The End

by Charlotte E Hart

  The thought makes me sigh and remember the feel of my cock in her as I watched her scream and pant, the rest of the crowd grunting behind me as they leer on. That thought conjures up more visions as I keep staring at her body, the rise and fall of it as elegant as it always fucking is, making me want to force anything to hand straight into her.

  “Please, Blaine.”

  Please, please, please.

  I flick her chin away from me. The sound of those words drive me insane with need, my hand tightening in my own pocket as I glare at her ability to reach into me. She tears the fucking heart out of me, wrenches at it as if it’s nothing but paper to be shredded as and when she chooses. I despise her for it. Loathe her. Fucking adore her.

  I close my eyes and try to let the music remind me of my ocean, let its ebb and flow clam me back to something resembling human formation. But all I can hear is her voice now across the clipped nuances of notes, begging and pleading, pulling me back to who the mob want from me.

  “Let her up,” comes from my mouth, my hands still clenching and releasing.

  I hear the commotion rather than see it as her heels scatter the floor. It’s enough for me to let my body walk me towards the steps to the stage, her noise becoming part of me no matter how I choose to deny it. It pulls me to her, egging me into something that neither of us should choose.

  “Blaine?” Oh, the fucking sound of it. It has a luxury tied to its frustration. A relief. It causes visions of fucking and pleasure-seeking, of decadence. Just her voice and I’m shaking, regardless of my outward sense of composure. None of these others need to see this, and yet, one part of me wants to show them that even sadists like me can love, that we have that ability if we find a mate who dares brave us. The indecision makes me smile and open my eyes as I walk up the steps, knowing I’ll find her waiting.

  The result of her body hovering in front of me, the back of her dress still open as she hovers there, is debilitating to sadists such as I. She glows again, the mask hiding nothing from me as she stands tall in her new found self. She may care less now for these people than I do, perfectly content in her need as she stares back. Whether it’s because of a true sense of love or not is questionable, irrespective of her belief it is, because it wasn’t me that wound her up on this stage, it was these other two bastards.

  She doesn’t say anything as I move across to her, nor does she kneel, she simply pants and scowls. It makes me consider the best thing to do with her as the music carries on, its dark notes elevating our desire to an unachievable merit here. Perhaps a dance would be best, something to drive us closer and improve the show for these other fools. I’m not fucking her here, no matter how she begs. I’m not sharing her cunt with anything. Ever.

  I move around the back of her, watching her body still further as I gaze at the marks on her shoulders and ass. Good little Brat. Slight stripes, reddened imprints, nothing that will scar like my own still lingering beneath this corset. I lick my lips at the image of them, remembering her cunt in clamps and the way the pitch of her yelps were different for me. It makes me want to see her on display, all of her. I glower at the thought of the audience, almost forgetting they’re here. Fucking sadists and their little shows. They’re as irritating to me as the occasional screams of their subs, annoying my eardrums and stopping me hearing Alana’s breath. They’re nothing but a damned pit of disrepute, willing us all into our darkest needs. It’s the reason I’ve only been to one before, perhaps choosing to cage my magician after the first time, let him be stagnant and dormant.

  Still, it doesn’t stop me moving into her and take hold of the dress to remove it, feeling the instant shiver that descends across her frame. In fact, in some ways, it drives me closer into her, wanting to forge the bond I keep distanced from her. Disband the room around us possibly. I smile again, enjoying how relaxed she’s becoming as she helps me take the material from her. It peels slowly along her arms, showing the room her flawless skin as she moves to accommodate me peeling the other side too. And eventually all that’s left is the body of a goddess, wrapped in heels, a mask, and a fucking corset. My cock instantly hardens again as I back off to gaze at her, the surge of desperation to deliver pain sweeping through my body, readying me for fucking and torture.

  It riles me, regardless of her perfect posture and submission. It wakes the cantankerous primate who waits inside, priming every instinct, calling it out to play as I gaze on.

  “I love you,” she says, quietly. The sound of her softens the need, making me smile again and remember coming inside her. Soft and wet. Her nails digging in. The feel of her lips pulling me into her. And then she turns, her body twirling as if it floats rather than walks, all heaviness removed from the sound of her heels. “I do.”

  What I should do is beat her for announcing such a personal thing in a room full of idiots, but what I want to do is tell her I love her too. I want to hold her and show her there’s a decent reason for loving me. Neither of which I will.

  “Bend over,” I say. “Show yourself to them. They’re our guests.” She frowns as I tap her ass, making it clear what I want this crowd to see. I couldn’t give a fuck for their thoughts on the matter, only that she’ll do what’s asked when I ask it. That’s what I need to maintain the control I need for her, not that I truly care for its pleasant attributes. She shunts sideways, still frowning at me but putting her cunt and ass on display for the room as she lowers her hands to the floor. “Do you feel that sensation?” She shudders as I run my fingers along her spine. “That’s greed, Alana. You’re greedy for them to see you. For me to see you.” She grunts as I slap it, the sound reverberating around the theatre space. “You’ve got a gluttonous little cunt, haven’t you?” She shivers and shakes again under my fingers as I drag them back along her spine, making my own sense of gluttony ache for her all to myself.

  My hands pick up hers of their own accord, perhaps desperate to alleviate the tension in them on something softer than the round of her ass. It’s a stirring few seconds, making me think of dancing again as I consider how long it actually is since I’ve danced a tango. At least all those years in private schools weren’t wasted completely. At least something good comes of a sadist tamed.

  “Dates,” comes from me, as I gaze back into my ocean of blue seas. She smirks a little, still with that frown defacing her beauty. “It’s what you asked for, isn’t it? Or we could carry on with this crowd fucking you instead.”

  She shakes her head sharply as she beams back at me. It’s an honest, open smile, one I don’t see from her enough. It makes me think of love again, as our bodies begin to sway, not sure how to contain everything I want and give her love too.

  “Interesting date,” she mutters, her feet beginning to move with mine. I suppose it is, but then nothing with me will be as it would normally be. Nothing will be average or usual, not the typical version of it anyway.

  “You’ve been a brat.” She snorts, making me fucking smile as I lower her and flick her back up to me. She shouldn’t think me entirely amusing. I’m pissed beyond belief that others have heard her howl, regardless of how fucking arousing it might have been. We turn again, the music beginning to flow into me as it had done all those years ago, the feel of her in my arms welcoming me into the home I refuse to need with her. “Teasing all these other men is dangerous for your health.” She gasps as I tighten my fingers into her back just to fucking remind her who she belongs to.

  “You put me up here, Blaine.”

  “No, you put yourself up here.”

  It’s the one thing I wanted her to know about herself. It’s why there was no warning, no conversation. I enabled her by denying her an orgasm, but she’s the one who’s been strong enough to show herself. She’s strong enough for anything without me. She doesn’t need me. Who fucking would? She just needed a small shove into finding herself, one I’ve given by keeping our distance. The thought riles me further as I spin her, aggravated with my own lack of abilities in love. It makes something ache i
nside me, levelling the feeling against the pain in my cock, as I let go of her hand and wrap her closer to me.

  “For you,” she says, her face slowly returning to mine as we turn again. She pants, the sound of it as infiltrating to me as the feel of her skin on mine. “I did it for you, Blaine.”

  We stop, or the fucking music does. Either way there’s nothing but her face in front of me, stirring up something that damned well doesn’t deserve to live here. I glower at her lips, warning them to stay the fuck away from what they’re asking for, but nothing fucking changes. It’s as desperate a plea for smothering as her whimpers when I make her come.

  I shake my head at her, still feeling her crippling advance into a heart that merits nothing. There’s nothing there worth loving. I need her to slow down. I can’t control this. It’s fucking freefall into an intemperance I can’t contain. It boils inside my blood, heating me along with the sparks coming from her body. She doesn’t know what these hands have done to another who loved them. I need submission, the correct route forward. Quiet control. Obedience. But this damned heart just keeps lurching for closer contact, enjoying her challenges, making me want to reach inside her and rip her apart for daring love.

  I just keep staring, bemused as to what to do as her bones undulate in my hold, for once in my life juxtaposed in my own hesitation. Move forward, or deny yet again? I’m so consumed with the question I don’t realise she’s frowning and squirming for a moment, until she shakes in my hold and tries to move. Jeering’s coming from the crowd, embarrassing her, I suppose. It makes me snarl at the lot of them and hold her tighter, unconcerned with what they think.

  “Say it again,” I snap, wanting nothing more than to hear her mean it so I can make a decision.

  “What?” she says, her body trying to get away from me. Fuck that. We’re not going anywhere until I quantify this feeling inside and do something with it. “Blaine, you’re hurting me.” I don’t fucking care about that either. My fingers just bite in deeper, to the point of pushing her downwards.

  “You want this, you fucking own it.” I snarl, as her knees hit the ground beneath me, her face looking up at me in shock, purple fucking stripes framing her. “Say it again.”

  “What? That I did it for you?”

  “Yes.” I don’t know what the fuck I’m asking her for now. Just something. Anything to make this whole fucking ache in my chest piss off.

  “Why are you angry?” she says, her lips trembling, her body beginning to vibrate as I crouch down and glare at those fucking lips again. “Where have you gone? We were … What have I done wrong?” Been fucking perfection. That’s what she’s done. It’s what she fucking does wrong every damn day. She glances at the crowd again, her face falling to the floor as they chant for more of my sadist to appear. They can fucking have it in a minute unless she owns herself, me along with her. This is what she needs to own. This version of me. She needs to lift her fucking eyes and tell me to stop. Tell me she loves me irrespective of this monster inside, the same one that’s waging a war I can’t win on my own. “I don’t understand.”

  I sneer at the words, my fingers reaching for her chin to pull her back to me.

  “Try harder.”

  Still she trembles in my hands, her feet scrabbling away and winding up my thoughts. It would all be so easy to just move forward now, just unleash myself and let her skin take the brunt of me. Everything’s here. All the fun of the fair. My magician could revel in itself, enjoy her tears for a while and tow the monster along with it, but my aching heart longs for those fucking words again, something to tame me, form me into a person who deserves more.

  “Please, Blaine.” She glances around again, her eyes looking anywhere but at me. It pisses me off. She can challenge me on every other occasion but not on this? “I don’t …” Screw her. And screw all this. I flick my hold of her chin away, infuriated with her lack of self-assurance and search the back of the stage for something to enthuse her mouth.

  “Please what?” I grumble, as I return with a paddle and some hooks, kicking out at the table as I go to send the wheels skating towards her. “What the fuck are you asking for?” She shivers there, her arms tucked around herself and a look of undiluted fear gracing her features. That pisses me off too, reminding me of what I want to do to her when she begs. It confuses me, making my mind seem senseless. There’s no quiet here, no feeling of calm descending to lose myself in. It’s manic. A fucking riot of thoughts and images. “Fuck you.” It growls out of me with as much fury as I’ve ever felt, seemingly elevating whatever fucking monster wants to play into a damned demon.

  I’ve grabbed and dragged her up onto the table again before I’ve thought much more of it, uninterested with the concept of discussions. She’ll say it when she’s riled up, when she’s forgotten all the noise around us and focused in on the only concentration worth merit. She’s said it before, she’ll fucking say it again. She’ll say it when she’s yelping and screaming, and she’ll beg me to carry on as she does, owning the fucking air I breathe because of it.

  “Look at them,” I spit, my hand levering the clips to her collar again, the other holding her neck in place as she struggles. “Look at them and remember me.” She fights at the restriction, her hands lashing out at my legs, trying to get grip. I give one of them to her, happy to have her hanging onto me, suddenly wanting nothing more than for her to grasp onto me for eternity if that’s what she chooses. “You learn what this means from me. I’ll expect a fucking answer by the end of it.”

  The paddle lands hard and awkwardly, cutting into her hipbone rather than the flesh I aimed for. Stupid brat. She bays into the air, her yelp exciting the morons in front of us. I glare at the buck that comes back at me, watching the instant pinking of her skin and attempting to contain my own mirth at the fact. She should say still, give me a prone body to play on. Be a better landing surface.

  The second lands just as hard, the angle of it against her thigh enough to make her yell out and then silence her noise. I feel it instantly in her hold on my leg as she loosens her grip and sighs, drifting off into her private space as I let another one land on her. A heckler dares to laugh in the audience, aggravating my mood. It makes me spin on the noise, my fingers holding her firm, grounding her against me as I let my blood boil on for the man that dares laugh.

  “One more laugh and I’ll come find you. Use you instead of use her.”

  There’s an eerie hush after that. It makes me glare into the dark and wish it was a man beneath my hands for a second, but then her pulse quickens in my fingers, pulling me back to her again. A whimper escapes her, her mouth trying to form words. Nothing comes, though. Only another small whimper as I send the paddle home again and wait for more enthusiasm to come. Nothing this time. No sound. No affirmation of pain. Even her neck relaxes in my hold, her body giving way to the treatment it wants as her hand lets go of me entirely.

  I move back and trace her legs, feeling the raised welt that’s erupting already. If love was a consideration beforehand, it’s now a desperation as I watch her body realise its need. It corrals every instinct inside me to offer her a home, a life, my fucking heart on a plate if I can relax within this every day. And I can’t stop my roaming fingers from inching between her spread thighs, needing to feel her arousal on my hands, needing to taste it as I take some from her and lift it to my lips. It glistens and glints in the bright light above us. Showing me how wet she’s become, how ready for me she is. And fuck do I want inside her. I ache for it as much as the hole in my chest beats for her to stitch it together. The thought makes me scan her again, as I lick my hands, considering the fucking I said I wouldn’t do.

  “Please,” she says, more reverent whimpering following the plea. “Love me.”

  My smile breaks through as I let my finger suck out of my mouth, my heart wanting nothing more than to love her. She says it so sweetly, as if it’s the only thing she wants. Love her. Yes. I can do that for her. I can love and cherish her. That’s what the
priests say, isn’t it? They talk of commitment and oaths of trust. Bonding. Lives spent together searching for destinations, perhaps aimless wandering beneath my stars. “Just say it, Blaine. Let me have it all.”

  Not here.

  I look at her lips moving as she stares into the mob, a continued chorus of words coming from them. Mused, barely coherent. Certainly not audible to the crowd, but I can hear them tumbling from her. She talks of love and passion, lust, fucking and sleepless nights. She might as well be reciting my mind’s untidy ramble, creating order within it. They all make me look at the leather around her throat, suddenly realising its worth in my community. It swells an emotion in me I haven’t felt before, forging sentiments of honour and truth. Enough so that I let my magician rise again, willing him to decimate the connection before it’s too late for her to live free of me.

  “Please, Blaine. I need you.”

  I force my eyes away from her, skimming the floor I’m standing on rather than let any other thought take hold. She deserves so much more than I’ve already inflicted, but the rise of her ass as I try not to look, the way her body lays here patiently, it proves her being. It acknowledges her need, making me lift my eyes to the rest of the mob, knowing any one of them would taint her without any care. She’ll search for it now, be desperate for these sensations again whether I let her go or not. Responsibility and self-indulgence mingle inside me, collaborating this sense of love into an all-consuming hunger. It has no rationale, no application of psychology. It’s as instinctual as my need to fuck into her. As tempering as my need to evolve.

  “Who do you belong to?” I ask, my body weaving around the table again, errant damned fingers apparently incapable of staying away from her skin.