Cupid's Captive

by Reese Gabriel

  He let her ride it out, then brought her back down, keeping control the whole time. Her toes were still curled as she collapsed back against the seat, her body covered in sweat.

  "Good girl,” he praised, giving her his wet finger to clean.

  Steffy popped it in her mouth, sucking with unbridled enthusiasm, her eyes alit with puppyish devotion.

  "Can I do something for you now?” she said.

  He shook his head. “I will tell you what to do and when."

  Her voice held obvious awe. “Yes, Sir."

  "So are you ready?” he asked. “For steak, I mean?"

  "Yes, please, Sir.” She was in that post-orgasmic phase, soft and complaint. He knew it would pass quickly, especially without any kind of corporal discipline as a re-enforcement.

  Sure enough, on the way in, she surreptitiously pinched his bottom, back in full brat mode.

  "I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself,” was her coquettish reply.

  He took her by the arm. “I warned you about your behavior, young lady. Later there will be punishment."

  "What kind of punishment?” she asked after they were seated at a small, intimate table in the corner, complete with candlelight.

  "Too much curiosity is not becoming in a submissive female,” he replied, spreading his napkin in his lap.

  "What, do you have a paddle or something?"

  "Or something,” he replied.

  "Please, tell me.” She was wheedling like a child. “Please, Sir?"

  He decided to give her what she wanted. “First you'll strip naked. Then you will stand against the wall, holding three coins in place, one each with your nipples and one with your nose. After a half hour or so, ass exposed, waiting, you will be given a dozen strokes with a riding crop. It will leave welts on your ass. After that, more time to think. Following this you'll be on your knees, you can guess what for. If at any time during punishment you should happen drop the coins, by the way, we start over."

  "Oh."

  "Still feel like you want a submissive experience?"

  She had her lower lip in her mouth, wild determination on her face. She could be riding a cock right now for all her sexual focus intensity. “If you only knew, Sir."

  "If it gets to be too much,” he told her after he ordered a bottle of red wine and two prime ribs, “You can use a safety word. How about Valentine's Day?"

  "What's a safety word?” asked his cute as a button slave wannabe.

  John narrowed his gaze. “I knew you shouldn't have been letting boys experiment on you. A safety word is vital to any BDSM experience. It's how the sub ends the activity if it's uncomfortable. A dom will instantly stop what he's doing."

  Her eyes twinkled. She wrinkled her nose. “Are you jealous, Sir, of other boys doing things to me?"

  "Don't be ridiculous,” he growled, trying to cover the nerve she'd just struck. “I just think a girl like you needs a guy, one guy, to look out after you."

  Her small foot, sans shoe, found its way to his trouser leg. “Would you look out for me, Sir? If you were my guy?"

  "Keep it up, Missy, and we'll be addressing your behavior before we get to my place."

  She pulled her foot back, though she seemed quite pleased with herself for getting a rise out of him. “Yes, Sir."

  "I mean it,” he let himself get egged on. “I know the owner of this place and he'd happily let me use his office."

  "What would you do to me?” Her eyes were slits; Eve straight out of Eden, gunning for Adam.

  The need to corral her, to put her lovingly in her place, was overwhelming. She was a tough customer, though, not nearly as innocent as some of the women he'd known. Sherry was a child in comparison. It wasn't a matter of how much experience Steffy had had, he decided, but something in her character. She was an old BDSM soul, some kind of vixen reborn.

  "Ever been whipped with a belt and fucked over a desk?” he inquired.

  She raised a brow. “I thought you'd never ask ... Sir. Aren't you afraid I'll break, like a piece of china?"

  "Your brother would kill me,” he shook his head.

  She teased him with her big toe, this time right between the legs.

  "That's enough, Stephanie."

  "Make me stop."

  He was on his feet before he could think about it. Events unfolded in a weird slow motion, with pure erotic punch, the two of them lost in their own world. It was a game he'd played a thousand times before but never with this sharpness, this clarity.

  "Let's go, little girl."

  She stood, obediently enough, though her lips continued to defy. “I'm not that little ... you better hope you can handle me."

  John put his hand on her back, the contact electric. “This way."

  He steered her into the kitchen and made a hard right, exchanging the barest few pleasantries with Tony the chef along the way.

  He could see the flush on Steffy's cheeks. Was she aroused, embarrassed?

  "Does that man know ... about you?” Steffy asked as John walked her down the corridor past the store room to the small but serviceable owner's office.

  "You mean have I brought other naughty girls here for correction?"

  "Yes.” She was all over him, trying to undo his shirt.

  He spun her about. Using his tie, he secured her wrists behind her back. “This would be a good time,” he breathed hotly. “To change your mind ... before we get too far into it."

  She leaned back against him. Her voice was otherworldly, the most feminine and arousing he'd ever heard. “No, Sir. I want it, please beat me and fuck me."

  Who was he to deny such a pretty and determined young lady?

  "Over the desk,” he ordered. “On your stomach."

  "Yes ... Sir...” she rasped.

  Her voice was magic; ten times more intoxicating than the wine they'd left behind on the table. Would they ever get back to it? Who cared—as long as he had her in his clutches ... his partner's naughty, baby sister.

  Correction: naughty, yes, but as far from a baby as you could get.

  * * * *

  Stephanie Hayes was actually doing it. She was bound and captive, in a stranger's office, submitting like a slave girl to the dreamy, tall, dark and handsome John Cupid. The man she'd had a crush on for as long as she could remember. John had never noticed her before, but there was no ignoring her desires now ... or his.

  She had been just eighteen when she overheard John telling her brother about his sex slave, Sherry. The way he talked, the things he was describing had awakened sensations deep inside the virgin Steffy. Before long she was fantasizing about being in Sherry's place, stripped naked, forced to obey ... and submit.

  She called him Master in her dreams. She wore his collar and she serviced him for his pleasure. She was his property and he exercised tight, loving control. She was whipped when she misbehaved and for rewards she was allowed to suck his cock or spend time with him. She was like a little pet, owned, content. Happy ... and strangely free.

  For the better part of two years she thought it would never be real. Why would John want a kid for a slave, least of all his partner's baby sister? But the past year at college had begun to convince her. All of a sudden, her body developed this life of its own. She met some guys and a few girls, too, more than willing to help her develop her wild streak.

  She lost her virginity, backed off the studying, and started to really live. The more she experienced, the more she knew she wanted John. She didn't dare tell a living soul. Everyone would tell her she was a fool. Too young to know what she wanted and certainly too young for a man like Cupid.

  But she'd done research. Age differences weren't that unusual in BDSM relationships. If the chemistry was right, the rest took care of itself.

  Steffy knew she'd have to prove herself. John was a practical man, skeptical. Then she'd have to work on everyone else. If she won him over, though, the rest would come easy—including dealing with her brother.

  Because if there was one thing Stephanie
knew about John Cupid, it was this: When he wanted something he let nothing stand in his way. At the moment he wanted her. Over the desk...

  "How much will it hurt?” she asked, bent at the waist over the smooth edge, her cheek against the desk, her hands secured behind her back.

  The desk was aluminum. She felt the cold, hard metal against her bare midriff. She'd worn the right outfit. From first glance she had him ... putty in her hands.

  "I won't draw tears, Steffy, you're a novice. But it won't be fun sitting down for a while."

  She squirmed as he lifted her skirt.

  "You're pussy is incredible,” he said. “Your ass is perfect."

  She wriggled it for him. “Thank you, Sir. I aim to please you."

  "You say you've never had any kind of corporal punishment before?"

  "No, Sir.” She tingled as he touched her posterior, getting the lay of the land.

  "I want you to count,” he said. “We're going to ten."

  "Yes, Sir.” She craned her neck to see him; he was undoing his belt.

  "Eyes forward, girl.” He snapped his fingers.

  A hot blade went through her belly as he chastised her. “Yes, Sir."

  Obeying him made her wetter still. She could feel the fluids dripping down his thigh. It must have made for quite a view.

  She gasped at the sound of leather, whistling in the air. He was testing the belt. If intimidation was his intent, it was working. Steffy pressed her cheek to the desk, suddenly feeling very small and female. Was it too late to beg?

  The belt hit like greased lightning, an efficient blow across the meat of her buttocks. She couldn't help but yelp, a small, high pitched sound. “One!” she cried, fists clenching and unclenching.

  Her reaction did not please him. “Contain yourself, Steffy, this is nothing."

  "Y—yes, Sir."

  He whipped her again.

  "T—two,” she grimaced.

  The third blow was to the tops of her thighs. It hurt much worse. She did a little dance, one foot to the other. “Three!"

  He lashed out, admonishing. “Hold still."

  "F—four."

  "No, that last one doesn't count,” he informed her. “That was extra for moving around so much."

  Steffy whimpered. “Yes, Sir."

  She concentrated on standing very still for the next two. “Five,” she stammered. “Six."

  "Good girl.” He patted her ass. “You're learning."

  "Th—thank you, Sir.” She winced. The light touch had the effect of magnifying her pain a hundred fold.

  He pushed a finger deep inside her well lubricated canal. “Open,” he ordered.

  She spread her legs ... on command. The idea fascinated and enveloped her. She was in bondage, a man's plaything.

  Relentless, he hooked a finger up, going to work on her clitoris. “Are you ready for the last four?"

  "I ... yes ... no ... I don't know."

  "You have to beg for it, girl. You have to surrender to it, completely."

  Something inside her resisted. She'd already asked him to beat and fuck her, why make her do it another time? She knew the answer, of course. He was doing it because he could. Besides, that was only theoretical and this was real. She would actually be seeking out her own punishment.

  He brought her to the edge of orgasm and left her hanging.

  "I need to come,” she wheedled.

  "No. You need to finish getting your whipping."

  She made a hissing noise. “It's not fair..."

  John stepped back and struck her, three times, fast and hard. “Those,” he said. “Do not count either."

  Steffy's pussy pulsed, helpless, completely out of her control ... stuck in lock down. Her ass was on fire. She kept on twitching like he was still hitting her. At last she was seeing it; what a dominant man could do and how a female could be completely overcome, to her own torment and delight.

  "Please, tell me what you want...” She scarcely recognized her own voice, thin and haunted and hot as desert wind.

  "You already know,” he said, imperious and unbending as steel.

  She did know and she saw that she had no choice. “Please, Sir, finish my beating?"

  "You may resume the count.” He let loose, striking her true.

  "Yes, Sir ... Seven...” she grunted. “Eight."

  He paused with two to go. His finger found her clit again. “Come,” he commanded.

  She exploded at the sound of his voice, rubbing her body, humping the desk like a wild animal. She pounded with her small fists, swearing up a storm. Abruptly he removed his finger and struck her, once, twice more.

  The whipping melded with the orgasm. She actually stuck her ass in the air. Was she counting? She couldn't hear her voice.

  "M—more, please, Sir?"

  He went on past ten. To what number she didn't know; she was too far gone in her latest climax. It was an all over orgasm, a total body orgasm or maybe an out of body one. At a certain point in the middle of the explosive crashing she heard herself screaming for his cock to slam itself home, an extension of his discipline.

  Luckily, he thought to put a condom on. In her current state of mind she never would have asked. She'd have to kid him later about walking around with rubbers all the time, being prepared like a perverted Boy Scout. Or had he been planning on some hot date with somebody else tonight before she came along?

  His cock slid into her canal with ease. She was more than ready, hot and wet and pulsing. “Yes, oh, yes,” she encouraged her own invasion. “Do it to me, use me..."

  Her words had the desired effect. He grabbed her waist in an iron grip and slammed himself to the hilt. Immediately he pulled back and did it again. By the third time she was ready to peak all over again.

  "Come inside me, fucking come inside me, lover,” she cried.

  "I'll give the orders.” He slapped her throbbing buttocks, bringing back every single blow of the belt.

  She moaned, slipping into a space somewhere to the outside of normal consciousness. She looked down at her own body, saw what was happening to her, just as she saw where it was going.

  "Master,” she gasped, using the title entirely without permission. “Your slave surrenders to you. She ... she loves you."

  Always has, she might have added, though again, the words wouldn't have been believed from the mouth of a twenty-one-year-old.

  Oh, yes, she'd known it would be this good. The others, the boys at school were so scared of her, awed by her beauty, but John, he knew what to do with her.

  John stopped in mid stroke.

  Had she done something wrong, said something wrong?

  Of course you did, you dolt. Never tell a man you love him, not right off. That was the most basic rule...

  "Sir?"

  He withdrew his cock. “I'm sorry, Stephanie. It shouldn't have gone this far. It's all my fault."

  She felt him releasing the tie on her wrists. “But..."

  "We can still have dinner if you like."

  Have dinner ... after this? Was he serious?

  Steffy dropped to her knees, all semblance of pride gone. “I'll do anything..."

  "Stephanie, don't.” There was a trace of annoyance in his voice, even pity.

  She couldn't hold back the tears. He tried to help her to her feet, she pushed him away. “Leave me alone, you bastard."

  "Steffy, be reasonable, you can't stay here."

  "I'll stay where I like, you don't own me."

  What a stupid little fool she'd been, a love sick puppy, blind to the reality of a hard nosed, hard hearted man. Why would he want her? She was young and silly. She scooted back on her heels.

  John spoke harshly, appealing to something deep inside her. “Stephanie, stop this nonsense. Get up now!"

  She obeyed in spite of herself.

  He handed her a tissue to wipe her nose. “Go in there,” he ordered, pointing to a small bathroom adjacent to the office. “Clean yourself up and I'll take you back to your brother
's."

  "Yes,” she said, omitting the Sir.

  She closed the door, deeply ashamed, highly confused. What did he want from her? He was ordering her about like a slave girl; she was doing what she was told. He'd been attracted to her enough to put his cock in her. So she happened to love him. Did that mean they couldn't have any kind of relationship?

  "Can we at least talk about it?” she asked when she came out, as together as she could arrange herself with a small sink and mirror and the few items in her purse.

  "No,” he said, stone faced.

  She fell twice as much in love with him with that one look, so powerful and angry ... but still a teddy bear underneath. Damn, did it ever suck being a woman, totally dependent on hormones.

  He left a lot of money on the table for the meal they didn't eat; such a waste, that nice bottle of wine.

  They walked back to the car without a word exchanged.

  "I don't suppose another beating would make things right?” she quipped, sitting herself gingerly on the leather seat.

  "Time will make it right,” he said, not a trace of humor. “And distance."

  He was brushing her off.

  "You're a real prick,” she shot back, not feeling particularly mature anymore.

  The silence thickened to a dark soup.

  "You're not such a big man,” she said petulantly, the car just a block from Carl's house, where he lived with three golden retrievers and a Siamese cat named Ginger. “You have feelings you don't talk about. I think you're a scared little boy on the inside."

  His gaze narrowed. It was the first time she'd seen him even a little perturbed. “Thanks for the unsolicited opinion of a brat, Stephanie; a spoiled girl who doesn't like it when she can't get what she wants."

  Wow, she thought. I've hit a raw nerve and he's just striking back, taking pot shots.

  "Tell me, Uncle John,” she went for broke. “Why don't you have real relationships? Are you gay?"

  He smiled, quite superior. “You want a reaction out of me pretty bad, don't you, young lady?"

  "Yes,” she replied, summoning every bit of courage in her young body. “I do, Master."

  Something flashed across his eyes. She couldn't read it. “I'm not your master,” he said.

  "You could be,” she retorted. “If you wanted."

  "You don't know what you're talking about. What did you do, read some shit on the Internet? Women twice your age don't know what they want, you couldn't possibly."