Unrestrained

by Hill, Joey W.

  When she lifted her head, she could have come from the look on his face alone. Everything that had drawn her to him that first night was there in full spectrum. It was as if she was captured at the bottom of his soul, staring up with reverent devotion at her Master, while he stared down at his most treasured possession, so treasured he put her deep in the center of himself.

  “Master,” she whispered, staring into his face. “I love you.”

  His hand gentled on her face. His blue-green eyes dominated her vision, showing her how much the words meant to him, the first time she’d ever said them aloud. Leaning forward, he touched his forehead to hers, and she closed her eyes. “I love you, too, girl.” Then he drew back, gave her a wicked look. “But it’s not going to save your gorgeous ass tonight.”

  She knew her own gaze sparked in reaction. Showing anticipation, dread, as well as a whole lot of desire, because that response was reflected in his own.

  “Eyes down again.” Shifting behind her, he trailed his hand down her back, down to the thong. He hooked his thumb in the strap between her buttocks, tugging it against her swollen and wet pussy. “Raise that ass for me, girl. Let me see those marks I’ve put on it. See if I’ve missed a spot.”

  She arched her back, lifting to him, and moaned as he gave her exposed pussy a hard rub through the silk. “Yeah, there’s a spot.” He dropped to one knee out of her sight, and she jumped as he bit her ass cheek hard, making nerve endings scream in pleasure and pain both. Then he’d moved aside the thong and was licking her cunt.

  A gasp escaped her lips, that contact shooting her up to the cliff edge. She was trying not to be too loud, given that they were in a public place, but the attempt to restrain her cries made it all the more intense.

  “It’s time to give those spread legs some different marks.” He pulled back, leaving her vibrating like a humming engine. She heard him open his duffel, and now a switch slid along her thighs. “You were embarrassed the other day when you opened your legs instead of your mouth. I’m going to remind you there’s no shame in showing me that beautiful pussy of yours. Ever.”

  He used a lighter hand with the switch than he had her brush, but it didn’t take much for a switch to deliver a wealth of sensation. Her bleats became yelps of pain, but her mind was doing that odd thing, wanting the pain to stop, yet not wanting him to stop, all at the same time.

  Still, she was making pleading noises for mercy when he finally granted it. But apparently this was only the warm-up. As he ran his fingers over the marks, he leaned over her, speaking softly in her ear. “You’re trembling, sweet girl. Time to make you mindless. I want your only thoughts to be about what your Master desires. That’s all there is.”

  —

  She didn’t know everything he’d brought with him, but over the next timeless eternity, he must have used them all. A flogger on her back, then a plug he slid into her anus, holding it there as he worked his fingers over her clit and the slick inner lips of her labia. When he took his touch and the plug away, she was so close to coming she cried out in protest, winning herself another punishment. Then he switched to nipple clamps, ones that he tightened gradually until she was squirming, almost whining with the discomfort. As he removed them, the rush of blood made her moan. For that she earned a rubber ball gag he cinched around her head, making her feel the bite of the straps against the corners of her mouth. Pushing down her bra cups again, he started suckling her nipples, soothing the pain and making her empty pussy ache.

  She was a shuddering, sobbing, mindless slave in truth when he at last opened his jeans behind her, nudged her pussy with the head of his cock. She was almost too disoriented to register that he was at last going to fuck her, but that realization centered her. When he slid that bar of thick steel into her, she moaned in intense relief. The act of penetration fulfilled a need so great it was as fierce a release as an orgasm. He felt it, pressing his body fully against hers, curving his hands over hers on the bar as he worked himself slow and deep into her. “There she is,” he murmured. “Am I being too cruel, sweet girl?”

  She shook her head vehemently, wanting, needing to be everything he wanted, because that was what she wanted as well. She couldn’t explain it even to herself, how she could dread the torture and yet embrace it like this, finding a euphoria inside its embrace that let go of everything she’d ever worried about. She gave him every iota of control and received bliss in return.

  She lifted her hips to him, so he slid in deeper. She clutched him with those internal muscles, her own challenge, earning a perilous chuckle in her ear. “So be it. You’re a brave girl, provoking your Master.”

  He put his hands back on her hips, began to work himself in her, hard, powerful thrusts that let her feel the purely selfish pleasure he was taking from fucking her while she was restrained. He knew that was part of the rush as well. Meeting one’s own expectations, giving oneself a gift, was a gift to both.

  She tried to warn him, but with the gag she couldn’t ask permission to come. She couldn’t tell him when she was going over that cliff. He knew, though, but this time he pushed her off himself, taking her there with those pumping thrusts into her pussy. Denied the climax for over five days, and for the entire session, it hit her like an asteroid taking out the earth. Everything exploded.

  She spasmed over him, screamed against the ball so hard it stripped her vocal cords. The hot shot of semen inside her only made it more intense, the weight of his body against hers, his teeth biting into her shoulder, marking her there. She was going to be a mass of bruises and bite marks . . . and she’d love every one of them. Her Master’s marks.

  As he slowed, her aftershocks were like a seizure, jerking her body in short waves of involuntary movement against her restraints. He kissed his way down her spine and then back up. Slow. So sweet and slow. He ran his hands down her quivering sides, gently cradling her breasts in his hands as he eased out of her. He readjusted her thong, putting it back into the crevice of her buttocks, smoothing it over her swollen cunt.

  She was in a fog as he removed the gag, uncuffed her and unbuckled the collar. He had her by the waist, turned her so she was holding on to his shoulders. With a little hitch, he lifted her, one hand under her ass, the other around her waist, carrying her over to the forced orgasm tower.

  “No,” she whimpered against his shoulder. “I don’t think I can.”

  He brought her to the device and stood before it, rocking her with a swaying movement. When he at last let her feet down beside it, he stroked her hair, kissed her temple and just held her some more. In the end, it was she who turned toward it, steadied by his hand as she put herself in position to be strapped into it. She lifted her lashes, daring more punishment so she could lock herself inside the blessed prison of his gaze. Anything for him. Her quivering body wanted more, as crazy as that sounded.

  He bound her hands behind her, around the tower pole that followed the line of her spine. Now at last he removed the thong, setting it aside before he added straps at the waist and thighs, her shoulders and forehead, holding her fast. Retrieving a Hitachi Magic Wand from his bag, he fitted it into the shorter rod. He adjusted its angle so the bulbous head of the vibrator was locked against her sex, the wand’s stem pressed against the seam of her thighs.

  After he was done, he stroked her hair some more and then turned the wand onto a medium setting, his fingers sliding over her sensitive skin. A rasping plea came from her lips. He brushed his mouth over hers, and she could tell he was absorbed in her every reaction, in how she was completely his, no will of her own. Even if she was surrounded by a whole stadium of judgmental faces and angry voices, she wouldn’t hear, see or know anything but him.

  “Time for my coffee break, sweet slave,” he murmured.

  If there was such a term as diabolical selflessness, she thought it would apply to him. He asked someone to bring him a coffee, refusing to be more than a few feet away f
rom her. He put the gag back in her mouth and cinched the straps tightly around her head once again. Pulling up a stool and balancing his coffee, taking an occasional swallow from it, he studied her. The twisting of her expression, the twitching of her body like she was being shocked as the wand worked against her clit, making the overstimulated tissues scream in protest at first. Eventually, though, her body reset. Everything started to get tight and needy again, ramping her up and then locking her into a stasis of hard arousal, unable to go forward or back, something that was frustrating as hell as well as impossible to resist.

  After a time he rose, unhooked the back fastener of her bra and reached beneath the loosened cups to grip one of her breasts, tease it as she stared at him with pleading eyes, her mouth filled with that gag. He’d wrapped it in a cloth to absorb the saliva, but he traced her stretched lips with a finger. Taking his attention back to her breasts, he clasped the left one and spilled several drops of the hot coffee on it.

  She squealed against the gag, undulating against her bonds. He did it again, then did it to the other one. “I should cover your tits in wax one night,” he observed. “They’d be gorgeous, vanilla-scented wax melted over them. Then I’d come over them, over your stomach, your pretty pussy. I’d clean you up myself. Look at those gorgeous, pleading eyes of yours. You want mercy but you don’t want it, too, don’t you, sweet slave?”

  She nodded, spoke the words even if they weren’t intelligible. He would understand them, would require them. “Yes, Master. Ohhh. . . .”

  He turned the vibrator to a stronger setting, and now her head thrashed this way and that, her throat raw from crying out in frustrated pleasure. He unhooked the bra straps, removed the garment entirely. Standing back, he watched the way her breasts quivered, the nipples jutting out. He took another sip of his coffee.

  He hadn’t told her she had to look down again, so in this position, staring hungrily at him, she had an impression of what was behind him. Lots of people, gathered and watching. But it was so vague, no specific features. She was trapped in a painting, detached from her audience, a wavering shield behind Dale, the only thing she cared to have in focus.

  He stepped forward and turned the wand on the low setting, thank God. Squatting, he withdrew several coils of nylon rope from his bag. She sensed the stirring of the crowd. They liked watching him do this, and who could blame them? Being the subject of it was mesmerizing.

  Whereas the switching, the wand, all of that had been high powered, volatile, what he did now slowed everything else, even as things inside her curled up in a concentrated constant arousal.

  He wrapped her upper body, her shoulders. Crisscrossing over her sternum, he slowly constricted her breasts in the hold of the half-inch nylon. Her nipples began to tingle, that sense of hampered circulation. That feeling spread throughout the curves and slid lower, like syrup over the edge of a pancake, pooling in her loins. Her hips moved in slight motions against the vibrator now, her head tipped back against the pole. Her lips pressed against the gag as she swallowed. To have her body be tied up in such an excruciatingly incremental way, to watch his hands move over her skin, to see the intent focus of his eyes on what he was doing . . . she wanted to do those demonstrations with him. She wouldn’t care who his audience was, because to her, there was just him, his hands, the way he was making her feel.

  “Beautiful.” He stepped back, and directed her gaze to the mirrored wall across from her. He’d wrapped her breasts tightly enough that the swelling was noticeable, the nipples and areolae distended and dark. When he brushed his knuckles over a curve, the nerves responded like chimes touched by a breeze. He didn’t stop there. He did a diamond pattern down her abdomen and tied it off before commencing a leg wrap. He started at her ankles and wrapped her to her upper thighs, rendering her almost completely immobile. Now only her pussy wasn’t covered by rope, still exposed to his whim on that vibrator.

  She was making little noises, her tongue taking kitten licks at the gag, her eyes following his every movement. She wailed against the gag when he reached between her legs and turned the wand back onto high.

  Forced orgasm was an apt term for it. He’d noticed her slight, flirty movements against the vibrator and had taken away that ability with the ropes. Now she experienced what it was like to be driven to a climax with no ability to move, no mercy from the pummeling of the vibration. It was excruciating and unforgettable. She shrieked and shrieked against the gag, knowing she couldn’t take any more. She begged, pleaded, asked for mercy once more, and at the same time was forever lost in the avid pleasure in his steady gaze, the tension of his powerful body, the impressive erection she wanted back inside her.

  As the climax ebbed, it was an Inquisition torture, having that rapid vibration against her spasming clit. Proving he wasn’t a complete sadist, he turned it off, and she sagged against her bonds in relief.

  Thank you, Master. Thank you.

  She was mumbling it against the gag. From his tender look, he understood. He removed her gag and must have read her needy expression, for he immediately put his mouth over hers. He licked her dry lips, teasing her tongue, giving her his own saliva before he offered her the bottle of water. He held it to her lips, cupping the back of her neck.

  “How are you, sweet girl?”

  “I want . . . I need . . . please fuck me, Master. Please. I feel . . . empty.”

  She was exhausted physically, but never had an emotional need felt so large, so imperative inside her. She absolutely had to have him inside her or her heart might shatter.

  He nodded. Unwrapping her legs, he freed her from the pole. He left the breast harness in place and swung her up in his arms, because she literally had no strength. He took her to the last piece of equipment in this section of the room. It was an I-frame bolted to the floor. It already had cuffs and a functional collar so he put her on hands and knees and cuffed her wrists, knees and ankles to the frame. An upright pole at one intersect of the I-frame held the collar. He wrapped it around her throat, keeping her head up and her facing forward.

  She’d seen Masters and Mistresses put their subs here and then pull over the fucking machine to pump a dildo into their submissives while others watched, but Dale didn’t do that. He gave her what she fervently needed. Kneeling behind her, he once more opened his jeans. The erection he pushed against her soaking wet cunt was even larger than before, telling her how her reactions had affected him. Her climaxes had also made her tight as a virgin, such that she made a soft noise of distress as he stretched her. But he took his time, sliding his knuckles down her spine, caressing her hips with his big hands. Then he stopped, only halfway lodged inside her.

  “Beg me again, girl.”

  “Please, Master.” Tears were in her eyes. “Please. I love you. Please.”

  She could barely form the words, but that was all he needed. He slid in slow and deep, easy. She felt the stretch, the demand, but she felt the power of his gentleness as well. He pulled back, pushed back in. From his size, she expected the easy rhythm he set was an effort to maintain, but he’d made it clear, hadn’t he? His first priority was always caring for her, and she knew that was what he was doing, aware of how sensitive everything was at this point.

  She didn’t care about climaxing; this wasn’t about that. She just needed to know her connection to him was there, unbreakable. He was inside her, in all ways. She wanted others to notice he was inside her without a condom, proving the bond between them.

  The man’s control was phenomenal, as always. He took a while to come, drawing it out, making the experience so deeply pleasurable to her that she was moaning with every stroke, far beyond the base physical response of a climax. This was the pleasuring of her heart and soul. She would have gripped him tighter if she had any strength left, but she didn’t. He’d attached a padded upright bar to the middle of the I and adjusted it beneath her lower abdomen and hips to support her. That, the pole holdi
ng her head up, and the sure grip of his hands, were the only things keeping her upright.

  When he started moving faster at last, he still kept the pace even, steady. She heard the rasp of his breath, wished he’d put her at an angle she could see him in one of the mirrors. Maybe later . . . at home. She wanted him on top of her, all that strength caging her, his hands tender on her face, fingers digging into her hair. Her legs would be spread by his body lying between them, and his cock would be sunk deep into her. She wanted to hold him like that all night, let him lie upon her, as unrealistic as that was. The man was two hundred pounds of muscle. But she felt the need to be crushed, held, surrounded, fused together in such a way.

  As he climaxed at last, she let out a blissful cry, lifting her hips to take all of him, to show her desire and willingness to be taken by her Master, no matter her soreness or exhaustion. He’d gripped her hair there at the end in the way she loved, tugging on her scalp as he worked himself against her, pelvis striking her abused flesh. Tonight he would lie her down on their bed, massage her with his wonderful hands. He would care for her, punish her, need her, love her.

  She now understood to the very depths of her being why it had been wrong for her to come here alone, to try and explain it to the others. She couldn’t define or explain such a thing, any more than she could have made them understand why she’d embraced being Roy’s Mistress with joy. They thought she wasn’t being true to her nature, but she’d been as true to it then as she was tonight.

  Love was like that.

  TWENTY

  He retrieved her bra from their small stack of items. After he removed the rope harness, he put it back on her, adjusting her breasts in the cups, then he released her from the frame. He dressed her himself, threading her hands into the sleeve holes of her dress and straightening the seams. He guided her to step back into the thong with gentle hands, caressing and stroking her like a cherished possession, one that had pleased him greatly. She basked in that glow, even as she didn’t think she had the energy to do anything else. When he picked up their bag of belongings, he took her out to the lounge area with a secure arm around her waist. She leaned against him drunkenly, and he encouraged her to do so.