a submissive state. I felt like a toy to Calvin, a plaything that he could make moan and squirm for his pleasure—and I did squirm. I pushed the back of my head into his chest; I rubbed the small of my back against his groin. He reacted immediately, sliding his hand like a jolt of lightning toward my neck, grasping me under the chin. His hand continued to caress my breast. I stopped moving.

  Under his rough grasp, I felt entirely helpless. The wax dripped slowly on my skin; his hand held me firm. I could still feel his lust; I could still feel the pain. As I sat, staring blankly at the ceiling, I began to feel like those two things—lust and pain—were the only things that were. I felt them both wash over me, and I felt far away. That bit of me in my mind that had always nagged at me, that had sapped my trust in him, disappeared. Cradled in his lap, I felt safe, dominated, and so aroused. It felt like such a natural state. The pain changed. It wasn’t that I didn’t feel it. I did. I just didn’t care. My world became pleasure, and I embraced it without restraint.

  I almost didn’t notice when Calvin tilted his chin over my ear and blew out the candle’s flame. I was confused at first when he began to untie the arm binder. It didn’t matter. I moved only enough to help him handle me as he stood me up, corrected my posture, and massaged my shoulders. The stiffness in them felt far away, but it was still nice to have it worked out. He made me take a few deep breaths, cleaned the excess wax off me, and made sure I felt OK. I felt better than OK.

  He put the arm binder back on and began to kiss my neck. I let my eyes flutter shut, overtaken by the ticklish feeling. Every touch felt as good as a brush against my pussy. My skin was so charged full of lusty energy, and yet my muscles were so relaxed. I gave an aroused sigh. He walked around my side, kissing all the way. The candle was gone from his hand and in its place was a thin black chain.

  He swept his arm around the small of my back and leaned forward. It was nice not to have to question whether he would let me fall. He wouldn’t. Period. Even with my eyes closed, I fell perfectly into his arm, and he kissed my nipple. My chest felt electrified. He let his saliva coat my skin, making every stray breath he breathed over it tickle coldly.

  Satisfied after a few seconds, he did the same on my other breast. I moaned so enthusiastically I hardly even felt him pinching the former nipple with a clamp attached to that black chain. My body registered it, but all that came out was pleasure. When he finished with my nipples, and they were clamped tightly, he began to pull at the chain linking them. It hung lewdly across my chest, and with each pull, it tortured my breasts into what I might have thought earlier was agony. Now, it was just another reminder of my place under this overwhelming man.

  We kissed, and he alternated sliding his fingers inside me and pulling on his chain. Either way made me gasp with arousal. I felt almost unable to stand after a while of it. Each stroke of his finger inside me was almost too much to bear. The overwhelming sensation took over my mind, making me so horny and so heedless that I would have probably walked into a fire if he had just pushed me toward one. Of course, he wouldn’t have. At that moment, it was impossible.

  We walked around the room, him leading me like a dog, walking backward and watching me with his penetrating eyes as I obediently followed him. He was the master, I the slave. I could hardly separate myself from the role. I wanted to please him because pleasing him made my legs shiver. His triumphant look when I bowed to his will was like a drug to me. He stepped forward. I stepped back.

  Like dancers, we matched leg to opposite leg as we glided back toward the wall. I didn’t even wince when I felt the icy stone at my back. We were next to a wall-mounted swing and an antique chair with restraints. We were in the shadows. All but blind, I watched his hulking figure thrust into me powerfully, sliding in three cruel fingers to get a response from me. I felt so tight around him.

  This is the sort of thing you like, isn’t it?” he hissed. “Pushed up against the wall, chained, grinding on my hand.”

  What else could I say but yes?

  “You’re going to cum now. Do you understand me.?” he said. It was no question. I felt warmth spread through my groin just from his tone. It was as if my body took his orders literally, as though I’d been trained to flare at his command. He had made me a loyal servant to him, heart and soul. I hadn’t even noticed he’d done it.

  I leaned forward, swinging my head from the wall toward his body. My open teeth fell on his shoulder, and I sank them into his skin. He clapped the hand that had been pulling my chain around the back of my neck. His fingers squeezed, and I half kissed, half bit his skin until the arm between my legs began to slow down. I’d hit a sweet spot, and he looked, for a few moments, as though he were overwhelmed by pleasure. I stopped to smile, a half-second’s break. Before I could so much as open my mouth to bite him again, his eyes flashed open wide. His fingers thrust up inside me, and I rolled back my shoulders in a throe of ecstasy. From there on, I didn’t get a moment’s reprieve.

  His hand pushed into me like a slow jackhammer, and each filling thrust spread my wetness over his hand. I bucked against it, giving in to his demand. The orgasm was so close. I could feel my legs shuddering uncontrollably. My breath came out in ragged pants as though I’d run some sort of marathon. Up and down my body, my muscles began to heat. I arched my back desperately. My toes curled tightly. It hit hard and lasted long.

  Afterward, I slumped forward, all strength gone from my limbs. Calvin caught me and wrapped me in an underarm hug that lifted me off the ground. My chest felt tight from his strong arms, but it felt good not to have to support myself. I felt myself sway as I kissed Calvin’s neck. I tightened my arms around him until he pressed my butt down on a table. I didn’t bother to look at the table. I found out it had restraints when he began to put me in them. I watched him dreamily. It was so nice to lie down that I didn’t even consider why he’d restrained me.

  He disappeared for a minute or so after. I relaxed on the table, catching my breath. I was reliving the moments from the first time he ever touched me. Looking back, I never really stood a chance of resisting him. He was a figure of unimaginable proportion to me, a towering willpower I couldn’t and wouldn’t resist. To say I worshipped him wouldn’t have been far from the truth. To me, he was this man of perfect character, so strong and lordly that I felt obliged to obey. No common man could have done this.

  What struck me was how well I felt I knew him. He was a man of few words, but I felt as if I spoke his silent language. I felt the softness of his calm mood in his confident posture. I felt the chaos he kept so loosely bound when our skin touched during moments like the one I was in. He was a man who conveyed himself like a tiger, poised and powerful. He had all the promise of danger as well. I loved thinking of myself as his victim. In my secret fantasy, I thought, I would be consumed by his lust, a prisoner to his will and… well, exactly what I had become, I realized.

  Calvin had become my fantasy.

  “You still look far away,” he said, walking up beside me, trailing the flared head of a riding crop up my leg and over my hips. The leather felt good across my skin. “No matter. I’ll bring you back.” He slapped the leather against the inside of my thigh. I jumped with surprise. Whatever I had been thinking vanished, and excitement restarted my senses. I gasped.

  “Hello, slave,” he greete
d mockingly. “My name is Calvin. Good to see you again.”

  “Calvin.” I whispered his name, letting it slide off my tongue as a whining plea. His eyes widened, as he circled the table. He was toying with his prey. I loved every second of it.

  Every so often, he sent his crop whipping at a soft part of my body. I got a few slaps on my stomach, a pair on the underside of my breast, one across my cheek. Each hit shook me, and more so because, after the first few, I closed my eyes. He didn’t have to command it. I wanted to deprive myself of all the distractions. Each slap was a gift; it was pleasure candy-coated with pain. I received one after the next, chanting “Thank you, master!” between each set of strikes. I was alone in a world of his attention, captivated by the sensation he doled so easily. I pulled on my restraints only when a particularly hard slap sent my muscles jumping. I didn’t want to escape. I wanted to feel like this forever.

  “Aren’t you pliant tonight?” Calvin mused, as his cruel weapon struck me again. My hip winced away. I opened my eyes. “Something about you seems different,” he said and thrust his head down toward mine. I thought he was going to headbutt me—it was so sudden—but I didn’t move. He stopped with our noses almost touching.

  “What is it?” he asked, searching my face for his suspected change. I smiled and leaned my unbound head up to plant a soft kiss on his cheek.

  “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I feel good.”

  He kissed me. It was long, slow, and sweet. Our tongues danced languidly, and we breathed heavily out of our noses. His next kiss was on my neck. The one after was on my collar. The next was my nipple. Then my stomach. Then my hip. Then my thigh. Between my thighs. Up my thighs. When his tongue slid over my pussy, I tensed with arousal. He slid his tongue over my clit until I cried out. Each dart of his tongue sent a clap of thunder through my mind. It was torture—the sweetest sensation a man had ever given me with his mouth. Screaming wasn’t enough. I needed him more, harder. I wanted him inside me; I wanted him on top of me.