by Ruby Laska
“Can you see yourself in it?” He asked.
She froze. “I…I don’t…”
“Look more closely.” He picked up the lamp from the dresser and held it overhead. Then—she felt the pressure of something pushing down on her back. Not hard, but…
His shoe. She realized he was using the sole of his hand-stitched shoe to drive her down so that her face was only inches from the floor. And yes…through the shocking pleasure of this new humiliation, she could make out her blurred, faint reflection in the polished floor.
“Yes,” she whispered. She was kneeling now like a penitent, like someone begging for mercy, forehead almost to the floor. Maybe that was what she was. Maybe only through her total humiliation could she let go of her own sins…her mistakes and her ugly past. “Oh, yes,” she moaned again.
The pressure of his shoe lifted.
“Then you may continue.”
By the time she made her slow and careful way around the bed, passing him where he stood on the rug without looking any higher than the crisp hem of his trousers, her knees hurt and her back ached from the strain. The rag was only slightly soiled and the floor gleamed. She finished at the edge of the adjoining bathroom, where the wood met the edge of the fine porcelain tile.
There she waited, biting her lip. She doubted she would have to wait for long.
“You’ve done well,” Ricardo said, approvingly. There was a sound like glass tinkling on the tray. “Stay where you are. I shall reward you with these, I think.”
He bent down to crouch before her and took the rag from her hand. Hanging from his other hand was a beautiful necklace of ebony glass beads. They were graduated, the one at the end the size of a bean, increasing to the dime-sized beads he held in his fist.
“You deserve beautiful things, querida,” he said, pressing them into her hands.
He straightened and walked back to the table…and understanding dawned as Chelsea examined the beads, which were not a necklace at all. The exquisite workmanship of the glass was matched by the careful crafting of the silicone strands on which they were strung, and the carved glass ring at the end which he had been holding. When he returned a moment later with a cut-crystal cruet filled with an amber-colored liquid, her ass was quivering with anticipation.
“Who do you serve, cariñita?” he demanded, as he knelt behind her.
“You,” she gasped. Of their own accord her hands went to the floor, her knees slid wider, exposing herself to him, making herself available. Pleading, with her body.
She glanced over her shoulder as he tipped the cruet inches above the small of her back. Warm oil dripped on her spine and began its slow, inexorable slide down her skin, between her ass cheeks, into her crack.
He allowed several tablespoons of oil to dribble onto her and then gently took the beads from her hand. He balled them in his fist and pressed the tangled mass against her back, into the oil. He rubbed the beads in the oil, using gentle pressure to knead and massage her ass cheeks, the base of her spine. It felt wonderful, and on another occasion, in some other place and time, it might have been deliciously relaxing.
But her asshole contracted with need. She knew that it was anal beads he was using the tease and massage her, toys that she had dismissed as gimmicky and a little weird in the past. The only lover to suggest their use had been met with her immediate and dismissive refusal, and she’d averted her eyes from the displays on the few occasions she’d passed the Good Vibrations store on Sanford Street.
Anal beads, like some of the other things he had used on her already, were for freaks. Kinky people enslaved to unhealthy needs. Novelties, at best, and dangerous instruments of humiliation at worse.
So she had thought.
And right now she was desperate for him to use them on her.
God, what would it feel like, to have the smooth, slick glass objects sliding through her tight hole, filling her? “Mmmm,” she murmured.
But he showed no sign of having heard her, continuing his ministrations, caressing her, sliding the beads over her skin like an afterthought. Occasionally his fingertips would slip down, almost as if he wasn’t aware of it, and graze the tight puckered opening, sending tremors of need and anticipation through her. The third or fourth time she could contain herself no longer, and bucked against him. “Please,” she gasped.
His finger stilled at her tight opening, and he bent over her, pressing his mouth to her ear. “Yes, querida? What do you need? What do you want?”
“Y-you know,” Chelsea chattered between her teeth. God damn him, why was he playing with her this way when he had already laid bare her most secret longings, her desperate needs?
His finger moved against her, lightly at first, stroking, sliding. “Tell me how you want it, hungry little slut. Tell me how you want me to take you.”
“In my….” She swallowed, hard. It was all too painfully apparent that she was in a position of supplication, as exposed as she had ever been in her life. “Take my ass, please, Sir,” she begged.
“Like this?” he muttered, and pushed the tip of his finger inside, barely past the tight opening, then as she convulsed against him, immediately withdrew it again. She cried out from the delicious, treacherous frustration.
“No!” she said in a strangled cry. “No, no.” She slapped the floor in frustration, her palm coming down hard on the wood. Her back arched and curved, and she tossed her hair, not sure if she could stay meek, if she could keep up this posture of submission when every cell of her being cried out to be satisfied.
Turnabout. That was what was called for. Let him feel the way she was making him feel. Let him endure the torment of unmet need. She shifted so that her ass brushed against his cock, then ground against his erection through his trousers, feeling the rock hard shaft slide against the wetness of her pussy. If she kept going, she would come again, she could be free of this painful urgency.
Whap. She cried out with shock at the blow that landed on her ass. His palm had been flat for maximum impact, and she knew it would leave a mark.
But he had slapped her before, and…the thought bloomed within her, unbidden and startling in its audacity—she needed more. More than his hand simply glancing off her ass. More than a simple open-handed slap.
Make it shine. His words came back to her, the humiliation of bending close over the gleaming floor like some minimum-wage domestic…like his slave.
She was drunk on him, drunk on need, or she would never have done what she did next. She wriggled out of his grasp, twisting and spinning so that she was facing him. And then she dove for his cock, cupping his balls with her hand and pressing her mouth to the outline of him through his trousers. She waited for his hand, certain he’d punish her for her audacity…hoping he would.
He plunged his fingers into her hair, pulling it into a rough twist, and pulled her mouth away from him. “You can’t even stop yourself, can you?” he demanded. “You can’t wait for me to fuck your mouth again.”
With his free hand, he unbuckled his pants and yanked down his zipper. His cock sprang free as he pushed down his silk boxer shorts along with his pants. She lunged for it, but he held her in place by her hair.
“Who decides when you are rewarded?” Ricardo’s voice belied his arousal. He sounded almost bored.
“You do, but—”
He grabbed his cock in his hand and slapped it against her cheek. It was more shocking than painful. A man of less length and girth, or of less impressive firmness, could not have pulled off a trick like that—but as Chelsea blinked in surprise he slapped her again.
“Open your mouth.”
She did, ready for him to slide his rigid shaft inside, ready to tongue the velvety head and take the length down her throat. Her cunt clenched with anticipation, and she reached for him, planning to draw him into her mouth while she stroked and teased his balls.
He slapped her hands away. “Behind your back,” he said.
Flustered, she did as he said, clasping her hands t
ogether. Now she felt like a Sunday school girl, on her knees, penitent—until he slapped her again, on the cheek—this time with his open palm.
“I didn’t tell you to close your mouth. Open it. Stick out your tongue.”
She did as he commanded her, letting her eyelids flutter shut. Maybe he would ejaculate on her face, and let his precious cum slide down her cheeks into her waiting mouth. She moaned in anticipation.
He slapped her tongue with his cock.
Her eyes flew open as he did it over and over again. His fist on his shaft stroked, but the pressure of the head on her tongue was strangely, unbelievably stimulating. Each time it made an impact, its velvet heaviness connected with her ever-thirstier mouth, teasing, provoking, escalating her need. If he would just stop for a moment and slide in…she could come, she could find the release she needed. If he’d just stroke her clit for a second, if he’d allow her to grind against the side of the bed, anything.
“Anything,” she mumbled as her tongue was hammered and used.
And he stopped. “Next time you decide to take charge, remember that I can punish you in more ways than you can imagine,” he said, sliding the moisture of her saliva up and down his hard cock. “Now you may shut your mouth, little bird.”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled after she’d licked her lips.
“Very good. I accept your apology, little one. But you will still have to receive a consequence for your behavior. Another task, since you have proven yourself to be so gifted with domestic work.”
Chelsea felt her face warm: was he going to make her clean another floor? Had he noticed the condition of her apartment? It was far from pristine; other than a quick once-over with the vacuum and a rag every few weeks, she let the dust collect. If she was gifted at all, it was not within the home.
“Don’t worry. It isn’t difficult. I ask only that you draw me a bath. You will find salts and oils on the ledge. But first….” He picked up the beads from where he had left them on the bed. “On your hands and knees once more, please.”
She did as he asked, and this time when his warm, oiled hand settled on her ass cheek, she remained perfectly still.
“I trust you learned something just now, querida. You must master your will. It is only when you learn to truly turn it over to me that you can be completely satisfied. You may not see that yet…”
His hand, circling and kneading, dipped lower and his fingertip probed her ass again. This time she forced herself to stay as motionless as possible, and when he entered her, she merely trembled.
“…but perhaps consequences will teach you.”
Ricardo shifted his hand and the warm, slick, hard surface of the smallest bead rolled against her opening. There was a momentary pressure as he pushed it against her tight hole, and then it slid inside.
Chelsea gasped. She could feel the next bead pressing at her opening and she arched her back, willing Ricardo not to stop. He chuckled, the low, throaty sound vibrating through the floor, up into her body through her knees.
He pushed the next one in.
“There are eleven beads,” Ricardo said. “Each slightly larger than the one before. To take them all, you will have to relax and open yourself to me. You will have to trust me, Chelsea, more than you have trusted anyone before.”
“I…I do,” she said through clenched teeth. She counted as each made its sensual entrance, sliding past the sensitive nerve endings. Inside her body, she could feel the beads coiling, filling her, subtly shifting and setting off new sensations.
Six. Seven. Eight. The larger the beads, the more exposed Chelsea felt, and the closer to her mounting orgasm.
Ricardo forced her knees farther apart as he came to the last bead. But as it, too, slid inside her, leaving only the glass ring exposed, he slid his finger inside her pussy and ground against her, his cock pressed against one ass cheek. Inside of her, the beads shifted and ricocheted, unleashing nearly unbearable pleasure.
He pulled away from her.
“All right, you may draw the bath now.”
Chelsea took a deep breath, steadying herself, before she got slowly to her feet. She walked into the bathroom, out of sight of Ricardo. As he’d promised, several bottles lined the ledge of the stone bathtub, their labels bearing Italian and French brand names. As she knelt to turn on the taps, the beads shifted again. In fact every move she made, every time she bent her leg or strained to reach a bottle, caused the beads to move like the colorful bits in a kaleidoscope—yes, that was what it felt like she decided, as she sprinkled bits of ocean-colored soap confetti into the steaming water and was rewarded with beautiful, heavenly-scented aquamarine bubbles—as though Ricardo had turned the inside of her body into a kaleidoscope whose shifting images were the embodiment of her own sensory responses.
She let herself rest on the edge of the tub, the cold stone mixing with the warm steam to create a backdrop for the pleasures inside her. When Ricardo called to her from the bedroom, she had to rouse herself from what felt like a sexual stupor.
She walked slowly back. Experimenting with the sway of her gait, she could make the beads jostle within her. She locked eyes with Ricardo, who was standing where she had left him, his arms folded across his chest, his pants loose around his hips as she had left them.
“Finish undressing me,” he said. “Start with my shirt.”
She did, aware of her own near-nakedness. She unbuttoned his shirt and her nipples brushed against his chest as she eased the sleeves down his arms. She did not allow the shirt to touch the floor but folded it carefully before setting it on the bed.
She knelt before him to remove his belt, tugging the fine black leather from the loops while her mouth watered at the memory of the flogger he’d used on her. The belt would make a fine instrument…she could almost imagine its sting across her ass. But he made no move to take it from her and it joined the shirt on the bed.
His cock’s tip glistened with pre-cum and she longed to lick it, to swallow it, but knew better. She slipped his feet from his shoes one at a time and then forced herself to stay focused on her task as she helped him from his trousers, his boxers, folding them carefully too.
He trailed a hand in her hair, twisting it again, gently this time, and tugging. “Come along, my pet,” he said, leading her on all fours.
She went, padding beside him, the beads even more stimulating in this position. At the edge of the tub, he helped her out of her silk garments, sliding them over her tingling skin. She climbed into the bath first, then he got in afterward, sitting on the edge of the tub. Bubbles enveloped them, popping and bursting with scent, and the hot, mineral-rich water felt astonishingly good.
“Now,” he said, “you may wash me.”
He let his legs fall open, his cock hard and lazily swaying before her eyes. Chelsea shifted onto her knees between his legs and picked up a handmade cake of soap from a painted dish. She built up a lather in her hands, then reached for him, sliding her hands up and down his cock, ducking under his balls, circling the sensitive skin between his testicles and his asshole with her soap-dampened finger. He responded only by letting his legs fall wider as she grew increasingly avid in her explorations.
“Rinse,” he commanded, and she heard the tight urgency in his voice. Finally, his arousal was getting to him; perhaps he wasn’t the master of control he appeared to be. She picked up the pitcher sitting on the tub’s edge and scooped water, letting it cascade over him, the fragrant flow splashing onto her breasts, her cheeks.
Without warning, he grabbed her hair again and pushed her face down onto his cock. This time, when she drew him into her mouth, he didn’t stop her. Nor did he let go. He allowed her to find her rhythm for a while before he pushed her farther, jamming his cock more deeply into her mouth.
Under the surface of the water, the ring floated on the currents, and the beads moved within her. She allowed her hips to begin rocking in time with her own ministrations. Her eyes teared up as he fucked her mouth harder and deeper, but
still she couldn’t get enough, working her lips and tongue frantically around the curved length of him. A harsh growl escaped his lips and his cock swelled and strained deeper, and she knew he was close. Tasting the salty trace of the explosion that she knew was imminent, Chelsea snuck her own hand below the water to rub her clit, hoping he was too distracted to notice.
When he bent over her she was afraid that he was going to stop her just as his climax seemed inevitable, and she moaned against him, the sound garbled around his huge girth as he fucked harder, faster, ever faster. And then, as the first wave of his orgasm broke and he surged inside her, he reached not for the hand that was touching herself but for the ring. He threw back his head and groaned and pulled the ring and the beads began to slide from her while his hot semen poured into her mouth. The twin sensations assaulted her mouth and her ass as her fingers worked at her pussy and her own climax was only a split second behind his, her knees going rigid, her throat opening to take all that she could, her ass convulsing with wave after wave of pleasure in tune with her throbbing clit.
As the last bead popped free, she jammed her fingers inside her pussy and lapped at Ricardo’s cock, desperate to take all of it. She could feel the echoing waves of his orgasm, one after another, gentling concentric circles of his pleasure twining with her own. For what seemed like ages he held her there against him, and her own fingers slowed and finally drifted away from her pussy, the warmth of the water making her feel weightless.
Ricardo slipped from the edge of the tub and into the water, his back sliding down, and gathered her into his arms. She fit perfectly to his chest, the water coming up between them to their necks, and she lay bobbing in the bubbles while her body languidly retreated into its own pleasurable fugue.
CHAPTER NINE
Vlad Aksyonov was smoking a filterless imported cigarette in an alley behind the apartment building where he had been staying. Ludmila, his current lover who said she was twenty-nine but in the harsh light of morning looked at least a decade older, would not allow him to smoke in her apartment, one more mark against her that was quickly adding up to make her more work than she was worth.
