12 Days

by Dark Angel

  In my mind, something about how he walks toward me, brings me this promise, makes him Sir to me. Damien is Sir, and yet...Sir is not Damien. I know that beneath this power, there's a person. But right now, I want to be the putty in Sir's hands, and please him, because I believe that will please not only Sir, but Damien. I can't explain my thoughts any better than this but it seems right to me.

  I try to breathe like he said. Sir gets down on the ground and brings his hands to between my thighs, rubbing his knuckles through my slit and making a wet sound that makes me so shy I want to hide. Oh god, how will I ever endure this? Why did I think that I could? Panic is setting in and my heart is racing a million miles an hour. I want to be curled up in a ball in a snowsuit, not naked in front of a dangerous man who has my pussy so wet it makes a wet sound when he touches it. I'm trying to breathe but all I manage are shallow inhales and exhales. I suck in my lips and try to focus on just waiting for what he's going to do or tell me to do next. His hand has returned to him and left me, and I can feel a chill in the air where he's not touching me anymore. I'm burning for him. Aching for his touch, his command, his...punishment.

  On cue, when I'm almost ready to explode, his hand is lying my body back, stroking up the curve of my stomach. Then, he picks me up and brings me to the master bedroom, placing me on the bed with my back facing him. I'm already so frightened. He's not going to tell me what's happening or let me see him? How will I ever endure this? If I could look at him, would I be able to still take it? I can't determine if I'll be better when he starts to punish me because I know what's coming, or worse because I will have to endure it.

  He walks toward an armoire and pulls out a strange set of cuffs, a blindfold, and a strap contraption that I think is a gag. I want to scream. What does Sir have planned for me?

  Can I take it?

  Will he be pleased if and when I do?

  I take deeper breaths, attempting to control my quaking body as he straps the gag onto my face. I can breathe, still, the gag is just preventing me from talking, which I'm not supposed to do anyway. This is a kindness. By the feel of him strapping my wrists and ankles together with the cuffs, it is the last kindness that will be present in my punishment. I let my tongue cup around the odd ball of the gag, try to focus on my breathing. Every touch of his fingers makes me want to scream. I don't know what comes next but Sir has already made me come undone. I'm desperate, and I realize I'm moaning when I hear him laugh. He runs a finger along the center of one of the backs of my feet and it is a shocking sensation. I didn't know that touching my foot could feel erotic. But Sir is so enticing, I think he could make eating a can of beans erotic. Now, I want to laugh, because that's one thing I can imagine him doing. It helps to lighten the mood, for just a second.

  Then, his teeth sink into one of my ass cheeks and I groan, hard. I'm grinding my pussy into the silky bed sheets, desperate for his touch. But the punishment is unlikely to involve an orgasm. Well, at least that's what I think. But every time he touches me, I'm so desperate for it that I think I just might be able to come if he touches me for more than a few seconds. We're testing that theory because his teeth release me, stinging my skin and making me pant harder against the gag, and then his hands are rubbing my ass cheeks. His large hands cover my whole ass. I have a bit of a bubble butt and I'm imagining what a sight I must be. There must be teeth prints on one cheek, and his hands are so much bigger than me that he's dwarfing my ass while it jiggles. It wouldn't have seemed sexy to me, but he's touching me, and that's the sexiest thing I can imagine. Oh God, I know now in this moment that no matter what he does to me, I want it desperately. Punish me, bite me again, I want to shout and beg and plead.

  Then, both of his hands rise and fall in several quick successions, spanking my ass hard enough to make cracking sounds break through the air. Sir hits the exact same spot, again and again, and my ass is certainly red and raw. I'm groaning, yelping, and aching deep in my pussy for him to stop, or keep going, or at least just keep touching me. I can think of nothing but complying. I am supposed to take my punishment, and I will. I start to breathe more evenly as the spankings keep going past thirty and I just can't count anymore. He's not being gentle. This is not playful. My skin is dancing fire and aching lust in what is certainly an angry looking red. My pussy is drenched, despite the fact that he's hitting me again. There's a pool of my arousal blooming around my pussy on the bed. I can feel it. I bet he can see it. I guess I should feel ashamed, but instead I feel something I never would've understood before. I feel proud. This hurts. I'm crying. I'm embarrassed and a little ashamed, I'm afraid, but I'm more alive than I've ever been. I'm yelping into my gag and desperate for him to stop. To never stop. He keeps going and I'm somewhere else. I feel everything he does, yet the rest of my body also lights up. I'm floating throughout the room all while I'm still weighted down by my restraints. I feel the pull at my wrists and ankles, the strain in my shoulders, the biting sting from where he slapped my cheek earlier, and on the ass cheek where he bit me. My nipples that bit and tugged at and numb with pleasure and pain.

  I'm a symphony of pain and pleasure wound into a ball of being. Just being here. His words from before echo in my mind. This feels amazing, and I'm not sure it is punishment, even though it hurts. Then he stops. The pace of the spanking stops, and the momentum of pleasure/pain turns to pain. It stings horribly. He flips me over and I'm gasping against the gag. The cold wetness from my arousal is on the bed sheets.

  "You liked that more than I thought you would, Sarah, but we're not done yet." Sir's eyes drop to my pussy and his hands come down, hard. Right before my pussy, next to my thighs. Again, he's not hitting softly. This is a punishing pressure, and I'm so sensitive and needy that it makes me scream out against my gag. If I could talk, I would be begging him to stop. Then he switches to one hand and smacks me right on my pussy lips, making me shout in sensation. It fucking hurts. It hurts so goddamn much but I'm...so wet. I'm terrified that he'll stop and I'll be left to burn where he's spanked me, my ass and pussy ablaze, and with no relief. That's the real torture here. He's worked me into a frenzy, but he's not letting me have any release. He keeps spanking my pussy and I'm yelping. Fat, hot tears run down my cheeks as I'm aching for him to make all this pain mean pleasure. I want more. I want it to stop. I want it to break free what's swelling up inside of me. There's a pulsing heartbeat in my clit desperate for him to keep going, to stop, to never stop touching me. I'm so confused. The heat map of my body is all I can think of. I'm not afraid or stressed; I'm consumed by the flames licking at my soul. His slaps stop and he presses four fingers into my pussy, I can see and feel it, and his thumb starts to circle my clit.

  "Now, you will not come until I say you can. Be good for me. You're doing so well, baby girl," Damien says practically purring his praise and that's enough to send a rush of arousal to shake me to my core. I'm trembling, squeezing his fingers claiming my pussy, pressing into me so good. I'm slick, dripping, and his fingers meet no friction. He's fucking into my pussy so fast that I couldn't keep up with the sensation or my breathing if I wanted to. Every inhale turns into another flutter and I feel an orgasm so close and pushing back those waves is literally painful. I need to come. It is all I can think about. I'm begging, which is only mumbling against the gag, but I hear him sternly say, "No."

  I have to listen. I will. It matters to me more than anything in the world, I realize. I'm consumed with this need. A black spiral within me winds further and further down, and I keep sliding. Push back the waves of pleasure and force the orgasm to recede, stay on the precipice but not completely. Not until Sir says I can come. I stop begging and start breathing and I lock eyes with him.

  There's a flare in those dark eyes that makes my nipples get painfully hard just looking at him. If I could have, I would have reached out and cupped his face. He's brutally fucking his fingers into me and he's touched my nude body, but right now feels like the most intimate thing that I've ever discovered. I'm thankful for this mo
ment. I don't quite understand it, but the looks we share now are something I'll hold onto, I'll treasure. A voice in my mind whispers that no matter what, I have this. It is like a shooting star, gone as I appreciate it, and he gives me a look of pure menace. "Do not come," his voice is ragged, his breathing altered. I'm affecting him, and in return I'm not to come. This truly is punishment.

  He jerks his fingers from my pussy. Sir no longer brushes my clit over with his thumb. Instead, his mouth is hovering over my pussy."You are not to come," Damien commands me. I realize what he's going to do. I shouldn't have a well of shame or embarrassment to pull from, but I do. His mouth sinks down on my pussy, tongue lapping over my clit and through my folds, and I'm alive with sensation. I'm crying harder, rolling my hips into his mouth with greed, and the waves are getting harder and harder to push back. He shakes his face around me, even nips his teeth at the swollen lips of my pussy so desperate for him to let me finish what he's started. But still, he keeps going. His hands reach up and undo my gag and I'm terrified. I can't stop with my long moans. His fingers wipe away my tears while he meets my rolling hips and presses my pussy against his mouth. He's kissing my pussy roughly, then fucking it with his tongue, and I'm so overwhelmed and trying not to talk so I squeeze my eyes shut.

  "Open your eyes," Sir growls against my pussy.

  The vibrations make me whimper, but I obey. I feel like any second now, I will come, and then I will be punished. I'm not allowed to come. Only days ago I barely knew anything about orgasm, and now he's about to tear one from my body and punish me because it isn't allowed. My desperate need to please him is all that I cling to. In one final push back of my orgasm's tide, that's when he looks me in the eyes, visible over the top of my pussy. "Ask permission to come, and I might let you," and he sinks his mouth back on my clit and slides several of his fingers, I can't even tell how many, into my aching, needy pussy.

  "Please, please, Sir, let me come for you," I beg, sharply cringing at my words but so desperate for the orgasm no matter how embarrassed I am to be asking for it.

  "No," Sir says. He pulls his fingers out of my pussy and brings his mouth up from my clit, and he sucks every drop of my arousal from his fingers.

  Then, while I tremble with need, he gets closer to me, his face close enough to mine that our noses are pressed together.

  "Please, please let me come for you," I whimper.

  He presses two of his fingers into my mouth and I taste my arousal, tangy yet sweet, so taboo, on his fingers. I suck like they are the air I breathe.

  "No," he says.

  I'm so desperate to come. I don't know what to do. He is torturing me. Why won't he let me come?

  When his fingers slide out of my mouth, I try to breathe. I want to ask him again, but something in his face makes me wait.

  "Now, look me in the eyes and come for me," he finally says and his eyes capture mine.

  I get shivers all over my entire body, watching his eyes as the waves finally roll over me and I give into everything my body aches for. I'm screaming, moaning, writhing in my bondage, but I never look away from him as I fall completely apart in the most shattering consummation of sensations that I have ever experienced. I'm never going to be able to go back from this, something in my mind whispers. I look into his dark eyes and the gushing arousal dripping down my thighs is sexy as hell to me. This beautiful man played my body like an instrument and I was full of some dark magic rushing through my veins. "Thank you, Sir," I say when I'm trembling in the aftershocks of my orgasms.

  He reaches down behind my back and undoes the restraints, rubbing my wrists and ankles where I have little lines from being bound. "You did very well, Sarah." His praise in this moment, after everything, is somehow just as good as an orgasm. And that orgasm was so incredible. He makes me feel in ways that I don't know how they are possible; he's certainly a sorcerer, the way he conjures demonic depths of pleasure that contort not just my face, but my soul. Damien, and Sir, have twisted me up in a way I don't understand, but I'm not sure that I want or need to understand. He's too complex for me to fully grasp. Particularly when I don't understand his intentions, or the full extent of his desires. I'm exhausted and exhilarated.

  The only way I parse my understanding, how I translate and explain my own feelings for Damien are to see him as the two men he is; Damien is both Damien and Sir. I think he is just as lost as I am. When I feel the need color the air, I feel the heat strong as any summer’s humidity and know I’m right.

  If I'm two people when I am with Damien, then so is he. Somehow, while it should horrify me or just leave me numb, this idea makes me sad.

  Damien

  I feel like some kind of bitch. I have a hot, virginal girl that’s living in my house. She belongs to me. I own her. I want to fuck her.

  And here I am, locked in my study, trying not to think about what her pussy tastes like. About how much my cock fucking hurts from not finding out how that warm wet hole would feel if it squeezed my cock.

  For a moment I’m a goddamn teenage boy trapped in the study of a man, my cock in my hand while I furiously jerk it. I’m dishonoring my wingback chair to be jerking off in here while a hot, eager, willing, sexy girl awaits me.

  Fuck, I know that I shouldn’t fuck her because of the situation with her father. I know that I should probably sell her on the Virgin Market. I know that she can probably do very goddamn well for me and help recover quite a bit of what was lost to me…

  But those are all the logical, coherent thoughts I should be having. I’m not fucking logical right now. I’m a goddamn caveman fisting my cock and leaning back against the leather of that once dignified wingback chair telling myself that I should cum on her if not in her. The past few times I have touched her were goddamn electric with the frenetic lust between us. Our chemistry is off any fucking charts. How Sarah can stay so strong, after everything she’s been through and is going through, and those dark desires within her keep blossoming…fuck if I know. I’m a fucking bastard and Sarah so clearly wants to fuck me. She’s afraid of me.

  But that doesn’t keep her from being the girl who got so fucking soaking wet from sitting on my lap that she got my suit trousers wet. God, I have to fist my cock at that. It's painful to think about not just what touching her felt like, or what stopping touching her before I went too far felt like. It's so damn painful thinking about all those times like now where I’m dying to touch her and the energy of all that lust has nowhere to go.

  Sarah could be masturbating right now. The idea of her fingers in her wet little pussy makes me jam my cock back into my pants. I'm not jerking off. I can’t fucking stand the idea of doing anything but marching to her goddamn room and slamming my cock into her until she screams.

  Sarah doesn’t have permission to speak, you see. If she did, then I’d have to focus even more on her sweet pink lips and how I want to fuck her mouth hard before I fuck her pussy. That’s not the goal here, despite what my body seems to think. So here I am, a grown man hiding in my study and I’m not jerking off. I’m not going to sit in here and go mad, either.

  I know what to do. I will text the only person privy to this whole situation. The only person I trust to help unravel my tormented mine.

  TD, the Trevor Davries that I have shared countless pussy with and the mark for Sarah’s auction bids, should I go through with selling her on the Virgin Market. Trevor knows more about the Virgin Market than me, having been a repeat customer, and I know he’s said that he wants to be a future one as well. Maybe for something more permanent.

  There is something really fucking odd in wanting my buddy to buy the girl I want to fuck, right? But it’s not. We’ve shared girls before. After we do, we reaffirm that the girls mean nothing to us.

  Trevor and I can share Sarah once and I’ll get her out of my system. Even if my cock screams at me that I need to fuck Sarah every day until our bodies give out, my mind tells me that I need to leave that poor girl alone.

  Would that I could.
r />   I’m not that good of a person. I know that.

  And so do you.

  I text Trevor, and he says he’ll be over in a few.

  I try to feel a sense of relief from knowing that I’ll have an actual sane, level-headed person on the way and one that can actually help me out with this situation.

  There won’t be any real need to hide my plan and desire to share Sarah. I’ve been giving him peeks. I know he’s enjoyed them. Not just from the affirmative reactions in his texts. I know that her tight little body is too damn perfect to not have his cock jerking to attention in every picture that I send. I know that despite being a man who’s nearly damn greedy in all aspects of his life, he’ll fucking get off on sharing her body with me. Of course, knowing that he’s coming over…part of me wants to forget the money or my reputation and just fucking ruin Sarah with him.

  Take her virginity, take her desires, and fuck her so much that we all goddamn blackout afterward and wake up more dehydrated than if we’d been on a desert island. That’s how much cum we should load her up with. Sarah’s got a wet pussy that will weep cum when we fuck her.

  If.

  If we fuck her.

  Damn.

  This is a risky move. I need to get some goddamn control over myself before Trevor gets here. I told him I wanted his advice on the asset. He’s level headed almost to a fault. He’ll tell me what I'm supposed to hear.