Nawashi

by Gray Miller

  She pulled away from his cock slowly, letting him see her lips lingering over the mound. “Yes. I am a slut, I want you to take me, fuck me, use me now.”

  Brian reached down with his hand and grasped her hair behind her neck, pulling her head sharply upward and away from his cock. She gasped at the sudden pain, her eyes alarmed and confused. “But I am not a slut, you see. I am a Dominant, a Master, and I choose when and where and how you will be fucked.” He leaned in closer. “It’s not about you being a slut, Sally. It’s about you being mine.”

  With that, he loosened the square knot and lifted her to her feet, her body working out the stiffness while she stared, eyes still wide with desire but also with a touch of helpless confusion. She could feel the stirring behind the walls of her defiance stronger now. And its strength frightened her. “You’re not… not going to fuck me?”

  He didn’t look at her as he led her to a semi-private alcove, past all of the crowd that had gathered to watch. “If I do, slut, it will be at a time and place of my choosing. Not because you tell me to.” He stood her in the rounded alcove, about ten feet in diameter, with a faux tiffany lamp hanging down into the open area. There were mats on the floor, and a stack of clean blankets on one side of the entrance. Naked save for her stockings and heels, she stood, arms at her sides, not turning, not even considering the idea of moving. She waited for what he would do next, listening as he arranged something behind them.

  Finally there was silence, and she stood there, breathing, for what seemed hours. Her ass was still on fire from the working over he’d given it, a throbbing ache that at the same time sent pulses of excitement to her clitoris. She could feel, even as she stood there, a long slow drop of moisture flowing from her labia down the side of her leg, and she couldn’t remember a time she had been more scared, or more aroused.

  Suddenly he was there, behind her, and she could feel the bulge of his trousers pressing agonizing friction across her ass, the soft material of his shirt brushing her back, and his breath at her ear. “I am truly pleased that you have found the slut inside of you, Sally. But desire is not enough; we must also have beauty, and we must have discipline.” His soft tone grew more intense as he pressed closer into her. “I would decorate you with my ropes, slut. Will you give your body to my art?”

  The words traveled to her head with a whirling rush of blood and emotion, and she swayed a bit, leaning into him. Deep inside, the stirring came fully to life, and she recognized it for what it was—the desire she had to submit, to be taken fully by this man who played her body and mind with virtuoso skill. Now the walls that had been her defiance became her cage, the strength of will she’d developed as an independent adult keeping her from that final leap, from being able to feel the surrender to the power that pulsed within her. She pushed against them, her need a vast serpent coiled and restless within her, constrained within the walls of inhibition. She felt the sudden urge to weep, not from pain or frustration, but from the desire for freedom that seemed so close but was just beyond her reach.

  She opened her mouth, and at first no words would come out. “I will try, sir,” she finally managed, and almost sobbed when she felt his hand stroke her neck.

  “That is all I ask, slut. We begin. Place your arms behind your back.”

  They arrived at the Mother’s house easily.

  Their eyes could not be deceived by something as basic as a Ward, because they saw with deeper views than the humans that were their prey. They could see the Mother inside, smoking a cigarette as she washed dishes. They could see the blackness in her lungs as it spread micro-thin with every breath. They could see the stretchmarks like flames flowing across her stomach. They could see she’d had a lover the night before.

  Yet they waited. Because they could not see the Daughters.

  Yet.

  Her wrists lay parallel to each other as her arms crossed behind, unconsciously arching her back slightly to thrust out her breasts, nipples darkly pink with her arousal. He lifted his arms around her, and she saw him loosen a coil of sand-colored rope, the tails flowing out in ribbons of energy as his fingers moved through the loops.

  The energy built between them seemed to take on a different rhythm them, the wildness of their desire not diminished but somehow more modulated. Brian pictured a tiny ball of energy gathering between her hands as they lay, half cupped, behind her back, and he felt it resonate and begin to flow as he wrapped her wrists a few times, then secured the small binding with a simple over hand knot. As the knot pulled tight, there was a tiny chiming in his head, as if the wraps had completed some sort of structure within which the tiny ball of energy could play and travel. Holding her hands for a moment, he let his awareness examine the energy contained there, and could feel it building with every breath she took.

  He drew a length of the doubled-up hemp rope up before her eyes, and she could see every strand clearly in the golden light, the twisting fibers seeming endless. She could smell the earthy mix of hemp and mink oil that permeated it, and closed her eyes slowly, letting the sensation fill her, not needing to have her eyes open to know that he was lowering the rope across the top of her chest, just above the swell of her breasts. As the fibers touched her skin and wrapped around her back, she could feel the rope drawing in the wild energy, binding it deeper into her, buffeting the walls of her will with a storm of power. The serpent she imagined inside of her, the desire for submission, also moved more restlessly, responding to the new assault with its own tempest from within.

  Slowly Brian wrapped twice more around her, underneath her breasts, each coil carefully laid and smoothly set next to the first, the bands above and below pushing her breasts out, the compression increasing their sensitivity to the air around them. Her nipples now seemed like tiny tongues, tasting every movement of air and even scents around her, and she knew if they were so much as brushed she would scream out with pleasure.

  Brian was in a state of meditative calm as, inch by inch, he laid the lines of the shinju upon her, the chest harness binding her arms closer as he pulled the loops tight behind her.The doubled rope split and traveled up over her shoulders, looped through each of the bands as they went into her cleavage and pulled the horizontal lines tighter around her breasts. The power was like electric clay, being shaped and drawn into Sally’s form by the rope, compressing and travelling through and around her.

  Each touch of his finger on her body and on the rope was like a chiming bell, lending a sweet pure tone to the energy as his concentration narrowed from the world around down to the point of contact with his hands, the ropes, and her body. Pulling tight the cinches that secured the bands under her arms, he again tied the final knot, and felt a thunderous bass echo slam into the two of them as the rope harness completed and the sexual energy they’d gathered expanded to fill every part of this new binding.

  With the pulse came a further strengthening of the Wards, and Brian and Sally caught a sense of what was waiting for the daughters outside their Mother’s house. It was not a vision, more a black menacing absence sitting at the edge of the second Ward. Brian recognized the same cold sour taste to their auras as in the coffeeshop, and he realized it was not enough to have the Wards. The danger was too close and real for that.

  He realized what he had to do, and refused to let himself think about the improbability of it. It had its own strange internal logic, and like the dancing that had defeated the two earlier, it would only work if it were done, not debated. He reached out to the second ward, and made a slight change in the pattern.

  Breathing in the energy swirling around, he exhaled… and cast out along the new line.

  In the car, the Mauls shifted uncomfortably. There was still no sign of the Daughters, though the fall of twilight implied they would return soon. But something had changed in the house, something had adjusted, and even their strange and altered eyes could not exactly see what it was. Everything looked just as it had; at the same time, there was something about the entire setting that was
different.

  Suddenly they realized it did not matter. At the end of the block, rounding the corner, Phina and Lisbet were walking as they tossed the frisbee back and forth, often so convulsed in giggles that they dropped it, slowing their progress toward the Mother’s house.

  One of the Mauls made to get out of the car, but the other laid its hand across a shoulder. The Wrinkled Man in his room smiled, agreeing.

  The prey is always sweeter if you let them come to you.

  Sally had fallen to her knees, steadied by Brian’s hand on her shoulder, and she leaned back for just a moment. The back of her head pressed into the firm erection blousing out his trousers, and she felt a resurgence of the lust that had consumed her earlier, this time with a measure of calmness mixed in, a secure knowledge that this cock would become a part of her, eventually, as sure as the hemp that now bound her.

  “Steady, slut. There is one more binding necessary.” Brian wasn’t sure how he knew this, but he did. The energy was strong, but an element was missing, like a choir with one of the voices silent. The room seemed to be trembling around them as they stayed in that between moment, their breathing slowly matching pace. Her skin where he’d spanked her earlier was still a stinging burn, but it was a sweet spice added to the waves of pleasure that flowed between them, the rope shinju giving her a grounding for the wild energy that flowed through them.

  “Spread your legs, slut.” There was no degradation in the word; it was the most accurate way to describe her current state of arousal, and even the implicit dirtiness of the word added to her lust, her labia feeling heavy, engorged beyond her clitoris, as if her entire mound was as sensitive as that tiny knob of flesh. She shifted her knees wide, closing her eyes and letting the feeling of the air cooling the fluids add to the rush of stimuli, all of which seemed to bring her closer to explosive release.

  Brian took another length of the hemp rope and began the final binding, a matanawa, crotch rope. The doubled length passed between her legs, the bight held by one hand just under her navel as the tails pulled up and through the cleft of her ass. She shuddered as the two strands touched her labia and she twisted slightly, letting them part and take the strands deeper into her slit, pressing into the lesser lips until she could feel them flanking the hood of her clitoris. She dared not move any more, after that, for fear of losing her ability to continue to hold herself up.

  Brian passed the tails up over each of her hips and through the bight in front of her, drawing them back loosely around her hips and holding them there while his other hand moved to a point just over her mons. He paused for a moment, and then brought his face close to hers.

  “Look at me.” Her eyes snapped open, pupils dilated, and for just a moment he knew how Vashte must have felt when he’d pushed her off balance in her ceremony. To stare into those eyes too long would be to fall and fall, with no end to the soft silver depths they held.

  Desire. Beauty. Discipline. “You will not cum yet, slut. I am going to adjust the ropes right now for one reason only. And that reason is not for your pleasure. You will want to release and let the orgasm flow, and I am telling you, you will not.” His eyes held hers as his hand dipped down between her legs, fingers pushing into the cleft labia and spreading them around the edges of the rope… and then continuing, spreading her labia minora until they also rested on either side of the ropes. She did not move a muscle as she held onto his gaze, eyes wide, but a low moan grew in the back of her throat as he finished by pushing the bight down further on her mons, until the loop of rope, drawn open just a bit by the two tails flowing over her hips, rested just over her clitoris. He gave her a small smile. “Well done, slut.” Continuing to hold her eyes, he pulled the tails in his other hand suddenly taut.

  The slack disappeared as the tails pulled the bight of the rope open, and her labia spread wide while her clitoral hood was pulled upwards simultaneously, pressure increasing across the mound above it as he secured the matanawa behind her with another simple knot, this time ready for the burst of power it gave both of them as the energies were magnified by her arousal and the patterns of the rope binding her.

  He stood again, and she had no more strength; she fell softly to her side on the mat, legs slowly scissoring as she moaned with the ropes’ enforced exposure and stimulation. Brian watched her, felt the echoes of her arousal through the saturated air around them. He felt his own need grow, his own cock throbbing with the need to fulfill its purpose, its only reason for existence: to join with the object of his desire.

  But something wasn’t ready. He could feel it, the dissonant thread in the harmonic symphony of lust they’d woven together. He followed the thread, eyes unfocused on Sally’s writhing form as he tried to find out where something had been left awry… and there, deep within, he found it.

  The daughters were half a block from the house, now, and the two Mauls, disguised as Men, got out of the car and walked towards the porch. Each of them reached into their breast pocket and withdrew a hypodermic needle from a small black pouch, holding them out of sight of the two girls.

  Lisbet looked up, and saw the young men. Her smile faded, and she looked worriedly at her sister. “Aw, fuck, “ she said softly. “Mom invited the missionaries to dinner again.”

  Awash in the sea of animal passion that filled her, in the buffeting storm of unfulfilled desire and roiling streams of power, Sally’s fortress still stood. She still was unable to let go of her will, the very desire to do so interfering with the loss of self towards which she was striving. Her spirit, locked deep within the walls, was twisting and fighting along with the storm around her, but the walls of inhibition and cultural identity kept her spirit from breaking free with the power they needed… the power that she needed to Focus.

  They had passed the point of no return. So much power roiled around them now that it had suffused the entire club, and Brian became vaguely aware that the scenes around them were more violent and intense than usual, affected by the building tempo, and he sensed that unless the energy was used they would end blasting out destructively, tilting masters and slaves alike towards the kind of dark play that left scars on the psyche as well as the body.

  And the wards were not complete. He could not feel them, could sense his daughters, but he knew they were out there, unprotected. Repressors are after my daughters, he thought, and grew angry—at them, at himself for drawing his daughters into it… and suddenly at the resistance that was keeping Sally and him from completing their ceremony and doing something about it.

  He reached down and grasped the back of the shinju, lifting Sally up and tossing her onto her stomach on the mat. Reaching into his bag, he growled. “Get that ass in the air, slut. You will submit to me, and you will do it willingly.” She went to her knees and lowered her torso slowly and elegantly, resting her head on the floor in front of her, body still quivering, and the dark purple shine of her spread vulva glistened in the yellow light.

  “Yes, sir. I am trying, sir.” The truth was, Sally was tired. At the same time, she was determined to take everything she could, to become the icon of complete surrender. The walls that refused to bend inside of her, the driving need of that spirit looking for release into the bonds of his ropes and his sex, felt as though they were tearing her weary body apart. She presented her buttocks in an arched beauty, letting herself fall into the throbbing need of her sex as it spread open before him. She would endure anything. She would.

  She did, at first. Quietly, with only an occasional moan as he worked her over thoroughly, striking first with his hands, warming the skin again, bringing back the bright red flush to the skin, setting a burning undertone to what followed.

  A few floggers were laid out as she knelt there, and one after another, small to large, they were woven in figure eights over her ass, striking with more and more intensity, lightly stinging at first and then growing harder, the impact of the final thick buffalo skin falls actually forcing her body forward with every blow. Her mind was beyond conscious thoug
ht, the world shrinking to her body, the man behind her, and the implement that formed the physical connection between them.

  She held that position as he threw the flogger into her flesh, over and over, and she did not break.

  Finally, he pulled out the single-tail. A snake whip made of black kangaroo leather, it coiled out like a living extension of his hand. She heard the sharp crack of the tip next to her ear, and it penetrated the haze of lust with a shivering dart of fear. The whip was one of her greatest fears, and with a cry she fell facedown on the mat.

  He did not hesitate, and started laying coiled strikes all over the crimsoned skin of her thighs and ass. It was stinging sharp and heavy, leaving a mark with every flick of his wrist. Out of instinct she tried to curl and squirm out of the way, but he didn't reproach her or try to reposition her. Instead, he just kept throwing and she quickly learned that trying to turn away only exposed the more sensitive areas of her inner thighs and stomach. Her cries turned quickly to tears, as every movement seemed to be met with an electric snap.

  There was no way to escape, no task as before she could perform to gain a respite. Her arms, bound behind her, were unable to cover her at all, and his whip went over and around her, now biting into her thigh, now her stomach, her breast… soon she had returned to facing down and presenting herself properly, simply crying out softly with every strike of the whip, not moving to escape it at all.