Once Upon A

by Charlotte E Hart

  “Blaine?” she says, her eyes as surprised as her body appears, as it scrambles and backs up the bed away from me.

  “Turn over,” I say, bending the belt in half and considering the buckle end rather than the softer option. Fucking lies. “This will hurt.”

  “You’re not using that on me.” Yes I am.

  “You lied.” It’s not a discussion. My hand just reaches for her foot to turn her over myself rather than allow any further comment or struggle. “This will teach you not to do it again.” She kicks out at me, her face a picture of hatred as she scrambles out of my grasp again and assemblies the little brat she is. “I can do this all day, Alana. You’ll still lose in the end.”

  “You are not strapping me with a belt,” she shouts, her legs scrabbling again and her hands up to stop me. Oh, but I am going to, and I’m going to do it at least ten times, and she’s going to count them and realise who the fuck she’s been lying to.

  I grasp at her ankle again, viciously, tugging and stabilising her as my other hand forges straight up her thigh and into her cunt before she has a chance to get away. Her whole body stops instantly, the curl of my fingers ensuring the presentation of her ass.

  “Punishment comes to those who lie to me, Alana,” I whisper, as I feel the calm wash over me and take me back to times I crave. She bucks a little, the soft swell of her breast turning towards me as drag her cunt closer to the end of the bed.

  “I didn’t…” She stops her words as my fingers twist inside her, the other set increasing the pressure on her ankle and willing her to carry on with the lie. She doesn’t have a choice here. Not anymore. She will be disciplined. She will be punished and say thank you at the end of it. The only choice is whether she takes it well or whether I’ll have to push her further after the event. And then she mewls, her cunt squirming on my hand again as I bend forward and pull in the scent of her. It would be so easy to simply devour, to take and not stick to rules and regulations. Here, now, I could just be free of the restriction. Use the materials available around the room. The glass from the light bulb, crushed and laid beneath her. The knives in the kitchen, sharpened and ready for inducing the quick slash of pale flesh. The ropes holding the curtains back, the bathrobe, hanging lifeless but for its ability to suffocate. And my hands, these ferocious hands, still reserved and yet wanting nothing more than to see the light dim once more. I slowly pull my fingers from her to see if she’ll lie still like a good little brat should. She doesn’t. She immediately begins to question again, her mind undoubtedly searching the entire scene beginning around her for clarification of facts. The only facts she needs to understand are the ones that leave my lips.

  “Do as you’re told, Alana, before you piss me off.” She pisses me off eternally, has done since the day we met with her snooty disposition and her patronising glances at my people. She’s as filthy as the rest of us, more so given her predilection for fucking on church floors and sucking cock on garbage strewn pavements. It’s the fucking brat in her, the one I appear to love for my sins.

  She stills, her eyes sneaking a glance back and then looking away again. “Good.” I stand up again, releasing her ankle slowly and watching the way she presents herself. Natural. Her ass high, and the glistening juices already coating her cunt’s waiting lips on display for me. The belt curls the air as easily as a knife through butter, not one part of it, or my arm, hindering the deliverance of the first lash. It strikes with as much force as I care to give, causing a scream to sound the room instantly as she shunts forward and slumps to the bed. “Count it,” I snarl out, my cock remembering the sound of a pain solely for my ears. She pants and fidgets, her fingers tightening the sheets in her fingers as she frowns. “You know why. You caused this. This is how we will be. You count it, Alana, and then you ask for the next one like a good little brat should.” Her head eventually nods as she steadies her body and pushes up onto her hands again.

  “One,” she whispers, her breathing as laboured as the slight pink of her ass. “Another one.”

  “Say please.” Her head drops, her lips blowing out another breath as her back dips in defeat. “Say it and the next might not hurt so much.” It will. It’ll hurt more. I couldn’t care less if she says please or not. He care that she understands herself and what she needs from me. What I need from her.

  “Another… Another one, please.”

  I smile at the sound of the words faltering from her mouth and send the belt home without any other thought, causing another shriek of pain to bellow out. Two. Only two, and the feeling enthuses such visions I focus entirely on her ass, barely hearing the words that leave her lips as she keeps counting. Strike after strike land, the sound battering the room and forging me onwards. It might be discipline, a kind that’s necessary for her, but I don’t give a fuck. All I can feel is her burying herself inside me with every uttered breath and moan. She’s as divine as the come that drips from her cunt, and as beguiling as the fingers that I long to hold as the seventh strike lands and I watch the tears start to fall. Her body crumples, her face turning to the side as she pants through the pain and still manages to find enough voice to ask for the next. It makes me move to get a better view of the pretty little tears, casting a glance at the rest of her lithe frame and watching the way it begs for fucking. The mascara I hate runs courses down her cheeks, her eyes as red as her ass as she slowly levers herself up again to look at me and waits for the next.

  “Another, please, Sir.”

  Sir. The sentiment reminds me of Eloise and the way she called me nothing else, but there’s anger in Alana’s blue eyes, not the desperation of a once echoed voice. She isn’t desperate for death or craving the pain as Eloise did. She rallies against it, letting the feeling remind her of hope and forging her ability to latch onto someone else’s strength. I smile at her, my hand wanting nothing more than to stroke her head and wipe the tears into my mouth again. Still, I’ve got two more to deliver. Two more to ensure she understands what our bond will be. Two more to teach her her lesson.

  “Higher,” I say, watching her quivering lips and shaking frame. “You’ve dropped your presentation.” She moves herself to counter her exhausted muscles, raising herself higher and closing her eyes. The moment she does, I send the belt home again, rewarding her for her good fucking behaviour. And I send it harder than before, relishing the way her body collapses immediately and the tears pour further down her precious cheeks as she chokes out sobs. “You’ve only had nine. Are you behaving like a coward again?” She croaks out a noise, her hands trying to brace herself off the bed. I gaze at her, flexing the leather in my fingers and considering shoving something inside her to make the pain more bearable. Instead, I turn the belt, my own mind apparently more interested in her response to the metal of the buckle striking her skin. “Up, Alana, and beg for the last one.” She sniffs, her weakened fingers clawing at the sheets again as she groans and pants.

  “I... I can’t,” she says, pleads actually. I smirk again, waiting for more pleas to come, ones begging for the pain to stop. Pain doesn’t stop with me, not now she’s offered me an avenue to release it on again. She needs to feel this, just this slight proposition of what she thinks she loves. She needs to feel it and then watch me go at another woman with more enthusiasm.

  “You will. And you’ll tell me you love me after it lands.” Her eyes widen, her body slumping further into the bed as her body begins to give up. “That’s what you think, isn’t it? That means you have to love this, Alana. This is what I am. I warned you, gave you the chance to leave.”

  “I can’t do this,” she mumbles, her head turning into the covers to get away from the thought. She can. She wants to. I can tell by the way her ass is rising again, the way her fingers stay tight and focused on achieving more, and I can tell by the way she sniffs in her tears, burying them again and trying to be as strong as I need her to be. I just watch and wait, all the time restraining the need to fuck her as I give her the time to assimilate thoughts and remember w
hy she’s here. “Another, Sir.”

  “Hardly begging,” I say, still smiling as she pushes herself to her knees and glares at me.

  Good girl. That’s what I need from her. That fire right there. She needs to dredge it up and bridge the hole I’m creating between us, whether I help her realise it or not. I need that from her. As does she. She’ll hold the strength to keep us connected, not me. She’ll ground me, helping me find sane thought in the middle of my frenzied ones, and in return, I’ll offer a peace she’s never felt before. “Beg, Alana. Prove you want me.”

  “Please,” she spits it at me, her arms locking into position after she’s wiped her own tears away, and her eyes as poisonous as I’ve ever seen them. “Please. What else do you fucking want?”

  It all happens so seamlessly, as if nothing’s between us anymore. The belt swings, aimed solely at the cunt spread wide and on offer, the metal of it clinking though the air before it maims flesh. And her eyes remain focused entirely on mine as I watch her waiting for it to land, the grunt as it finally does sending a shiver through him. Not one other sound leaves her lips as she screws her eyes to the pain and snarls out her frustration. She just tips her head downwards and bites her lip, letting the buckle fall from her skin and absorbing the pain of it into herself. Presumably allowing enlightened abandon to take over, the little pain slut of hers finally free of its confines.

  “Fuck you,” she snarls, her lips offering the word to the white sheets beneath her rather than to me. I smirk and coil the belt again, enjoying the thought and waiting for the rest to come as I throw the leather away. “Fuck you.” She says it again with seethed venom, her hands scratching holes into the sheets as she turns to look at me, her body starting to move with no care for the pain she’s in. I watch her crawl, her muscles fluid as they propel her upright and towards me, probably chased with adrenalin and endorphins. It’s better than any fucking drug can offer her, always will be. It shines in her eyes, regardless of the still confused hatred there too. “I love you,” she says quietly, her feet rounding the bed to get her to the floor. She stands there, her body on display and her face blotched with a pain she refuses to show anymore. “Is that what you want, Sir?”

  Yes, it is. She’s a perfect offering of everything I hate adoring. Spirited, judgemental, aloof. Regaled indignation contrasted with her own sense of ownership. She is sugar and spice. She is beauty personified and strength weighed down by life’s empty conquests. And she will capture a heart I’ve long since closed down, the same one that already beats erratically at her glare of disdain as she waits for me to continue with my fucked up endeavour.

  I reach for her face, the feel of it sinking naturally into my hold as I wipe one last tear away. She feels like a submission of temptation, her skin like a selection of delicacies ready to be consumed as and when I choose. And fuck, I want to kiss those trembling lips. I want to plague them, have them live inside me where they can be used and toyed with, cherished on occasion. I want it so much that my cock doesn’t care about sinking inside her anymore, nor do my hands care about creating the pain I’ve just delivered. I just want her lips on mine, her body in my arms, her warmth wrapping itself around my heart and setting me free of the detachment it normally feels.

  “Show me,” I say, wondering what offer she will give to express her love. Her eyes shift, nervously, her body suddenly at odds with itself as if all confidence has left it. It makes me drop my hand from her face, leaving her alone to make her choice in the face of confusion. She just hovers, her gaze flicking around as she twitches her sore ass. I smirk at her, amused at the notion that given her free will again, she doesn’t know what to do with it.

  “I don’t know what makes you happy,” she murmurs as she steps away and looks around the room for inspiration. “How can I not know that?” Why would she? We’ve not spent any time together. No dates. No drinking and laughing. “I should know that if I love you, shouldn’t I?” I wouldn’t know. I’ve never loved. Not until this feeling I assume must be love. She turns and walks back across the room, her arm reaching for the belt I’ve tossed aside and grasping it. “Is this what makes you happy?” Very much so, but not as much as the feel of her lips would.

  I wave my fingers at her, beckoning her over to me and letting my hand grate into her ass as she walks into me.

  “That hurts.” Mmm. My other hand winds up through her breasts, reaching for her throat and daring the pressure I crave as I walk her towards the wall. She squeals again as her ass makes contact with it, and more so when I push her around on the doorframe, its edges heightening her discomfort.

  “Say it again.”

  “What?” My mouth hovers over hers, waiting for the words to come so I can swallow them down and feel them near my heart. I just stare, not caring for more elaboration as I gaze into blue eyes that remind me of the ocean at home, and then increase the pressure on her throat. My hand squeezes at the delicate bones, letting my cock remember all the things it wants to do to her. It aches again, desperate to batter something. It can smell her cunt better than I can, probably her love for it, too. “I love you?” I smile, my lips latching to hers as I crush a little more, the sinew of her neck buckling as I apply the restriction further. Her breath hitches, her body beginning to fight against me as I continue delving my tongue inside her mouth, searching for her and her ability to get inside my mind. It’s all in there, waiting for me to explore it, work out how it ticks, why it ticks, and for once I don’t want to destroy it. Not this one—this one I’ll keep and nurture, look after.

  Her mouth breaks away suddenly, the kiss lost as she pushes at my chest, her feet kicking my shins.

  “Blaine, stop. I can’t...” I back a step away, tilting my head at her as she scrambles on the wall, her fingers reaching for my hand at her throat. “I can’t…” Speak presumably. But the light is there still, flickering away with her beauty and drawing me into it like a candle slowly dying, its last flames petering away. I stare at her hair, the purple highlights tumbling from the grips she’s pinned them with, the colour casting shadows and reminding me of something. “Please...” It’s becoming more an obstructed attempt at words, ones I can still taste on my lips. It makes me run my fingers over them as I watch my hand grip her tighter and tighter, my insistent cock galvanising itself for fucking her as she starts slipping away.

  “This makes me happy,” I murmur, enthralled with the state of her as she bucks and quivers in my grasp. “And this,” I continue, letting my hand find its way inside her and shunt her up the wall. “The sight of your turmoil makes me happy, Alana.” Her eyes widen. “The feel of your lips trembling as I kiss them.” Grasping fingers try to prise mine away from her throat as she keeps panting out short breaths. “You have fallen in love with someone who wants to watch you suffer.” She hooks her fingers in, giving her a short reprieve from the throttling, something I allow by the slight release of my hand so that she can hear and breathe her way through the orgasm that’s coming. “Listen well, Ms. Williams. I am an asshole. I warned you. I am someone who will use, degrade, and humiliate you.” She frowns, her head shaking a little as I began fingering further in. I snort at her, amused at the version of the love she feels. I know I love her, I can feel it haunting every nerve I have, but it makes little difference to what I am, what I have always been. And she’s set it free again now, given it permission to be alive once more. “You fell in love with a sadist who constantly controls his tendencies.” Her mouth gasps for air as I pinch inwards, my other hand twisting as I do and bringing her closer to orgasm with every inhaled gasp. “Do you understand?” Her head shakes, a groan leaving her lips as I press on her clit and shove her pliable body about. “Your love gives me permission to use this skin how I see fit.”

  “No,” she splutters out, her hands trying to forge into mine again to break the hold around her neck. “Fuck...” I’ve squeezed the ‘you’ out of her brattish statement before it leaves her mouth, reminding her exactly who is holding all the power as I
stare into her eyes and move in closer.

  “I own you now,” I whisper, my lips travelling lightly across hers as my hand carries on ramming into her. “And you want me to, don’t you?”

  She chokes on her lack of air as I pull back fully and watch her for a few more seconds, wondering how long she’ll last as the flush crawls across her skin. She writhes, her cunt starting to clamp and constrict, my fingers delving and twisting to bring her off, give her her reward for taking the pain so well. And then she stills, her hands falling away as she rolls her eyes and comes on my fingers, the juice dripping from her like a fucking waterfall of salt. It’s something I’d bathe in given a chance. In fact, I will one day because she is perfection. Splendour embodied, and all for me.

  Having watched her come, enjoying the twitch of her frame in my hands, I gradually release my grip altogether and pull my hand from her cunt at the same time. She falls to the ground, her back heaving as she tries to get her breath back and claws at the very place I’ve been holding. She looks stunning. A glorious mess of tears and fear, her face as fraught as the world makes her mind feel. I stare, amazed at her flawlessness in front of such a monster and infatuated with her ability to take me. She will be the strength she once was with me. I’ll bring her back. Her creative flare will return with every submission she gives freely. She won’t need the drugs to keep her going. She’ll use me, just as I will her, and take my offering so I can help her see her truths. Perhaps she’ll help me find mine, too. “This all makes me extremely happy, Alana.”

  “I...”

  I wait for the fury to come as I watcher shuddering lips, wait for her fuelled rage to find itself and fly at me. I will it from her as I turn and gaze around the barren room, daring her to argue that she doesn’t need what I’ve just given her a sample of. Nothing comes, though. Only silence and the broken gasps for air.