Amber used to be able to come with nipple play alone, and I wonder if she is still that well trained. Every Dominant embraces their own flairs – original touches – and I am certain that Raniero blessed her with his. He is a smart one, wrapped with a handsome package, but his dominate lends itself to the quiet and reflective. He is dangerous. I’ve witnessed him in action more than once.
My own need to control is more brazen and forceful. I have no qualms in doing whatever is necessary—blindfolds, gags, restraints, deprivation, humiliation. Behaving isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Sometimes the ornery ones are not only the best, but the most fun. I like the challenge of the conquering. And Amber represents the queen of difficult. While she is malleable on the physical side, she is unrelenting in giving up emotions.
“Archer,” she whispers. “You can make me come, but it doesn’t make us one.”
Instantly, I turn up the heat. Biting and gnawing at her tender spots, I want to make her hurt. I need her to wake up tomorrow and be reminded of what we did and who I am. I will not accept anything less. My fingers twist her nipple, sending a fiery flame through her core. I wish she wasn’t tied down, I would flip her over just to bruise her ass for that comment.
Releasing her splendid peak from my mouth, I use both hands on her nipples, a groping, amorous coaxing of past and present. “You can be quiet now, my slut.”
She spits, “Fuck. You.”
Letting go, I remove the strawberry, popping it into my mouth. I want to walk away, leave her stirring and craving more. But I can’t. I have to mark my place. She must know who she belongs to, it is key to Amber opening up. She must feel owned—fully and completely like a possession.
Improvising, I grab a bandana out of my things and roll it taut. Stretching it out across her face, I growl, “Bite.”
Before obeying, she sneers, “I hate you.”
“That’s nice,” I say with a cocky smile as I tie the makeshift gag around her head. “I adore you.”
She stares me down like I am the enemy as the tears well up in her eyes. I want to tell her to calm down, it will be alright, but I don’t do that because I am a bastard. Instead, I drop my pants, kicking them away and rise up to straddle over the top of her naked body. My dick flops on her chest, and she strains her brows, giving me the look that says she wants me, but she is so afraid.
“Here is how it is going to be, my pretty little slut…” I mumble, stroking her face. “Fifteen years ago, you were mine. Yesterday, you were mine. Today, you are mine,” I whisper, lowering my face to hers. “And tomorrow, you will be fucking mine.”
I realize as I am saying it, I sound like a stalker. A sociopath. A crazed man. But her expression opens up with an enlightenment like she never knew she belonged to me. Like this is news. Like before… we weren’t made clear. Like before… there may have been some doubt as to my intentions.
“I need you to give me your trust. I need you to put that faith in me you did years ago. I am not letting you go again. I am not giving you up. I am not pushing you away. I am holding onto you with everything I have because you are all that I have ever wanted. And if you don’t choose to see that, I will open your fucking eyes.”
She blinks at me with her doe eyes, flashing those beautiful stormy blues at me. I don’t want to know what she thinks, I don’t care. With her pretty mouth biting the bandana, I lean down and lick her lips slow. Her eyes express a conflicted chaos of emotions when I stay too close, too long in her space. A smile broadens across my lips as I lift back up and begin rhythmically stroking my dick in earnest.
Her eyes expand in shock like how dare I have the audacity. We’ve drifted far from the one-night stand several nights ago, but I know she remembers this. I know her body remembers this. I close my eyes briefly as I pump my cock, bringing my full throttle erection to her lips. I graze the tip over the lush fullness, wanting to feel her sucking me down.
Rubbing my dick all over her face, I growl, “Will you behave?”
She nods with a desperation, and for whatever reason, I trust her. I know she won’t bite me despite her anger. She doesn’t have that in her—at least not with me. I am her prince, her king, her god in heaven, or devil in hell, but her loyalty to our truth is unwavering. She’ll fight me; I’d expect no less. But I am her alpha dog and she is my bitch. We were unbreakably bonded years ago and neither time nor space can change that. Just because we couldn’t be together, the bindings never broke.
Lifting her head, I make quick work of loosening the knot, moving it up over her eyes. I cinch it down—tight. Her mouth opens as she takes a deep breath. My lips greet hers with a kiss that seals the deal, and she knows this as her mouth collapses against mine, offering her tongue in a swirl of lust and anger. She can be mad. In fact, she should be. I’m the bastard that tied her ass to a table for hours.
One of us needed to make the move and say the truth.
Parting away from her eager lips, I whisper, “Hi there… Are you ready to behave?”
The words she says next sound like angels singing in the heavens above. “Yes, Sir.”
“Tell me what you need, Amber…”
“I need you—D.”
I love how she calls me D. D is for Dominant, and the dick I am. A smile careens over my face as my thumb rubs against her lips. “You want this?”
“Please,” she whispers with a heavy sigh, “Give it to me.”
Straddling over her neck, I rub my dick on her lips. Her mouth engulfs it quick, sucking me from tip to balls. She’s hungry, taking my cock fast. Her lips tighten—just right—around me, offering me shelter in her starvation. It feels too good and I am going to come too soon. I pull out quick and dismount from the table. Grabbing my blade, I sever the ropes as I don’t have the patience to deal with knots right now.
“D?” she whispers, “What are you doing?”
Picking her body up, I take her nipples into my mouth. She is so beautiful, so perfect. I will spend the rest of my life packing a chub for this woman. “God, I missed you so much,” I grumble between kisses. Her hands twist and lock into my hair. “I need to fuck you. I need to mark you.” My dick turns hard as stone with the thought of spanking her ass red.
Flipping her around, I push her down to the table. I am not gentle. I am rough. And mean. I hand presses her face to the table as I thrust into her with force. I drive my dick repeatedly into her wetness. She is moaning and bucking and begging as my palm meets her creamy porcelain skin. The color draws up quickly, and I know I am too worked up to not render her bruised. But I don’t care.
“Fuck me, D… Fuck me hard. Please, yes…”
She wants this—my gorgeous little slut. She is a slut for only me. Putting her trust in me, I accept the responsibility. I will treat her like a fucking princess on a pedestal everywhere but the bedroom. She knows this, too. But during our darkness, wherever it may find us, she is my slut, my whore, my bitch, my submissive. She welcomes this, too.
My hand jets against her skin as I roll my hips against hers. I ease my hand beneath her, groping her tits, squeezing her nipples and kneading her flesh. Her mouth opens in cry of ecstasy and pleasure. She will come now. On my dick. With me.
“Amber… Do it babygirl,” I encourage, pumping hard and popping her ass with every thrust. “Do it,” I command. She knows it is time to come, and if she doesn’t, punishment will occur. I need to feel her pussy clench tight onto my dick, soaking me with her juices and pulsing on me with want. One last time, I warn, “Do it!”
The vibrations start deep within her body as I feel the reverberations shake my dick, squeezing desperately. I pump several more times until I cannot take it any longer, and spill my load immersed within her flood.
Stumbling backwards, I find my balance and head to the bedroom as she recovers, trembling and drooling on the table. I toss the few items scattered around the room into the closet, making an acceptable and functioning room to keep her in. Pulling the bed down, I fluff the pillows and smile at m
y housekeeping abilities.
Returning to the other room, I feel my heartbeat pounding in my chest as everything wonderful turns to a grim blackness—she is gone. The trained weapon that I am kicks in, firing off strats and ticking off plans.
I am the hunter.
And the missing girl is the prey.
* * * *
The weekend at the cabin, I found Amber—the girl she longed to be. Her beautiful spirit resonated whether riding my dick or tied to my bed. A quick study, she proved to be worth every minute. She never complained or whined. She liked it rough, and just when I thought she had enough, she would beg for more.
We went from the simplistic handcuffs and blindfolds to ball gags and spreader bars in record time. With every push by me, she lurched ten steps ahead. While in retrospect, I know I should have pulled back on her reins, I couldn’t at the time. I was enjoying her out of control and wild as much as she was.
She was taking a girl out of a cloistered, closeted life and showing her the sun. She wanted to bathe in the light I showed her through the end of my whip. I never imagined how much she would burn in that sun mere weeks later. Nor did I realize I would be the sun, causing the burn to her skin and scarring her heart permanently with my name.
Of course, I would not walk away without my own wounds. Big gaping holes gushed blood for years for the sins I committed against that beautiful doe-eyed girl. But in this moment, she was strapped to a chair with her legs forced apart as I teased her clit for hours, and we had no idea of the storm ahead.
She purred and mewed like a good little girl, moaning and gasping at all the right cues as if she had the script of the scene. Fight here, come then. And I was sunk.
There was no way she could compare to the girls at The Holding Room. While they benefited from a certain amount of presentation, they tasted the fear of punishment. Amber had no fear; she was raw, eager, and willing to try anything. In her unintentional hint of belligerence, her body seemed to beg, “Hey, come try me, fucker. We’ll see who wins.”
She won more than I wanted to admit. I would give in readily. My dick was unable to take the strains of desire any longer, which if anything, showed a lack of discipline on my part. Her inexperience had no knowledge for discerning this though. She assumed every Dominant reached their own breaking point, submitting to the call of the siren.
I wasn’t about to tell her otherwise.
And that one subtle, little difference had led to everything blowing up in my face.
Those eight weeks her mind and body were mine. Training her to be mine, I had no need to show her any other way as I assumed—wrongly—that she would always be on my leash and under my control. Finder’s keepers and all that shit.
Amber arched her back as far as she could in the chair, begging to come. I had been alternating licking and fingering her clit, and popping her nipples and swollen pussy for hours on end. I had made her cry and given myself a raging, painful hard-on. I was not without punishment for my crimes committed to her body. The erections her presence brought on were fierce, heat-seeking missiles, determined to locate their target—her wetness wrapped tight around them. My brain went into auto-pilot with my dick at command.
She was heaven, and she was hell.
And I was nothing more than a minion on her hedonistic experiment.
AMBER
HIS COME SEEPS down my thighs as I run into the woods. I have no idea where I am going or even what I am doing. The sandy terrain nestles between my toes, exfoliating the skin on my feet. I soon realize that without shoes—or clothes—my escape is limited to where I can hide as opposed to how far I can run away. Eventually, this will hurt.
I need to play smart, but I am not completely sure why I left. The scene with Dale Archer was every fantasy and dream I had for the last fifteen years, but the emotions drag me down a spiral I am not sure I am ready for. I know he wants me, and I want him, but it isn’t that simple.
I know how he is.
He’ll shower me with love, attention, and gifts, and I will let him push me further until I topple over the edge. Neither of us will know where to stop.
I’ll end up broken like a doll, chipped and torn and overplayed. He’ll push me away, thinking he is bad for me, and I will end up on the shelf, collecting dust.
I am never whole without him. So, I am stuck. Lost if I don’t; fucked if I do. The addiction to one another is real. My need to serve his every whim, and his desire push me. Like a junkie, I’ll need more to get the high, and he doles it out because he enjoys it when I cry.
He’s a real sadist that one.
Walking between the pines, I carefully traverse over the rocks. They are slippery and damp on my feet with sharp edges. The divots puddle with cool rain water. I search for somewhere to hide, a fallen log or a bunch of brambles. I know he will be searching for me soon.
My toes sluice through the muddy ravine as a chill whispers through the trees. Naked and alone in the woods, I’ve handled worse, but mentally I was stronger then. Dale Archer leaves me depleted and unstable—wrecked. Devoured from the inside out, my body reflects the bruises, but my soul blackens like the midnight sky under a new moon.
I run as far and as fast as I can until the pain singes up through my feet, succumbing to the thorns and terrain I slump to the ground amongst the knurly limbs. My body curls in pain like a dying insect, wrapping my arms around my torso as I rock in a sublime silence. I want to believe I have won because I escaped. I need to think I have the upper hand, but we both know I don’t—I never have.
In the distance, the roar of the four wheeler echoes through the tunnel of trees towering over me. Crying quietly, I accept how this ends, but I find a mirthfulness in my desperation, bringing a boisterous laughter to my lips.
Now, not only is my porcelain skin sitting amongst the umber background like a target, but I am making an uproarious amount of noise. The idiocy forces tears amongst my hysteria. The chaos sings with a resounding choir, harmonizing in unison with adagio strumming repeatedly in my soul. In the moment of my peril, the betrayal of my own soul is transparent.
My wishes are to remain solitary, alone, confined and safe within my cocoon. Dale slices through the threads, exposing my raw, corroded core and prying my body from the sanctuary of the womb. His enlightenment shines upon me like a beacon, warming my skin and unthawing my frozen heart.
But I do not know this—this spotlit pedestal he puts me on. And he cannot maintain the level of security necessary to continuously provide me with the warmth. At least—I do not believe.
I do not trust.
My fingers tunnel into the earth as I wish to escape within her soil. The low din of the engine booms closer, and I embrace the future. His warm glow illuminates as he routs the mark—me. He says nothing, catapulting my filthy body onto his shoulder.
He sits my ass upon the four wheeler and offers me sips of tepid water as he drapes a blanket over my shoulders. I can tell he is pissed—really pissed. The silence is indicative, and I know I will pay for my bad behavior.
As he spreads my legs to straddle the seat, I feel myself excite and dampen with a desire. My body responds to the thoughts of his discipline despite my mind wanting his light on me extinguished. In my mind, I don’t want his heat.
My kitten disagrees, pulsing with a yearning and drenching the seat. He mounts up in front of me, pressing against her cries. I gasp at the feel of his jeans, rubbing me there. My eyes close as he hits the gas. The ride back to the cabin is bumpy and jarring. If anything, encouraging my arousal as my arms grip hold of his packed solid torso. I feel the piece aware that there are two games in play.
The game of power and control, D and I play with a focused ferocity. The other game involves the men who destroyed my house with their bullets. It is a difficult call to make, which one is more dangerous.
My body feels exhausted to have only traveled such a short distance from the cabin. Dale drives fast. I can tell by his body language, he is angry, raging beneath th
e surface. I know I am going to get it when we get home.
He pulls up so close to the front door of the cabin, he almost hits the decorative railing, but he doesn’t care. His arms grip around my body as he yanks me off the vehicle. Barreling the door open, I don’t bother to squirm or fight.
I bask in his beautiful light.
Because I have no other choice.
* * * *
In a small log cabin by a lake in Georgia, I had found heaven in a man I hardly knew. My kinks may have come as surprise to him, but I welcomed their presence as soon as I started masturbating. “Here’s a thought,” my younger inner voice thought, “Let’s dream about someone taking you away from this horror story.”
Eventually, I learned to find comfort in words of online forums and graphic pictures on the internet. It was in one the forums where I discovered I could make some money on the side. Dirty old men loved talking to a sweet young thing like me. I told my sister I needed to open a mailbox so I could apply to colleges. I didn’t want them thinking I lived in the shants. Evie bought the lie.
Soon, I was getting all kinds of gifts. I would write emails, converse in private chat. I never took pictures or showed my face. I seduced them with my words. I didn’t get rich, but for a couple years I managed to keep my mind occupied and off of my daily nightmarish existence at home. I ended up graduating with honors, and no one but Evie bothered to come watch me walk across the stage. Afterwards, she wanted to go party which meant lines of something.
I declined.
She dropped me off at the local burger joint where I celebrated with a chocolate shake and french fries dipped in white gravy. I chatted with my favorite pig. He had a family and kids and an overworked wife he didn’t want anymore. He wanted to explore his kinky side, and he did that with my words. He sent the best gifts.—clothes and food—which was far more than I had at home. We were lucky if the fridge contained a jar of mustard much less any real sustenance.
Fluff Page 13
