Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 24
*******
The End
An erotic novel
The second part of The Stained Duet
Copyright ©2017 by Charlotte E Hart
Cover Design by MAD
Formatting by MAD
All rights reserved
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved alone, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of those trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Acknowledgements
The End
By
Charlotte E Hart
“Ask and you shall receive …”
Chapter 1
Alana
Y ou’d think after our declaration of commitment we’d be basking in contentment. Me easing this pain away from my skin somehow. Him admiring the decadence of a night fucking his way through his new plaything, thankful for my acceptance of his heavy handed liberation. We should be lying with each other, reminiscing over the night’s activities and enjoying each other’s touch. Accepting this newfound love I’ve fallen into. That’s what should be happening. It’s what happens in all the tales I write, but it’s not happening here.
I can’t even comprehend when it occurred, or why I let it occur in the first place. Maybe it was something to do with the post fucking haze my body languished in, my limbs too weak to offer protest. Or maybe it was my lacking ability to say no when he started wrapping the rope around my wrists. I don’t know. I don’t care either. I’m still too exhausted to move or offer resistance to whatever he’s planning next. I’m just tied to the bed frame, my wrists attached to the post by the floor and my head continually shoved downwards should I attempt levering it upright.
I’ve cried so much, apprehension mingling with tension created by the fear inching in with every passing minute, and yet for some reason I feel safe here. This post my fingers grip onto feels like a solid structure within my grasp. It literally keeps me grounded as he roams my skin, tasting, delving, and biting into whatever he feels like. It allows me something to cling on to, hold tight to. And the only time it feels any less is when I let my mind wander back to my old life, reminiscing about its disconnect to this space I’m in now. But the moment I let myself drift back there, or find an avenue to manage the continued pain he’s inducing, he shoves my head to the floor and growls at me, noticing my meander away from his preferred treatment of me.
He sounds as feral as the air around me feels. He’s been that way for hours now, hardly giving me a reprieve since he first carried me into this room. We haven’t slept, nor moved from this room. He’s barely said a word, choosing to talk with his lips on my skin instead. The sheets above me are still covered in my blood. I’m nearly drained dry of orgasms, regardless of the one that’s building again. I can’t think past the feeling of my thighs trembling, and I’m struggling to hold myself up on all fours anymore as he’s requested. I’m just a mess of prostrate innuendos and broken skin, still ready to let him carry on in his adventure around my body regardless.
His story, I suppose.
My legs finally give way as something tightens around my ankle and drags me backwards, stretching me against the floor until I’m flat on the carpet, too tired to care about the surface’s cleanliness.
I’m done here. Finished. Literally fucked.
“Weak,” he mutters behind me, his weight leaving my body and allowing me a moment’s respite from him. Weak? It’s probably true. My life is spent behind a laptop, sitting on my backside, little thought to exercise involved. I rub my cheek into the carpet and let myself exhale in the relaxed nature of it for a few minutes, not caring for the stench that permeates my nostrils. I just need a break from him. I can’t do this anymore. Much as I might adore every fucking sensation he’s delivered, every touch, I’m just too exhausted to move now, let alone deal with more from him. “You don’t deserve dates from me.” The sound of those words makes tears spring to my eyes again, some morbid fascination in my lacking abilities fuelling them. “You’ve shown me nothing but your pretence.”
I don’t know what that means. I’ve given him everything through the night, let him pull me, push me, turn me and defile me. There isn’t a hole he hasn’t been inside, a word I haven’t accepted as alright, or a humiliation I haven’t endured. I’ve been slapped, bitten, spanked and gripped tighter than I’ve ever felt before. I’ve given him everything I’ve got to give, breathed through it and remembered I love him on the way, but now there’s nothing left but my shattered limbs and more tears, ones I didn’t think I had left. “If you want your dates, you’ll fucking earn them from me.”
He leaves after that. I hear the door click closed as I stare through the glistening in my eyes and try to focus on my bedpost again, hoping for more grounding in the middle of this oddity. It offers nothing now, though. It’s just wood. As solid as it was before but no longer something to hang onto or cling to for support. That sensation left me the moment I heard him leave me alone.
My fingers gently flop from the gnarled frame, the tension in them evaporating the moment they fully
engage with the floor. So fucking tired. So fucking drained. It’s enough for me to choose closing my eyes rather than acknowledging the tears or their effect on me. I haven’t got enough mind power left to deal with that either. I just need to sleep, and find my comfort in that. I’m not mad nor upset by his words. I haven’t got the energy to be either. I’m as empty of thought as I ever have been. No stories. No words. No deadlines. I’m just vacant inside, short of a slight tremor still skating through me. Hollow.
The door opens again as I’m dozing off. It hardly wakes me, rather stirs me into acknowledgement of some kind. I don’t care. I can’t move or think anymore, and I’ve no interest in opening my eyes again. He could do whatever now and I’d just take it, little effort to imaging sensations or sentiments involved. Not there has been any sentiment from him as far as I can tell, other than regressive intent. It’s all felt like a dive into untamed waters, calm maybe, considered even, but nothing about this has been a Blaine I’ve indulged in before. He just got lost in me.
His fingers scratch around my wrists, undoing the rope that held me here. They loosen slowly, each thread seeming to speed my descent into sleep. I’m not lulled there or held, more forced by the exhaustion still holding me. It’s time to sleep it off, wake tomorrow and talk about it then. My body’s half lifted from the ground and part dragged somewhere. It makes me open my eyes slightly, wondering where I’m going, but it’s just a blurred dark room to me until I see a large cage coming at me, its door open. Panic swells somewhere deep down, inducing a spurt of energy to rise up. It makes me brace my body in his arms, my legs trying to gain leverage on the floor and propel me away from it.
“Blaine?” coughs out of me, barely able to speak after all the screaming and tears that have come from my throat. He wants me in there, doesn’t he? He wants to cage me like an animal. “Please. No.” He doesn’t stop dragging me at my plea. He chuckles a little, his fingers gripping tighter as he tries to manoeuvre me. “No,” I snap out again, twisting in his hold and wrangling my head round to face him. “Fuck you. Let me up.” The cage door creaks as I bash my arm into it, slamming it shut before he gets a chance to move me inside. “I’m not going in there.” He wraps a hand around my arm, turning me onto all fours again and widening the door. I’m not going in there. I’m not. I struggle with everything I’ve got left, my legs scuffing the carpet, hips and stomach muscles engaging to curl me away repeatedly. Still he holds firm, the wire surface repeatedly hitting my shoulder as he pushes me forward. Oh god, I’m nearly in. It makes me snap my teeth at him and I manage to bite into his arm, some of my own feral intent suddenly bursting through my previous exhaustion. “Get the hell off me,” spits out, as I glare up at him. “I’m asking you, Blaine. Let me up.”
He smiles. It’s the first one I’ve seen for hours. It lights up the dark blur I was in, making my frantic attack stop without thought. Fucking man. I snarl slightly, energy pulsing through my veins as he slowly lets go of my skin and lowers me to the floor again.
“See? You’ve got so much left yet, Alana.” My snarl continues as he walks away, his jeans covered arse as appealing as ever. Why has he got those on? He should take them off so I can bite him again, suck his cock even. He hasn’t let me do that. “You’re done when I say you’re done. Not before. That’s the way this works for me.” Arsehole. My snarl turns to more of an irritated smirk as he crouches four feet away and smiles again, his eyes level with mine as I stay on all fours. “You behave like an exhausted fucking dog again and I’ll treat you like one.”
“Screw you.” I’m not going in that cage. Never will I be put in a cage.
“There’s my brat,” he says, his smile still in place as he stretches his arm to something behind him. I don’t remove my eyes from his. I couldn’t care less what he’s got behind his back. I’m energised again, either through what he’s done or the thought of sucking cock. I’m not sure, but my shoulders click around regardless, losing themselves in the thought of more fucking. “Hungry?” My head tilts at him. What an odd thing to say. “How much begging do you have left?” I narrow my eyes, wondering what that means as he stands up and points to the floor in front of him. “Let’s find out how far you’re prepared to go for me.”
“What?”
He brings his hand around in front of him then opens it to reveal a cooked sausage. I nearly laugh at the thing in such context, his hand lying far too close to his cock for it to be comfortable. Although, the vision does make my stomach rumble. Seems I am hungry. I flick my eyes between it and the other thing I want, his jeans still obscuring my view of it as I gaze on.
“Come beg for it,” he says, his tongue slowly licking over his lips. He just dangles it there, his thumb and forefinger resting on its end, tempting me with all kinds of imagery that has nothing to do with a sausage. “Beg well enough and you can suck that treat you’re after when you’re done.” My own tongue licks my lips, mirroring his movement. It’s a tense moment, one that fills me with dread at what I’m becoming. I’m going to beg for a sausage, aren’t I? Not that I care for the meat on offer, not really. It’s the other thing I want. My treat. I’m enthused by the thought of having some control of it, of him. I want nothing more than to hear him moan and groan as I pull my lips around it, slipping it into my throat, hearing him pleased by me. It makes me feel dirtier than I already am, like I want to crawl over this drab carpet, arse in the air, to get to him and show him my need. And I don’t stop the first slight movement of my hand as I lift it and let my leg follow. I just crawl, my body proudly display my want for him, as I keep focused on the thing I need. His face flattens, as I get closer, the smile turning more nefarious with every inch. It shakes my nerves a little, making me wonder what he’s going to do when I get there, but rather than do something to scare me further, he just waits and holds the meat out to me.
“Tease me with it,” he says. “Suck it like you will me.”
Liquid pools between my thighs at his words. I feel it dribbling down their insides, tormenting a new ache that’s beginning. It’s not like the ache he creates in me, not like the one I’ve endured all night. This one burns through me of my own making. It teases me as I lower my head to the meat, wetting my lips as I go. I nibble at first, the end of it slipping inside so I can taste it. It’s divine, causing my stomach to rumble again. Hungry. He was right. I’m starving for it. Ravenous, actually. So much so that I barely control the need to chomp down on it and devour it. My jaw twitches with the thought, almost giving in as I slip more of it inside my mouth. He shakes his head at me slowly. A warning, I suppose. I smile into the movement again and let my lips travel back along the length of it, sucking its meaty taste inside as I go and then moving back up again. It makes me squirm with my own thoughts, my thighs separating as if inviting the unknown in. For someone who’s had nothing but filling all night, I feel empty now, desperate for something to sink inside me and fill me up again. I carry on, long licks first, and then short ones follow making me imagine the dog he called me, and then sucking, my lips drawing back and forth, pulling the meat in further with every draw. It tugs in his grasp, the meat flexing and bending, waiting for me to snap my teeth into it. It goes on forever as I lick and suck, desperate to get some purchase on the damn thing.
“Careful,” he says, his frame shifting around in front of me, his knees sinking down to the floor. I watch as he begins undoing his fly, his cock in his hand before I let the meat slip from me again. He leans in, offering his cock to me at the same time. “Wider,” he mutters, his hand coming to rest behind my head. “Take both of them.” I should smirk, but nothing about this feels silly. It feels grubby, dirty, as if he’s priming me for something other than what’s happening at this precise moment. The thought makes me gasp slightly as I inch forward again, my mouth reaching wider to fit them both in. It doesn’t stop my thighs widening, too. My knees shuffle outwards, announcing something I’m trying not to think about as I suck in the taste of him. It makes me groan as I run the flat of m
y tongue along his ridges, tasting him for the first time in ages. I’m greedy for more of that flavour, so much so that I stretch further still, making my jaw ache to accommodate the two entities. It’s two cocks, isn’t it? I’m sucking two cocks. In fact, I’m frantically sucking them, my lips gobbling them down, groans and moans coming from me as I look up at him. He’s not watching me anymore. He’s leaning back, his thighs spread and eyes closed as I gobble down what he offers me. And I’m still fucking squirming like a slut, my arse writhing about in the air hoping to tempt him into fucking me again.
“Bite,” he murmurs, his breathing laboured as I carry on. “Eat.” My top teeth cut into the meat, snapping a small piece off. “Swallow it down, take me with it.” Fuck, the thought half halts me as I position the meat and look to him, my lips hovering around the end of him. “Swallow or I’ll help you fucking swallow,” he says as he tugs on the back of my head, proving his point. I slowly draw forward again, trying to tell my throat what to do, but it won’t. It feels conflicted, indecisive about the two things. He grabs tighter and pulls himself upright, his other hand reaching over my body until he finds the one thing I’m aching for. “Take a breath,” he snarls.
One finger sinks in first, the movement yanking me forward onto his cock again, the feel of it making my mouth widen in a gasp. The instant I do, I swallow, unable to stop the contraction around the one thing I was a nervous of. I stop breathing and let the moment halt. I just let him lodge himself in there and finger around me, more fingers pushing in to join his first. Oh god, I’m so full. And then he moves his hand, his thumb climbing and sinking into my arse, too. I try to heave in another breath, but gag on the sensation. He hisses in response to the movement then groans as his hips buck into me.
The End Page 1
