Deep Control

by Annabel Joseph

  In The Gallery, most of the freedom belonged to Devin. He controlled what happened to me, and where, and this night he led me to a dark, secluded corner, to a rack I’d noted many times but never experienced. The octagonal shape of the structure was reminiscent of a spider’s web, with thick, black, nylon rope wound in concentric circles from the center to the edge.

  “Come here,” he said, as I eyed it dubiously. The rope pattern was so symmetric it seemed to swirl like a vortex, like a spidery black hole drawing me in. “Stand with your front to the rack and give me your leg.”

  Give him my leg? I didn’t understand what he meant until he guided my leg upwards and then brought it down, being careful with my stiletto’s heel as he threaded it through gaps in the rope. When he was done, my stockinged calf had three lines of rope holding it from ankle to knee. I wasn’t uncomfortable, because the rope had some elastic to it, but I felt restricted. He did the same with the other leg, weaving it down through the ropes until that calf was bound, then tugging my feet apart and adjusting the rope bonds until my legs were spread to his satisfaction.

  Wow. I was stuck. There would be no kicking or dancing around, whatever he chose to do to me. I was caught in his web.

  I felt his hand on the back of my neck, tracing over my collar, then applying pressure to bend down. His other hand lifted a section of rope in the center. I was pushed through that opening to the other side of the vortex, my legs straining to maintain my balance until I was able to brace my hands on my knees. When he let go of the rope, I was caught at the waist, just above my garter belt.

  He came around the structure to my front, and I could see his cock already hard within his pants. Oh God, fuck me, but hurt me first. This bondage is too delicious.

  “Let’s see if we can fix this,” he said, indicating my free hands. As I stared at his crotch, he made me reach back on either side and hold the web of rope. A leather cuff was buckled around each wrist, and I was fully bound, legs spread, stilettos braced against the ground, and my pussy and ass exposed to the room behind me, framed by my black Gallery garter belt and stockings.

  “How does that feel?” he asked.

  I looked up at him, already going spacy. “It feels…like I’m stuck in a web, Sir.”

  “Does anything hurt?”

  Nothing hurt. Oh, no. Everything felt so good that I moaned. My hips twitched, but the way I was bound, I couldn’t grind against anything but the air behind me.

  “Hmm.” He walked around me, smacked my ass a couple times. A moment later, he thrust two fingers into my pussy, shoving them in and out. I was so wet and juicy I could hear it, even over the other noise in the dungeon.

  “Horny as usual,” he said, sounding amused. “You want some cock?”

  I heard his zipper go down, then moaned in earnest as he pushed into my aching pussy, driving all the way in. The bonds held me, cradled me, offering my orifices to be impaled. His cock felt so good pressing inside me, right against my spot, but then he was gone, chuckling in his sadistic way.

  “No fun for you yet, Shorty,” he said. “I want to work you over first. Wait here. Don’t go anywhere.”

  He left to visit his locker of equipment, laughing at his own joke, because of course I wasn’t going anywhere. He stayed just visible in my peripheral vision. I saw him get out the clover clamps, the anal plug, and oh God, the lube in the peppermint-striped bottle. It wasn’t peppermint flavored. No, that would have been too pleasant. The “peppermint lube” was formulated to give your ass a hot, tingly sensation that was not at all pleasant. I clenched my butt just thinking about it, and screwed my eyes shut.

  Well, he knew I liked to be played with until I lost it. He knew I needed pain and cruelty to get off, and he was great at giving that to me.

  Yeah, I’d brought this on myself.

  He returned with the clamps and plug, as well as a riding crop and the big, thick paddle that stung like hell. Okay, the torture would last at most ten minutes, since that was the longest he would leave those kinds of clamps on.

  “What do you want first?” he asked. “Clamps or butt plug?”

  I stared at the proffered items, all of them gleaming, evil silver, and did a little quick math. If he did the clamps first, he’d need time after that to put in the plug, which would decrease the time he could swing the painful crop and paddle at my ass. All I needed was pain, not extended pain. I looked down at my nipples, already drawing taut, then back up at him.

  “Clamps, please, Sir.”

  I was enough of a maso that he didn’t pussyfoot around with them. A moment later, he’d cinched both nipples in the agonizing grippers, the weight of the clamps drawing them down through the peekaboo hole of my bra. Ow, ow, ow…

  My groan of pain was summarily muffled by his cock in my mouth. A few quick thrusts, and he’d both choked me and made the clamps hurt worse by making them swing. I made a crying noise against the flesh filling my mouth.

  He pulled out a moment later, his thick cock jutting from his fly as he walked around behind me. I heard the cap of the peppermint bottle and clenched again, but he pried my ass cheeks apart and squeezed the lube into my hole, pushing it deep with his fingers.

  “What do you say for the generous amount of lube?” he asked, slapping my ass.

  “Th-thank you, Sir.”

  “That’s right. I could have made you go without.”

  We both knew it was a toss-up…being plugged without lube, or being plugged with this particular lube, which felt a little like having hot sauce up your asshole. My legs started to twitch, my hips bucking as the heat infused my sensitive passage. I felt the cold plug pushing through the hot lube, forcing my sphincter open as I tottered on my heels.

  “Keep still,” he scolded, and I tried, I really tried. The plug parted me, making me squeeze and ache, but it was all out of my control. I made fists, squeezing the rope near my hands, trying to be still so my nipples wouldn’t hurt even more from the clamps.

  “Oww,” I cried. “Ow, it stings.”

  Then his cock was back in my pussy, and the plug was being pushed deeper at the same time, and my legs were trembling so hard I thought I might fall. The lube, irritating as it was, helped the plug slide all the way home. A couple more rough thrusts had me wailing as the clamps swung from my nipples.

  “It hurts, it hurts, it hurts,” I whispered to myself, but I knew it was only the beginning. I heard Devin greet someone, heard some laughter. Milo. He always showed up when I was at my most vulnerable.

  “Nice ass,” he said. “Plugged as it should be. But she could use some marks.”

  “You do it,” said Devin. “I want her to suck my cock.”

  Now there were three of us in this scene. Devin was in front of me, holding my hair in one hand and clenching the ropes in the other, shoving his cock into my throat. Behind me, Milo slapped my ass with the crop, steadily, severely, delivering pain on top of the itching ache and discomfort I already suffered. Sometimes he hit my ass cheeks, and sometimes my upper thighs, and each time it stung so badly I wailed against Devin’s cock.

  “I know it hurts,” Devin said, running his hand down to squeeze my throat. “That’s what you need, isn’t it? It’s okay, we’ll take care of you.”

  I gasped, sucking in a noseful of his scent. I was deep down in subspace, yet flying so high. He pulled out for a moment and nudged up my face so I could respond, and I said the only thing in my mind at that moment. “Please, Sir, I want to come.”

  He laughed. “I know you do, little horndog, but we get to come first. That’s just good manners.”

  “Please—”

  “No.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I sobbed, although my pussy walls were already throbbing. All he had to do was grab my neck, and I was done. If only I could rub against something, if only I could assuage the wild pressure growing in my center. “Ow. Ow. Please,” I gasped, begging him to let go of my neck even though I didn’t want him to. In answer, he yanked my hair instead, delicious, hor
rible agony as his cock thrust back into my mouth.

  The blows grew harder behind me. I tried to shift my weight to avoid Milo’s constant onslaught, but the web of rope made it impossible. He flicked the crop above my stocking tops and I squealed for mercy, but Devin only redirected me to his cock, forcing me to suck and lick him as I endured Milo’s punishments.

  “Had enough?” Devin asked when he finally reached down to take off the clamps. That meant it had been about ten minutes since this scene started, and my face was already an ocean of tears. There was movement, and a new cock in front of my face, this one with a rubber.

  “My turn,” said Milo.

  My nipples smarted from the clamps’ removal, the pain so acute that I barely registered the slap he gave me to get me to open my mouth. While he drove into my throat, Devin moved behind me and started to paddle me. The two blows he started with, one to each cheek, were enough to make me scream, and it only got harder from there.

  Ah, ah, ah. That was all I could say as Devin tortured my ass and Milo slayed my throat. Ten paddle strokes. Twelve. Twenty. My ass was on fire before Devin stopped, and I was crying so hard I could barely keep Milo in my mouth.

  “You can do better than this,” Milo scolded, shoving deep again. At the same time, Devin pushed into my pussy and started fucking me, banging his hips against my fiery-hot cheeks.

  “Oh God, oh God,” I pleaded, but it came out like Ah Gah, Ah Gah. The hot ball of arousal inside me turned molten.

  As Devin pounded into me, growling through an orgasm, I climaxed too, everything inside me shuddering in release. Milo hadn’t come yet, but I couldn’t hold off, not in my frenzy of fantasy. I had wanted to get them both off, following after them like a good sub, but my body had other ideas.

  “What the fuck?” Milo said, grabbing me by my collar. “You horny little fuck toy.”

  I couldn’t stand up anymore, my orgasm had been that strong. My legs were toast. I struggled in my bent-over position. “Please, Sir!” I didn’t know if I was speaking to Devin or Milo, I just wanted one of them to have mercy on me. I was exhausted. Fucked out.

  “Let’s get her out of the ropes,” said Devin, so they set about doing that, untangling me from my bent-over position. Milo undid the wrist cuffs while Devin extricated my legs, tearing one of my stockings in the process. I fell to my knees as Milo came to stand before me.

  “Open up,” he said, brandishing his cock in my face. “I’m not fucking finished with you yet.”

  I stared up at him, hot, excited, trembling. He slapped my face and I sobbed happily, opening my lips. He curled his fingers around my neck and slapped me again, amused. “Oh, you like that, do you?” The third slap wasn’t any harder than the other ones, but I did start crying harder, and then Devin was there, crossing the space between us, his face a furious mask.

  “Stop! You’re hurting her,” he shouted, his voice hoarse with anger. “Get away from her, you asshole fuck.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Devin

  Milo was hurting Ella. He was hitting her as she cowered at his feet, and I lost it. He was hurting her, scaring her, punching her. That was all I could think about as I attacked him, shoving him away from her and throwing him to the floor. Maybe it was her tears, or her helpless expression. She was doing a scene, but in a flash, I saw something real, something I hadn’t seen in decades, something that made the child-Devin feel helpless and frightened, and furious as hell.

  But I wasn’t helpless, not anymore. I pulled back a fist to defend Ella, but someone grabbed my arm, and hands pulled me away from Milo before I could land the punch.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Fort’s arms surrounded me, his voice against my ear. “Take a breath, friend.”

  I struggled to get away from him, but two more men surrounded me, and I had to fight harder. I saw Ella in my peripheral vision, pale and wide-eyed behind her glasses.

  “Let go of me,” I yelled.

  “Not until you calm down.”

  “What the fuck is your problem?” Milo yelled. “What did I do?”

  He moved toward Ella again. To comfort her, of course, but I still saw danger. I was stuck in a cluttered, fetid living room years ago, and I couldn’t see any of what was really happening. “Don’t touch her,” I growled, trying again to shake off the arms that held me.

  “Devin, don’t worry. It’s okay.” Ella’s small, scared voice tried to reassure me, but it only made things worse.

  I turned to Milo. “You were beating her up, asshole. What the fuck?”

  He blinked at me. “I wasn’t.”

  “You punched her.”

  His mouth fell open. “I didn’t close my fists, not once. I was slapping her. She liked it.”

  That small voice again, Ella’s voice. “He wasn’t hitting me that hard.”

  Another Dominant was guiding her to her feet. “Let me help her,” I insisted. “She belongs to me.”

  Fort’s voice again. “No one’s letting go of you until you calm down.”

  Juliet came to help Ella, wrapping her in a blanket, leading her away. Ella was crying, really crying. “Let me go to her,” I said. “I need to go to her.”

  “You need to calm down. Let them take care of her for a minute.”

  I was still straining to be let go. I was so angry, so furious. I turned my wrath on Milo, who stood in a defensive posture a few feet away. “You fucking bastard,” I yelled. “You hurt her.”

  “I didn’t hurt her,” he yelled back. “She liked it. She was into what I was doing. You were fucking there, man.”

  “You always go too far. Everyone knows it. You were beating her up.”

  His dark eyes flared. “If you say that one more time—”

  “You’re the only one here who doesn’t know the difference between kink and abuse.”

  I knew that wasn’t true. Everyone knew it wasn’t true, but I was a child of abuse, and I felt trapped and triggered, and when he came at me, I broke free of the arms that held me and punched him in the stomach, and in the face. Milo punched me too, a glancing blow to the nose, then a wallop on the side of my head that threw me staggering sideways. I surged back toward him, but this time, both of us were caught by reaching, grasping arms. Every Dom in the place was there, holding us back from each other. I was making a scene. Ella was gone.

  “Where is she?” I shouted.

  “Ella’s safe.” Fort’s voice again. He had me in a headlock, his hand massaging my shoulder. “Dev, what do you need? How can I help you calm down?”

  “He hurt Ella. Milo hurt her.”

  “They were just playing.” Fort’s voice was level and calm, his fingers pressing into my shoulder. “Let’s take a minute to breathe, okay? Close your eyes. Breathe in, breathe out.”

  I couldn’t close my eyes, but I tried to breathe. Milo had turned away from me, surrounded. There was blood. His face was pained. My face felt like granite, like it might shatter if I felt anything but anger. “He punched her,” I said, because that was what my mind had concocted.

  “He didn’t. He wouldn’t do that.”

  And I knew Fort was right, that what I’d seen wasn’t what was going on between Milo and Ella. I’d seen a memory, a nightmare. A ghost. As my pounding heart settled into a slower beat, I realized I’d been caught up in some horrible flashback brought on by her tears and her helpless whimpers.

  “Do you know where you are?” someone asked.

  I made a disgusted sound. “I’m not crazy. I know where we are.”

  I felt the tension in Fort’s arms relax a little. “You know that Ella’s okay, then? We’re all okay. It was just a scene, and now it’s ended. Come on. Let’s go sit down.”

  My cock was still hanging out of my pants. I shoved it in and followed Fort. He waved away Milo, which was good, because I wasn’t ready to face him yet. I was still processing the violence I’d done.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, sitting on the couch. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

  �
�I know. Just rest here a minute, okay?” He leaned down to catch my gaze. “Ella’s taken care of.”

  “Okay. Good.”

  I opened my hands against my knees, rubbing my sweating palms along my pants. All the scenes were over. The Gallery was empty, except for a few lingering Dominants, and a couple of subs waiting in the balcony. Neither of them was Ella.

  “Where is she?” I asked.

  “In the bathroom, I think. Juliet will stay with her. How are you feeling now?”

  “Embarrassed. Regretful.” I put my head in my hands and groaned. “I don’t know what happened, Fort. I just… I looked at him, and I looked at her face, and I saw him beating her up. I know that’s not what happened.”

  “No, that’s not what happened. Milo would never do that. Not to Ella. Not to anyone.”

  “I know.” I lifted my head and rubbed my eyes. “Jesus. Fuck. I feel sick. I don’t know what happened.”

  “Sometimes things just…happen. If I had to guess, I’d say it involves your feelings for her.”

  Her. Ella. I hadn’t had many “feelings” before her, but now here they were, violent and unmanageable, tarnished by my fucked-up childhood. I’d catapulted back through time, seen an old nightmare taking place, even though it wasn’t taking place. “You know I’m sensitive about…you know…abuse.”

  “I know, and Milo knows, but you should explain it to Ella if you haven’t.”

  “I explained it to her, a little.” But I’m still afraid to face her. I totally lost my shit. “I don’t know what to say to her.”

  “Tell her you’re sorry,” said Fort. “She’ll understand it’s related to your past. Everything will be okay.”

  I hoped so. The calmer I got, the more I realized the outrageousness of my behavior. She was my submissive, and while she was in The Gallery, I was supposed to keep her safe. I stood, steeling myself to face her—and Milo. I’d broken up their scene, which was so against the rules. I’d punched my best friend and accused him of abuse, which was possibly outside the bounds of forgiveness, and I’d terrified Ella, which I’d never, ever wanted to do, except in a fun way.