Carnal Series 1 - Carnal lesson

by Harper Vonna

  “Correction.” He deposited the crop between her breasts and snugged the crotch rope against her labia. “We’ve been playing by my rules from the moment I had you in my sights.” Reaching for her bound wrists, he untied them. When he unlatched the neck chain, crazy hope surrounded her followed by harsh reality because her legs weren’t free. She fought defeat as he sat her up, drew her arms behind her, and re-secured her wrists in back one over the other.

  Alive. You’re still alive. He doesn’t intend to kill you. Never forget that.

  “We’re going inside and you’re getting in the shower. If you behave yourself, I’ll give you more water before the next lesson starts. However, if you displease me—let’s just say I’ve never had a captive die of dehydration because I know how far to take things.”

  Acknowledging he was in charge was insanely simple, but she’d worked numerous men to her advantage. Her only task was to study him and learn his weaknesses. Somehow she’d exploit his masculine frailties. Turn the table on him.

  He’d kept her upright by bracing his shoulder against her back while working on her arms. When the pressure ended, she started to lose her balance. She had no choice but to lean forward so her breasts dangled. She stared at the rope against her belly and disappearing between her legs as he released her thighs.

  He stood, bringing her with him. Her legs nearly went out from under her. She felt lightheaded.

  “Damn you,” she hissed. “God damn you.”

  Laughing, he hooked a forefinger through her collar ring to hold her in place and repeatedly struck her breasts. “Damn but you’re going to be fun. Just don’t forget I’m not some parent punishing his child by taking away her cell phone. The stakes are a lot higher.”

  Even with the pain in her breasts, she nearly cursed him again. However, he was right. If she wanted to live, she had to learn the rules. The time to exploit them would come.

  Somehow.

  Chapter Seven

  She’d nearly fallen climbing the stairs with her legs hobbled. He’d taken her into the condo unit on the right, and as he’d led her through a sparsely furnished living room, she’d heard a TV playing in the other unit. Was that where the other man and woman were? Would she have a chance to talk to the woman, learn more?

  Reno marched her through a spacious master suite to a bathroom that put hers to shame. The floor was high class tile, the counters marble, the shower all glass. The only thing that mattered was she could drink at least a little while in there.

  “On a scale of one to ten,” he said, “how hungry are you?”

  Before she could decide whether to answer, he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her onto the counter. He was still taller than her, his chest solid and shoulders hard. Smiling his predator smile, he ran his thumb over the crotch rope against her mons. “This is just the beginning of what your pussy’s going to be subjected to.”

  “The beginning,” she repeated so she wouldn’t have to listen to her hammering heart, “What about that—“

  “That makeshift dildo I jammed in you? That was impulse. Studied and time-tested methods are another story.” He pushed her back so her shoulders rested on the mirror behind her. Without use of her arms, she couldn’t straighten. He flattened his hand over her breasts.

  “Time to see what all the fuss is about.” He yanked the pussy rope to the side and ran a finger deep into her.

  Leaning over her, he began moving his finger about. Despite her vow not to acknowledge what he was doing, she started to pant. She adored sex, was addicted to it. Keeping her vulnerability and weakness from the men in her life took effort, but she did it because she didn’t ever want them to think she wasn’t in control.

  “Lubrication’s kicking up,” he announced. “You’re going to wish it wouldn’t.”

  There was something ominous about his words warning her not to say anything. Besides, she had all she could do to keep still. The rope dug into her.

  “A woman’s pussy is a remarkably simple organ.” He pushed until his entire finger was inside her. “Too many people get hung up on the mind/body connection when it comes to sex. If the body’s handled properly, the mind doesn’t matter.”

  As he started to pull out, her sex muscles clenched around his finger only to lose hold. Before she realized what he had in mind, he’d inserted two fingers in her. Filled her. Her breathing and heart rate kicked up, and she rocked forward.

  “Starting to get the idea are you?” He let up on the pressure against her chest, not that she could take advantage of it. “I have no doubt you’d try to kill me right now given half a chance. The thing is you can’t sell your pussy on the idea.”

  After a pause, he began finger-fucking her. He worked her hard and fast so her body shook. His beer-scented breath invaded her nostrils, prompting her to try to turn her head.

  “Not going to work, slut.” Leaning closer, he rested his forearm against her breasts and rammed his fingers so deep she lost the distinction between them. His body seemed to be everywhere, married to hers and yet that was nothing compared to his forceful thrusts. Was this way of telling her he didn’t intend to stop until he’d ruined her?

  Heat covered her in waves and sucked her down, down. She bounced on the counter, the back of her head knocking against the glass while her legs flopped and her vaginal muscles repeatedly tightened. Despite her crazed attempt to concentrate on anything other than what he was subjecting her to, her mind kept shorting out.

  She embraced, loathed, and feared her demanding pussy. Right before she climaxed, it felt as if she was racing up a mountain. Filled with sex-driven strength, she’d speed over steep slopes crazy eager for the furious downward plunge. She was nearly to the top now, beyond anything except the goal, wheezing and gasping, head thrashing, buttocks lifting.

  “Hell no!” he exclaimed. His lips mashed against hers.

  Gone. His fingers no longer in her, the wonderful pummeling a fast-dying memory.

  Enraged, she tried to bite him, but he was too quick and knowing.

  When he pulled her to her feet only to leave her standing on weakened legs while he turned on the shower, she stared at the closed bathroom door. Why try? He had her. She couldn’t escape. Not wanting to, she looked at herself in the mirror. Numerous bruises covered where he’d beaten her, but she didn’t think he’d broken her flesh. Should she be grateful?

  Grateful? The word built inside her, and she turned her attention to her captor. His fingers had taken her into a dark red world framed by primal desire. Other men had finger-fucked her, but it had never been like this.

  She’d never been helpless.

  “I’m not a fan of wet rope,” he said conversationally when he returned to her. “It tends to shrink. Of course sometimes that works with what I’m doing.”

  Between trying to comprehend what he’d told her and her still-screaming body, there wasn’t enough left of her to focus as he removed everything except the collar and ropes around her wrists. Reaching into a back pocket, he pulled out a knife and sliced through the G-string’s elastic. When he placed the destroyed garment on the counter, she nearly asked if he intended to do something with it.

  How the hell was she going to win this war?

  Grasping her hair, he marched her into the shower and positioned her so the spray hit her back. Grateful for the warm water, she briefly closed her eyes only to come to her senses. After kicking off his sandals, he joined her in the too-confining space. She jerked on the bonds.

  “So I haven’t yet beaten the fire out of you. Good to know.” He brushed hair out of her eyes. “Damn but I have a great job.”

  “Yet?”

  He clamped a hand over her mouth. “What’d I say about not speaking unless you’re given permission? Hopefully you haven’t forgotten.”

  Having no choice, she shook her head.

  “I’m known for a lot of things,” he said as he reached for a bar of soap, “but catering to a woman isn’t one of them. Of course—“ He lathered
a white washcloth and ran it over her breasts. “You no longer qualify as a woman.”

  “The hell I don’t.”

  “Just because you have a cunt that doesn’t mean you qualify for human status. The delusion that you do isn’t going to last much longer.”

  Arguing with him wouldn’t serve a purpose and she refused to set herself up for more demeaning comments. Besides, the longer he ran the cloth over her, the more her wounded flesh stung. Much as she didn’t want him to know, she couldn’t stop herself from trying to break free.

  Grabbing her hair, he hauled her back. “I love resistance. Trust me, I’ll enjoy it more than you will.”

  She indicated the cloth dangling from his fingers. “It hurts.”

  “Of course it does. This ain’t no spa.”

  After turning her around so the spray struck her abused breasts, he went back to cleaning her. He spent much longer than he needed to running the cloth over her buttocks. Try as she did, she couldn’t stop from moaning and stamping her feet.

  “Delightful sound. Absolutely delightful.” Planting his hand against the back of her head, he forced her even closer to the shower. Sticking out her tongue, she began lapping. As water blinded her, she took scant comfort in knowing her hair was getting wet. It wasn’t the same as a shampoo, but she’d take what she could. Much more important, she was able to drink—after a fashion. Like an animal.

  He pushed the cloth between her legs and against her labia. “Keep it there. Let it drop and you’ll regret it.”

  Pick your battles. Even as the warning sunk in, she loathed herself for giving in so easily. He waited until she’d pressed her thighs together, then grabbed her bound wrists and backed her out. Water continued to sheet off her hair, making it impossible for her to see what he was doing. After what felt like an eternity, she shook her hair out of her eyes and looked behind her.

  His erection tented his wet shorts.

  “The more excited a man is,” he said as he cupped himself, “the more you’ve always liked it. You figure you have him right where you want him. The power’s in your hands. Well guess what, not anymore.”

  Several times now he’d hinted at the reason behind her capture, and she no longer wondered if he’d taken her to feed his own warped desires.

  “Have you ever fucked a washcloth?” he asked. “That might be interesting, but it’s going to have to wait. You want to know why?”

  Despising both of them, she nodded.

  “Because lesson number two is coming up.”

  Chapter Eight

  She’d thought he’d take her into the bedroom and rape her. Instead, he’d ordered her out of the shower. In a fog, she’d started to walk past him when he pulled the washcloth out from between her legs, leaving suds to dribble down the insides of her thighs. After attaching the chain to her collar, he’d pulled her, still dripping, into what had probably once been a second bedroom and dropped the chain.

  A dungeon. A cage.

  Bars marred the view from the single window. The bed consisted of a single mattress and a frame with metal rings welded to the head and footboards. A couple of times Norman had paid her to pretend to be his sex slave—something his wife refused to have anything to do with. The first time he’d approached her with his kink, she’d turned him down, but he’d persisted. Realizing she could turn things to her advantage, she’d insisted on proper compensation in exchange for playing his game. Truth was, she’d been looking forward to the experience, but Norman’s imagination and courage hadn’t gone beyond padded cuffs. He’d spread-eagled her on his bed when his wife was out of town, leaving her with so much freedom of movement she couldn’t get into the scene.

  Norman couldn’t possibly be behind what was happening now, could he? The pussycat would never want Reno to beat her.

  But if not Norman, who?

  She’d barely noticed the night stands on either side of the bed, but as Reno started toward the one on the left, she knew she didn’t want to see what they contained. One corner of the room was taken up with something resembling a saw horse. Cuffs attached to the four legs near the floor left her with no doubt of its use. Hating doing it, she nevertheless pictured herself cuffed to the restraint with her ass high and head low. A heavy, floor-to-ceiling metal X dominated another corner. More cuffs and chains were affixed to the ends of the X, perfect for restraining a captive—her. A large half barrel that reminded her of pictures Medieval torture racks took up a third corner. She’d fight being stretched over it on her back, but in the end Reno would have her where he wanted her with her limbs immobilized and breasts and belly exposed for whatever sick punishment he had in mind.

  Whimpering, she whirled and ran for the door. The chain slapped against her legs.

  “What good do you think that’s going to do you?” Reno asked. “In case you’ve forgotten, your hands are useless.”

  Groaning, she pressed her shoulder against the unyielding door.

  “Don’t chicken out on me. Given what a ball buster you are, I figured you’d have the guts to face your lessons head on.”

  A few hours ago she would have given him a thorough tongue lashing and called 911. Now with her arms useless and her body beaten, she had no choice but to turn around. He’d opened the nightstand drawer and was placing its contents on the bed.

  “No. Oh damn, no.”

  He indicated a metal and leather device that, once inserted, would keep the wearer’s mouth open. “Is this what you’re objecting to? I think you’d appreciate its practicality and built-in safety measures.” He stuck several fingers through the opening in the metal O. “A man can get his cock through this and down a bitch’s throat without having to worry about being bitten.”

  She’d fight like a wildcat if he came near her with the damn thing—fight and lose.

  “Maybe that doesn’t bother you given how easily you can be persuaded to suck cock.”

  Taking Platt’s thick but short cock into her mouth had been the primary way she’d rewarded him for paying for her breasts enlargement. She didn’t enjoy giving head as much as straight sex but what the hell. Now—

  “Okay so I haven’t sold you on this?” He looked confused, not that she believed him. “Hmm. What else can I offer for your consideration?” He idly showed her several whips, handcuffs, and a one-piece rubber arm binder. “Am I getting warm?”

  “Let me go!”

  “Or what?” His look reminded her of her father’s expression when, as an adolescent, she’d tried to guilt him into buying her something. “I hold the trump card. Now—“ Wrapping his fingers around a multi-tailed whip, he snapped it. “I strongly, and I do mean strongly, suggest you get your naked and worthless ass over here. Otherwise you’re going to wish I’d stuck with the crop.”

  She couldn’t walk over to him! No way in hell would she let him win this easily!

  “Last chance.” The whip again whistled. “Over here and on your knees. Now!”

  “Go to hell!”

  She didn’t remember saying the words and barely recognized her voice. One thing she had no doubt of, she’d said exactly what he wanted to hear.

  No cougar had been more sure of himself than Reno obviously was as he stalked toward her. He acted as if he had all the time in the world.

  Stand your ground! Don’t give in!

  With her back pressed against the door and the knob grinding into her spine, she became lost between fight or flight. Then he lifted his arm, and she bolted. The whip struck her in the side. The sharp pain took her back to the morning’s nightmare, compromising her ability to think.

  “Run bitch.” His arm again uplifted, he stalked after her. ”See if you can climb the walls or squeeze through the bars.”

  Fear took her to the opposite end of the room. Trapped, she again faced her tormentor.

  “What do you think? Ready to surrender or shall we keep this up? Either way I’m going to enjoy it.” He indicated his erection.

  If she surrendered—sank to her knees before
him—he’d undoubtedly whip her but if she continued to resist, she’d go down with her head high.

  “Go to hell.”

  “Great decision, bitch. I couldn’t be more pleased.” The whip snaked out and slashed her breasts. “Tag, I’m it. I’m always it.”

  She took off running again, her flight made awkward because of her trapped arms and the chain tangling around her legs. She tried to put the sawhorse between herself and her attacker only to realize she’d trapped herself.

  Grinning, he came around one side of the sawhorse. She bolted for the other side, turning her back to him. He laid down lines of fire on her buttocks. Screaming, she frantically looked around. There wasn’t anywhere to go, no way to defend herself. Panting and confused, she stood in the middle of the room.

  “Too late. You blew it.”

  Don’t kill me. Please.

  He obviously had no intention of doing so, not that it mattered as he herded her in what felt like endless circles. She compared herself to a mustang caught in a corral with a cowboy on her tail, a deer frantically looking for freedom as a cougar raked its flanks. Reno struck her back, buttocks, legs, and shoulders, and when she presented him with her front, he turned the whip loose on her breasts and belly. Unlike the crop’s ability to bruise, this beast’s many fingers seared her. Red welts blossomed everywhere.

  Out of breath and terrified, she backed herself into the one corner that didn’t contain any bondage items. He watched with the whip at his side. Unlike her, he didn’t look as if the exertion had taken anything out of him.

  “I can’t…” It took all her strength not to collapse.

  “What can’t you do?”

  Confused by his compassionate tone, she studied him. Moments ago she’d sensed a killer in him, but that had been replaced by something else. Was it possible her cared what happened to her? Maybe he was playing with what was left of her mind.

  “What can’t you do, slut?”

  Exist this way. “Run anymore.”