Deep Control

by Annabel Joseph

  “Okay.”

  “Maybe we can talk afterward.”

  He lay back on the bed, crossing his arms behind his head. “Sure.”

  I couldn’t help glancing at his crotch before I turned to the bathroom. What was going on in his pants? Was he really that huge? Maybe I shouldn’t have stood there talking to him without any clothes on. I was wet just from our conversation, from the lofty dominance in his eyes. Why wouldn’t he be hard, too? I brushed my teeth, trying to will the arousal away, but it was still there when I rinsed and spit.

  I took off my glasses and turned on the shower. I needed hot water. No, I needed cold water. No, I needed to masturbate. I leaned against the counter, stroking my clit the way Devin had at Via Sofferenza, with his commanding, firm touch. Please, hurt me. Please, take me.

  No, no more sex. Real life. I stopped pawing myself, stepped into the shower, and pulled the curtain shut. The water pelted me, copious and loud, soaking my hair so it fell in my face and covered my eyes like a blindfold. I pressed against the wall, rubbing my clit again, fantasizing about Devin whipping my ass, no pity, no mercy. I imagined his fingers closing around my neck as my legs buckled beneath the strain.

  Then I heard a low, rasping laugh. Instead of my neck, he grasped my hair. My heart stuttered and my cheeks flushed, because he’d come into the shower and caught me in the act. “Don’t stop,” he said in his rough Dom voice.

  He was naked, his hard cock poking against my ass cheeks. “You scared me,” I said, cupping my mons.

  “Don’t stop. I want to watch you jerk off.” His front pressed against my back, his tall, muscular body pinning me against the shower wall. He tugged my hair again. “Finish. Do it. Make yourself come.”

  “I can’t. I need…” I need to be hurt. I can’t come if I’m not being hurt.

  “Listen to me, you little fuck.” He pulled my hair to move me under the water, then tilted my head back under the stream. He chuckled as my hands flailed, as water ran into my nose and mouth. When I choked, he let go and I bowed my head, coughing.

  “That’s what happens when you don’t obey me,” he said. “Now touch your fucking pussy.”

  With those gruff words, I realized our sadomasochistic games were advancing to a new level. My mind was afraid but my body was ecstatic, my fingers delving between my legs, touching wetness that wasn’t only water. When his hand circled my neck, I closed my eyes with a groan, my fingertips working my clit.

  “That’s better,” he said in a silken growl. “Such a horny fucking girl. Why haven’t you come yet? What else do you need?” He used my hair to move me to the back of the shower, holding me so I was facing him. “You want to jack yourself with my big dick in your throat, is that it?”

  Now that he mentioned it, I wanted it more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life. I sank to my knees when he forced me down, and took his cock in my hands. It rose between us, swollen and huge. His fingers threaded into my wet hair as I stroked him. I licked up the front of his shaft, felt his fingers clench tighter, then closed my eyes as he pressed between my lips. Water rained over me, sluicing between my mouth and his cock so he felt both hot and hard, and cool and slippery.

  “Touch yourself, damn it,” he said, driving to the back of my throat.

  I gagged and spread my legs as I tried to suck him, letting the force of his possession drive me back on my heels. It was hard to breathe, even harder to masturbate, but I didn’t care. I licked and sucked, and stroked his balls with one hand while I rubbed my clit with the other. The force and pain drove my arousal higher. I teetered on my spread knees, searching for balance, taking him as deep as I could. His hands opened against the sides of my head as he pushed me back against the shower wall, groaning deep in his throat.

  In the beginning, he’d been letting me blow him, or try to. Now he was face-fucking me, holding me trapped, staring down with gritted teeth. I had nowhere to go, with Devin in front of me and tile behind me, and nothing to do but accept his thrusts. I rubbed my clit, trying not to gag as he pummeled me, but it happened anyway. I choked and he pulled away.

  I couldn’t apologize with my mouth full of shower water and my jaw aching from his repeated thrusts. Instead, I wrapped my palms around his thighs and pulled him back toward me, to let him know I wanted to finish this. I breathed through my nose and opened wide, and he drove into my mouth, ramming deep. Meanwhile, I jacked off like crazy, arching, tensing my thighs.

  And I thought, I have never, ever done anything like this. No one has ever used me this way. I’d dreamed of force and possession, acted it out with partners, but I’d never had the real thing. This was the real thing. His cock was my entire world, terrible and brutalizing, and I wanted it to continue until I couldn’t take anymore. I eased my head back against the wall to look up at him, blinking away water and tears.

  His eyes burned me, pale silver-blue, luxuriant. He let go of my head, pulled out of me and yanked me to my feet. I stumbled in the tiled stall, lost to his force and will. He turned me away from him, pinning me hard against the wall, pressing my cheek to slick porcelain. As he nudged my ass cheeks open with his cock, one arm came around my neck, tightening, suffocating me.

  I scrabbled at his muscled forearm but his grip only tightened more. His cock poked at my asshole while he forced my fingers back to my clit.

  “I want to fuck your ass,” he hissed in my ear.

  “Now?” I whispered through my closed throat.

  “Right now.” He pushed my fingers away from my pussy’s folds and pinched my clit, hard. “Don’t act like you don’t want it. It’ll hurt, which you fucking love.”

  It was true. I often fantasized about getting assfucked by someone like Devin, someone rough and sadistic with a huge cock, but it had never actually happened, especially not like this.

  “Put one hand on the wall and one on your fucking pussy,” he ordered. “Stick your ass out for me.”

  I obeyed, legs trembling. I hardly knew this man. Would he hurt me? Would I regret this wildness as soon as he started to press inside? I heard the conditioner bottle snick open, smelled the coconut-sugar scent as he massaged the slippery fluid between my cheeks. One of his fingers breached my asshole, making me gasp.

  “Do you like getting your ass fucked?” he asked. “You want my cock up your ass?”

  I looked back at him. “You’ll hurt me.”

  He pulled out his finger and delivered some spanks to my tender cheeks. “Don’t fucking move. Keep your ass out. And don’t come yet,” he added, as I moaned into the tile. “You don’t come until I allow it.”

  I stood where he’d placed me, wondering where he’d gone. The curtain moved, signaling his return, and I thought, the shower is too small for what he’s doing to me, for how he’s making me feel. He crowded behind me, grabbing my hips, then yanking my head back as his fingers twisted in my hair. “I put on a condom,” he said. “For you.”

  Our eyes met, a brief, piercing glance. Not asking for permission, exactly. More of a check-in, to see where I was, which was halfway to subspace. He tugged my hair harder and kissed my neck, running his tongue through trails of water, then bit me enough for it to hurt. I struggled, feeling his cock rub between my ass cheeks. He used the oily conditioner for lube, shoving more between my crack. He positioned the thick crown of his cock against my hole.

  The condom made things slicker. It helped a little, but I knew it was still going to hurt. I wanted it to hurt. I didn’t want him to be too gingerly and slow, like past Doms I’d played with. Is that okay, baby? they’d ask, mid thrust. Do you like that, baby? I didn’t want to like it. I wanted my Dom to ask those questions in a cruel and sarcastic way.

  Devin didn’t say anything to soothe me. Instead, he spanked my ass and barked at me to rub my clit as he worked the head of his cock into my hole. My ass resisted, then stretched to accommodate his slow forward motion, but my moan rose to a cry before he could get all the way in. He retreated, going still, the head of his cock half
inside. He was so big. It was so tight.

  “Let me the fuck in,” he growled.

  “I want to. I’m trying…”

  He let go of my hips and reached around to pinch my nipples, cinching them hard enough to make me squirm for mercy. My clit pulsed under my fingertips, and he shoved in another inch, then two inches, prying me open, bringing back all last night’s wildness with this torturous form of control. I rubbed my clit as he pushed the rest of the way in, eased by the wet conditioner and the slick, tight condom. Oh God, the intense pain had tapered off, but he was still so massive.

  “You’re too big,” I said. “It’s too much.”

  “Is it?” His fingers left my nipples to grasp my neck. “Or do you want more?”

  “More, please,” I whimpered. “More. More.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  He kicked my feet apart until they touched the sides of the tub, and started fucking me, firm, slow, deep, taking my narrowest, most vulnerable orifice with his oversized weapon.

  When I stopped masturbating to deal with his deepening thrusts, he forced my hand back to my clit and moved it over my flesh. My body felt numb and yet overstimulated, ready to explode. The harder he fucked my ass, the closer I came to orgasm. Now and again, he would hurt my nipples to make my ass clench, then, God, I was bucking back against him, finger-fucking my pussy, twitching my hips. When I squeezed around his shaft, he growled, driving deeper as I braced my forehead against the tile.

  “Don’t hold back from me,” he said, fucking me so hard and deep that I was his and only his. “I want to feel you come. Come for me.”

  Pain made me orgasmic, and the pain he gave was gorgeous, so I went off, gasping, shivering in ecstasy, my ass stuffed by this man who knew how to make me obey, even if he didn’t know anything else about me.

  He groaned and stiffened, banging into me while he held me in place by my hips. The release felt cathartic, even if I felt dirtier than I had when I originally got in the shower. The water ran over us, baptizing our depravity.

  He made a sound and pulled out of me, leaving me empty. I stood where I was, braced against the wall while he jerked open the curtain to throw away the condom. Was he angry? Was he getting out of the shower?

  No.

  “It’s official.” He returned and fixed me with a look. “I can’t resist fucking you. Are you ready to get out?”

  I blinked at him. “I was going to wash my hair.”

  “You’re in no condition to wash your fucking hair,” he said, taking in my slumping body.

  “Just go away. Leave me alone.”

  I couldn’t say why I had to repel him every time he gave me pleasure. Or maybe that was why I had to repel him—because he gave me pleasure. I didn’t want to fall for him, because my life didn’t have room for a man, especially one of his…size.

  When I reached for the shampoo, he pushed my fingers away and took the bottle himself. We jockeyed for space as he clicked open the cap. It reminded me of the conditioner, and anal, not to mention the forceful blowjob, and oh my God, what was that about?

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  He grinned. “Washing your hair, you dirty slut.”

  “My hair’s thick,” I said, feeling lost. “It takes a lot of shampoo.”

  “I know how to wash hair.”

  His fingers slid into my blonde locks, rough but careful, massaging my scalp. Lots of shampoo, lots of lather, the steam and his body looming behind me, fleeting touches of spent cock, solid limbs, maleness… I expected him to push my face under the water again for his amusement, but he didn’t. No, he was gentle, taking his time, being careful to rinse all the lather when he was done. He opened the conditioner next, with a fitting smirk. I felt hornified and anxious, while he seemed utterly under control.

  When he finished with my hair, he washed the rest of my body, including my tender asshole, then chased me from the shower, presumably to wash himself. I stood in front of the mirror, trying to make sense of what he did to me, why I felt disappointed that he wouldn’t let me wash him. I understood that large forces acted on one another, generally in the farthest reaches of space, but these intimate, personal cravings seemed suffocatingly close. One shower curtain away.

  He turned off the water and his force was next to me again, helping me towel off, fondling my damp hair. I put on my glasses, which had finally unfogged.

  “Once you’re dressed, we should get something to eat,” he said. “Our flight leaves at six.”

  “What flight?”

  “The flight to New York,” he said, giving my ass a tap. “Or were you planning to stay on this island forever?”

  He turned away, like that was settled. It definitely wasn’t. “Devin?” I said.

  “Yeah?”

  “I don’t think I can get back on a plane.”

  He stopped in the middle of his own drying duties, meeting my gaze. “You have to get back on a plane. What about the science project, New York, your new job?”

  I moved past him. I had to get out of the bathroom, had to gulp some fresh air. I went to the balcony and flung open the door. Low buildings, trees, and water, so much water.

  He came to stand behind me, a presence I could feel. “You’re a math person, aren’t you? You were in one near-crash. What are the chances you’ll be in another one a day later?”

  “Chance is bullshit,” I said, turning on him. “Astrophysicists deal in infinite possibilities.”

  “I’m as nervous as you.” He put his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to hold his gaze. “But you have to understand, what happened yesterday was a fluke, an accident. In all my years of flying—”

  “Please, don’t. Don’t tell me these things never happen, because they obviously happen.”

  He glowered at me, stark naked, his towel slung over his shoulder. I still had my towel wrapped around my body, and I clutched it close, feeling scared. He actually thought he’d be able to get me on a plane? What was wrong with him? Was he crazy?

  He shook his head and walked away, going for his clothes, dressing for a flight he’d take later, a flight I wouldn’t be on. He must understand that. I could never get on another plane, or a boat, or anything that would take me over the vast, unforgiving ocean that lapped this island’s shore.

  Tears welled in my eyes as I stepped into my panties and then pulled a pair of jeans over my sore butt. I rummaged for a fresh t-shirt, and came up with one that said Astrophysicists Do It With Large Objects, a going-away gift from my Via Sofferenza friends. I shoved that back under the pile and chose a plain, faded blue one.

  “Do you mind going to your own room now?” I said. “I need to do some work.”

  “Yes, I fucking mind.”

  His sharp reply took me aback. “Are you angry with me?”

  “Angry? No. Confused. A little annoyed with the way you run hot and cold.” He glanced down at his shirt, also a faded blue tee. We looked like twins. He snorted and poked the air between us. “We’ve had sex twice now. I’ve fucked every one of your holes, twice without protection. I saved your life, and you don’t trust me?”

  “I trust you. I don’t trust airplanes!”

  “I’m telling you, they’re safe. Air travel is the safest form of transportation, safer even than walking. What happened yesterday was a once-in-a-lifetime thing.”

  “Why does this matter so much to you?” I raised my voice, cutting him off. “If you want to get on a plane and fly to New York, then do it. That’s fine, I won’t stop you, but I’m not going. I’m staying here.”

  Even as I said it, I knew I sounded ridiculous. I couldn’t stay in the Azores forever, only because I was afraid to fly.

  “You’re going with me,” he said, yelling across the gap between us. After all we’d done together, all the ways he’d groped me, we couldn’t seem to touch each other in our matching shirts. “I said I’d get you to New York, and I’m going to get you to New York.”

  “You don’t need to get me
to New York,” I said. “I’m thirty years old. I have a doctorate in astrophysics and cosmology. I’m a grown-up person and I’ll be fine.”

  “Grown-up people fly on airplanes,” he snapped.

  I took a step back, trying to understand why he made me feel so harried, so scattered. It wasn’t only my fear of flying, and that he was a pilot. It was fear of him, fear of his skill at taking over my body. As we stood there, glaring at each other, I imagined gravitational waves crashing between us, red and angry and jagged. I could lose myself in him, in this man whose career was based on my deepest phobia.

  “Don’t come closer,” I said, when he moved to take me in his arms.

  “Why? Afraid I’ll hurt you? You liked it well enough before.”

  He embraced me, holding me tighter when I struggled.

  “You’re making my dick hard,” he said against my ear. “Keep fighting me, and you won’t like how things turn out. Or maybe you will, you little maso.”

  I stopped squirming and let him hold me against his chest. I felt weak and tired. Scared. If I were the crying type, I would have cried.

  “Listen,” he said, rubbing my shoulders. “We need to get off this island, if for no other reason than I want to take you to this kink club in New York. I need to take you there. Jesus, you would love it, but you can’t get there from here.”

  “What kind of kink club?”

  “A private BDSM club in Manhattan. It’s beautiful, three floors in a clock tower at the top of a skyscraper. It’s like Via Sofferenza, only even more intense. Every man in there is a Dominant, every female a submissive, and no one uses safe words.”

  “What?” I looked up at him. “Really?”

  “Yeah, that’s the kind of place it is. It’s about stretching your boundaries, about basking in pleasure and pain. Want to go?”

  Private. Intense. No safe words. I’d heard of such places, but never believed they really existed. “What’s this club called?” I asked.

  “I’m not telling you if you won’t fly out of here. You can’t get in without a sponsor anyway, and I’m not sponsoring you unless you get on the plane.” His kneading hands moved down my back, a stimulating touch. “Trust me, this place was made for a kinky masochist like you. We’ll exchange numbers, and I’ll take you there some weekend, when you have time off from your gravitational experiments and scientific brainstorms, or whatever the fuck you do.”