The End

by Charlotte E Hart

  Forwards, backwards, my twirling continuing as I sense more hands touching me and making me hungry. I can’t explain it—it just washes over me as the music intensifies, Blaine’s voice inside my head telling me it’s alright. I sigh, letting the hands keep mauling, letting them paw as I land heavily against one of them, the thud of my body reminding me of Blaine’s weight on me.

  “Bend over,” one of them says, my body suddenly halted and forced forward into the other one. He catches my head, his fingers gripping my chin and asking me to go downwards. I do, too engrossed in the sound floating around my mind to bother with who’s holding me.

  It’s all Blaine, as I sense something touch my lips and gasp. I open my eyes to see a leather crop perched by my mouth, his fingers asking me to open up. I do that, too, happy to let the leather embed itself. It reminds me more of Blaine and the straps he put over me, the gag around my mouth. It’s gripped tight between my teeth as I’m shunted upwards and spun, guy two’s hands spinning me away to the beat of the sound. It’s all so beautiful. A dark and echoing room, filled with nothing but sways and sighs. I can hear moans over the music now, too. A revel of chorus—women’s and men’s. Accompanying grunts. The occasional sharp scream coming to join my own melody. And my feet are finding themselves, finding a true cadence to cling to as I twirl and turn in their hands.

  I stretch my arms out to them each in turn, enjoying the melodic dark that cascades around the rhythm, tempting me into whatever this will become. I’m like a butterfly being batted around, willing to land on whichever thing presents itself next. It’s freeing, a sense of lightness about it, regardless of the dark encompassing us.

  I’m suddenly halted again, something sliding around my neck at the same time. It doesn’t make me gasp in fear or worry. If anything it warms me, making me hungry for what’s coming next. Enough so that my legs widen in response, seemingly urging something inside me that’s not there to take. But I ache so much. My breathing’s pitched and hassled, my arms feeling lighter than air, but as heavy as they’ve ever been. I’m exhausted and yet ready to take more. It’s all contrasted, two halves ready to have the argument driven from me by anything that dare.

  I feel something buckle and look out into the audience, searching for Blaine so I can comprehend what’s happening to my body. It’s all over the place, my mind falling back into its jumbled mess as the leather tightens more than before. Each notch is like a viper constricting, like another layer is being taken away. And yet my frame’s so calm as it happens, my arms being held out to my sides, my hips still swinging slowly to the staccato music.

  “Kneel, pet,” one of them says. I frown at his voice, unconvinced by its tone and needing to hear Blaine’s there instead. Nothing happens. I don’t go down; my body won’t let me. It stays upright, my eyes still searching for Blaine in the crowd. “Get down, you little slut.” That causes nothing but disdain to level my face, my hips still moving, my shoulders joining in. One of their hands slaps my face, an order of a kind, I suppose. I grin at it, remembering Blaine’s hand and wanting nothing more than for him to come and show these two how to do it properly.

  “Blaine,” I mumble quietly.

  The crop falls out as I mutter his name, hoping he’ll come and do this instead of them. He doesn’t appear, and one of them starts shoving at me, making me bend at the knees by slapping them with the very thing I dropped to the floor. It stings, the biting sensation sending a riot of sharp pain to buckle me to the floor. Still I stare out into the crowd, waiting, a slight snarl on my face as I keep looking for him. I just need to see his face, let him reflect back at me, but he’s not there to find. I’m alone. I’m alone and gazing into a sea of peering eyes. Some laugh while others smile up at me. One masturbates even as he stares back at my face and sneers. It seems to snap me back from my lulled trance, my body becoming rigid as I start fighting the guys’ grips on me to get away. What the fuck is going on? He’s left me alone to deal with this? I can’t do it alone. I don’t want to.

  “Get off me,” I snap out, my wrist wrenching in his grip.

  He just tightens it again, a laugh coming from his own mouth as the other one hits me across the back with the crop. I shout out at the impact, tears springing into my eyes at the assault. It immediately sends me scrabbling upwards, my heels trying to gain purchase against the floor to get away from this craziness.

  “You’ll stay down, pet, if you know what’s good for you.”

  I don’t know which one said that. I don’t fucking care either. I’m twisting and turning in their hold as hard as I can, levering all my weight at them, trying to make it difficult for them to hold on to me. It’s a fight that seems to go on for ages, one that has me exhausting myself trying to get to my feet and away from all this. Tears keep coming, frustration more than fear annihilating the ones that came from pain.

  “Get the hell off of me,” I snarl out. “I don’t want this. Fuck off.” Laughter booms around the room, the entire audience jeering at my performance as I keep tugging and yanking on them. “Piss off,” I snap, my nails finally finding something I can scratch into as I free one of my hands. The guy growls and slaps out at my face so hard I tumble to the floor, my one free hand hardly gaining purchase before I hit the wooden boards.

  “Fucking bitch,” he spits at me, his fingers instantly hauling on the leather that’s wrapped around my neck.

  I struggle again, desperately trying to get away from the sensation, my fingers looping into the leather to stop it strangling me as I’m dragged. The instant presence of Blaine in my mind is a welcome reprieve as I remember the same scenario at my apartment, making my legs stop their fight. It halts me regardless of my momentum, my mind trying to find some comfort in the image of his face again. But it’s not Blaine doing this, is it? I need him here. I can’t do this without him. This is the unknown, a man who might harm me beyond my threshold. Someone I don’t want near me. It rallies my legs back into kicking, their fight for freedom as angry as I’ve ever felt them.

  “Stay down, brat.” Blaine.

  My eyes snap open as his tone washes through me, their search for him as instant as the calm that settles and stills my legs. I find him immediately as I pant on the floor. He just stares at me from the shadows in front, one hand around a glass as he picks up a chair and turns it to sit astride it. He leans forward and rests on the back of it, watching closely as I open my mouth to spit venom at him, and arching a brow. The man holding my neck tugs again, making my body move like a rag doll as I stare in confusion at Blaine and watch him gaze back, his lip lifting just slightly. He wants this, doesn’t he? Wants to see me do this for him. In fact, he’s damn well ordering me to give in to them. I frown again, wondering what thrill he’ll get from seeing me like this, although just the thought of him watching sends a chill through my mind now I’ve found him again. “Let him play with you. Do as you’re told.”

  I’m hauled upright at that request, my body forced face down roughly over a table. It makes me struggle again as I lose Blaine’s face in the whirlwind of movement. Only seconds pass before I feel the zipper on my dress being pulled down, exposing the entirety of my back and arse as the material falls to the side of my body. The scenario makes me close my eyes, praying that whatever happens next doesn’t hurt too much. And then I feel clips hook onto the side of the leather at my neck, my head being locked into position so I can’t move at all.

  “Turn her towards me,” Blaine’s voice says, still full of that arrogant calm.

  The room immediately starts to spin, the table being manoeuvred so I can look at him. I grip onto the edge of it as it turns, panting and hoping desperately that he will make this sensation of fear go away. Perhaps I’m desperate for validation, or security, or just a sense of realism again. This is like the fucking rabbit hole he talked about. It’s not even lucid. I feel like I’m dreaming, the world blurring by until I get to him again. And the instant I’m there, pain ricochets along my back, making me yell into his open face. He
smiles again, a look of satisfaction, pride even, settling on his features. He just taps his hand to the noise, his fingers creating a rhythm of his own, as he drums them on the chair and watches me. This is my performance, isn’t it? This is for him, no one else. That’s what I offered when I came out on this stage in the first place. Whatever is coming is coming because I said yes and he asked it of me in his own way.

  My chin gets comfortable against the wooden table, my hands finding calm again beside it as I stare at him and watch his smile increase. He is proud, happy. This is making him happy. Me being here and taking this, offering it, is making him happy. It warms me, softening my temper and making me gaze into his eyes for comfort. They’re full of love as he stares back, watching nothing but my eyes and letting me slip into him again. And just as I’m falling, getting lost in them, another stabbing pain lands, shunting my body forward with the impact. I grit my teeth to the feeling, remembering the pain he delivers and knowing that nothing is going to hurt as much as that. And it’s quiet here again now anyway. I’ve become acclimatised to what’s happening because I can see my reflection in his eyes. It’s just the two of us again. Proving ourselves.

  Blow after blow comes down on me, weakening my resolve to stay focused on him with every landing. Eventually, it makes me mumble, begging for it to stop, or carry on. Either way, it makes me ache to have something inside me again, filling the void he left open by not allowing me to come earlier. The thought forces a sneer from me as I sigh out, imagining his cock buried in me as this carries on. I grip the end of the table, thinking of the way he fucks me or touches himself. It helps me concentrate again, or get further lost in his self-indulgence.

  He smirks as another thwack hits my arse, making me squirm and buck, my neck yanking against the constriction it’s under as I groan and think of him. I’m drooling before I’ve rectified the sensation, my arse rising, ready for the next impact as I imagine him pushing himself into my mouth. Oh god, I want to come so bad, and the sight of his tongue licking those lips, my eyes focused solely on it as it travels across them, is making me desperate to release. My fingers curl over the table edge again, gripping on for dear life as I try to rub my clit against the table and force an orgasm.

  He nods, but I’m not sure what at. I’m too fascinated by the face in front of me to care, too engrossed in the sound of his breathing changing as I arouse him, even though I can barely hear it above the din. I want to, though. I want to be so close I can feel his breath on my cheek as he grunts and groans. I want his arm curled around me while he does it, his hand grasping my hair. I want my mouth hovering inches from his cock so I can suck his come down and let it drip around my lips. And I want this fucker behind me to spank me again, or hit me with something more powerful than the crop he’s been using. Its sharp sting hasn’t held any weight to it. I need blunt force, like Blaine’s. I need heavy and undiluted, a sense of ownership on me, around me. Not this weak teasing. It’s useless, frustrating me with the lack of depth to the sensation. I’m dirty, truly fucking filthy. Blaine has always been right. I’ve been lost in a world of clichés, just as he said, not truly fitting into them and frantic for something new to reawaken me.

  Another blow lands, this time embedding itself with more fervour. It’s thicker across my skin, its landing area wider. It’s like a blanket over me, covering me. It eclipses all my skin, warming it and readying me for orgasm. I grunt out again and close my eyes, letting the pain intensify as another lands and sends me delirious with need. My body bucks and squirms. My thighs tremble. My skin is on fire as I writhe, trying to gain more purchase against the surface, and rubbing.

  It’s all just becoming a haze of need again. A frantic search for release. I need something inside me. I need Blaine inside me. I’d do that in this minute, fuck for everyone to see. If he came and got on top of me now and drove himself inside, I’d let him, not giving a fuck about all these people. Maybe if I beg he’ll do it. He likes me begging. Likes my little moans and mewls of need, likes my screams of pain, too. Perhaps Daddy needs a little waking up.

  “Fuck me.” The words come out softly, barely audible really, surprising me. They’re so quiet, in fact, that I can’t believe I’ve said them aloud in front of all these people. The guy behind me knows, though, because the blows stop instantly. My arse rises again, hardly able to stop itself from presenting for more as I open my eyes and stare at what I want. He’s still there, completely focused on me. “Fuck me.” He gazes back, his hand coming to his mouth, slowly, deliberately antagonising me with it as he wipes it across the mouth I want. “Baby girl’s desperate, Daddy. Please, fuck me.”

  The slow spread of his smile is glorious, making me writhe my arse about more, flaunting it to him and begging for what he’s got. I’m so far in love with this man I couldn’t care less anymore. Whatever he wants, he’ll get. If this is it—if this is normality for him then he can have it. Screw the dates. Screw anything other than fucking and smiling. We’ll find our laughs in here, where dirty floors and submissives meet, gladly.

  He stands, his tongue licking his lips as he walks over the front of the stage so we’re at eye level. I don’t look at anything but him. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I’m transfixed. Locked. We’re together irrespective of the distance separating our skin. None of the rest exists anymore. No viewing guests. No concerns other than him. Just us in this room full of air and darkness. He tilts his head, lowering it to get beneath my gaze and look up to me.

  “Are you asking for something?” Oh god, yes I am. I’m asking for everything. My arse bucks again, my fingers stretching for his skin as I try to widen my legs, regardless of the fact he’s in front of me. I can feel him there already, feel it in his gaze at my lips. “Beg again for me, little dove.”

  I hate that I’m doing it. I do, but it doesn’t stop the need, or the ache.

  “Please.”

  “More.”

  “Please, Blaine.” He smiles again, the crinkling of his eyes warning me of a love I shouldn’t think of, let alone want more of.

  “More. Here. In front of the crowd. Say it louder for me.” I feel the tears come. They scream up the back of my neck, begging for their own release as much as I’m begging him to fuck me. I need him. Or I want him. Or I can’t do anything without him. It’s a horrendous feeling, evaporating normality, tearing it to shreds and making me desperate for him inside me. My fingers reach again, my whole body straining to connect our skin.

  “Please. What do you want?” I scowl at him, the snarl landing through sheer frustration. “Take me. Please. Do it. Fuck me. Please.”

  There’s a pause, his brow rising as he stands back upright and looks over to the left of the room. My body instantly rakes at the strap around my neck again, trying to lift my body away from the table. I’m not even embarrassed or self-conscious; I’m furious. Enough so that I snap my teeth in fury, my arse and frame still thrashing to get off and prove my frustration.

  “Stay on the table,” he says quietly, his head nodding at something in the wings.

  “Why? So you can have more fun? Screw you.” The words spit out of me, venom laced and ready to kill anything within ten feet of my body. The grab at my chin is so fast and so sharp, I yelp in response, my body instantly stilling. He crouches again, his eyes coming so close to mine I back my head away for focus.

  “Don’t you make me show them what they want, Alana,” he murmurs, his fingers digging in sharper to warn me of what’s going on. It makes me snatch a glance back at the room, my breath stilted through my exertions and my insides going crazy now he’s on me again. “They don’t want to see you pleasured. They want me to provide a show.” My mouth opens, the reality of what’s happening here racing back to me as I glance at the crowd again and really see them for the first time. I’ve been so absorbed in my own hedonism I forgot, or didn’t care, maybe I still don’t. I look back at him, letting the ache between my thighs embed itself further and remind me of his touch. It’s still as solid as it alwa
ys is, still as dependable in its own way. Whatever he wants. Whatever we need. The words linger as our breaths mingle and mine calms, our eyes connected and me falling father into them with every passing second. It’s our rabbit hole to fall into, isn’t it? Our wonderland. Mine, anyway.

  “I love you. Do whatever you want,” I say, my voice trembling around the thought. “There isn’t a thing you could do to make me love you less. Do this.”

  He backs away, a confused frown descending to replace the anger that was pitched at me. Good, I’m glad he’s confused, because this fucking room and whatever I’m doing in it is all for him. He might have brought me here for a lesson of my own, might even have thought this would show me something, but this writhing and bucking, this ache, it’s all about Blaine and the way I feel for him. It’s about us.

  Chapter 9

  Blaine

  T he words shake from her lips as I watch her and snarl at her reasoning. Love, it’s a fucking ridiculous notion for the pain this crowd want from me. The pain my body wants to inflict on her isn’t for this room. It’s for my den, or my beach. It’s for the private confines of my mind, should I wish to show her what she’s asking for. This damned love interweaves us. It confounds the show, makes it seem insolent to touch her here, no matter how much she begs me for it.

  I growl again and listen to the music starting, ready to attack the room for being here in the first place. Nothing is private here. Nothing has any sense of seclusion. Oliver’s show might be renowned, important ostensibly as it glorifies us all, but regardless this wasn’t supposed to be the outcome of her learning. She was made to show herself for her own benefit, so she could understand her need to submit, not so that I would fall at the first hurdle and want nothing more than to tear the skin from her bones.