by Blake, Laila
“Paul... please... oh please!” I only noticed then, that I was echoing myself. This past self on the tape was begging for more pain and I, greedy present I, was pleading for pleasure but we sounded just the same. Except, when I came, I howled louder than she did.
I’d never been what anyone could call loud in bed before. And maybe it was the kitchen table or the encouraging companionship with my moaning self, but I was then. He didn’t stop as my cunt contracted around his fingers, and the sensations mounted again and again until every muscle in my body was hard and tense like receiving an electric shock and a keening wail announced my second? Third? I don’t know which.
When Paul finally pulled his fingers out of me, I lay across that table, limp and panting hard. He kissed my labia, then the inside of my thigh. Then he pulled me into a sitting position and gathered me up in his arms. For once, I didn’t worry whether I was too heavy.
XI
“Did you share in this one?” I asked, voice low and raspy once he’d laid me down on his bed, remembering what he’d said about becoming so entwined that he felt what I felt, pain, pleasure, orgasms. The bed was made of driftwood again, and starchy white cotton sheets that smelled of laundry detergent. I did wonder whether he always slept like this or had made the bed that morning, considering the possibility he might end up here with the visiting journalist.
He smiled in response, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking down at me. His fingers brushed over my breast and my nipples stood to immediate attention, as though they too wanted to prove their obedience to him.
“I did.” There was hesitation in his tone, if just to find the right words. In the end he didn’t say anything—words unfit to quite encompass what it had felt like. I could empathize. I wouldn’t have been able to say what exactly had happened inside of me when he spilled his seed onto my tongue.
The lighting was low. It was soothing to my eyes, light-sensitive after my orgasm. Night had fallen outside and he had only lit a candle on the nightstand. I don’t know how long we rested there, me lying down, not moving a muscle and he sitting beside me.
I found myself wondering how his tongue might taste now. Had my juices washed the wine away or was it still there, a base note to the new and salty flavor? But he did not kiss me again. He got to his feet after a while and opened his pants. Exhaustion couldn’t slow the rush of excitement that burned through me at the sight. He pulled them down and stepped out of them easily. He had to know that I was watching him, but he didn’t show any sign of discomfort. He just gave me a smile, another one of those thoughtfully nice ones that I was now coming to think of as detached. I knew the difference now, still gentle, still caring but there was an absence, unmistakable and dark.
“I still want to fuck you, puppy.”
I closed my eyes against the warm shudder running through my veins. Of course I couldn’t keep them that way, not when he was walking around, his stunning cock standing to attention. He didn’t seem rushed, just pulled the curtains closed, then left the room for a few minutes and returned with a tall glass of water that he put down next to the candle on the nightstand. He looked down at me again but he didn’t sit down.
“Touch yourself,” he said in that same almost polite tone that still allowed for no complaint or disobedience. My fingers slipped between my legs without any hesitation. I just looked up at him wide-eyed and wanting.
“What does it feel like?”
I thought about this as I trapped my clit between my middle and index finger, before carefully rubbing it up and down.
“Eyes on me,” he reminded me quickly when they started to fall shut at the sensation. It felt like a jolt through my system.
“It’s... still a little numb, a little sore,” I whispered trying to stay truthful, “but not in a bad way.”
He chuckled and touched my cheekbone. I wanted to touch him, too, but his orders were to do that to myself and it felt like a physical impossibility to raise my fingers from where he had ordered them to be.
“Eager puppy,” he whispered approvingly. “Have you ever had your ass fucked?”
That brought me up short. My mouth opened, then closed and I knew that my cheeks were flaming red again. I could feel the flood rushing there as it pulsed through my temples.
“I...”
“It’s a simple question, puppy.”
“No...” There was a deep sense of failure in my voice and if he hadn’t told me to keep my eyes on his, I would have looked away. “Um, no, Sir.”
Paul didn’t share my sentiment, though. At least, if he did, he didn’t show it. He just shook his head at my expression and leaned down to kiss my forehead.
“I just wanted to know. It’s something I wouldn’t want to take from you this way, now.”
I swallowed. Again I didn’t have the slightest clue how to phrase my thoughts. Did I want to keep whatever shred of virginity I had left for some sexist idea of a future boyfriend, a future dominant? I didn’t know—and it didn’t help that the very idea both thrilled and petrified me.
“Okay,” I finally whispered but when he nodded, I vividly remembered his fingers there, pushing against the ring of muscle, losing its tension. I had loved that feeling of discomfort and a hint of pain mixed with that intensely tender feeling of being caressed somewhere forbidden, somewhere dirty. I didn’t want to wait for some phantom man.
I wanted Paul. But I’d leave the next day, go back home to my apartment scouring the Internet for porn that might help me recreate these moments and never could. I wanted Paul.
The sudden rush of tears caught me by surprise and I was lucky that Paul had just turned away. It gave me a moment to recover, to put on a smile before he turned back to me. I think he saw it anyway, but neither of us was brave enough to bring it up.
“There’s a beautiful puppy,” he whispered instead, rubbing my cheek. I was still touching myself but I could hardly feel it against the onslaught of other emotions and so I was vaguely surprised when he took my hands and pulled them from between my legs. Bringing them to his face, he smelled my fingertips, kissed them—and then brought them high over my head. The texture of rope brushed over my wrist and before I could even wonder if I wanted to protest, my right hand was tied firmly to the bedpost. Tugging at it once yielded no result and the shock of desire this sent through my system was distracting enough to push the sudden sadness back into its secret box at the edge of my consciousness.
He took my other hand and brought it to the corresponding bedpost—I couldn’t breathe while he made more knots. However much I wanted him to do what he was doing, my first instinct was to check for a way out. I tugged at the bonds again but they didn’t give—not an inch. I caught Paul looking down at me, concern washed over his face but it didn’t linger.
“Stay,” he whispered in a teasing allusion to that puppy.
“Yes, Sir,” I breathed. He flashed me a smile, then walked around the bed. With his knee on the mattress, he grabbed my knees and pushed my thighs apart, gaping wide. There couldn’t possibly be a breeze in the room but I felt the air cool against my moist folds.
“Wider, as wide you can... good puppy. Don’t move.”
He got up from the bed and walked out. I watched him until he left my field of vision. It is hard to explain how sudden the sense of loss was that came over me. I found myself panting slightly, my cunt contracting against the cool air and I strained my ears to hear where he was. Nothing. I pulled at the bonds, but all I managed was to make the bed squeak slightly and then bump back against the wall with an all too audible sound. My cheeks flushed crimson and I vowed to keep still from now on.
Just don’t move.
Eventually, I heard water running somewhere in the house. It couldn’t be long now. He was still there. But the seconds stretched even longer. I wriggled against the sheet, trying to calm myself, to stop thinking about his fingers in my ass and the stinging heat that still clung to its cheeks, about his beautiful mushroom-headed cock that had felt so sof
t against my lips and then so hard and relentless against my throat. Paul. Where was he? Why was it all taking so long?
“Please, Sir...” I found myself whispering to no one in particular.
After a while, the sound of running water was back—longer this time and just when I had tried to settle into accepting another long wait, he stood in the doorway. His jaw-length hair was wet and dripping and he had smoothed it messily over the top of his head. Still, there were drops of water on his naked chest and his face looked freshly scrubbed.
“You moved,” he said quietly and just like that he took any remaining molecule of air out of my lungs. I croaked but he shook his head. “You made the bed move, you wriggled so hard. What did I tell you, puppy?”
“N... not to move, Sir.”
“That’s right.”
“I’m...”
“You’re sorry?”
I nodded but there was something in his voice that led me to believe this wasn’t the right answer. He confirmed it with a shake of his head and I can’t explain how powerful that single gesture affected my body. Just like that, I wanted to cry and beg for forgiveness—for a transgression any rational mind would snort at. It wasn’t the only impulse though. I could feel my clit pulse painfully, and a tiny groan escaped my lips.
“Please...” I whispered, far more driven by this newly acquired instinct than any real thought process.
“Please what?” came the immediate and expected answer. And again my mouth opened, and no sound, certainly no real word came out. Possibilities flashed through my mind, but none of them felt right, none of them made any sense. I wanted him to forgive me, to punish me, to fuck me and to love me and tell me that he wasn’t actually angry or disappointed all at once.
“Please what, puppy?” he repeated, not louder but with a harsher sense of intensity.
“Please punish me?” I exhaled and if I’d had any way to look away from his intense glare I would have. “I... I’m sorry I moved, I... please?”
He stretched the silence before his response into agonizing proportions but finally, he gave me the hint of a nod and then turned to his wardrobe. I wasn’t sure what he was doing, until he produced a leather belt. My eyes bulged and I held my breath. I found myself tugging at the rope again, not in fear or in panic, just giving into a momentary bodily instinct. Paul smiled and clicked his tongue.
“There you go again, wriggly puppy. Want to earn your punishment proper, don’t you?”
This time, I smiled even as he was folding the belt over and let it snap loudly. The smack of leather on leather, so much like skin, sent visions of pain and desire shooting down into my cunt—but I was trying to be good. I was trying so hard and kept my legs far apart despite the fact that every instinct I had told me to push them together, to try and find some kind of pressure against my mound.
He came closer, walking around the room naked as he was, a beautiful erection standing proud. He was by no means perfect looking: age had done its part and he clearly didn’t visit a gym, just worked his muscles in his building projects and long walks along the beach. Except for his hands, he was pale and still a little wet. But it was almost impossible to take note of any of that when he stood there without a hint of self-consciousness. When he arrived by my side, he brought the cool loop of leather against my lips and ordered me to kiss it. I almost came on the spot but when I whimpered, he brought it down on my mouth. The smack was all but negligible, gentle even, but I still gasped. And then he did it again, only this time on my cheek and a little harder. It wasn’t the pain that made my eyes sting and my pelvis jump, though, it was the sheer sense of being utterly at his mercy.
Unsurprisingly, I had never been slapped before—not by a man, and certainly never in the face. It was wrong, it was forbidden, I was a feminist! And yet, he did it and I wanted more.
The next smack landed on the swell of my breast, then my nipple. That was the first time I cried out loud. And yet, it was instantly rock hard—so hard it hurt even more when the strap found its target one more time. By now, I was panting, squeezing my eyes shut and holding onto my bonds for support. Like before, he interrupted short bursts of slaps by massaging the pain deeper into the tissue—that was when I couldn’t keep still anymore. It felt too strong, too good and my pelvis had a life of its own, once I’d lost any control over my voice and the sounds that escaped my throat.
“I told you to stay still,” he reminded me after every repetition, more gently and more amused each time, and yet I couldn’t do it and he’d slap me again. He alternated breasts until they were both bright red. Tears were leaking down my temples and into my hair but by now my hips thrust upwards with each slap and Paul finally set the belt aside.
“Utterly unteachable,” he whispered as he leaned over me and kissed my face, kissed that salty path of my tears. “But, god, you are beautiful when you cry.”
His words left me breathless. My eyes filled with tears again—maybe to please him, and maybe just because now more than ever, I didn’t want to leave him. It shouldn’t have meant so much to me, but the simple statement seemed to possess the essence of everything I wanted. He saw that I was crying not because I was unhappy, but because he was giving me the most intense physical and emotional experience of my life, that I was happy and wanting and aching for more. And he thought it beautiful.
I blinked and angled my face against his so that our cheeks brushed against each other. His breath was hot in my ear and I kissed his cheek. The words on my tongue, the words I held back with all the power I possessed, couldn’t be true. I knew they weren’t true, that they were a product of that intense experience and its magnitude. But they were there all the same, clouding my head and desperate to be spoken. But I clamped my mouth shut and eventually, he pulled away and looked over my body.
“How does your cunt feel, puppy?”
My mouth opened. I love you was not the right response to that question and it had to be consciously discarded before I could answer.
“Empty...” I breathed, high pitched and shivering.
“Poor little puppy cunt.” He trailed the leather down between my aching breasts, stomach and over the soft hill of wiry hair. “So impatient.”
He resettled his glasses with a tender smile that made my eyes brim with tears again. “We can’t blame her, can we? So untrained and neglected...”
I found myself nodding, “Yes, Sir.”
And already, I could feel my thighs quiver again, struggling to stay this open even —or especially—as his fingers brushed down my inner thigh.
“Do you want me to fuck you like the puppy you are?”
My nod, eager and fast, was there before I found my voice. “Yes, please Sir!”
This time, he proceeded to untie me without any further delay. When he got close, I could feel the quickness of his breath, however well he managed to hide his own eagerness. He ordered me on all fours, smiling down at me. Reaching into his bedside table, he produced a simple black satchel, opened it with his teeth and pulled a condom over his cock. He was maybe a foot away from my face and I could feel my cheeks sting with longing.
“Now. What else does a puppy need?” He patted his chin in mock thought and then smacked his belt again smiling down at me. “A nice tight collar to keep it in line.”
I whimpered, my whole body seemed to angle towards him in an attempt to get closer. But he quickly looped his belt around my neck and let the metal rod slip into the one hole that had been drilled far more towards the center of the belt than any of the others. It would hit me later that he’d done this before, with this very belt but on a different woman. In that moment, I was too busy concentrating on my air supply when each cell in my body seemed to scream for release. I could feel every breath squeezing itself past the belt, creating a tiny wheezing sound.
“Please...” I whispered again and this time, he stepped behind me on the mattress. He was still holding onto the end of the belt and easily forced my head back.
“Please what?
”
“Please, fuck me! Please, Sir,” I croaked against the obstruction.
“How?”
“Please, fuck me hard. Please, like I’m your puppy, Sir.”
I don’t know how I knew he was smiling. Maybe there was a soft humming sound or the tiniest snicker but I knew that he was when his fingers dug against my still sore bottom. It didn’t help that my breasts were pressed against the sheets. Just as I was ready to howl in pain and frustrated need and without any warning, I could feel him at my entrance and then he plunged in deep. I cried more in surprise than pain but tears were there anyway, a sweet liquid release that allowed me to slip deeper and deeper into the moment with each hard thrust. He was holding onto my ass and smacked it again and again when he realized that each one caused my cunt to contract hard around him. It was like I entered a different world, a world in which I was his completely, where my sensations, my pleasure, my brain was fused with his. His grunts were mine, my aching breasts were his and so was the steady climb and we both pushed each other on. Harder and harder, faster and faster until I couldn’t hold myself upright anymore—teetered and suspended for a long heartbeat and then I came again with a shuddering cry. As though to prove that he could, he made the next few strokes all the harder against my sensitive flesh, until he groaned and I felt his weight on me as he collapsed on my back, breathing hard against my neck.
He was heavy. My knees caved in and he rolled off me, pulled me back against his chest as we both fought to draw air into our ravaged bodies. We didn’t say anything even when our breathing slowed. The moment was a fragile one, and we both seemed to sense that falling asleep would be the least hurtful thing to try once our brains cooled down enough to allow rational thought. At least, that’s how it was for me, already painfully aware that I would leave in the morning.
