Black Cat Security
Page 5
“Hi, handsome.”
Ida was sitting by his side, in what looked like ordinary home clothes—a washed out pink t-shirt, a tad too large for her, and denim shorts … um, definitely not too large. She could pass for a perfectly nice girl if not for a somewhat predatory smile and an asserting gaze.
“I like these wild spikes,” she said, ruffling his hair. “Some men put product in their hair to achieve such an effect.”
Her gesture caught him unawares, or he would have protested. But he didn’t have time to: Ida pulled her hand away before he could make up his mind if he’d really disliked it.
Maybe not. The brief touch was strangely erotic. Or maybe anything would seem erotic at the moment, considering his morning hard-on. Oh yes, he’d definitely recovered since the last night. And he was stark naked under the duvet. Would Ida care to join him?
He didn’t get a chance to initiate something unambiguously sexual, though. Ida stood up.
“Take a shower and get dressed.” She pointed at his neatly folded clothes at the foot of the bed. “The bathroom is to the right. Join me in the kitchen afterwards.”
And with that, she left.
Just great, he told himself grimly. Marvelous. She’s giving you commands now.
Yet he trudged to the bathroom with the pile of clothes in his hands because it was a sensible thing to do. He felt dry spots of cum on his belly and thighs—he’d been too exhausted to pay attention to such minor details—and he needed to empty his bladder, though he suspected it would be challenging given his persistent erection.
The water turned out to be lukewarm and barely dribbling. There were always plumbing problems in old houses. But maybe it was for the best because the welts on his back were still raw, despite Ida’s ointment, and he couldn’t even bear a thought of hot water beating against his shoulders.
Waking up with this soreness, an echo of the pain he’d endured, had been surprisingly okay, but now it was a constant reminder of what he’d let Ida do to him, only half willingly, or maybe even less than a half, and it felt not so great. Clearly, she was into some mindfuck games. She had tricked him into taking a thrashing, and now what? Did she expect he’d bend to her will, just because she said it was for his own good?
Dragomir considered leaving without a fuck off speech—just taking his jacket and shoes and slipping out of Ida’s apartment. But it felt more like cowardice than a strategic retreat.
Besides … something strange had happened yesterday. For a short time, he’d felt like someone cared for him. Yeah, maybe it had been a part of a play. Maybe it had made him pathetically needy in the end, which of course wasn’t the way he’d want to appear to anyone, let alone a woman he barely knew. And yet … it had been a nice feeling, and remembering it made him waver.
Dragomir toweled off gingerly, careful not to rub his back much. He was trying to figure out what Ida’s plans about him might be. Also, he kept wondering whether Ida had slept beside him tonight. He’d been so zoned out that he didn’t remember, but the bed was wide enough for them both. The thought of Ida without that baggy t-shirt and shorts made his dick vote for staying, very resolutely.
Well, he could hang around for a while, see how it went. It didn’t mean he was following Ida’s commands.
As it turned out, Ida had given him only his black t-shirt and jeans. No underwear. Did she decide to keep his briefs as a souvenir? That would be funny.
Dragomir put on his meager clothes and went to have a talk with Ida—indecisive, slightly apprehensive, and thus inevitably irritated. He had no idea what he should say. Also, he was half-hard again, an uncomfortable bulge sensitive against the rough denim. He should have taken care of it in the shower, but duh, someone was hopeful.
When he came into the kitchen, there was a plate of fried eggs and bacon on the table, along with a mug of something hot and steamy, and Ida was tapping on her phone.
“That’s for you. Eat. Then we’ll talk,” she told him briskly and returned to whatever she was doing, ignoring him completely. In her oversized t-shirt, she should have looked so very different from the night before when she’d been a seductive pin-up beauty. But the same air of self-confidence stayed, and it was disconcerting.
Dragomir stood in the doorway for a few seconds. The thought of leaving crossed his mind again. But it had been long since somebody cooked him breakfast, and it seemed a waste not to eat it. He’d been living mostly on takeout for quite some time, and of the cheapest kind. He didn’t see the point in cooking for himself.
Ida walked around the kitchen as she continued to fiddle with her phone, and he was too engrossed in wolfing down his meal to notice when she stopped right behind him. He tensed for a moment when she touched his nape, but nothing happened, and he took another forkful and chewed, almost moaning at how surprisingly awesome such simple food felt, just because it was hot and homemade. Ida’s fingers started threading through his hair, and he let her, as if he were a stray dog allowing a human to feed and pet him. Maybe that was what he looked like indeed, a big, dangerous animal that had learned not to trust anyone but was stupidly eager to forget the hard-won knowledge whenever a hand reached to scratch it behind the ears. Even if the other hand held a whip.
“If you’re staying, we need to discuss safety once more, since you don’t remember much of our talk last night,” Ida said, massaging his scalp soothingly.
Dragomir huffed, his mouth full with the last slice of bacon.
“You find it amusing?” Her grip in his hair tightened slightly.
“Well, yeah.” He looked at the empty plate with regret. “You tie me up, lie to me, and now you’re all about safety?”
Even to his own ears, it sounded like whining—not the best start to a conversation. He winced, mortified, but Ida resumed massaging his head, with both hands now, having put her phone aside on the kitchen counter and seemingly unperturbed. It felt good. It felt distracting.
“It’s fine to voice out what’s bothering you,” Ida assured him. “When I’m asking, of course. I explained why it had been necessary to catch you unawares, but now I think you are ready to go through new experiences conscientiously. Hence a prep talk. We agreed I should have a safeword in case you acted up and attempted something violent. You were very insistent you might. And by safeword I mean a word that would stop you. An agreed-upon spell, made with your own help. You might be curious about it, but I wouldn’t want to try it out without reason—it’s nothing lethal, but you definitely won’t like the consequences.”
Yup, how very unsurprising he had willingly given her a weapon against himself.
“Pity I don’t get to have a safeword, too,” Dragomir muttered and tried out the contents of the mug. It turned out to be some kind of herbal tea. Not entirely unpleasant, though coffee would be more welcome.
“Why, you do,” Ida declared. “Sort of. Only it’s not a word.” She fingered the chain of Dragomir’s dog tag, the way she’d toyed with the collar. “If you are sure something is too much for you and you won’t be able to endure it further, the chain will break, and I’ll know I need to stop. It’s a precaution in case you won’t be able to articulate your … distress.”
“Huh.”
He couldn’t think of a more coherent response, a problem with articulation indeed. So there hadn’t been a spell on the collar, but his own dog tag was fucking enchanted. Unsurprising, too, come to think of it.
“The chain didn’t break last night, so now we both know you were perfectly able to endure the pain I gave you.” Ida’s hands slid down to his shoulders, and he had to let go of the mug and grip at the table, hard, as she started driving lines across the fresh welts through the cotton of his t-shirt. With her fingernails. Just like a cat clawing at furniture. “You might not like it, but it helped you, didn’t it? As for me, I took pleasure in your suffering, but I also enjoyed giving you comfort. I might be a tiny bit sadistic, but I’m a very considerate sadist.”
“Yes, I noticed,” he murmured.
“How so?”
Her palms stilled on his shoulders, just pressing slightly, as if giving him a reminder she might continue. And he sat still, uncertain if he was glad she had stopped. He hadn’t enjoyed it, but … combined with Ida’s talking, it felt almost like an achievement, enduring discomfort for her.
“This curse is so deep-rooted because it fell into fertile ground, at the moment of what you considered to be helplessness, weakness,” she said softly. “The moment when you were unhappy with yourself, so to speak. So the curse is directed onto you in the first place. Of course, out of sheer self-preservation, you unconsciously project it onto the outside world because it’s unbearable, to hate yourself all the time. But you don’t really want it, you try to stop … and despise yourself all the more when you can’t. There’s an old saying—holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else, but you are the only one who gets burned. It’s somewhat different with you. You don’t want to throw it at others, you struggle to avoid it. So the anger is always clasped tight in your blistered hands—of your own free will. You only allow it to slip when you know you’ll get the aggression back, as otherwise you feel bad about it.”
“So what are you saying? I should lash out at others?”
“No, but you have to let your negative energy out sometimes. To shout and cry, to thrash and curse, to be furious, rebellious. Otherwise you’ll burst and hurt yourself and others, which you clearly don’t want. You could have it within a safe environment. Within boundaries. As a play. You will get hurt in the process, but not as badly as you tend to do now. Not injured. Not damaged. I can take care of that.”
Dragomir couldn’t help but turn back and raise a brow at her. “You mean you’ll beat me?”
“Among other things, yes,” she confirmed nonchalantly. “I told you we’d have to redirect your anger, but it would be more accurate to say you’d eventually learn not to direct it anywhere. To let it flow. To bask in it. Anger is energy, and energy is neither good nor bad. But to feel it as it is, I think you need physical sensations to anchor you. In the end, you’ll learn to enjoy it.”
“Easy for you to say,” Dragomir grumbled.
“Well, you managed just fine last night. So, you know it’s possible, though it might seem difficult at first. How about we try again?”
****
He couldn’t believe he’d agreed. Or more like hadn’t disagreed. Yet here he was, in Ida’s bedroom again, eying her apprehensively.
“You want to tie me up?”
“Actually, yes, I suppose it might be of help. Simply as symbolic restraints. Something you can focus on.”
His body protested most fervently against any use of chains. And against standing upright for an unknown period of time. He wasn’t in his best form at the moment.
Why was he even considering this? Just because his cock was so eager it would probably tear through his jeans soon? Oh yeah, this treacherous part of his anatomy felt just fine and demanded action, but since when did it rule him?
Ida seemed to have read his mind before he snapped, before he bolted. “We don’t have to chain you up in a standing position. I’ll think of something less straining. Now, take your jeans and t-shirt off.”
Dragomir felt foolishly grateful for an instant, before a more reasonable thought caught up with him: why hadn’t he told her straightforwardly what he didn’t want to do?
But Ida didn’t let him wallow in embarrassment. “Come on, move,” she hurried him. “Tick-tock. Place your things onto the chair. Neatly folded, please.”
Freed from the denim confines, his cock immediately sprang to full mast. He’d been willing before, but now he was almost shaking with desire and anticipation. Was that herbal tea a special blend? Would Ida tell him if he asked?
The t-shirt followed, and now he was naked in front of her, with only his dog tag on. Ida looked him up and down, and he barely held back a reflex to cover himself with both hands under her scrutiny, silly as it was. Strangely, it felt more obscene than if they both were undressed. Ida had already seen him without clothes, sure. But the first time, it had been just a few moments in the locker room, and the second time, he’d been blindfolded and then not clear-headed enough to care what she thought of him. Now it was different. He knew she was studying him, appraising him, and it made him uncomfortably self-conscious, nervousness building up with each second. It was as if he were a slave evaluated before purchase, and what would happen if she didn’t deem him worthy?
It was a relief to hear her say, “Hmm, a very nice view. Now, onto the bed. On your back. Hold on to the headboard with both hands.”
It was mildly uncomfortable, lying on his back, but fine, he could do this. In his mind, the heated voice of reason wouldn’t shut up: it’s insane, utterly insane, what the fuck are you doing? Yet he reached back to hold at the cold metal of the vintage-style headboard, just as he’d been told, and what did it make of him?
Steel handcuffs clicked around Dragomir’s wrists. The short chain went around one of the wrought-iron slats and dangled against it as he tested the range of movement. Predictably limited.
If he tried a spell, he would probably snap the handcuffs open. Maybe injure his wrists as well—he wasn’t sure how controlled his spell would be, but he’d break free. The last resort then.
In the meantime, Ida got rid of her shorts and straddled his thighs, too far from his cock, but surely, she was planning to make a use of it? Unfortunately, her damn t-shirt was too long to get a good view, and she didn’t seem inclined to take it off, but Dragomir felt the warm flesh of her buttocks against his skin and could well imagine the rest. Also, he suspected she wasn’t wearing a bra under the t-shirt, though he’d rather he could check.
“I like that you have lots of hair,” Ida said, squirming a little against his legs, furry indeed. “Lots and lots. It’s so very masculine.” She sneaked out a hand to pet the line of dark curls leading to his groin. Uh. He made a frustrated growl in his throat when she backed off, and it made her smile. “But we’d need to trim you at some places. It will be more suitable for things I’d like to try on you.”
“What things?” There was more tension in his voice than he would have liked to betray.
She reached back to where her shorts lay and took something from her pocket.
“Things like this, for example.”
She dangled a short band before his eyes—a black leather strap with what looked like snap buttons—and then…
“Hey, what the—”
But Ida had already popped it around his shaft, right at the base, very snugly. Maybe too snugly.
“It’s a cock strap. It traps blood in here.” She squeezed his package in demonstration. “Makes your cock engorged. Helps to remain rock solid. So you last longer.”
“I have no problem with lasting long,” he protested indignantly.
Ida slapped his penis lightly. “Don’t interrupt me. I said longer. I’ve got a whole bunch of plans for you. This,” she tapped at the strap with her fingernail, which sent a maddening vibration to his cock, “will ensure you stay hard even if you don’t like some of them.”
That sounded sinister, but he wasn’t sure if he cared at the moment. Why wouldn’t she start with what she wanted to do already?
“I hope your untrimmed hair wouldn’t snag,” she added cheerfully, not hurrying in the least, “but oh well, it was either this or getting you flaccid to put a metal ring on you. Because as you might imagine, squeezing an erection into a fi
rm object is very, very painful. Now, one more thing.”
She fetched a condom and rolled it onto him, none too gently, but he didn’t object. Especially not when she slowly eased herself onto his cock after that and squirmed around, getting comfortable. He just made a growl deep in his throat, keen for her to rock against him more actively, to ride him.
She sniggered. “Patience, big boy. Don’t worry. I’m going to make a good use of you, just wait and see.”
She started unhurriedly, but soon the rhythm increased. She was moving her hips in circles while making hops, clearly enjoying herself.
“Oh, that’s good,” she sighed out. “So good.”
She rode him hard now. He could feel her vaginal muscles flexing. It was as if she were fucking her orgasm out of him—and all he could do was to lie there and let her use his cock as a dildo. He’d never been passive in sex before. Moreover, he’d been aggressive and demanding, to the point that it frightened him. But it wasn’t an option while he was handcuffed, was it, and it made him indefinitely irritated because, come on, she had him turned into a life-size fucktoy, nothing more, and how unmanly was that!
But also, it felt … safe. He could do no harm like this, and his hurt pride was a small price to pay for it. Or so he told himself bitterly while Ida had her way with him.
It was all so mixed up, humiliation and anger and helplessness. Immobilized, he was powerless just like when…
Ida pinched his nipple cruelly. “Eyes on me. Don’t divert. Watch me. Watch how I use you. How I enjoy you. How I like you.”
Strangely, her harsh commands made his irritation deflate. Because this was personal, or at least seemed like it. Because it meant she saw him, wanted him, not just anyone. Maybe just as a means for her own satisfaction at the moment, but that he didn’t mind.
He could imagine he was her captive, as she called him yesterday. A trapped and chained beast, and wasn’t it true, to some degree?
Ida took her time building up the pleasure for herself, rolling her hips, digging her nails into Dragomir’s flanks, and when an orgasm swept over her, he watched hungrily and mesmerized how flushed and bright-eyed she was, shivering with bliss…