by Roxy Harte
He touches the vibrator to my clit and my body responds, shuddering violently as an orgasm crashes over my body. As the pleasure fades the pain seems worse and harder to bear.
“Oh. God. Ohhh!” I think I will die from this.
Farris hasn’t pulled away the vibrator, and the pleasure my clit was feeling is not good now…it hurts…it’s too much…too damn much. I think I tell them that. “Stop, stop, stop. Please!”
Another orgasm crashes over my body, and another.
I can’t think.
I can’t escape the pain.
I can’t escape the pleasure.
I’m suddenly crying, sobbing uncontrollably. “I’m one of those people.”
“What people?”
“I need this. I need this.”
Everything stops. The pain. The pleasure. Farris and Morgana both hold me as I sob. “I want to be hurt.”
“I didn’t think there was any doubt about that.”
“I thought I only wanted punished.”
My epiphany is almost as painful as my confrontation with God, except I’m not left dying. I’m left having to accept the truth that I am just like the woman I’d found in the cage. She’d begged someone, maybe my parents, maybe one of my parents’ clients, to hurt her. She’d needed this.
My father said her death was an accident.
I spent my whole life believing my parents were monsters who needed to be jailed and I’d interfered with justice by remaining silent. I owed that woman my life. That’s what I’d thought. But my dying wouldn’t bring her back.
I don’t want to die.
I want to live…if only to experience this again and again…and again.
Maybe my psyche was warped by that woman, or by being raised in that household. Maybe I wouldn’t be a sexual deviant if I hadn’t had the experiences I’ve had…but does any of that matter?
* * * * *
I am strapped to a wooden chair, facing the back of it. Farris flogs my back.
Morgana’s right hand slides smoothly down the center of my stomach to the juncture of my thighs, her fingers teasing my clit. My head drops back and I am sucked into the brilliant blue sky. No clouds. When did it become morning?
Farris rearranges my head so that I am again facing Morgana as her fingers slide through my slick folds and set up a pleasant rhythm. Familiar eddies of need swirl inside my womb. Spikes of pleasure quickly become waves, but they are spaced too far apart to bring me any satisfaction.
“Oh God, please, harder,” I beg, but my pleas fall on deaf ears, both sadists seeming intent to prolong this insane agony. I can anticipate the stingy blows, anticipate the waves—I rub into the latter—until finally, release is close at hand. “Please let me come. Oh Mistress, please let me come.”
I’m not fighting the pleasure anymore. I want it as desperately as I want the pain.
Morgana’s tempo increases with the same rate as the stingy blows, more painful blows that take some of the edge off the pleasure waves. I cry out with each strike, a lascivious panting wail that is all hunger and need. I am crying and begging and pleading when Morgana finally presses her lips close to my ear. “Tell me you want to live.”
“I want to live.”
“No more strangers.”
“No more. I promise.”
“There are so many experienced players who can give you what you need.”
“Yes,” I agree.
“Come now, Gigi. Come so hard you soak this chair.”
* * * * *
It seems an eternity later that I am wrapped in a warm blanket, wrapped in George’s arms, looking over the city. It is beautiful from up here. The sky is such a brilliant shade of blue. I can’t remember the last time I noticed the sky.
“When did Mistress Morgana and Master Farris leave me?”
“A while ago.”
“I must have slept.”
“For a little while. Did you enjoy Farris and Morgana?”
I hug George’s face in my hands. “Thank you for convincing me to come here.”
“So no more chat rooms and strangers?”
“Never again.” Even as I promise, I know I’m lying. Was Morgana and Farris a good time? Hell, yes. Would I like to do it again? Is now too soon? But the scene was lacking. The outcome was known. The two were strangers this time, but next time they won’t be, and if they didn’t maim or kill me this time, it’s a fairly good assumption nothing bad will happen next time, and honestly, that kills some of the joy. George doesn’t need to know that.
“Good. That’s what I wanted to hear.”
“Why didn’t you do the scene?”
George flushes, seeming embarrassed. “I guess I didn’t want to cross a line.”
“I’m not a little girl anymore.”
“But this isn’t our relationship.”
“Could it be? Can you ever see yourself Mastering me?” I hold my breath, waiting for his answer. It seems like I’m the young girl again. I want him so desperately. I want him to love me. I want him to need me as much as I’ve needed him.
Leaning forward, he kisses me tenderly on the lips and I don’t know if he is saying yes or no. I want to ask him to clarify but I’m too afraid of the answer. When he would have pulled away, I move closer, pressing my lips against his, adding tongue, and I’m thrilled when he returns the kiss—but it doesn’t last. “I can’t make a commitment to you.”
“I don’t need a commitment,” I say.
“Yes, you do. You need someone to love you unconditionally. You need someone to share this dark world with. I can’t be that person.”
“Why?” I hate showing weakness, but when a tear slides down my cheek I don’t try to stop it. “Are you just not attracted to me?”
“You are the most beautiful, fascinating woman I’ve ever met.”
“So you do want me?”
“It’s not a matter of whether I want you or not. I can’t—”
“Are you afraid of my father? I’m an adult now. He can’t tell me who I can or can’t see.”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“Because you have a girlfriend?”
“Gigi—”
I cut off his argument with a kiss. “Please, George.”
“I’ll take you home.” He stands, leaving me to catch my own weight and, tangled in the blankets I end up falling back against the gravel.
I mutter, “Thanks,” under my breath but I’m mad. I didn’t like rejection when I was a teen and it doesn’t sting any less now. Damn it.
He waits for me by the door. I drop the blanket, standing nude under the bright sun of early morning. He turns his back to me. Well, I guess that’s it. He just doesn’t want me. George is the only man I’ve ever been naked in front of who resolutely wanted nothing to do with having sex with me.
Sullenly, I dress.
“Ready,” I say as I come up behind him. He opens the door for me without looking at me and we descend the single flight of stairs to the first landing. I expect to take the elevator the rest of the way down. He doesn’t. We continue down four more flights of stairs and I’m winded and even more pissed off when we finally exit the building.
He heads for his car. I can see it in the employees’ parking lot. I head for the corner, intent on hailing a taxi.
“What are you doing?” he demands.
“I’m going home. To my home.”
He gives me a hard look.
“There isn’t any point in going to your place. I appreciate the offer, but—”
“If I’m not going to fuck you there’s no point?”
“Pretty much.”
“So much for being friends.”
“Were we ever friends, George?”
“I thought we were.”
“You wanted to fix me then and you still want to fix me. Did you ever consider fucking me might be the real fix I need?”
He doesn’t comment.
“Maybe I’m just unfixable.”
“Ca
n we talk about this in the car?” He walks away, heading to his car without giving me a chance to answer.
I think about it all of two seconds, trying to decide if being stubborn is worth it, and it dawns on me that George is one of the only people I’ve ever met who doesn’t give me my way. I’m a spoiled rich girl and as much as I buck the system, I like the perks. I follow him to his car and climb into the passenger seat when he opens the door. Besides, I don’t have my purse or any cash on me to pay for a taxi anyway.
George closes my door and walks around the car. He opens his door, climbs in and buckles his safety belt. I grind my teeth together to keep from screaming as he adjusts his mirrors.
Chapter Sixteen
George
When we returned home from Bedlam, Gigi went straight to bed. I was worried, but coming out of the shower, I find her sitting in the middle of my bed. She is wearing an oversized t-shirt and nothing more. Her nipples are clearly defined against the fabric.
I, on the other hand, am completely naked. I didn’t expect her to be in my room, and my body very clearly shows that I noticed her nipples.
“I thought we should talk,” she says.
“Let me grab a robe.”
She crosses the room faster than I can turn around and grabs my hand. “Is there a reason you don’t want me? Do I disgust you?”
I meet her gaze and assure her, “You do not disgust me. It’s just I’m in a relationship, and my primary partner isn’t currently in the country. We always discuss our plans to add a new lover before we consummate.” It isn’t a complete lie. It is the type of relationship Lin hinted at wanting.
“Oh.”
Looking down at the floor, Gigi rubs her lips together. I think that is the end of the discussion but she suddenly throws her arms around my neck and kisses me. There isn’t a single submissive note in the way she does so either. She completely dominates my mouth, our teeth collide, my tongue raped. I can’t think, I can’t breathe, but I can react. I push her down onto the mattress and pin her, crushing her beneath the weight of my chest, pinning her arms between us. The fabric of her t-shirt rides up and my cock and balls are trapped between our bare bodies.
She giggles. “At least I’m still capable of getting your attention.”
“There isn’t a moment you haven’t had my full undivided attention, lady.”
“You’ve never been willing to kiss me like that before.”
“You were a child before, and I have a total aversion to being some guy named Bubba’s bitch in the state pen.” I am rock hard, aching. Why am I saying no? Why am I still claiming a relationship with Lin? It’s obvious we’re ill-suited. It’s obvious we are never going to work as a couple.
“I’m not a child anymore, George.”
“My lovers call me Master.”
“Perfect.” Between our bodies, she grabs my cock and grips hard, pulling its length harder. I wonder if I am so readable it’s obvious from looking at me that I like it a little rough. I moan, unable to stop the sound. She bats her eyes. “How may I serve you, Master?”
“You don’t want this, Gigi.”
“I’ve wanted this my whole life, Master.”
I look down at her, believing her. I push away and there is immediate disappointment in her eyes. Standing, my first instinct is to comfort her, to explain my intentions, but she doesn’t need coddling. I won’t earn her respect with overindulgence. “You know your way to the dungeon. Go there. Now!”
She gasps, eyes wide, looking like she just won the lottery. It takes only a second for her to recover and make a mad dash down the hall. I hear the foyer door, her hurried footsteps down the stairwell.
Now what?
God, who am I kidding? I know exactly what comes next.
The cooler basement air is refreshing to my bare skin. It should wake me up from this precarious path I venture down but it doesn’t. Something niggles at the back of my brain—not guilt. Premonition? Or maybe just years of telling me I can’t have this woman. Regardless, I keep descending.
I find Gigi kneeling in the center of the room. She is nude, the shirt she was wearing balled up and tossed aside. Her arms are behind her back and her eyes are focused forward. Perfect submission. If only I could have taught Lin to find joy in the art before she left…
I push that thought away. Lin is not in this equation. Maybe she never was.
I walk a slow circle around Gigi, pretending to assess her, but there is no fault to her form. Her eyes don’t ever lose focus, her breath neither slows down or speeds up.
“Bend forward.”
She obeys, the line of her back forming a perfect bow.
“Do you prefer the flogger or the cane?”
“Cane, Master.”
I squat behind her and run my hand over her back. There are faint scars in a crisscross pattern, proving she is well acquainted with the birch.
Standing, I instruct her to do the same. I lead her into my medieval replica dungeon. With a coarse rope, I bind her hands and, using a pulley, lift them above her head until she is stretched uncomfortably and standing on tiptoe. I tie her ankles independent of each other, so that I can change her position easily. For now I merely anchor each rope to the floor.
I select two floggers from a standing cabinet.
“I prefer the cane, Master.”
“I heard you the first time.”
I tease the narrow suede thongs over her skin, giving her a feel for the soft leather. Stepping back, I strike down. The strands whistle in warning, followed by a solid sound of impact. Gigi cries out in surprise and pain.
The soft leather is deceptive.
I look at her pale skin to gauge her markability. Dark, angry, red lines already appear.
“Are you ready for me to begin?”
“Yes, Master.” Her voice sounds apprehensive.
“Say the word ‘red’ loudly and clearly if you wish for me to stop before I am ready to do so.”
“Yes, Master.”
I strike left then right, utilizing both floggers, building a rhythm, building speed. With each strike she cries out softly, the sound as graveled as her voice.
“Be quiet.”
“Yes, Master.”
I smack the thongs down over her back again and again until most of the surface of her skin blazes a brilliant shade of deep pink, but she stays silent. Only when we are both covered with a sheen of sweat do I start moving around her body, striking random targets, always with the same left-right rhythm. Hips. Thighs. Pelvis. Breasts. After a long stretch I switch to two wider-thonged floggers that are capable of delivering more impact but less skin damage. With these I can go all night.
It is quite a workout, exhausting for both of us.
Gigi withstands the punishment beautifully, moaning only toward the end, and not sagging with exhaustion until after I set the floggers aside.
I’m not finished.
Only now do I bring the cane out of the cabinet. I lift the wood to her lips and without being told to do so she kisses it.
“Very good.”
I swat the back of her thighs, leaving thin welts, and then the front of her thighs.
With softer swats, I target her mons. One swat hits a sweet spot perfectly, and she cries out. “Fuck, Master. Fuck.”
“Nice sting, that one?”
She doesn’t answer and I proceed, maintaining a rhythm of soft but stingy strikes. I can tell by the look on her face the moment she starts to lift into the pleasure of an approaching orgasm.
“Red! Oh fuck. Red. I don’t want to come, Master. Please. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.”
I hold her while she shudders and shakes through the wave. She sobs, unable to catch her breath. “Oh God, oh God. Please don’t force me to come.”
I kiss her damp temple. “I’ve never had anyone complain about orgasm.”
“I’m not a normal girl.”
“Talk to me, Gigi.”
“I said ‘red’! Will you just please fucking release me?”<
br />
“No.”
Her eyes widen.
“Red was to stop the pain. I’m afraid we’re going to have to renegotiate the rules if you want me to cease giving you pleasure.”
“I don’t want to come.”
“Why?”
“I don’t like when my body betrays me. I like the pain. I don’t like to have that joy interrupted with pleasure.”
I rub her slit, finding her wet, ready.
“Please, Master. Please don’t.”
I release her bonds and as soon as she is free she races upstairs. I follow, only to find she has locked herself in the guest room. I bang on her door. “We’re going to have to talk about this.”
“Don’t analyze me, George. I just want you to punish me. Can you do that?”
George, not Master. “No, Gigi, I can’t.”
Chapter Seventeen
Lin
London, UK
I wake up mid-orgasm, the jolts of pleasure going through my body making me toss and moan, but then I am awake and not orgasming at all. Damn it! I reach down and touch my clit, trying to remember the dream.
A woman was sucking off George and even though I’ve never met the woman, I knew she was Gigi, or at least my brain’s fabrication of Gigi.
It doesn’t make sense why dreaming of George and the woman I’ve come to see as direct competition while I’ve been away made me orgasm. But that wasn’t it. That wasn’t the whole dream. I remember now.
George said, “Join us?” as if it was the most natural thing in the world for me to be in the room with him and Gigi.
I know my fears stem from worrying about whether he will have an affair with Gigi while I’m away. Of course, I’ve left him no reason not to. I left—without a word. Damn it. I should have said something. What? I was so mad! Anything I would have said would have only made matters worse.
I dreamed George pulled Gigi over his knee and spanked her soundly, then treated me to almost the same measure of indignity. At least I’d kept my skirt on, so the evidence of my flaming ass wasn’t obvious.
While George spanked me, I watched Gigi out of the corner of my eye. She donned a strap-on harness equipped with a prosthetic phallus. It was bright-red and slick.
