La Ceinture

by Michèle de Lully

  “Please...” She was groveling, but she did not really know what she was begging for, and when he raised the belt high to strike, she had to close her eyes.

  It fell on her stomach, a stinging line. She whimpered, and again the belt dangled gently, sliding softly across her body. She dared not open her eyes, terrified of seeing him standing above her, that strange cruel look on his face, and the belt in the air again.

  This time the belt struck a breast, and she cried out. The whimpering continued while it caressed her again, because she knew the next blow had to be the other breast, and of course it was, this time catching the nipple and stinging fiercely.

  Another caress. When it went into the air she had no knowledge of where it might land. The agony of uncertainty was almost as bad as the fire when it lashed against the inside of her left thigh. She had never realized how tender the skin was there.

  Knowing the next strike must be against her right thigh, she fought against the reflex to pull her legs together, to close up and protect herself. She knew any sign of resistance would destroy all she had earned. Still, the aftereffects of the stinging blow made her tremble with the effort of keeping her legs apart.

  He laughed gently, watching her struggle against herself, and caressed her again with the belt.

  She could not stop herself from begging, even though she knew it would not help. “Please.”

  “Please what?” He dangled the belt loosely between her legs. The alternation between the smooth flatness and the rough edges took her breath away, and she forgot to answer.

  Until he hit her again, across the thigh, the pain high and electric.

  “Please,” she cried.

  “Please,” he teased her. “Please what?”

  She dare not say, please stop. Never could she ask for that. “Please fuck me.”

  “No.” He struck her other thigh.

  “Please hit me,” she tried wildly, driven to despair.

  “Okay,” he laughed, and struck her thighs again. Only with supreme effort did she stop them from closing this time. Too much more, and she would lose, her legs would come together to protect her, and she could not even contemplate the disappointment that would unleash.

  “Please hit my breasts,” she cried quickly before she could think better of it.

  “Yes.” Finally he was satisfied. He struck softly, but her tender breasts had thought themselves safe, and the unexpected sensation made her world reel and stagger. The flesh swelled redness where the leather had kissed it, at the soft, heavy bottom of their roundness. Her nipples remained hard and stiff, almost as if begging for their own kiss.

  But still the belt dangled between her legs, teasing and threatening. She had to say something more, before it struck her thighs again and her legs betrayed her.

  “Please hit my stomach,” she gasped, and he did, twice for consistency. The pain there was bearable, but the stimulation of the belt sliding on her clitoris was not.

  “Please hit my breasts,” she repeated out of desperation, and even though her eyes were closed, she could sense him shaking his head. Again the belt struck at her thighs, and tears squeezed from her eyes as she fought against the need to close her legs.

  She stalled while the belt teased her again. She knew what had to come, but could not bear the thought. Anything to put it off. “Please hit my face,” she said, half-mad with anxiety.

  He put his hand over her eyes, his large palm protecting even her nose. A slap to the right cheek, another to the left, and her eyes watered.

  Where else? Where else? “Please hit my shoulders,” she offered, careful to use the same magic phrase. She was rewarded with blows on both sides, but maddeningly the belt returned to dangle between her legs.

  “Please hit my arms.” That seemed safe, but this time the belt whistled as it flew through the air, and she cried out both times. The belt was not pleased. It wanted only tender morsels for its feast.

  As it dangled between her legs again, she wept in frustration. She could not even think of any answers, and then she was out of time. She started crying as soon as the belt left, knowing where it would land, the fire on her thighs burning hot and long.

  Her knees got halfway up before she seized control of them again, forcing them to relax and leave her exposed. She was out of options, only one choice left.

  “Please hit me…there,” she sobbed. The teasing became gentler, almost soothing, and then it was gone, the belt withdrawn. When the blow came, it was the gentlest of all, but the fire that shot through her groin made her scream.

  It took a moment before the shock wore off enough that she could feel it was still there, stroking her gently, its vicious appetite unsatiated. What more could it want?

  “Please hit my face,” she offered wildly.

  “Wrong answer.” A rough edge of the belt snagged against her clitoris, making her hips jerk.

  “Please hit my breasts.” But she knew it was futile.

  “Wrong answer.” The belt trembled and jerked between her legs, as if it were growing angry.

  “Please hit me there...” The magic phrase that said what she could not. The stroke was gentle again, but her clitoris burned like a torch.

  “Please hit me there,” she gurgled, reduced to incoherency. It struck again, and now she knew it would not stop until she gave it the ultimate victory, until she climaxed from its abuse. The knowledge drove her into desperation, and when the belt slid teasingly across her labia this time, she exploded in orgasm, furiously clenching as if trying to suck it inside her where it could do no more harm.

  When she was done, exhausted and dripping, he chuckled. Through eyes slit with exhaustion, she watched him drop his pants and fuck her. His cock felt good inside her, stretching the muscles that had been so tensed against the belt, filling her with a solid center, but it could not compete with the memory of fire.

  She came anyway, when he did. All she had to do was open her eyes and see the belt lying discarded on the bed next to her while he was pumping his semen into her, and her body responded instantly.

  Chapter Ten

  She thought this week would be the same, but it wasn’t. She could feel the void pushing back in, faster than before. The beatings and submissions were becoming pleasurable instead of heart-pounding, anticipated instead of feared. The more she enjoyed surrendering to him, the less the surrenders meant. And pleasure was a flower she had long ago learned to strangle on the vine.

  On Friday, everything changed, as these things will, without warning or premeditation. She performed the unprecedented act of visiting him at work in the morning, on the way to her store. He had forgotten his wallet, so she decided to drop it off at his construction site. A simple thing, she thought, until she actually stepped from her car.

  Rough-looking men lounged around, smoking cigarettes and drinking from dirty thermos bottles. They eyed her wolfishly, here on their turf her disdain would not protect her. Into this den of mangy roughnecks, she had to walk, her silk dress suddenly seeming too thin to bar their hungry eyes from her body. One of them actually angled to intercept her. Unreasoning fear seized her and she tried to walk quickly without seeming to run. But he broke into a trot to catch her.

  Just before she screamed and burst into flight, he grunted at her. His voice was rough, but human, and she stood still instead of fleeing.

  “You can’t go in there, Miss. Not without this.”

  Looking down, she saw the yellow hard hat he was offering her.

  “Of course,” she said, clutching at the tatters of her imperial manner. “Thank you.”

  Heart still pounding foolishly, she walked into the jungle of concrete and iron bars. The men were normal now, noticing her but not staring. The helmet marked her out as one of theirs, and so she could ask for him without any more than an occasional leer and muttered comments about his good luck.

  The long wolf-whistle startled her for an instant, and then she relaxed. She knew instinctively that only one man would be allowed
to do that to her, here and now. The flicker of disdain across her face was automatic, but not real. Something deep inside thrilled at his public pride as she walked towards him.

  “Hey, gorgeous.” He left the table to kiss her. “What brings you to the underbelly of the city?”

  “I thought you would need this.” She took the wallet out of her purse.

  “I do,” he said, claiming it. “But admit the real reason. You just needed this.” He laughed and kissed her again.

  “Don’t be silly,” she snapped, amazed at her flash of inexplicable anger.

  But as always, he sailed gracefully over it. “Well, I needed it then.”

  A whistle blew. She thought that was only a cliché, but the men around her began to move with purpose and vigor.

  “Gotta go, babe.” Leaning over to kiss her on the cheek, he said, almost absently, as if it were the most ordinary and natural thing in the world, “Love you.”

  Then he was gone.

  She walked in a daze, almost forgetting to return her borrowed helmet. At the store, she drove around the parking lot three times before she remembered why she was there. She worked in a fog, guided by automatic reflexes. It was not his words that layered her in unreality, it was his truth.

  He really did love her.

  Not just as a possession, although he clearly delighted in that, even as she delighted in being possessed. Not as a duty, like family to family. Not as an answer to his own needs, a mere extension of his self. But as a sailor, free to roam the sea, who comes home again and again to the same port, choosing it above all the destinations of the world. As a choice, above all others.

  He loved her.

  And now she struggled with her own heart, the fear of exposure and the lure of the flame. Like ice, her defenses crept over her, stealthily and implacable, assured in their mission of self-defense. By closing time she was almost robotic, her mind carefully focused on nothing at all.

  After dinner, he looked at her with a touch of real concern. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course,” she said automatically, and cleared the table. She would have dreaded what came next, when they retired to the bedroom, except that she was incapable of any feeling at all. Slipping into her nightgown, she kept her blankness intact until she turned around and saw him standing there.

  “Do you need some of this?” The belt slipped free from his jeans and sang in his hands.

  The sight made her instantly wet.

  “No, sir,” she said hastily, and fell to her knees. Ripping open the buttons of his fly, she took him in her mouth completely.

  He moaned with pleasure as she tried to swallow his stiffening cock. She put her hands on his hips and took more of him inside her mouth. She wanted to fill the empty space inside of her with him. She wanted to gorge on him, to swell with his tumescence and be made whole.

  “Very good, kitten,” he growled, and tugged her up by her hair. She stood before him, her face wet and shining, and he pushed her backwards onto the bed. Her legs parted of their own accord, and her hands pulled up her nightgown, offering herself to him.

  He put a hand under each knee and pushed them forward. Then he entered her and began to fuck. With every thrust, she thought of the beating that might have been. With every grunt, she thought of the belt burning its way through her frozen armor. It was still there, on the floor, coiled like a snake and ready to strike if she showed even the slightest resistance.

  The thought of it rendered her senseless, a wet and yielding softness that he pounded again and again. The careful blankness she had cultivated all day was replaced by a different disorientation, of fire instead of ice, of giving instead of withholding, of joy instead of fear.

  After he was done with her, she licked him clean, grateful for the taste of his pleasure. Snuggled into his arms, she pretended sleep until he stopped stroking her hair and began to lightly snore.

  Only then did she weep.

  —

  In the morning, lying in bed while he shaved, a ritual that took him as long as a full shower, she contemplated the belt coiled on the dresser. What magic did it contain? How did a few feet of leather slice through emotion, bridge the chasm of her separation? But more directly to the point, how could she hold herself open, and bind herself to this emotional place, so that the belt need not batter her down every time?

  Thinking of the appetites of the belt distracted her, until she found herself masturbating. Snatching her hand away, she stared at the belt.

  Impulsively, she sat up and reached out for it, but then froze, the sudden image of reaching for a snake paralyzing her. Frustrated, she tried again, but the image could not be defeated.

  Feeling stupid, she knelt before the dresser, bowing her head until it touched the ground, a peasant in the presence of a terrible Oriental potentate. She blushed to think of him coming out of the bathroom and seeing her acting like this, but the obeisance worked. Now she could approach the belt.

  Still on her knees, she came to it, and bent her head to kiss it fondly. Cradling it like a child, she gathered it to her breast and collapsed backwards onto the bed. The belt fell around her like a snake, titillating her with its gentle caress.

  Now she kissed and licked the buckle, the flavor of hard metal strange and exhilarating in her mouth. She fed her nipples to the buckle, rubbing them into it until it pinched and bit at her. Her other hand reached reflexively downwards, but it still had the belt wrapped around it, and the leather fondled her with its loops. She grasped the tongue of the belt and licked herself between the legs with it.

  Feeling the wetness respond, she brought the tongue to her mouth and kissed it out of gratitude. Then, like it was a man, she took it in her mouth, deep and soft, letting it penetrate. It was stiff enough to hold some shape over a few inches, and this naturally led to the next step. Still using it like a man, she took it between her thighs and guided it gently inside.

  Fucking herself with a half-dozen short strokes, her other hand rubbing the buckle across her breasts, she forgot it was only leather, an inanimate object for her pleasure. Instead she tried to please it, taking it out and into her mouth again, sucking her own flavor off it the way men loved to watch her suck their cocks after they had been fucking her, the way he had watched her the night before.

  Now she threaded the tongue through the buckle, and strapped the belt across her right breast. Taking the middle in her mouth, she pulled up, cinching it around her breast in a tight grip that threatened to pinch at the buckle. With her left hand she spread her lips, with her right she stroked the tongue of the belt against her clitoris, and then plunged inside. With every thrust, she arched her back and pushed her head up, which caused the looped belt to bite into her breast. Falling back down to release the pressure, her hand would thrust the tongue into her again, and the cycle would repeat. Orgasm was but a few strokes away when she belatedly realized the door was open.

  “Having fun?” he said, and she burned with embarrassment. But not at masturbating in front of him—inexplicably, she felt like she had been discovered with another lover, caught in flagrante delicto with his best friend.

  “It would be more fun if you joined me.” What else could she say under the circumstances? At least she had not said “us”.

  Dropping his towel, he came at her wearing only a grin. She still had the belt in her hand, and so she used it, wrapping it around his stiffening cock, spreading her wetness to him. Stroking his cock to erection in her hand, the tongue of the belt flopping against her palm and his cock, she felt the exhilaration of a woman who seduces her lover under her husband’s very eyes.

  And yet, when his cock penetrated her, it was wonderful and fulfilling, the proper state of affairs, the world in the right cosmic order. Rubbing the tongue of the belt against her clitoris while he fucked her, she had the best of both worlds, lover and husband, affair and marriage, lust and love. She floated on a sea of bliss, tongue and cock pleasuring her, the belt gripping one breast and his hand firmly sq
ueezing the other. He felt huge and magnified inside her, until she became like an extension of his body, a slot on a well-oiled machine receiving a piston of steel and fire. She lay helpless to his will, bound to his desire. She felt climax shroud her like a warm fog, waiting only for his signal to immerse herself in its vertigo.

  But he did not come, some invisible restraint holding him back.

  “Say it.” He panted between labored breaths.

  But what could he mean? He could not want to beat her, not now. There was no barrier between them that he needed to knock down. What more submission, what further surrender could he possibly want? She would come now, when he did, or even just when he told her to. She was totally exposed to him, denying him nothing, holding nothing back. What else could he want?

  “Say it.” He pounded her harder, pushing down, and she responded by opening up more, letting him in deeper, offering no resistance. But still he wanted something from her.

  “Say it,” he moaned, a long, slow howl like a wolf baying to the moon, and she knew finally what it was he pursued, what he had hunted and stalked all this time, what final territory she had held apart from him. With the belt in her hands, its power wielded at her will, its rough edges biting into her clitoris as she forced it back and forth in time with his thrusts, she knew what was still left to give. Clutching the belt spasmodically with both hands like a lifeline, holding on to it against the yawning gulf that now sprung up underneath her, she said the magic words they both longed to hear. Words she had said in other times and other places, without meaning them, casually or deceitfully. But here she could not lie, evade, or cripple them with insincerity. Here and now, they could only be truth, and once said, never revoked.

  In the empty place that was her life, she turned to the stranger, the other who had fought his way up walls of ice and stone, and said, “I love you.”

  —

  Afterwards, they lay together in the morning light, and everything seemed fresh and new. The belt lay between them, intertwined, welcome and comfortable. No longer an instrument of pain, but a vibrant nerve. No longer a restraint, but a lifeline, a tether of leather binding their flesh, transforming their three individual parts into a single, complex whole.