TH-Boy-ARE-epub

by EdenBradley

  “Good,” I grunt. Then I notice the goosebumps on her skin, a small twitch in her shoulders. “Hey, you’re shivering.”

  “I’m a little cold. Or maybe shocking out a bit. I don’t know.”

  “Hang on, I’m going to get next to you.”

  “But we’re both chained.”

  I look around, trying to remember which stall we’re in. “Reach up to the cross board above your head. No, don’t ask, just do it. Good. Now slide your hand along until you feel a metal hinge, and see if you can get the edge of your fingers in there…yeah, that’s it. Pull the board out—it’s like a small door. You’ll find a key behind it.”

  Her eyes go wide. “I…what is this? How did you know it was there?”

  “Because I put it there myself. I have keys hidden all over this place, all over the Training House. I make sure I visit every kink facility I go to as a slave when I’m in Top mode. When I decide I’m done, I’m done. I prefer to be prepared.”

  “You’re done now? No, I can see that you are, if you’re even thinking of using this key. Are you going away?”

  I can hear a small sob breaking her voice, and it kills me a little even as it makes me hard, makes my heart lurch.

  “I’m not going anywhere but over there, pretty. Give me the key.”

  She does, and I unlock my leg shackle and crawl over to her, the predator in me wanting to rise up and cuddle-rape her. But mostly I want to curl around her and talk to her. It’s so stupidly unlike me, I can’t even bother to ask what the fuck is wrong with me. I just do it.

  Taking her trembling body in my arms feels like fucking heaven, and for I don’t know how many minutes, I simply hold her until she relaxes against me. Her skin is so damn soft I can barely feel it beneath my fingertips as I stroke her arms, her face, and finally she leans her silky head on my chest, making my gut twist in some unfamiliar, delicious way.

  I don’t know what to think about this. I can’t even begin to comprehend what is happening here, because it’s all new territory. And for the first time since I was a kid, I have to admit I feel…afraid. Totally alien to me because I’m not afraid of anything—not pain, certainly. Not death, even. I don’t fucking like it. But nothing is going to make me leave this girl—this girl who, for the first time in my sorry life, is making me really feel something. Something I can’t escape—and don’t want to.

  Chapter Five

  “You want to tell me about this asshole father of yours?” I ask her.

  “Not really. I don’t like to talk about him, but I’ll tell you a little because…because I want you to know, for some reason.”

  “Okay.”

  She takes a long, sighing breath. “I’ll give you the short version. To begin with, you’re right—he is an asshole. He’s rich. Powerful. That’s how he gets off—power—and he abuses it in almost any way you can think of. After my maman passed when I was a little girl, he found ways to dispose of me. Perhaps I reminded him of her, or maybe that’s simply me romanticizing things. All I know is that I was raised by nannies, then sent to boarding school. I don’t think he cared, as long as I was out of his sight, which doesn’t exactly make for good self-esteem for a kid, you know? I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately—that kink is what’s made me feel good about myself, so even when I say I’m not certain I’m a good enough slave, it’s still better than what I thought of myself growing up. Kink has made me feel…useful. Valued. Even cherished, sometimes. Maybe it’s gone to my head a few times, and I’ve gotten ahead of myself. I’ve left perfectly good Mistresses and Masters, because I thought I deserved more.”

  “Maybe you left because you did deserve more.”

  “I don’t know. But I do know that being with the Master—with Master Damon—is the first time I’ve felt I had everything I needed. Everything I wanted. Well, almost.”

  “Almost?”

  “Except for you,” she says so quietly I can barely make the words out.

  I’m afraid to squeeze her, which is what I want to do. But I allow myself a smile.

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  She snuggles in a little closer, her breast pushing against my side. I reach down and stroke the curve of it. I want to do a lot more than that. I want to push her down on her back in the hay and bite her again, and spank her and pinch her and claw her and fuck her. And I will. But we’re not done. Maybe a bit of self-control on my part, after all? How novel of me.

  “You love him,” I say.

  “Yes.”

  “So do I, in my own limited way. In the only way I’ve ever loved anyone.”

  “Can you tell me why you think it’s limited?” she asks.

  “I don’t ‘think’ it is. I know it is.”

  “But where does that come from? Because the way in which we limit ourselves always come from somewhere, some incident, some person. Our parents. Do you have an asshole father, too?”

  “I couldn’t tell you—I never knew him. All I know is he went back to the U.K. before I was born, and his is the only white blood I have, as far as I know.”

  “What about your mother?”

  “Half Japanese, half Cherokee. Beautiful and fucking sad as shit.”

  She trails one finger along my skin—over the curve of my left pec, then fluttering around my nipple piercing. Butterfly kisses on the steel bar there, making my nipple rise to her touch. Making me ache for her touch all over, inside and out, whether it’s sex or kink or just…this. Selfish bastard that I am, I want it all.

  “But did you know your mother?” she asks.

  I draw in a breath, smelling the scents of clean girl and fresh hay. “Yeah…I knew my mother. I knew too damn much about her. She was a junkie as far back as I can remember.”

  “I’m sorry,” Aimée says, raw emotion in her voice.

  This shocks me. I don’t get why this amazing girl would feel so much for me—me, of all people. Maybe I don’t get why anyone would. But I can’t not talk to her about this—this thing I talk to no one about. I’ve given even Master Damon only the barest outline.

  “So was I,” I answer finally, “but not too sorry to leave home at fourteen. It felt like survival at the time, and I still think it was the best choice. There were some good things about it—I don’t know if you can understand. No, I take that back. Given your own background, maybe you can.”

  “Tell me,” she says, but it’s more a request than a demand. She is ever-sweet.

  I take a minute, stroking her skin with my thumb, trying to regain some sense of balance, torn as I am between this strange need to talk with her and my cock’s raging demands to bury myself to the hilt in her soft body.

  “I was this weird kid, living on the streets in San Francisco, hanging out on Haight Street with the other urchins, except that I was reading Shakespeare in between hustling in the Castro for food money. There was this guy who used to come find me every Wednesday afternoon around three—no idea why that day, that time—and he’d take me to his house on Russian Hill. He’d fuck me good and hard, just the way I like it. Then he’d let me stay with him for a while. We’d sit at the table in his marble kitchen and he’d talk to me. Really talk to me. Ask me what I wanted out of life, stuff like that. But smart-mouthed little bitch that I am, I always told him I only wanted his dick in my young, sweet ass. But he never got angry. He’d make omelets for me, feed me with a fork from his own hand. And he was the one who gave me Shakespeare to read. And Dickens and Moby Dick. He wanted to set me up in an apartment, to keep me for himself. And honestly, something about that appealed to me—the bird in a gilded cage shit. Except I’ve always thought of myself more as the wolf. I knew if I did it, I’d rip into him sooner or later. And anyway, a part of me loved life on the street. A part of me still craves it. The dirt and the danger. I guess that’s what I’m doing here.”

  “But here everything is so civilized, despite how extreme it all is.”

  “Is it? Wasn’t I the wolf today?”

  “Mmm, yes,” she
purrs.

  She curls hard against my side, and my dick is hard again—or maybe still—and I have to really concentrate not to reach over and grab her by the throat and plow into her. But there’s also something buzzing in my body that has to do with that strange eagerness to tell her every damn thing about me. When the fuck have I ever done that with anyone? No one knows everything about me. I like being the enigma too much.

  “I get what you’re saying, though,” I tell her, taking a lock of her hair and rubbing it between my fingers. “It’s insane how civilized they make it, which is for our benefit as much as it is to indulge their need for luxury. Not that I should talk. Because when I’m on the outside, I’m one of them.”

  “Will you tell me more about that?”

  “I don’t know how much I want to talk about it right now, because I feel it—fucking Dominant rising, like some bird of prey, and it needs to hunt.” I let her hair go, needing to put even some minute bit of distance between us, because as I say the words, it’s a physical sensation I have to grit my teeth to swallow down. “It wants to come out, take over. And to be honest, I’m having to fight it damn hard just to stay here with you.” My chest goes tight as I admit this out loud—how badly I need to be with her, no matter how it’s costing me to stay in the slave role when I’m so damn done with it. For now, at least. But I go on. “I want to. But you have to understand certain things about me. When I’m between slave contracts, or when I walk out on one, which happens most of the time—okay, whatever, every time—I live out there like they do. I go to the clubs, to the private training facilities. I work the slaves, and I’m an evil Master. But I never have my own slaves. I don’t want that. My own need to be enslaved is too much at odds with agreeing to oversee someone else’s care. It would never work. Except being a slave obviously never quite works, either. I’m a walking contradiction.” I stop, running my free hand over my short Mohawk. “I don’t fucking make sense, even to myself.”

  She’s quiet for a moment. “Why do I feel like that’s something you’re very practiced at telling yourself?”

  I turn and look down at her, and her sweet little face is turned up to look back at me. Watching me. There’s a flash of fear in her pretty green eyes, but she was brave enough to put the question out there, and I realize that, other than those brief moments, she’s not afraid of me. Which is unusual in itself. Most people are, which I enjoy. But I also love that she can face me down. I don’t know. That’s not the right way to describe what she makes me feel.

  Fuck it. I don’t have the right words for this. I stroke my thumb over her jawline, and she closes her eyes, a shiver going through her, and my whole body surges with need. “Aimée. I have to fuck you now.”

  “Oh, yes, please.”

  Shit. This girl is gonna kill me.

  “It has to be rough. I don’t know any other way, and you make me want to pull your hair and choke you out and fucking bite you until you bleed.”

  She opens her eyes and stares right into mine. And again, she says, “Yes, please.”

  I can see that she means it. Down to her bones, in every cell of her body.

  “Goddamn fucking Christ, Aimée.”

  I slip an arm behind her and drag her down, until I have her under me, her wrists pinned at the small of her back, and I don’t care that it’s got to be uncomfortable for her. As I raise her free leg, the other rattles the chain attached to her shackled ankle, and I feel a grin spread over my face. Fucking beautiful, with her red hair all over the place, shining against the gold of the straw, her green eyes glossy as she slips right into subspace. Slave space. Even better knowing there is a person of real depth, one who analyzes and tears herself apart trying to get to the bottom of her kink. Of herself. Oh, yeah. Because it’s that person turning herself over to me.

  Leaning right in, I take one luscious, pink nipple into my mouth, and it hardens under my tongue. I bite into her tender flesh, and she gasps, then sighs, gasps again when I bite harder, chewing on her nipple. And in moments she’s panting, her hips rising against me, pressing against my rigid cock, and I shift and slide right into her.

  “Ah, fuck, you’re so wet.”

  Her sweet little cunt is contracting around me almost instantly, and I sink my teeth into her nipple, tasting blood as she begins to come, a raw mewling issuing from her throat. I can smell her come in the air—come and desire, hers and my own. I keep at it, fucking her, fucking her, and I can’t get enough, driving hard and deep. Pleasure is like a hammer, threatening to pound me apart, to shatter me. But this girl always shatters me. And too soon, I’m about to come.

  Pulling out, I quiet her protesting moan with a hand over her mouth. Her eyes go wide as I use my thumb and forefinger to squeeze her nostrils shut, and her body goes limp with yielding. I feel her throat tighten and release her nostrils, letting her take some air in, and I let go of her wrists so I can press a finger into her ass.

  Ah, God, so damn tight and velvet and fuck, I need to be in her ass, too. And she can take my dick, I know she can. But I’m too fascinated with watching her face as I slide my hand to her throat and put just enough pressure on the carotids, making her swoon. But even as she begins to lose consciousness, just my finger in her ass is making her come again—she’s coming even as she passes out, and it’s almost more than my rabidly throbbing dick can take. And still, I need to see her, to watch her lovely face.

  Too much. Too much to feel. But I can’t run from it, for once. Can’t run from her.

  As her eyelids flutter, consciousness returning, I flip her over and pull her onto her knees, holding her with one arm around her narrow hips, and with the other I part the cheeks of her perfect, heart-shaped ass. Spitting onto my hand, I push one finger, then another, into her asshole, fucking her with my hand, harder and harder. It feels like she’s about to come again, and I stop.

  Leaning over her, I bury my fist in her hair and yank hard enough to pull her head up and back. “Tell me,” I growl into her ear. Then, when she doesn’t answer right away, I take the shell of her ear between my teeth and pull.

  “Ah! Christopher… Tell you what? I’ll tell you anything.”

  “Good girl, Aimée. That’s exactly where I want you. Tell me you want me to fuck your asshole. Tell me you want my fat cock buried in your fine ass. Tell me you want to come that way.”

  “Please,” she sobs. “Please, Christopher. Oh God, can I call you that, even now?”

  “Yes. Do it. Call me by my name.”

  “Christopher,” she says, making a shiver run through my system. “Make me come with your cock in my ass. I want it. I want you. I need you.”

  Slipping my fingers out, I spread her cheeks, her firm flesh in my hand. I pause to give it a hard pinch, then another, but I can’t wait any longer. I cannot fucking wait. Pressing the tip of my cock at that tight little hole, I tell her, “You will open for me. You’ll take all of me, take me deep. It’s going to fucking hurt. I’m going to tear you apart—I won’t be able to help myself. I have to hurt you.”

  “Yes. Tear me open. Make me bleed for you,” she begs. “For you, Christopher.”

  She spreads her knees wider, granting me further access, and I spread her ass cheeks wide with my hand, until I can see the pink, puckered flesh of her asshole. So damn delicious-looking, I have to lean down, bite the lovely curve of her ass, then bite again and again, leaving teeth marks all over her ass, her lower back, her spine, her shoulders. And the whole time she’s yelping, squirming in a way that makes her back twist and dance like a snake of gorgeously tempting flesh that I have to kiss, to draw my tongue over in between taking that same delicate flesh between my teeth. And soon I break the skin, the metallic scent of blood like magic to me. I have to fuck her ass now—as if I didn’t before—but the smell of blood really makes my head swim, makes my body hum with a ravenous desire.

  Pressing the head of my cock against that sweet little puckered hole, I thrust, sliding in with a single motion. She gasps, cries out, ma
king me smile. I begin a hard pumping, hard and deep and fast, hammering into her. In moments I hear her really start to cry, but it only makes my smile spread into an evil grin. It only makes me fuck her harder, my lust fed by her beautiful tears, flesh for the hungry beast. And I grab her by the hair, pulling her head up, her body, until we’re both on our knees. Taking her jaw in my hand, I squeeze, turn her face so I can see her crying. Her cheeks are wet. She’s sobbing quietly. And still, I’m bucking into her fiercely. Savagely. And pleasure is like a tightly bound coil in my belly and my balls, in the pumping head of my iron-hard dick. I hold it back, but soon I can’t fucking take it anymore, and I come, filling her ass with my jizz.

  “Fuck, yeah.”

  Wrapping an arm around her waist, I pull her down onto the straw with me, spooning her, my softening cock still deep in her ass.

  Her breath is a hard panting— I can feel it under my hand on her stomach. Her hips are undulating the slightest bit. She’s a good girl, after all. A good slave. But she’s as taken away by desire as I am. Reaching around, I press onto her tight clit, the flesh swollen with need. I shift my hand until I can use the knuckle of my finger to tease her clitoris, and with the side of my thumb I press just into her sweet, slick cunt.

  “Oh…Oh!”

  She comes in a torrent, her cunt gushing with her juices, my beautiful, squirting girl. Nice to know she can do that. Fucking hell, more than nice.

  Slipping from her ass, I quickly use a handful of the straw to wipe down my cock before tossing it aside, then roughly turning her onto her back, I force her knees up with my hands, spreading her pussy wide. Then, still holding one leg up, I push my fingers into her soaking cunt and begin to work her g-spot, rubbing at it until I feel it swell. Then, using a quick, rough, up-and-down motion, I pump her cunt until she starts to yell. Until her pussy gushes and she squirts all over the straw and her own thighs and mine as I kneel between her legs.

  “Again.” I command.

  She whimpers—maybe that’s all she’s capable of at this point—and acquiesces, her body relaxing, knowing what to do in order to let herself gush for me. This time I watch her face as it builds, as she screams, as she squirts like mad, soaking us both once more.