Blue Velvet

by Linnea May

  I reach for it and flip through it. Somehow, this invasion of her privacy feels just as intimate as making her come on my fingers. I don’t know what it is about wallets, but they hold claim to a person’s life. It’s the one thing people almost always carry with them when leaving the house - next to their phone. I’m surprised to find no ID or driver’s license. Instead, all I can find is a small batch of business cards that I assume to be hers. She goes by the name Ruby Red, and printed on the back of the card are the words Violent Delights.

  My pulse speeds up. I know that agency! I’ve been a client of this agency. I huff and shake my head. The irony is almost appalling. I set out to kidnap a girl because I’ve grown tired of the poor services provided by this agency, and my victim turns out to not only work for them, but she also mistakes me for a client.

  “What a fucking joke,” I hiss, throwing the wallet back on the table.

  My blood is boiling as I hurry back down the stairs, back to a victim who has no idea that she’s been kidnapped for real, an irresistible, fucking lamb who lured me in like a fucking idiot. No wonder I couldn’t resist her, no wonder she drew my attention from the get-go. She’s my fucking type, a high-class prostitute whose job it is to entertain men like me.

  I throw the door open with such force that I see her jumping away in fear. She’s grasping the towel that’s wrapped around her body, and she looks up at me through wide eyes. They’re underlined with a conflicting combination of fear and anticipation.

  “Here’s your fucking bracelet,” I tell her, thrusting out the jewelry box toward her.

  She retreats, her gaze darting between me and the box in my hand.

  “Would you just fucking take it,” I hiss at her. “You insisted on having this with you - here it is.”

  She casts me a quick angry look as she reaches for the little box in my hand. I watch as she opens it, only looking at it for a second before closing the box again.

  “You’re not going to put it on?”

  She shakes her head. “It’s fine, I just needed to have it with me.”

  I roll my eyes.

  She looks at me, and her expression has changed profoundly. Anger and determination have been replaced with wonderment and anticipation. She’s awaiting orders, like the good girl she knows how to be.

  No. This doesn’t work for me. I know this look. I’ve seen it many times before, and I grew bored with it a long time ago. I hate that she’s looking at me like that now, like a prostitute looking at her john.

  I don’t want acting, I don’t want an obedient slave, ready to serve. I wanted the real thing, and I’m still determined to get it.

  She doesn’t move as I close in on her, lifting a hand to touch her cheek. My caress is gentle, something she’s not going to experience a lot with me. A faint smile travels across her pretty face. There’s gratitude and hopeful expectation woven into that expression, the combination causing her cheeks to glow and her green eyes to sparkle like emeralds. She won’t be looking at me like that for quite a while, once I’ve said what I’m about to say.

  I almost feel sorry to have to do it.

  I feel sorry for what I’m about to do to her.

  “You said this bracelet is your special item,” I say. “And now that you have it back, will you obey me?”

  She nods, her eyebrows knitting for just a second in skepticism.

  “I have a little secret, toy,” I continue. “Will you still obey me when I share it with you?”

  Worry casts a shadow over her face, but she nods.

  I lean forward with the intention of closing any remaining distance between us, just so I can catch her vibrant eyes with mine. But before I know it, our lips meet for a long, overdue kiss. She’s the one initiating it, and even though I should know better, I let it happen. I let myself be seduced by her scent, her soft lips, and those damn eyes.

  Her tongue is adventurous, eagerly exploring my mouth as if she’s been waiting forever. I can feel the vibrations of her soft moans when I give in to her. She lifts her arm, ready to wrap it around me and pull me in closer, but I stop her. I grab her by the wrist and force her arm around to her back. She whimpers in protest, but it only spurs me on. She tastes so good, sweet and salty at the same time. I can taste a hint of the spicy potato chips I gave her to eat on her lips.

  Her kiss also is a clear reminder that she’s a professional. She yearns after me, following her own lust just as much as she remembers to squirm under my touch, pressing her round tits against my hard chest. She’s putting everything into this kiss—her mind, her body, her seductive strength. It’s almost impossible to resist.

  Almost.

  I end our kiss with a sudden abruptness that surprises her. Her dazed and confused eyes follow me when I straighten up to my full heighth, never releasing my touch on her. She remains in place, her body pressed against mine and her arm forced against her back, her head tilted back into her neck so she can keep eye contact with me.

  “What’s your secret?” she whispers hoarsely.

  I let a few moments pass, relishing the feeling of her fast-beating heart against my chest. She uses the time to grind against my hard length with such subtle movements that they’re merely more than suggestions.

  “I’m not who you think I am,” I say. “I’m not your client.”

  Our eyes are locked, and for a split second, I see terror punctuating the expression on her pretty face. But she quickly regains her composure.

  She believed me for a second there. It was evident in the momentary wildness reflected in her dark green eyes. But then she cast the thought aside.

  She believes me—I know it—but she doesn’t want to.

  13

  Ruby

  He’s been awfully neglectful when it comes to abiding by the rules set out in our contract. He almost hit me in the face, even though that’s clearly stated as one of my hard limits. He refused to let me have my bracelet, and he continuously asks questions that he shouldn’t be asking via our agreement.

  And now he’s put the cherry on top by telling me that he’s not the man I think he is.

  There was a moment when it all made sense to me, that moment when I heard a loud voice, a terrified girl screaming for help—but that was before I silenced her. I can’t believe any of this. I don’t want to believe it. It doesn’t make any sense.

  And yet it does.

  That’s what’s so terrifying about what he told me. It makes sense on so many counts.

  I’m not your client.

  The words echo inside my skull, and with them comes a wave of relentless fear. If what he says is true, I’m in real danger.

  If what he says is true.

  He might be lying. He might be lying to evoke a reaction from me, a reaction that he’s been waiting for me to show. It’s obvious that he hasn’t been happy with my performance so far, so maybe he’s just trying to scare me so I panic?

  I moan when he removes the towel that’s covering me, baring me to him, while his hard length continues to poke against my belly. It’s the first time that I can feel his hand on my body, exploring, claiming every part of me while his tongue invades my mouth anew. He’s so much taller than me, and so much stronger.

  A faint yelp escapes my lips when he lifts me up, his hands digging into the flesh of my behind, as he carries me over to the stretching bank.

  “No,” I whisper, as memories of that horrible first night come back to me.

  “Yes.”

  His reply comes out as hisses between our kiss. I wrap my legs around his slim waist, grinding against his crotch as if I could stop him from going through with his plan. But of course, I can’t. His lips never leave mine as he lowers me onto the hard wood.

  “Arms up.”

  I cast him a pleading look, but obediently I move my arms up to the shackles. My hair is still damp from the shower and my face free of make-up. I wonder why he’d want me like this. Why did he order me to dress up like a fuck doll, only to strip it off and use
me like this, bare-naked, with nothing to adorn my rather plain body. There’s nothing particularly special about me, except for the fake tits.

  He’s moving slowly and deliberately, closing the shackles around my wrists without ever looking at me.

  “Legs.”

  His commands are sharp and short, always. And I jump at them like an obedient puppy.

  I’m not your client.

  There it is. Panic blossoms in my chest when he closes the cuffs around my ankles, and I finally allow myself to believe his words. This would be unsettling even if he was my client, but if he’s telling me the truth and he’s really not...

  I’m panting breathlessly now, but I don’t know if it’s from fear or anticipation. Or both.

  He’s standing next to the stretching bank, calmly observing me as I struggle to get as comfortable as possible. I notice that his eyes linger on my chest, and it fills me with satisfaction.

  I turn my head to him, scanning his buff physique until my eyes stray to and linger on his crotch. He’s hard, it’s clearly visible, but with me strapped on the stretching bank like this, there’s no way for him to fuck me. I wonder what he’s planning to do.

  Is he going to hurt me?

  “You look scared,” he comments, stepping closer and leaning over me so that his face is close to mine. His short hair is ruffled and unkempt, giving him a boyish look. The small dimple that appears on his cheek when he casts me a dark smile warms my heart in a bewildering way.

  “I am scared,” I whisper, fixating on his black eyes. It’s not a lie. I’m not sure what to believe, and every time I allow myself to believe his words, my heart almost bursts out of my chest.

  “Maybe you should be, pretty toy.”

  His voice is so low that his words are barely audible, but they are spoken with such fervor that they make my flesh crawl.

  I jerk up in my restraints when he touches me. His hand outlines the round contours of my breasts, before he cups the left one with a hearty squeeze. I mewl in sweet agony.

  “These are very pretty,” he praises. “Good job.”

  “Thank you,” I reply, blushing involuntarily.

  I gasp in surprise when he takes each of my nipples between two fingers and pinches, hard. The pain leaves a warm throbbing afterward, and I’m coiling in protest when he moves over to the other side to repeat the same motion. This time he squeezes even harder and I can’t help but yelp in pain.

  “I like that you’re so sensitive,” he says. “So many things I could do to you...”

  My heart is racing when he turns away from me. I watch in suspense as he makes his way over to the glass cabinet. His movements are slow and precise, in clear contrast to my inner turmoil. He opens the cabinet and pauses for a moment, very aware that I’m watching him.

  “Close your eyes,” he says, without turning around to face me. “If I catch you looking at me, you’re in bigger trouble than you can even imagine.”

  I swallow hard before obeying his command, turning my head to face the ceiling above me, inhaling a deep breath before closing my eyes.

  I hear him rummaging, metal clinging against glass, chains, and muffled sounds of something else. It’s now that panic takes over for the first time. I’m completely at his mercy, and I don’t even know for sure who he is. What if he really is a kidnapper, a felon? What if this torture chamber is not for mere sexual pleasure but to actually torture me?

  What if he’s planning to gut me, or kill me?

  I’m close to sobbing by the time he approaches the stretching bench. He places a few items next to my leg on the wooden plate. It takes all my strength to keep my eyes closed. I don’t even open them when I feel his lips on mine again. Soft mewls accompany our kiss as I give in to him, eagerly parting my lips so my tongue can dance with his. I moan when he places his hand on my lower belly. He caresses my skin, moving his fingers in circles as he inches down to my center. My legs are partly spread because of the restraints, allowing for easy access as he parts my lips and slides a finger between them, gliding through my wetness.

  “Naughty girl,” he whispers. “Already dripping. Do you like having your nipples played with this much?”

  Heat rushes to my face, and for a change, I’m glad to have my eyes closed, so I don’t have to face his triumphant smile. My nipples have always been one of my most erogenous zones, and I love being teased there. However, I’m not sure how much pain I can handle.

  “Open your eyes,” he orders.

  I oblige, and am met with his gorgeous face hovering directly above mine, while his hand is still playing with my slick core.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” I plead. “Please don’t cut me, or-”

  “Hush,” he hisses, placing his other index finger on my lips.

  “You’re mine,” he reminds me. “I’ll do with you whatever pleases me.”

  I whimper in fear, unable to stop the first tears from blurring my vision.

  “And you know what? I’m going to make you come,” he promises in a hoarse whisper. “A lot.”

  Really? That’s his threat?

  “And you’ll thank me for every single orgasm I allow you to have,” he adds. “Do you understand, toy?”

  I nod. “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  He underlines his question for clarification with a pinch to my clit. I shriek in surprise and pain, and my arms yank against their restraints.

  “Yes, master,” I correct myself.

  “Good girl.”

  He taps against my clit with his palm, sending another sharp spike of ache rushing through my core, before he retreats. I watch nervously as he picks up some of the toys he’s carried over from the cabinet. He’s holding two small clamps connected by a silver chain that rattles against the wood.

  He doesn’t say a word, but I squirm and mewl with fear when he leans over me, reaching for my left tit first, taking my nipple between two fingers and stretching it just enough so he can close the clamp around it.

  The pain is bearable at first, very faint actually, but that’s just because he doesn’t fully let go of the clamp. When he unleashes the full force of that damn thing on my nub, I cry out in agony, the loudest I have since he brought me here. The pain is hot, fierce, almost blinding. I’m pretty sure the clamp isn’t even set that tight, but I’m just so damn sensitive.

  He leaves me little time to get used to the sensation, but proceeds to do the same thing on the other side. Another cry, and this time I’m wailing, too, as the first set of tears makes its way down my cheeks.

  “No, please, stop, don’t-”

  “So fucking pretty,” he interrupts my desperate pleas, and I can feel his hand on mine, gently patting me as if I was a little child. I squirm beneath him, my body convulsing in agony as I try to process the hot pain spreading throughout my breasts.

  He just stands there, watching me with a dark smile on his face. Our eyes meet and his smile widens. Even through this torment, I have to admit that he’s breathtakingly beautiful. This is not the face of a criminal; no, it can’t be.

  I gasp when he reaches down to his crotch, rubbing across the visible bulge.

  “See what you’re doing to me?” he says. “Such a pretty toy.”

  So that’s his thing? Seeing me in pain gets him off?

  Luckily, ache such as the one caused by the clamps has a tendency to recede after the body gets used to the tension. Soon, the pain no longer appears like a blinding light, overtaking all my other senses and leaving no room for pleasure. As the stinging turns into warm throbbing, I find myself breathing through not only the pain, but also the bliss that comes with it. The sensation trickles all the way down to my core, changing into something else, something new.

  I groan passionately when he touches me there, his skillful hand finding my most sensitive spot within seconds.

  “You’re close, aren’t you, toy?”

  His observation is spoken as if I was some kind of experiment, his little lab rat.

&
nbsp; Any maybe that’s what I am.

  “Yes,” I hiss, biting my lower lip as my eyes find his.

  He’s still smiling, looking very pleased with himself - and with me.

  “Good,” he says. “I want you to come. But not without first asking for permission.”

  He’s drawing circles around my clit, surpassing and teasing that one spot that makes me jerk with lust every time he touches and teases me.

  “May I please come?” I ask, but it sounds more like begging.

  “Not yet,” he declares, withdrawing his hand with one swift motion.

  I mewl with disappointment, my eyes following his hand with yearning. I didn’t see what else he put next to me on the stretch bank because it’s hard to lift my head enough to see, but I can tell now that one of the items is a pretty large glass dildo. It’s quite beautiful actually, almost something one could display as a decoration. The main rod is clear, but it’s dotted with blue pearls that cover most of its impressive length.

  “Suck on it,” he says, holding the tip of it up to my mouth. “Not that it is necessary, your cunt is dripping, but I want you to.”

  I don’t hesitate, compliantly parting my lips so he can stuff the toy between them. I suck on it earnestly, imagining that it was his cock I was sucking on. I really wish it was, and I’m beginning to wonder if he’ll ever let me taste him.

  “Good girl,” he says, removing the toy from between my lips. Saliva is dripping on my heaving breasts as he moves the glass dildo down to my core. I blush at the treacherously slick sounds that accompany his motions as he teases my pulsing center with the tip of the toy.

  The groan that escapes my lips when he shoves the toy inside my channel is so loud that I’m almost embarrassed by it. But he leaves me no time to dwell on the thought, as he pushes further, stretches me with the glass toy until it’s almost completely shoved inside me.

  “This is how I want you to come,” he announces. “I want you to come on this as if it was my cock. Show me what a good little slut you are.”