by Dani Dundee
She traces a fingernail delicately down my back. It’s the first time I’m aware that the skin there is hot. Welts.
Mistress Grace makes a soft humming sound as if she’s inspecting her work. “I’m beginning to think I could beat you to death and you wouldn’t even notice.”
“Yes, Mistress.” I turn to look at her and she immediately fists her hand into my hair to push my head back forward.
“Did I give you permission to look at me?” There’s a snap of arrogance in her tone. I loathe it when she acts like this. Perhaps because I know she gets off bossing around weak men, and I’m not a weak man.
“No, Mistress.” I do my best to jerk my head out of her grasp, but it doesn’t work. Luckily, she takes the cue from my body language and lets my hair go to continue examining my back.
“Lucian, Lucian, Lucian. What am I going to do with you?” she muses. I can imagine the mock-sympathetic look on her face.
“I can think of a few things.”
“I’m sure you can.” Her nails trail down my sides, causing me to shiver. “Is your little dick hard?”
I roll my eyes and bite my tongue. Belittling me is one of her fetishes, attempting to make me feel insufficient. It doesn’t work. We both know I have one of the biggest cocks she’s ever seen. Her words do nothing but annoy me.
“It might get hard if you untie me.” I turn my head again to look at her.
This time, she doesn’t correct me. I can feel the tension radiating from her. Maybe she’s beginning to realize that our little arrangement isn’t going to work out.
“You’re such a disobedient submissive.” Her nails dig into my back, ripping all the way down it. It’s the first bite of true physical pain that I’ve felt all night, and only because I wasn’t expecting it. Only because I let my focus drift back to the present instead of lingering on the past. But it still doesn’t cause the desired effect. It doesn’t turn me on. It only pisses me off and makes me want to rebel more.
I give the bindings on my wrists a good yank. The Saint Andrew’s cross shakes, and Mistress Grace lets out a gasp and takes a step back. I frighten her. That turns me on.
“Lucian,” she chastises me.
“What?” I bark, staring up at the ceiling as if my frustration can rise from my body.
“Calm down.”
“I am calm,” I lie. In truth, I’m only a few seconds away from breaking free, grabbing my clothes, and leaving. I’m so sick of having to jump through hoops just to get what I really need.
She approaches me again. I feel her hand slipping into the back of the black leather collar I’m wearing. I expect her to begin unfastening it, but instead, she balls her hand so that the collar is almost choking me.
“Are you going to behave?” she asks.
Everything goes red for a split second. Rage builds inside of me, but it’s directed more at myself than at her. I’m pissed that I ever allowed her to have this kind of power over me. It was a big mistake. One of many in my recent past. If I wasn’t such a fuckup, Leigh and Isaac would still be alive. If I had made her stay and talk about things instead of walking out that door. Oh, God, I can still remember what both of them were wearing that day.
“Lucian.” Mistress Grace lets go of my collar. She must have felt my body going limp, the fight leaving me.
I think of telling her that I’m just not into this tonight. I never am though. This feels like a price I pay to sleep with her more than something that’s supposed to help me. I pay for the pleasures of her body with pain that I don’t feel. And I don’t even get to really enjoy the sex. It doesn’t seem like a fair trade.
“I think you’ve had enough for tonight.” Her words are hollow, as if she’s surrendering to the fact that nothing she does can mold me into the person she wants me to be.
Her hands work to unbind my wrists. I stay still, trying my best to be patient as she pulls the knots free. My mind flips to the coming reward. There’s always a reward after we do a scene together. Sex. The real reason I’ve kept coming back, even though I knew all along that this was a lost cause.
I wet my lips with my tongue, thinking about the tight little black corset she’s wearing that pushes up her tits so high that they’re almost spilling out. She has large breasts for such a small body, and they’re one hundred percent natural, which feels like a rarity. Most of the girls I’ve hooked up with at clubs have had fake ones. Some of them were even my handiwork. It reminds me of what an impersonal bastard I am. Every client is supposed to be special, but I don’t remember over half of them once they leave my practice.
My other wrist is unbound, but I stay put, knowing that she wants me to wait for her permission before I move. Maybe if I’m good, she’ll let me do what I want to her. That’s wishful thinking though. Insanity by definition is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. I think it’s a very human trait for a lot of people. There’s a comfort in familiarity, even if it leads to failure.
“You can put your arms down now,” Mistress Grace tells me once she’s stepped away.
I exhale slowly, dropping my arms to my sides, feeling a soreness in my muscles from having been held in the same position for close to an hour. To punish me for yesterday’s disobedience, she tied me up and left me alone for thirty minutes before our session began. You wouldn’t think that would be a big deal, but being left alone with thoughts as dark as mine is rather torturous. The silence gives pause for reflection, and nothing I have to reflect on lately is good. It’s all about the family I took for granted. The family I lost.
I wait for more instructions, tilting my head to look down at my manhood. Still not hard. It’s nearly impossible to maintain an erection when my thoughts keep drifting back to my wounded heart. That’s why I need consistent sexual stimulation to redirect my focus.
“Step away from the cross and turn around to face me.” Her voice is all command.
I do as I’m told, my eyes falling to her cleavage the second that we’re face to face. It feels almost like an obligation to get an erection for her. Anything less would be an insult to her beauty.
The body doesn’t work on command though. I’ve had so much sex lately that I’m desensitized to the pleasures of just looking. I need to touch, to knead my fingertips into pliable flesh. To trail my lips across her collarbone and feel the heat of her sex pressed against my cock. Thinking about it riles me up a little, but not near enough.
I stare directly at Mistress Grace, refusing to be intimidated by the predatory look she’s giving me. Her eyes scan down my body, landing on my dick. She pouts at the realization that I’m not turned on, and it causes a reaction, the first twitch of desire rolling through my body. Facing her helps me to imagine all of the unspeakable things I want to do to her. I have the perfect job for those lips.
She wrinkles her nose, looking curious for a moment before she walks over to the rack on the wall to take down a riding crop. My jaw clenches and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I had hoped that our scene was over—that we could get on to having sex.
I part my legs slightly and clasp my hands together loosely behind my back, standing at parade rest. I should be keeping my eyes forward, but I enjoy watching her. She approaches me with the riding crop, gently nudging my genitals with the leather keeper. My body tenses as my brain processes the possibility that she might hurt me. It’s improbable. Neither of us are into cock-and-ball torture. More than likely, she’s just trying to get a reaction out of me, or perhaps preparing to belittle me again.
Mistress Grace bites her bottom lip, staring down at my manhood. My eyes are fixed on her expression, knowing that she’s probably wondering if there’s something wrong with her that’s keeping me from getting aroused. Women always think it’s something about them when it usually isn’t.
“Do you want me to touch you down here?” she asks while poking at me.
“Yes, Mistress.” I inhale and exhale deeply, showing my frustration.
“Then yo
u need to be better.” She lets the riding crop fall away from me, then turns to place it back on the rack. “You can get dressed now.”
Are you fucking kidding me?
“Mistress?” I want to make sure I’m not hallucinating. She doesn’t seriously expect that I would allow her to do all of that to me without us having sex.
“Did I stutter?” She casts an icy glance at me over her shoulder.
Something breaks inside of me. Any thread of submission that I once held onto before falls away. I came here for one thing, and I’m going to get it.
She gasps when I roughly turn her around to face me. My hands find her wrists, the cold darkness inside of me taking over as I realize I’m about to do whatever it takes to drown out my pain.
“Lucian!” She tries to pull free from me, which only pisses me off more.
I spin her around until she crashes against the Saint Andrew’s cross. Then I force her arms over her head and pin her to it, holding her in place while I soak in the fear that’s in her eyes. It’s the greatest aphrodisiac, knowing that she’s afraid of me, knowing that her trust is shaken. In truth, I could do whatever I wanted to to her right now, and the thought is more than appealing. I’m stronger than she is, and we’re all alone. What could she do but scream?
“Lucian, let me go.” The fear fades away from her eyes, and her expression turns challenging. She presses back against me, but I don’t budge.
“No.” I smile wickedly. “We did things your way, and now we’re going to do them my way.”
I push my body against her, my lips seeking the delicate skin on her neck. I kiss her roughly while she continues to struggle, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her perfume. She smells like patchouli and lilacs. Delicious.
“Lucian, you’re not being a very good submissive.” She stops struggling, though I can feel her heart beating rapidly in her chest. Her words aren’t threatening, more like an observation.
“Did it really take you this long to figure that out?” I apply some of the same mocking techniques she used on me earlier.
“You’re an asshole.”
“Yes, Mistress.” I loosen my grip on her wrists though I don’t let go.
I want to tie her to the cross, but I’m scared she’ll slap me if I free one of her hands, not that I don’t deserve it. Then again, if she was going to fight me off, she could have kicked me in the balls. I’m naked and vulnerable. The fact that she hasn’t struck the obvious blow yet is a good sign that she’s either enjoying what I’m doing or just tolerating it.
I decide to take a chance and run my palms down her forearms, testing to see if she’ll struggle again. All the while, I kiss a path from her neck to her shoulder. The aggression is slowly leaving me with the thought that she’s going to give in to my demands. It’s a safe assumption. As soon as I remove my hands from her arms, she’s fisting her fingers into my hair and drawing my mouth to hers for a heated kiss.
My cock hardens against the cool PVC of her pants. The bite of pain from her tugging on my hair makes me deepen the kiss, my tongue invading her mouth, tasting and savoring. She matches my fervor, tiny moans escaping her throat as we kiss.
My hands fall to her waist and I draw her even closer as I love her lips until she’s breathless. She turns her head, letting go of my hair and placing her palms on my chest.
“That’s enough, Lucian. I told you to get dressed.”
“It’s only enough when I say it is.” My eyes fall to her breasts, heaving beneath the confines of her corset. The flesh presses firmly against the material, swelling over slightly. It’s sexy as hell. Makes my cock twitch with desire. This is one of my favorite things about her, the fact that she always dresses like she wants to get fucked. How can she possibly expect me to leave without getting off when she looks like this?
“Lucian, you need to behave. Do you want me to punish you again?” She sounds almost like a mother chastising a child. I’m no child though.
“How about I punish you?” I nip at her earlobe, though not enough to cause her pain. She tilts her head back, exposing more of that gorgeous milky-white neck that turns me on so much. I thread my fingers through her silky black hair and toss it over her shoulder before leaning in to kiss her throat again.
She doesn’t resist me, but she doesn’t reciprocate my affection either. She simply stands there, allowing me to have my way. I can’t get a read on what she’s thinking or feeling, but I don’t care. Before, it was all about her. Now, it’s all about me.
Deciding to act on my fantasy, I take one of her hands and force it up against the cross again. Her breath hitches, and she turns her head to face me, her eyes wide with disapproval. She tries to jerk away, but I slam the back of her wrist into the cross, showing her that I’m not going to let go.
“Lucian.” Her tone is warning.
I say nothing as I begin tying her wrist to the cross. Briefly, she lifts her free hand to try to undo the restraint, but by that time it’s too late. I capture her other wrist and secure it as well while she glares at me, though she doesn’t protest any further. When I’m done, I take a step back and admire my handiwork. Her expression is livid.
“Well, look at that. I can only imagine this isn’t how you thought the night would turn out.” I trail the back of my finger down her chest, between her cleavage, and over her corset. My blood is pumping with excitement, my senses heightened. And then I realize that I like this. Not just like it, but really like it. Seeing her tied up in front of me. My cock is at full attention, my mind swimming with all of the devilish things I’d like to do to her.
“What are you going to do now, Lucian?” The fear in her eyes comes and goes. She’s challenging me, both with her tone and her body. She’s trying to show me that she’s not afraid.
“I’m going to fuck you raw,” I tell her matter-of-factly. “That’s what I came here for. I think that’s what I’ve always come here for.”
She glances up at the ceiling for a moment as if she’s thinking. “Untie me, and I’ll have sex with you.”
“Not the way I want it.”
“How do you want it?”
“Like this. Just like this.” I run my fingertips delicately down one of her forearms, over her triceps, then across her chest until I find the zipper of her corset.
“Like what?”
“You’ve been telling me all this time that I just needed to give up control. That if I did, everything would get better. You were wrong though.” I shake my head, trying to keep the memories of my dead family at bay. “I need more control. I need… to dominate.”
She snorts in amusement. “You think you can dominate me?”
When I look at her, there’s a different challenge in her eyes. Her fingers curl and uncurl as if she’s gearing up to slap me—as if that’s even an option anymore. There’s heat radiating off her, not from anger but from desire. Now that she’s gotten over the thought of the tables being turned, she’s beginning to enjoy this. But she’s still trying to top from the bottom. I can’t have that.
“I already am.” I yank the zipper of her corset down halfway. The material gives, her breasts peeking out of the garment. My dick strains in appreciation of the sight before me. It’s taking everything in me not to rip her top completely off. It’s expensive though, and pissing her off won’t do me any favors in regards to getting into her pants.
I slip my hand into her top, grabbing a handful of her pillowy chest and squeezing until she cries out in pain. Nothing has ever looked so beautiful. This modelesque woman standing in front of me, this powerful Domme—she’s all mine to do with as I please, and it pleases me to watch her face contort, to see fear and lust and pain all mixed into one expression.
I push the top down, freeing her breasts before I wrap my arms around her waist and draw her to me until I know the strain on her joints can’t be pleasant, burying my face into her cleavage and inhaling her scent like a monster high on the thought of killing. I’m going to destroy her pussy with my cock.
I’m going to break her down—to dominate her and make sure she never forgets my name.
“Lucian,” she cries out. Not from pleasure.
I release my grip on her and grin as I finally see the assertive look wiped clean from her face. She’s resilient though, and flexible. As soon as I give her a little bit of space, she leverages her bondage to pull her legs up and wrap them around my waist.
“You think you’re such big shit.” She squeezes me hard, sending pain racing up my sides, though not enough that I want to pry her off of me.
“You seem like you’re already ready for me,” I tease, pressing my forehead against hers and wincing as she continues to use her powerful thighs against me. My hands find her tits, two overwhelming handfuls, and I begin to knead them, feeling her cool nipples slip between my fingertips and perk. “I think you like this. I think you like the thought of giving up control to me.”
“As much as you like the thought of a dick in your ass.” She nips at my bottom lip, contradicting herself. Her grip finally loosens, and she lets her legs dangle lazily around my hips.
“Anal is a you thing, love.” I kiss her hard, my hands moving up and down her arms, massaging gently, the first sign of kindness I’ve shown since I tied her up. If she’ll just behave, this could be fun for the both of us.
I move my hips slowly, my hard cock rubbing against the slick PVC between her legs. The heat of her pussy sends a welcoming sensation through the fabric, arousing me more. My aggression dies down as I realize that I’ve won. She’s going to let me have my way.
My hand finds the zipper at the front of her corset again, and I pull it down the rest of the way, listening to the sound of it snapping free. With her wrists bound, I can’t take the garment off of her, but I can open it up. Expose her completely.
My lips close in on her collarbone, and I dart my tongue out, swirling it in the dip there. She moans, craning her head to kiss my hair. It’s a sweet bit of affection that I rarely feel from her. She’s not like other girls. Maybe that’s what drew me to her in the first place. She has no desire to coddle me or pretend at romance. Unless we’re doing a scene together, she’s been good at keeping me at arm’s length. As ironic as it sounds, the disconnect is what I’ve needed to make any type of lasting connection with a woman since Leigh died. I don’t want to get close to anyone.
