Black Cat Security

by Katerina Ross

  And then she just dismounted him, leaving Dragomir painfully hard and not even close to coming.

  “You can’t leave me like that!” he burst out, almost with horror.

  “I most certainly can.” Her voice was a little breathy, deep and filled with lust. “But maybe I won’t if you behave. As you might remember, I said I have a lot of plans for you.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Without answering, she slipped from the bed, quick and graceful like a small creature that seemed to be harmless, but had claws and sharp teeth. He could see her searching for something in the wardrobe where she seemed to keep most interesting and intimidating things, apart from clothes. What intrigued him the most, though, was the view of her buttocks, mostly obscured by the infuriating t-shirt, but partially visible when she leaned down.

  Ida finally retrieved the object she was looking for. When she turned back to Dragomir, he suddenly felt his mouth go dry. It was a penis-shaped thing with leather straps.

  Oh well. That was what she’d meant when she’d asked him about anal sex yesterday.

  ****

  “I’m not…” he began after a moment of unpleasant shock. “I told you, I’m not into it. Such kind of things.”

  “Oh, but I am,” Ida reassured him, unashamedly putting on the harness—one strap around her waist and two around her thighs. The dildo was now curving obscenely outwards from under the hem of her t-shirt as if it were an erect cock, with an enlarged head, very realistic.

  His anger flared again.

  “I said…”

  She cut him off. “I heard you. And you heard me. I told you some things I would do might be disturbing. You might not like them, not at first. Many men find anal stimulation enjoyable, and it has nothing to do with their gender preferences, I assure you. Some feel like it’s degrading them, making them submissive, not in control. Some don’t. I suppose you’ll be among the first. But I want you to try to give in and find pleasure in it. For now, imagine you don’t have a choice. Imagine I force you to do it.”

  A captive, right.

  “It might be easier if you don’t watch. Turn around, stand on your knees and hold on to the headboard.”

  It was easier said than done, with his wrists still handcuffed. Yet Dragomir struggled to follow her order, a bit clumsily, both wound up and confused, and not quite believing he was doing it. What was the point in this? What was she going to achieve, except to humiliate him?

  The twisted chain of his handcuffs became uncomfortably short. If he didn’t grip the headboard for leverage, they would dig into his flesh painfully. But this discomfort gave him something to focus on. Something else rather than his neglected erection and unwanted doubts.

  The silence stretched uncomfortably. He waited. And waited.

  The fuck it was going to help! She was just messing with his head again, not working on his anger issues. It must be so amusing for her, compelling him to perform all the tricks she demanded of him. So entertaining, so…

  A sharp smack across his buttock—and he choked on his rage.

  “You’re thinking too much,” Ida said reproachfully. “We can’t have that. You are here to feel.”

  Another smack, this time not with a hand. Not a paddle. Not a strap either.

  She didn’t give him time to guess what it was, renewing the fiery burn in his ass. He grasped at the headboard hard, knuckles white. Only ten wallops, but when he stopped, he was a mess again, biting on his already puffed lower lip to keep any sounds down.

  The mattress dipped a little under Ida’s weight, and she threw her beating implement onto the sheets by his side. A riding crop. She liked diversity, it seemed.

  “That’s better,” she said, kneading his abused flesh, spreading his buttocks and pressing onto his opening with both thumbs. “Stay still, or I’ll use my crop on your hole as well. And then take you without a good preparation, rough and fast.” She dug into the tender orifice a little harder, not enough to hurt yet, but giving him a clear impression it could. “It’s nice that you seem to have no problems with self-hygiene. Next time I’ll give you an enema for a deeper cleansing, but today I didn’t want to spoil a surprise. No worries though, I’ll just put a condom on my strap-on.”

  A click, like of a bottle being uncapped. Dragomir shuddered when Ida started massaging something cool and slippery into him, slowly easing a single finger past the clenching ring of muscles.

  “That’s some lube for you. As I might have said, I don’t want to damage you. At least not badly.”

  Well, that was reassuring.

  “You can’t imagine how much I like this,” she continued as she kept stretching him open. “You, so strong, all muscles and raw power, and on your knees for me. Offering your ass.”

  He jerked at his handcuffs with a snarl—it was too much, enough of that!—but she crooked her finger in the slick warmth within him, stroked and … oh, it was…

  Ida chuckled at his grunt. “Your prostate. Never had it massaged?”

  And she did it again.

  He was all worked up by the time she managed to shove the third finger into him, and only then she decided he was ready and finally aligned her strap-on dildo to his hole. Dragomir felt the bulbous head pushing inside of him—and no, he couldn’t take it, definitely not, it was too wide…

  “Bear down on it,” Ida instructed him. “Yeah, like that. Yield.”

  There was so much intensity in her voice that his body relaxed before his mind even registered the command. The tip of the dildo was now inside of him, and she paused, stroking the small off his back in circles as if soothing a frightened animal, giving him some time to adjust or maybe just prolonging the torment. He was painfully aware of the huge plastic thing up his ass, the solid girth expanding his rectum, and the rigidness of his cock, trapped in its hardened state and bobbing under him lewdly.

  With her hands on Dragomir’s hips, Ida began pushing forward again, steadily and relentlessly, until the dildo was lodged in his butt up to the root. Another pause, but not for long, before she pulled part way out, slowly. His breathing hitched as she pressed the sensitive spot on the outstroke—and again as she thrust back in. And out. And in. And out. Rhythmically. With short, rapid movements. It was … oh fuck, fuck! He couldn’t last for long like this!

  The uncomfortable burning was still there, along with the humiliating feeling of being a passive fucktoy again, but the heat was building up in him, making his limbs weak and his cock ache with unsatisfied need. If not for the condom, there would have been a pool of pre-cum on the sheet beneath him.

  “I want to come,” he croaked out, another dart of sensation shuddering through him.

  “Not yet.”

  “Please,” he tried, helpless anger bubbling in him. He didn’t want to beg, and yet here he was, doing just that. “Ida, take … take this strap off … I really can’t … please!”

  “No, not yet. Imagine you are my vassal—and this is your badge of servitude.”

  His constricted, engorged cock throbbed in response to her voice.

  Her captive. Her vassal. Someone who mattered.

  Yes, he could hold on to that a little longer.

  His dog tag was dangling from his neck, the chain still unbroken. Did it mean he could take it, this pressure building and building up without any hope of release? Or was it just another mindfuck?

  Ida continued pounding into him with shallow thrusts, driving him mad—and past this madness into something else, into a state where flickers of anger were blending together with lust, dying there, transforming, like sparks consumed by a greater fire.

  Yes, he was angry. Yes, he was ashamed. And in this shame and anger he found peace because they became too large, too vast for him to comprehend. It was easier simply to feel them, the way he felt pain and pleasure, meaningless and transient.

  When Ida stopped, he groaned in abandon, devoid of the now familiar sensations.

  The dildo was still inside of him, but she unb
uckled the leather straps of the harness, and now they were dangling against his thighs.

  “Turn onto your back again.”

  He tried to, but his muscles were like jelly, and loosening his grip on the headboard seemed risky.

  “Come on, you can do it.”

  She guided him firmly, helped him to scoot down the bed, so his arms were stretched, and straddled him, facing away from the headboard, her knees on either side of his head. He knew what was expected of him. It was uncomfortable because he couldn’t steady her hips, and his handcuffed arms were straining, but he licked and sucked obediently, even eagerly as she was grinding down on his face, riding him to another orgasm. And another one. And only after that she relented and unclasped the strap from his cock. It took only a few strokes—and his release tore through him, wrecked him completely, intense and overwhelming.

  He barely registered how she uncuffed him and eased the dildo out, very carefully. He only made a tiny noise of discomfort, not lucid enough to care if it was undignified. His lips and his chin were marked with her juices and his ass hurt.

  Ida disappeared to get rid of the spent condom and returned with a warm washcloth—wearing her shorts again, what a shame. She wiped his face first, then his cock and his belly. He felt too weak to protest that he could do it himself. He didn’t want to do anything right now. When she started massaging his cramped arms, he let her do it, too. It was nice. Maybe too nice.

  In his floaty post-orgasmic state of bliss and exhaustion, Dragomir felt a weird constricting sensation in his chest, making it hard to breathe. It was as if he were on the verge of crying, but he didn’t intend to cry. He had no reason to, did he? Everything was fine. He was fine.

  He just didn’t want Ida to stop pampering him, though it was an uncalled-for indulgence. It was pleasant to be the sole focus of her attention. But it wasn’t something to last, like anything else. He’d have to get up, take a shower. He’d have to decide if he would leave or not if Ida suggested he could stay for a while longer. He’d have to go back to his everyday life, eventually…

  And these thoughts were oddly distressing. He tried to swallow down the strange, pathetic sorrow that accompanied them, but his chest felt tighter and tighter.

  Ida must have noticed something. When she had finished with the massage, she didn’t move away. She sat so he could put his head in her lap, and shushed at him when he hesitated. So he settled like she wanted him to and let himself go limp with a shuddery sigh. She started petting his hair again, as if she were consoling him, but what for? He couldn’t get it, yet there it was, the need to be comforted, the need…

  “It’s fine,” Ida whispered. “It’s fine. Cry if you want to. Strong men need to cry sometimes, too. It doesn’t mean you’re defeated. It means you feel safe enough to unwind. So cry now, tough boy.”

  And so he did. There was no more shame in it than in anything else he’d done today.

  ****

  Of course, he felt awkward afterwards, though afterwards came surprisingly late. He let himself bask in Ida’s sympathy for quite a while after he had calmed down. Maybe because deep down inside he was afraid of what would come next, so he delayed the inevitability of dealing with the aftermath for as long as he could.

  But sooner or later he had to come down from this giddy feeling of unasked-for comfort.

  What next? Would she usher him out? She had her own life, she had a job, and no matter how much she enjoyed having her strange version of sex with him—though it was obvious she enjoyed it a lot—surely, she wouldn’t want to spend all of her time with a man she hardly knew. A damaged and dangerous man. A feral beast on a short leash, worse than a chimera from an animal shelter—the wretched thing, no matter how weird, probably was of no threat to anyone, or they wouldn’t have let it out to be someone’s pet. He clearly was a threat. Ida had declared she was safe from him, but it didn’t mean she would relish his company on a 24/7 basis.

  Maybe she’d make another appointment, tell him when to come to her again if she was still interested in working on his issues. The same thing as seeing a shrink, only with an addition of kinky activities, that was what it would be. A mutually beneficial arrangement. Or was it a one-time consultation? Was it over, now that she had shown him the ways he could deal with his anger? She’d had her fun, but had he been entertaining enough for her to want more? He wasn’t sure.

  She had used him, but he didn’t mind. He was even grateful to her. She had brought him through all these degrading and weird things … and she didn’t seem to treat him differently afterwards. She still thought him strong and worthy of her attention. It was nice, but Dragomir didn’t expect it to last. It was easier not to.

  It was very much like a déjà vu, showering and putting his clothes on again, and a rather sad one. Would things have been less complicated if he’d left in the morning, before adding more confusion to his last night experience? Wouldn’t it be better if he hadn’t met Ida at all? Dragomir had no illusion the battle with his anger was over. And fighting it on his own might be even harder now. No matter how unconventional Ida’s therapy had been, it had almost felt like she cared about him, and going back to being alone made him want to howl like a lost and frightened dog.

  Dragomir found Ida in the living-room, sitting cross-legged with a laptop in the leather armchair.

  “Kneel,” she said casually.

  He stood there blinking at her.

  “I said kneel,” she repeated. “Here, by my side. I would have kept you naked, too, but you’d be distracting me.”

  “Are we still…”

  He couldn’t find a name for what they were doing.

  “You mean—am I done with you? No, of course not. You’re a work in progress. So be a good boy and do as you are told. I have a few appointments to reschedule and some letters to answer, and then I’ll think what to do about you.”

  She pointed at the floor, firmly, and he knelt without further arguing. Probably because her promise had hit him on the raw. She was going to think what to do about him. So she hadn’t decided yet if she wanted him out?

  Kneeling wasn’t much worse than sitting on his beaten-up ass. Not at first. But the wooden floor was hard under his knees, his ass hurt anyway as his heels were digging into it, and Ida wasn’t paying any attention to him, none at all…

  “You’re fidgeting. Do I have to tie you up?” Ida asked, not turning to Dragomir from her laptop, right when this thought started setting tiny prickles of irritation all over him.

  Funnily enough, he genuinely considered her offer. “Maybe,” he said cautiously, and that made her look up, with a sparkle of amused surprise in her gaze.

  “Actually, I’m sure you’ll be strong enough for me to endure this without restraints. You will be bored. You will be sore. I know it. But you’ll hold your spine straight, and your head up, all the time, until I tell you otherwise. Put your hands behind your back and spread your shoulders. Yes, like that.”

  She reached out to smooth a hand along the defined muscles of his upper arm. It looked like she took pleasure in what she saw, and it made him want to hold this pose for her, for as long as she wished. Rolling his shoulders had renewed a slow burn from the last night’s thrashing, and Dragomir held on to it. Surely pushing through a little discomfort wasn’t harder than undergoing something like that?

  He didn’t know how much time had passed until he started shaking with the strain of holding still. Behind his back, he was clasping one wrist with the opposite hand, and it helped, but not much. Exhaustion settled in, taking over the occasional rebellious flashes of common sense that were spelling one and the same question for him in burning letters—why was he doing this?

  At first, it seemed important to find the answer, but in a while the question itself became awfully boring, like a TV advertisement on repeat. Dragomir felt he was drifting, all of his energy concentrated on not breaking his pose. He knew he couldn’t take it anymore, but he had to, he had to… Second after second, and anoth
er second more…

  “You’re so resilient. I’m pleased you lasted so long,” Ida said gently. Her hand cupped his stubble-dotted chin, stroked it gently, and only then he realized that his eyes had been squeezed shut. He’d missed it when she had closed her laptop. How could it have happened that he’d spaced out so completely?

  “How about you lie down and rest, and we’ll talk some more?” Ida suggested. She got up, took a cushion from the couch, and placed it onto the floor beside him. “Put it under your head and stretch out. You’ve deserved it.”

  It was painful to uncoil his cramped, sore muscles, but lying unfolded, the cushion beneath his head, felt so much better compared to his previous position that it didn’t occur to him to ask why exactly he was to lie down there, on the floor, instead of the couch.

  “So, what are you going to do about me?” he muttered.

  Ida sat back into the armchair, right above him, cross-legged again. Her toenails were perfectly pedicured, painted in pink, and her soles looked smooth like marble. Dragomir suddenly wondered if she’d make him kiss her feet, and the thought of it felt strange but not revolting.

  She smiled at him. “As I said, I’m going to take care of you. I’m going to help you. It doesn’t mean you’ll always like it. Sometimes you’ll fight it. But it’s all right, it’s supposed to be like that. Remember I told you about turning your curse into your strength. Now you know how it might feel when this anger of yours is just powerful energy, nothing more. How about making you feel like this all the time?”

  Dragomir stared at her incredulously. “Is it possible?”

  “Quite so. Your curse is like a chronic disease. It will always lurk, but you can live with it. It will take a lot of work, though, to make this life bearable and even not devoid of happiness. I’m sure you didn’t think much of being happy when you wanted to get rid of your curse. You just cared about not being angry. But it’s all connected, I’m afraid.”

  “By work you mean…”