And he had to have her.
He opened the door and gestured her inside. He walked in after her. She has no idea how cute she is in that little outfit. I should have her wear it to the club sometime. Maybe with roller skates. And much skimpier panties. He’d never seen that done at any BDSM event he’d been to. He wasn’t a fan of doing something just to get people talking, but it’d still be fun.
But that’s later. Now is now. And right now he had a sub looking at him as if she was very uncertain of what she was supposed to do, even though she normally peeled down to her underwear the moment she crossed the threshold.
He didn’t want to wait for her to undress anyway. His cock was hard, and while its satisfaction could wait, he wanted her now. So he closed the door and put his hand on her waist, pulling her close so she could feel his erection. He knew it would please her to discover she’d aroused him. He guided her into position, turning her with him the way he had on skates. Her gaze stayed locked on his. He advanced until she was pressed between him and the wall. He could feel her breath hot on his neck. The scent of her arousal filled the air, a heady aroma that excited him further. Her chest pressed against his with each intake of breath.
“You’re hard, Sir. May I serve you?”
That could wait. “You are serving me.” He kissed her deeply. Her lips yielded, opening to admit him. Her tongue against his reminded him of how good that service could feel, and he knew she would yield if he pushed her down. She’d kneel, unzip him, and take him into her mouth with eagerness. Instead, he reached between her legs. She spread them slightly, as she always did when he touched her there. I’ve trained you well. He pushed the panties aside and slipped his fingers through the hole in her tights, thrusting into her pussy. Her thighs were cool, but inside she was soft and wet and hot.
God, I love that feeling.
He kept her pinned against the wall. They spoke no words and didn’t need to. Her heavy breathing and changing scent was enough to tell him she was getting more aroused by the moment. Her pussy yielded to his fingers with increasing ease. He curled his digits to stimulate her G-spot, eliciting sharp little gasps when he rolled his thumb over her clit. He felt her pussy tighten around his knuckles even as it softened under his fingers. If he continued, he could probably make her come, but she’d never been able to fully let go standing up. It would take the edge off but not satisfy her. And he liked the edge.
He kissed her, hard, and pulled his fingers out. She stared at him while catching her breath, as if aghast at his timing. When you come, I want it to be fantastic, dear Karen. Or I’d fuck you right now and right here. His cock ached.
He took a step back once he was sure she was standing on her own. “Strip completely, and come join me in the dungeon.” His voice was husky, his attempt to sound calm and in control less than perfect. He wondered if Karen noticed, or if in the haze of her own desire she was beyond that. He waited while she kept looking at him and panting. “Acknowledge, girl.”
“Yes, Sir,” she said.
“Good girl.” He turned his back to her lest his face reveal how badly he wanted to simply fuck her, and headed for the basement stairs. Out of sight, he took a breath. The trappings of the dungeon he had set up helped get him into Dom mode. I’ve been acting like a boyfriend this morning. And that doesn’t mix with mastering her. Boyfriends can be manipulated. Boyfriends are soft. She needs hard, determined, and in command. She always has.
He walked over to the St. Andrew’s cross in the corner and gripped the solid wood. It was a welcome anchor of reality. He could tie her on it, beat her until she screamed, then fuck her hard. But she’d still be vertical. That wasn’t quite what he wanted. That left the couch or the swing, a broad, thick piece of smooth black leather suspended by four chains from bolts he’d placed in the ceiling himself. He hadn’t used it nearly as much as he’d thought he would. But for how he felt right now, it was perfect. Fleece-lined leather cuffs dangled from the chains, ready for use.
He heard Karen’s soft footsteps on the stairs. By the time she reached the bottom, he had his game face on.
KAREN DESCENDED THE stairs slowly. So many things today had been different. The trip to the ice rink, most obviously. Usually, he didn’t touch her or even greet her when she came in, just left the door unlocked with instructions. His sudden burst of passion had been unexpected, as was the abrupt stop. He’d demonstrated his control over her. I was so close. She remembered too how hard he’d felt against her. Did knowing he was going to leave me wanting make him harder? But it’s left him wanting too. She didn’t think she would ever understand what made him tick. She only knew that whatever it was, it made her want to keep coming back to him. I’m addicted, and he’s my drug.
She didn’t normally take all her clothes off either. At least not right away. She usually had her underwear on until there was some reason it was in the way. He probably doesn’t want me to wear those panties I had on. But they were perfect for keeping me at least sort of decent in that short skirt on the ice. Even if that was the reason she was naked, she felt more vulnerable than usual when she entered his basement dungeon. The nakedness had only something to do with it. Mostly, it was the fact that she was on edge.
He stood at the base of the stairs, wearing the soft, knowing smile she was so familiar with. She knew better than to ask him what he had in mind. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t tell her. He would. He’d negotiate it all in excruciating detail if that was what she wanted. But she liked that I-know-what-you-don’t look. She liked him smug, pleased, satisfied. Well, not all the way satisfied. He was hard. Maybe he’d tell her to do something about that. Maybe she’d take him in her mouth and make him come, then zip him up nicely and await his next command. She waited.
“On the swing.” His voice was soft but firm and confident.
“Facing up or down?” Down would mean a spanking. Front might mean she’d get tickled, and she had a love-hate relationship with tickling. Either could mean sex. The menu of possibilities excited her, as did the fact that it wasn’t going to be her who was choosing from the menu.
“Facing me.”
She hopped up onto the leather and sat.
He walked slowly toward her. She shivered in anticipation. No tickling, please. But she didn’t say it. She didn’t want to be tickled, but she didn’t want to say no either. It was always a conflict. The closer he got and the slower he moved, the more sure she was that what she feared was precisely what was going to happen.
He moved suddenly, pushing her back against the leather. He grabbed one of her wrists and cuffed it to the chain. Then the other. Parker, she knew, was a great believer in practicing. If he could prepare and make a scene go better, he would. He had beat more than one pillow to shreds making sure he could strike an exact target with a cane or a whip. He tied and untied knots until he could do it in his sleep—it wasn’t enough to know how; he wanted to do it smoothly. And the speed with which he attached the restraints was proof that he’d been buckling and unbuckling them until he could do it fast.
She was helpless. As she wanted to be.
“Ankle,” he said.
He could have grabbed it, like he had her wrists. This too was an element of his control: to make her complicit in her own fate, whatever it might be. She remembered one time when she had been afraid of his cane, and he had told her, straight out, that he intended to give her six hard strokes, but that it was her job to fetch him the cane. She’d done it, of course. And loved the marks she’d borne afterward.
She lifted her leg and placed her ankle in his outstretched hands. He lifted it farther, wrapping the ankle cuff around it and buckling it.
“Ankle,” he said, holding out his hands for the other one. She gave it to him, and he treated it the same. She was lying with her back against the leather now, her legs spread by where they were bound, her hands held fast, her pussy exposed.
“Beautiful.” He stepped back and walked to the chest where he kept his toys. The way she was lyin
g, she couldn’t see what he was doing there.
The one thing worse than tickling would be tickling with some of the little implements he had. She couldn’t decide which she most feared: the metal claws or the spiky pinwheel.
“Close your eyes,” he said with his back to her.
She didn’t have to obey. He wouldn’t know. But she did. She heard him rummage and then walk back. “Open your eyes,” he said.
She opened them but saw nothing but him. His knowing smile had turned sadistic, and she forgot to breathe for a moment. She loved seeing him in this mood. When he was good, he was good. But when he was wicked, he took her to strange head spaces, and he got so very hard, which always made her feel good. Not seeing toys worried her. “I don’t see anything. What did you get?”
“I placed them within reach. Under the swing. Where you can’t see them. We’re going to start with a hand. Right here.” He pulled her forward on the swing until her ass was off it, and then reached down to give her bottom a rub. Then a pat. Then a swat. “I want you nice and pink. Is that what you want, Karen?”
“If that’s what you want, Sir,” she said. She wanted the sensations. The sting of his hand and the press of it after. The stretch of skin near her pussy. The warm glow that started in her ass and moved up through her whole body. The feeling of helplessness. She didn’t care whether she was pink or black-and-blue as long as she got to feel.
And feel she did.
With each swat the swing moved her away, then brought her back into position to add to the force of the next. After a few strokes, she could feel an ache. With more, the ache became a burn, and the burn spread until she felt high and her pussy felt as wet as a river.
“May I mark you today, Karen?”
She loved it when he marked her. She could see the results of their play for days after, and the reminder always made her smile. A bit wistfully at times, but the knowledge that they would play again sustained her even if she found herself increasingly yearning for more. “Yes, Sir,” she said.
“Good.” He reached below and held a cane made of thin, whippy yellow wood, polished to a shine, in front of her.
No. This was her chance to object. And though she’d felt the cane before, she had never lost her fear of it. Its benefits were dark, deep lines on her skin and a floaty feeling as her body produced endorphins in response to the stress it provided. But before any of those, there would be the pain. It was right at the limit of what she could take. He had worse—the cane she’d given him didn’t give when he struck, and a paddle with holes in it that she hated. Those she would have said her safe word for. They locked gazes for a moment, and she didn’t say a thing.
If he was going to spank and cane me, why not put me on the cross? Or the spanking bench? Her pussy was more exposed this way, but he surely wasn’t going to use the cane there. That she didn’t think she could bear. But Parker always had his reasons. They didn’t always make sense to her at the time, but nine times out of ten they did after. The anticipation as he waited was killing her. “Just do it,” she said.
Parker shook his head. “Ask nicely.”
She glared at him. “Sadist.”
“Yes. And it’s just what you like.”
She took a deep breath and scrunched her face as she summoned her courage. Then she let it out. “Please, Sir. Give me your marks with the implement you have chosen.”
He grinned. “Good girl. I’ll do exactly that.”
He tapped her fevered bottom with the wood as if lining up. She could feel it, but she knew it was nothing compared to what was to come. Again, she wished he’d get on with it. Then she realized this was part of the entertainment for him. Making her wait, anticipate, dread. She wished she could see him better. She wished she could see if he was getting hard. She wanted him aroused and aching like she was. She wanted to please him. Pleasing him always made her wet.
Those thoughts left her head as he whipped the cane through the air and onto her well-prepared ass. She should have known a moment before the cane struck that it was going to be a hard one, but her brain didn’t process the way he moved his shoulder, then let the energy flow through elbow and wrist, until it was too late. “Son of a bitch!” she cried. “That fucking hurts!”
“That is the idea,” he said and pressed against her thigh. She could feel his hardness through his pants. She breathed and then tensed again. He was monitoring her, she knew, waiting for her to relax, because that way her body would be soft and giving and the cane would hurt less. Sometimes she felt it was impossible to relax knowing that. And yet she always did. He waited. Gradually, the pain faded, although she could still feel the welt he’d left. She closed her eyes and let it go.
He delivered another stroke, like fire against her upper thigh. She screamed. Why do I let him do this to me? Why do I want marks anyway?
She remembered a conversation she’d had with Alicia when Alicia was in the very same swing. “You love him,” Alicia had told her. Karen had denied it. But it seemed like the very best explanation at the moment. She wished she could shout it at him, but she feared he would tell her she didn’t or simply not respond at all. Maybe even walk away. She remembered how she’d offered, long ago, to belong to him. She had been new to BDSM. He had told her she needed to experience more and learn from different people. Since then she had suppressed her desire to be his and had settled for regular play. She was at least more his than any other woman was.
He flipped the cane against her flesh again, this time squarely on her ass. She felt the shock waves in her pussy. She didn’t scream. She could take it.
The marks might last until next weekend. Cane marks had sometimes stayed before. She wondered what Gavin would make of them if he ever saw her that undressed. Probably good to have a reason to keep my clothes on. Besides, she wanted to belong to Parker. If only he would take possession of me.
But that wasn’t going to happen.
He delivered another stroke after a pause. Then as she breathed and tried to process it, he leaned over and said, “The next two are going to hurt.”
“What do you think those others did?” she half yelled at him. And yet the way he’d said it, with the anticipation in his voice, made her want him to do exactly what he’d promised. “Will it make you hard?” she asked as if he wasn’t already.
He bumped into her thigh to remind her of that fact. “You know it will.”
“Then make them hurt, Sir.” Could I ever let anyone else see this side of me? Maybe some people from the club. Maybe.
“Close your eyes, and keep them closed.”
She did. He made her wait. There was some rustling as if he was doing something else. Maybe getting the plastic cane. She couldn’t help but tense in anticipation.
He whipped the cane through the air. He didn’t hit her any harder than he had the other times, and it felt like the same wooden cane. She could handle it. But this time, he delivered the second stroke a moment after the first. There wasn’t time to process or deal with the pain. She screamed, knowing all the while that Parker was not making any newbie mistake. He knew exactly how to space strokes and how hard to deliver them. He wanted to overload her, and he had. The stripes stung her ass like it was on fire, and the fire wouldn’t go away. She threw every swear word she knew at him.
He chuckled. Suddenly he slid hard into her pussy. His cock filled her with one easy thrust as he pulled on her hips to stop her from swinging away. She opened her eyes. He was naked and gorgeous. He almost always kept his clothes on in their play, but it wasn’t because he was hiding any defect. His chest was broad and pleasantly furry, and his shoulders were corded muscle. She reached for them, wanting to dig her fingers into his hard flesh, but the cuffs stopped her.
“This time,” he said, “maybe I’ll let you come.” He moved slightly, and she could feel the latex that she knew would be there. Parker was always responsible.
“You…” Better, she meant to say, but realizing that wasn’t very submissive, she ended
up saying “bastard” instead. That’s not an improvement.
But he laughed. Keeping his hips still, he slid a hand down the chain and across her thigh until it came to rest on her mound. He stroked there, looking at her with a broad grin. “Is this where you like it?”
He was missing her clit by an inch, and he knew it. “No, Sir. Lower.”
He moved his hand down, but also to the left, stroking to the side of her labia. “Here?”
“Grr.”
Still grinning, he moved to the other side. “Here?”
She shook her head. The thing was, his touches felt good even though the stripes on her ass were still burning. “You know where I need it.”
He stroked her clit, once. “Here.”
“Yes!”
“What will you do for me if I caress your clit, Karen?”
“I’ll be your best friend,” she said in a mock grade-school voice.
“You already are my best friend,” he said.
I am? She’d always assumed some man held that position. She was his plaything, his fuck buddy, his friend with benefits. But not a best friend. It shook her, and her mind swam. Already her body had responded to the cane strokes by producing powerful chemicals that made her head fuzzy. What would he want? “Blowjob.”
“Not good enough. I’m going to use you right here, as you are.”
“Then whatever you want.” She trusted him. Even though there was always a chance that what he wanted was to give her more strokes with the cane.
“Perfect answer.” He put two fingers together and brought them between her pussy lips until her clit nestled in the V where they touched. Then he started moving them in circles. Between that and the stings from the caning, she almost didn’t notice him slowly withdrawing.
Then he pushed forward, filling her again, and making her swing back from him. He kept his fingers pressed against her clit even as she swung toward him. This is what the swing is made for. His circling fingers and his sliding cock all felt so good.
Is it bad that after he caned me like that, I was so wet I didn’t need any further foreplay? It’s how I seem to be wired, in any case. Even restrained as she was, she could arch her hips to meet his thrusts, but he was deliciously in control. His other hand roamed her stomach, her breasts, and her neck. She pressed her throat into his palm, enjoying the way his power seemed to roll over her, safe in the knowledge that he would never hurt her.
Too Hip for Love Page 5
