Seven Deadly Sinners

by Dark Angel

  His mouth closes over one of my breasts, and his hand over the other. Neither touch is gentle or kind. No, Damien is devouring and fondling my flesh with the ferocity of a man having his first drink after being deserted for far too long. Knowing my body is quenching the dark desires within him thrills the deepest parts of me. Tremors of lust and need shoot through my veins. The moans flowing through my lips are so raw, so full of unbridled lust, that if I didn’t feel my lips shaking to release them, then I never would have thought that the urgent, desperate sounds were coming from me.

  "Damien," I groan his name. He doesn't respond and I don't say anything else. His singular focus is on my breasts, and his intense touch pulls back its intensity every second, so that he's no longer roughly touching me but softly. Maddeningly. I want to scream out how much I need more. I don't know what I need, but less of him is definitely not it. I am panting, moaning, making a chorus of sounds and he is barely touching me. His tongue laps over a nipple, and then rolls down, flicking my sensitive skin. Pulling back, he blows warm air on the wet skin and the cool air around us wars for sensation. His fingers are playing with my other nipple, just barely stroking circles, lines, touches that are making me so eager for what he offered before that I'm building a frustration with my lust that makes me feel like I might burst. Damien drops his hands and looks me in the eyes. He's daring me to beg. My body is desperate for me to vocalize pathetic attempts to get him to do more of something I can't quite verbalize.

  Both of his hands press firmly into my stomach, then trail up to capture my breasts. He squeezes them, and then releases my abused breasts. They ache from how roughly he's touched me. I'm whirling with the thrill of the pleasure his touch brought, and the pain. I'm so confused, and I'm so needy.

  Until just now, I couldn't really know that it would feel good. When I've masturbated to the thought of him touching me, the night that I met him, I hoped that he would touch my breasts. When I came, I squeezed my own breasts and it felt really good. But Damien's hands, touching me, are more pleasure than I can hardly stand. How can I feel so good and not be having an orgasm, I don't know, but I'm eager for his touch. The way his eyes look at me builds a pressure in my stomach that is so close, already, to an orgasm. The man is pure sex. When he touches me, I melt. When he looks at me, he drags me down into the hottest parts of hell. And every second he doesn't touch me more, I'm in the worst and best kind of torture. The anticipation could kill me with desire.

  "Sarah, you want something more, you speak up," Damien says. His voice is gruff, thick and heavy, and it makes my head spin.

  There's something about him saying my name in that dark voice full of wicked promises that makes me want to moan. Instead, I bite my lip and wonder how I should answer him. I don't know what to say. I want to tell him that I don't know what I want, but all I am able to muster up the courage to say is, "Don't stop, please," in a whimpering, pathetic voice. Will he take pity on me? Will the promises in his voice be the answers to my pleas?

  "Get on your knees," Damien says.

  Confused, I drop to my knees. It is a strange feeling to have my knees pressing into the floor, looking up at him.

  "Palms flat on your thighs," he continues to command me. He's so unreadable right now and it's maddening. Am I in trouble? What is about to happen? I'm so exhilarated, but I can't stop this feeling like I'm trying to run upstream. I'm hopelessly lost in what I'm doing, but I need to obey him. It isn't as much fear as I would like it to be. Part of me that I just don't understand, that part of me inside which I've never met before but is brought out by Damien, makes me eager to please him, draws me to obey him. I hope that there is a reward...if this is not a punishment. I wish that I knew what was happening.

  "Here are the rules, baby girl," Damien says. He looks me straight in the eyes when he calls me baby girl and my pussy soaks through my panties at the words. I see his inhale, a quick breath in his throat, like he knows. Something has passed between us, though I'm not exactly sure what. I just know that whatever it unlocked between us, I want to walk through that door. I want him to press my inside and show me every new thing that I know he can. I don't know what's in store for me but I want to feel it, explore it. I want to be whatever it is that he wants me to be. I'm ashamed at how strong my feelings are, and for a man who I think is going to sell me. I don't want to be sold. I don't think I even want to be owned, though something about Damien owning me thrills me. It also terrifies me. Could I ever be what he wants? I'm a virgin, after all. I don't even know what's going on here. I wonder how long he'll make me wait, breathing in and out with my palms pressing into my thighs almost painfully with my nerves, and I realize when I catch his gaze that he's doing this on purpose. Almost as if he can see that my mind is racing and he's trying to make sure that I suffer. It is evil, pure and simple, but there's something about his control exerted in every simple moment that is addicting. I want to know more of his control. I want to know that I've pleased him. More than anything I want to see some kind of struggle on his face, some kind of passion in his power. The way that he'd touched my breasts gave me a taste of his possessiveness and the way his raw power could turn into passionate sin, and that's all I ache for. I want it any way he can give it to me.

  "You are to listen to what I say, and follow each of my commands." Damien cracks his knuckles. I look into his eyes, hoping to gauge his state of mind as he orders me, but something dark passes through his eyes and he gives me another command. "Eyes to the ground."

  I comply. I felt a palpable loss in not being able to look at him. Damien is no doubt gorgeous, but I want to drown in his eyes. I want to desperately search the torrential waves that I see behind his facade of control. But now I don't have that chance. I almost want to look at him now as much I want him to touch me. But I listen intently, trying not to focus on my sweating palms betraying how nervous I am.

  "If you obey, you will be rewarded."

  I like the sound of this, but I've learned something in the heavy air of Damien's world versus the light air of what feels like my former life. There will be a counterbalance to this.

  "If you disobey, you will be punished."

  There it is. So why does any attention from Damien make me want to jump up and down? I've got a frenetic joy at the thought of him exerting either reward or punishment against me. Like, I have been consumed by my need for him and any bit of whatever he has to offer is water to my thirsty soul.

  "You do not have a say in any of this. You are not to speak unless I have asked you a direct question. If I ask you a question, you are not to lie. If you do, I will know, and you will be punished. Do you understand?"

  I start to nod, and he slaps me right in the face.

  I'm shocked, and I cry out, bringing my hand to touch where he slapped me. I look at him, tears welling in my eyes.

  He grabs my hand, getting down to my level and into my face, and presses it back to my lap forcefully. "Do you understand? I don't like to repeat myself." I hear the power in his voice, but, undoubtedly, I hear that he's aroused. It hurt when he hit me, but my pussy is aching for him now, thrumming with need. I'm so confused, but I know I don't want him to move from out of my face. Still, I need to listen. I bring my eyes to the ground. "Yes, I understand."

  "Sir," he continues, jerking my chin up to look at him. "You can look at me now, so that I see you understand. You will call me Sir."

  "Yes, Sir, I understand," I say, my words sounding as needy as I feel. I look in his eyes and I'm grateful to be able to look at him. I see the fire in his eyes and I can't imagine a greater reward than him looking at me this way and knowing it is because of me. If I disobey and he's this on fire, what will my obedience do to him? His face is a perfect mask of lust and I want to look at him forever.

  "Eyes down, legs spread." Oh, he's taking away his face, but I'm giving him my pussy. I comply and he tears off my pants. I try to keep myself in the position because I'm trying hard to be good. I want to know what being good feels like. My f
ace stings, mostly because of the shock of being hit, but also because it was not a light hit. I'm shocked that he did such a thing. But I'm even more shocked that it didn't feel black and white. I feel that we're living outside the lines of simple color right now, and I'm not sure where this all leads. I've always been a good girl at school, followed rules. But this kind of authority? This can't be what all boyfriends are like. Not that Damien is my boyfriend. I don't think I'd want that. The idea of watching a movie with him or cuddling with him are not nearly as exciting as me imagining what I'm going to do with him today.

  I'm going to do my absolute best to do everything that he asks of me.

  "Your pussy is so wet for me, Sarah," Damien says.

  My face heats intensely and my head feels a little dizzy. I want to cover myself. My legs are spread and I'm bared to him and I'm intensely nervous. I realize that I'm trembling. My fingers are digging into my thighs and shaking to cover myself. But I can't. That's not what Damien told me to do.

  "Breathe for me, baby girl. Don't want to lose you now when the fun hasn't even begun." Damien stands and it is all I can do to follow him with my eyes. I want to see him. I want to know what we've just begun. I want to know where it is going. My mind is racing and my cheeks are flushing, I can feel it. I need to know. The urge to control this, organize it, like I do everything else in my life is crushing me. I want to be able to know what comes next and plan for it. I want to do the right thing.

  But that's it. Right now my obedience is required, and I've not been told to do anything but to maintain this position. So I will.

  My pussy is wet. I can feel how slick my thighs have become, even through my clothes, before he removed those clothes. I'm pleased that he's pleased.

  "You're so obedient thus far. I don't want that to change. But you're nervous, and I think you need punishment anyway. You need to feel the weight of what disobeying would mean. Maybe it can empower you to behave. I wouldn't want to spoil you with too much reward. I want you to earn that." I can almost feel his strong voice vibrating through my body. I'm trembling more than ever and trying hard not to move my hands to cover myself, or touch myself. I need some kind of relief and now I'm going to find out what punishment means, even though I've listened. It seems unfair and my first urge is to pout. I want to push the feeling down but something is rising within me, almost irrationally, and I want to act out, even though I'm already getting punishment. Perhaps because of it. Maybe the weight of everything that is happening is getting to me, in this moment, as I have no relief. He walks toward me, and I can see his shiny black shoes coming toward me as my eyes are still cast downward. "This will please me," he says, and those words are like a salve to my confused soul. I want that. I want to please Sir more than anything.

  In my mind, something about how he walks toward me, brings me this promise, makes him Sir to me. Damien is Sir, and yet...Sir is not Damien. I know that beneath this power, there's a person. But right now, I want to be the putty in Sir's hands, and please him, because I believe that will please not only Sir, but Damien. I can't explain my thoughts any better than this but it seems right to me.

  I try to breathe like he said. Sir gets down on the ground and brings his hands to between my thighs, rubbing his knuckles through my slit and making a wet sound that makes me so shy I want to hide. Oh god, how will I ever endure this? Why did I think that I could? Panic is setting in and my heart is racing a million miles an hour. I want to be curled up in a ball in a snowsuit, not naked in front of a dangerous man who has my pussy so wet it makes a wet sound when he touches it. I'm trying to breathe but all I manage are shallow inhales and exhales. I suck in my lips and try to focus on just waiting for what he's going to do or tell me to do next. His hand has returned to him and left me, and I can feel a chill in the air where he's not touching me anymore. I'm burning for him. Aching for his touch, his command, his...punishment.

  On cue, when I'm almost ready to explode, his hand is lying my body back, stroking up the curve of my stomach. Then, he picks me up and brings me to the master bedroom, placing me on the bed with my back facing him. I'm already so frightened. He's not going to tell me what's happening or let me see him? How will I ever endure this? If I could look at him, would I be able to still take it? I can't determine if I'll be better when he starts to punish me because I know what's coming, or worse because I will have to endure it.

  He walks toward an armoire and pulls out a strange set of cuffs, a blindfold, and a strap contraption that I think is a gag. I want to scream. What does Sir have planned for me?

  Can I take it?

  Will he be pleased if and when I do?

  I take deeper breaths, attempting to control my quaking body as he straps the gag onto my face. I can breathe, still, the gag is just preventing me from talking, which I'm not supposed to do anyway. This is a kindness. By the feel of him strapping my wrists and ankles together with the cuffs, it is the last kindness that will be present in my punishment. I let my tongue cup around the odd ball of the gag, try to focus on my breathing. Every touch of his fingers makes me want to scream. I don't know what comes next but Sir has already made me come undone. I'm desperate, and I realize I'm moaning when I hear him laugh. He runs a finger along the center of one of the backs of my feet and it is a shocking sensation. I didn't know that touching my foot could feel erotic. But Sir is so enticing, I think he could make eating a can of beans erotic. Now, I want to laugh, because that's one thing I can imagine him doing. It helps to lighten the mood, for just a second.

  Then, his teeth sink into one of my ass cheeks and I groan, hard. I'm grinding my pussy into the silky bed sheets, desperate for his touch. But the punishment is unlikely to involve an orgasm. Well, at least that's what I think. But every time he touches me, I'm so desperate for it that I think I just might be able to come if he touches me for more than a few seconds. We're testing that theory because his teeth release me, stinging my skin and making me pant harder against the gag, and then his hands are rubbing my ass cheeks. His large hands cover my whole ass. I have a bit of a bubble butt and I'm imagining what a sight I must be. There must be teeth prints on one cheek, and his hands are so much bigger than me that he's dwarfing my ass while it jiggles. It wouldn't have seemed sexy to me, but he's touching me, and that's the sexiest thing I can imagine. Oh God, I know now in this moment that no matter what he does to me, I want it desperately. Punish me, bite me again, I want to shout and beg and plead.

  Then, both of his hands rise and fall in several quick successions, spanking my ass hard enough to make cracking sounds break through the air. Sir hits the exact same spot, again and again, and my ass is certainly red and raw. I'm groaning, yelping, and aching deep in my pussy for him to stop, or keep going, or at least just keep touching me. I can think of nothing but complying. I am supposed to take my punishment, and I will. I start to breathe more evenly as the spankings keep going past thirty and I just can't count anymore. He's not being gentle. This is not playful. My skin is dancing fire and aching lust in what is certainly an angry looking red. My pussy is drenched, despite the fact that he's hitting me again. There's a pool of my arousal blooming around my pussy on the bed. I can feel it. I bet he can see it. I guess I should feel ashamed, but instead I feel something I never would've understood before. I feel proud. This hurts. I'm crying. I'm embarrassed and a little ashamed, I'm afraid, but I'm more alive than I've ever been. I'm yelping into my gag and desperate for him to stop. To never stop. He keeps going and I'm somewhere else. I feel everything he does, yet the rest of my body also lights up. I'm floating throughout the room all while I'm still weighted down by my restraints. I feel the pull at my wrists and ankles, the strain in my shoulders, the biting sting from where he slapped my cheek earlier, and on the ass cheek where he bit me. My nipples that bit and tugged at and numb with pleasure and pain.

  I'm a symphony of pain and pleasure wound into a ball of being. Just being here. His words from before echo in my mind. This feels amazing, and I'm not sure it is
punishment, even though it hurts. Then he stops. The pace of the spanking stops, and the momentum of pleasure/pain turns to pain. It stings horribly. He flips me over and I'm gasping against the gag. The cold wetness from my arousal is on the bed sheets.

  "You liked that more than I thought you would, Sarah, but we're not done yet." Sir's eyes drop to my pussy and his hands come down, hard. Right before my pussy, next to my thighs. Again, he's not hitting softly. This is a punishing pressure, and I'm so sensitive and needy that it makes me scream out against my gag. If I could talk, I would be begging him to stop. Then he switches to one hand and smacks me right on my pussy lips, making me shout in sensation. It fucking hurts. It hurts so goddamn much but I'm...so wet. I'm terrified that he'll stop and I'll be left to burn where he's spanked me, my ass and pussy ablaze, and with no relief. That's the real torture here. He's worked me into a frenzy, but he's not letting me have any release. He keeps spanking my pussy and I'm yelping. Fat, hot tears run down my cheeks as I'm aching for him to make all this pain mean pleasure. I want more. I want it to stop. I want it to break free what's swelling up inside of me. There's a pulsing heartbeat in my clit desperate for him to keep going, to stop, to never stop touching me. I'm so confused. The heat map of my body is all I can think of. I'm not afraid or stressed; I'm consumed by the flames licking at my soul. His slaps stop and he presses four fingers into my pussy, I can see and feel it, and his thumb starts to circle my clit.

  "Now, you will not come until I say you can. Be good for me. You're doing so well, baby girl," Damien says practically purring his praise and that's enough to send a rush of arousal to shake me to my core. I'm trembling, squeezing his fingers claiming my pussy, pressing into me so good. I'm slick, dripping, and his fingers meet no friction. He's fucking into my pussy so fast that I couldn't keep up with the sensation or my breathing if I wanted to. Every inhale turns into another flutter and I feel an orgasm so close and pushing back those waves is literally painful. I need to come. It is all I can think about. I'm begging, which is only mumbling against the gag, but I hear him sternly say, "No."