Bdsm Sex Stories

by Olga Menson

  I desired her more than ever, and underneath the more substantial curves of Tonya, all my mind could do was superimpose the pale, soft, more lithe lines of Isa, from my memories of the last times we'd fucked. I knew then that was why I truly wanted her, more than any hints of personality. I might end up caring a great deal for this woman if we ever spoke, but for now, she would be nothing but a proxy for my sister.

  As I undressed, she watched me hungrily. I thought about how harsh I had been with her the last time. I had taken out all of my frustrations out on her, punishing for all the sins of the other women in my life. I felt guilty about it, even if my partner at the time had enjoyed it. When I was naked, I stepped toward the bed, and Tonya sighed eagerly. I hesitated, and she made a cute noise of need.

  "Tonya, last time was wonderful, and I'm going to fuck you hard tonight, but I don't want to hit you tonight, or choke you. Will that be all right?"

  Her smile was wide and inviting, and I understood then that in some ways, at least, she was like me. She loved it rough, loved the darker passions of our natures, but also needed the other, kinder side from time to time.

  "Good," I said calmly as I approached, "because I'm going to cum inside you tonight, and I want you to want it too. I never asked you last time, but honestly, I hope that you're not on the pill."

  I suppose I must have had a hungry edge to my voice because I could see Tonya swallow nervously as I climbed on the bed and pushed her legs apart. Her slick wetness glinted in the firelight, and I smiled, inhaling her scent deeply. Then I dove in, tasting her gently at first, but soon lapping at her as though she were the most exquisite thing that I'd ever tasted. The familiar taste and scent overwhelmed me. I felt a gush of warm wetness as she quivered under my tongue. I felt her hands in my hair, pressing me down into her, her nails digging into my scalp.

  The pain turned me on, but it also angered me a little, I turned away from her need and bit her once, hard, on the inner thigh. I tasted a little blood, and I worried that I had maybe gone too far, but she gasped and cried out in a mix of pain and pleasure. Her body went rigid, and her thighs clamped fast around my head as I returned to licking her swollen pussy, and I realized that she'd already cum.

  I pulled her body back down to the sheets and pushed her legs open more harshly, although she didn't resist. I was in need now, and I wouldn't tolerate any more delays. I entered her brutally. She was so fucking tight, just like the last time, but she was also wet and ready for me, too. She moaned and immediately wrapped her legs around me, her arms clinging to my back for dear life. I kissed her then, and the character of the encounter changed.

  It's hard to describe. It was still fierce. The sounds of our bodies impacting, my grunts and her exhalations and gasps were evidence enough of that. But there was something like tender feeling there.

  Tonya kissed me then brought her head close to mine, and I instinctively cradled it, my hand in her hair, holding her gently. I kissed her neck as I got closer and tasted her. I felt so connected, so close to this anonymous woman. I loved her at that moment.

  Tonya's back arched as if she'd been struck by lightning, and she cried out so loudly that her scream reverberated off of the walls. I let go, going deep inside of her, and as I did, I said one word, an exhalation more than coherent speech:

  "Isa!"

  I felt terrible about it, of course. In fact, I managed to focus on the guilt of calling a woman by another's name rather than the fact that I automatically associated my sister with loving sex. Tonya, however, either didn't notice or pretended not to. I held her through a powerful aftershock orgasm, and we kissed, passionately. There was truth spoken that night, in a way, on both of our parts.

  This time, she left first, gathering a small robe from nearby and leaving out a back door, probably having another, more anonymous way out of the building. I was worried about the impact my little verbal slip had. She hadn't said anything, of course, but she had seemed to be holding back something like tears when she left. I wondered if there was any way that I could make it up to her.

  Looking back, I was far more naive than I thought.

  * *

  I left Tonya's room feeling pretty good, my verbal faux pas aside. Not only was the sex somehow even better than last time, I felt lighter, more relaxed. My problems seemed less important. I thought about my friends back at university. Maybe I could drop by and see them soon, or even invite some of them out to the house. Or better yet, the coast. Isa and Sarah could come too. They needed a vacation.

  I was so distracted that I didn't notice the petite woman with long blonde hair until I walked right into her. She stumbled back, and I looked at her stupidly. She was dressed in black lingerie that covered everything but hid nothing, and fishnets. I sputtered apologies, but she just waved them off and moved smoothly up to me, close, with her hands on my chest. Every part of her was small, and despite obviously being of age, she had a vulnerability to her that made me wish I could just bundle her up and take her away from there. She had a smile on her face, but it didn't extend to her eyes.

  "You're Marcus De Heer, aren't you?"

  I nodded reflexively, then kicked myself internally. Rachel would probably have advised me not to reveal myself to random strangers, cute or not.

  "They're going to kill you. You have to come with me."

  "What? Who are you?"

  She grabbed my crotch, and I grunted in surprise. Her other hand was still moving over my chest. Distressingly I noticed two security guards dressed in suits with the same kind of gaudy vests and domino masks as the others wore. They carried submachine guns, and they seemed to be checking every room.

  "I'm Amy. We don't really have time for introductions. Act like you're into it. Duck into the room behind me and to your left. Do it quick."

  Desperate times required bold action. I leaned in and kissed her and maneuvered her back through the door she had indicated. She giggled quite convincingly, but as soon as we both were in, she broke out of the embrace and slammed the door shut, locking it. For just a moment, I wondered if I had blundered into a trap. She may have been small, but she still could have killed me in any number of ways. That was when I heard someone on the other side of the door shouting.

  "That was him! Get the fucking door open!"

  So much for the vaunted incorruptible Brigantine security. A least I had enough common sense to stop standing directly in front of the door, and enough decency to pull Amy with me.

  I don't know why people call the fucking things silencers. They weren't silent at all. Granted, to my semi-educated ears, they didn't sound exactly like gunshots, and maybe that was the point. There was the thump and cracking of the antique wooden door, as holes appeared and splinters flew. Amy grabbed my hand and pulled me into a large nearby armoire and shut the door. I thought it was a bad idea until we went through the much sturdier metal door at the back of it.

  "We get training," she said, "and not just in how to please rich degenerate fucks. No offense."

  "None taken," I said as I reviewed the room.

  "They make us memorize special routes through the building. The halls are more complex than they appear to be. Those guys are security, but they're new. New guys don't get taught the layout. And they won't be able to get through that metal security door."

  "How did you know? Why are you helping me?"

  Amy looked back at me and smiled. It was real, and she seemed happy to be helping someone, even if they were a rich degenerate fuck, but her eyes were still haunted.

  "I heard the idiots talking about 'taking care' of you, and it was obvious they didn't mean bringing you some fresh towels. I...I honestly don't know why I'm helping you. Maybe I just want to do one good thing before I die."

  Even under those conditions, hearing her talk about dying was sobering to me. She was younger than Isa, probably a little older than Sarah. She should be looking forward to her future, not thinking of death in a place like this. I forced my mind back to the problems of the pres
ent.

  "Can you get me out of here?"

  She nodded.

  "I can't take you all the way. Go out here, go through the door across the hall. In the back is an 'employees only' door. The code on the pad is 616. It won't slow them down for long but keep going straight, and you'll reach the main stairs again. I don't think they'll expect that. Maybe if you're lucky, the other security guards will be there to protect you."

  "Unless they're in on it."

  She laughed.

  "You really are Marcus De Heer. I never thought I'd meet someone like you here."

  I sighed.

  "What's the point of these masks if everyone knows who you are?"

  "We all were told you'd be coming. You had a special appointment. We all knew to stay clear of you. Which is to say to be friendly, helpful, even flirtatious, but to go no further."

  "Really? Interesting."

  "Yeah. That's what I mean, though. Some of the key members of security, the leads, know too. If they wanted to kill you, there would have been many better ways than this. It can't be more than a few people, and none of them have been here long."

  I stopped and thought about what she said. It made sense. Then I cursed my forgetfulness. I had finally remembered the smartwatch and hit the panic button. I already felt better knowing that Rachel was coming. I hoped that she was, anyway. I realized that she was going to charge in after me, and I was suddenly more afraid for her safety than my own.

  I started for the door to the hall, then I stopped and pulled out a small case of business cards. Mom had taught us never to leave without it, and I'd started carrying them again once I moved back home.

  "Here," I said, handing her one, "you've helped me, and we always repay our debts."

  Amy looked at the card and then me with an unusual amount of skepticism.

  "And what does that mean?"

  "It means that you call or text the number on the card. Do you have access to a phone, or are you kept here?"

  "I'm...not allowed to leave, but I can get to a phone."

  So she was one of the girls that arrived at the Brigantine through poor life choices or recruitment from prisons or asylums. I'd heard the rumors, but I still wanted to believe that everyone was there voluntarily. I didn't have time to help any more than I was.

  "We can get you out. Get you set up somewhere else. Even if I die, my sister will take care of you if you explain what happened."

  And then I took off. I ran through the door and crossed the hall. I heard an angry shout, but I ignored it, plowing through the next door. The room was small, and on a bed, an older man was engaged in some very complicated twister with two plump brunettes who might have been twins. I didn't really take a close look. I ignored their shocked squeaks and went to the service door. I hit the code on the pad and went through, slamming the door behind me. I charged down the hall, which was still lovely but not carpeted or adorned aside from dull white paint and several cameras. I hoped that the eyes that watched them were friendly, or at least not hostile.

  I stopped at the last door. If Amy was right, I'd be by the main staircase. The small crowd of people might provide me with cover. Or the people following me might be stupid, desperate, or otherwise motivated enough to just start shooting. It was going to be a dash. I was confident that I'd run into Rachel in the main hall, assuming that nothing had happened to her. I ignored the dip in my chest as I thought of her.

  I sighed and carefully took the Glock out of its holster. There wasn't a switch, just a grip safety, so I just had to remember how to aim and squeeze and not hit anyone but my targets. I pulled the door open a few inches and looked out. A security guard with an ugly white mask and a poorly fitting suit was arguing with the painted girl at the top of the stairs. She was demanding to know what he was doing. He looked away for a moment and then backhanded her. I decided that made him one of the bad guys. I aimed and fired twice, then once more. I knew he might be wearing body armor, but I aimed for the center of mass. He was facing away from me and turned to the left slightly. The first one went under his armpit, the second hit him in the shoulder, and the third one went wide and hit the fancy molding about four feet above his head.

  I never was that good of a shot. It didn't matter, though. I think the first one perforated his lungs. He fell, sputtering. The girl screamed from the floor. I saw two other security guards running up the stairs, charging past her prone form and that of the guard, hopefully dying on the floor. I took my chance and charged out. I could see the door as I started down the stairs. Rachel was there, thank god. She had what looked to be a matte-black AK-47, and she was yelling at the security at the front door, and all three of them turned to look at me. They didn't seem to be hostile, just confused.

  I was halfway down the stairs. I figured I was home free. Maybe there had only been one of them. Rachel's shout saved me. I weaved hard to the right and half-ran, half-fell down the rest of the stairs. I heard some sharp snaps over and to the left of my head. I learned later that was what bullets passing by you sounded like.

  Rachel returned fire. She had no suppressor on her weapon, and it was loud. Louder than my Glock. She fired two sharp bursts, maybe three bullets in each. I ran straight past her, almost in a panic. I didn't think to stop and wait for her until I was ten steps out the door. She was running after me and waved at me to keep going. I heard more gunshots as I opened the door at the back of the SUV. She was exchanging gunfire with two men on the grounds. Three more were there, but they weren't shooting. Yet.

  Rachel dropped one of the men and turned, making a break for the limo. I fired a few rounds in the direction of the other. He ducked.

  "Get in, you fucking idiot," Rachel snarled at me as she threw the rifle in and got in. I did as I was told. I didn't need her to tell me to keep down. The glass was 'bullet-resistant,' but the armor on the doors was much better. As she tore down the driveway, I heard the thumps and pings of lead hitting the side of the vehicle. Oddly, I felt more exposed in the armored truck than I had out there, maybe because I couldn't move. I started feeling faint. Then Rachel turned hard, and I slammed into the door. It hurt my head, but it did have the effect of clearing the fog of panic.

  "You can sit up. I've got you. I'm not going to let any of those fuckers hurt you, Reuben."

  Rachel was confident, which I wasn't surprised by. She was a capable professional with years of training and experience. I knew that she had saved my father's life at least once. I was surprised by her vehemence and anger. She looked back at me briefly and smiled, then cursed and turned hard right.

  "Did you get hit?" She asked.

  "No. Did you?"

  She ignored my question and turned hard left. I looked at her. She didn't look like she was in pain or pale. She wasn't bleeding from anywhere visible. I sighed in relief. Then I winced. I felt something wet running down my side.

  "Shit," I said softly, "I think I spoke too soon. It doesn't seem serious, though."

  "Fuck," Rachel said, "I can't stop yet but just hold on. I'll take a look at you as soon as I can. I can't take the standard way home. We have to assume that there are more of these fuckers out there, and they know the way. The panic button alerted our guys that you were in trouble. They'll be converging soon, hopefully with a helicopter. Until then, we need to make ourselves scarce."

  "Where are we going?" I asked, pulling out my phone. I texted Isa, but the message immediately failed to send. No signal.

  "Don't bother," Rachel said, "I turned on the cell jammer. I'd like to toss both of our phones, but this is an easier way. I've got to assume that they're on all of our electronics."

  "How will our side find us?"

  Rachel smiled.

  "We don't rely on phones for everything. We have a few rally point locations. We don't store them digitally. Only me and a few security team leads know where they are. We just have to get to them and wait."

  "What if the same people that turned the Brigantine's security turned some of ours?"

>   Rachel's expression didn't change, but I could see that her jaw clenched. She'd already been considering it.

  "Reuben, I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. I...I love you."

  I was too stunned by that sudden admission to answer. Besides, I did trust her intent, skill, and judgment of character. If she shared map information with someone, then I had to put my faith in them. I forced myself to relax. I kept my hand on my left side, but really, it was more of a stinging pain than anything else, and the blood wasn't flowing so much as seeping a little.

  I set my head back and closed my eyes. I felt too tense to relax and certainly too scared to sleep. None the less I must have because my eyes fluttered open when I felt the car gently roll to a stop.

  "We're here," she said, getting out without more preamble. She ran to the back, opened the rear door, got a small case, and then ran around to the door closest to me. She opened it and started removing my jacket immediately.

  Rachel was frantic, almost panicked. She didn't ask, and I didn't try to stop her. I felt her hands exploring my legs, arms, and neck. It wasn't unpleasant.

  "I told you its not serious," I said, but she shushed me. I grunted as she found the spot.

  "Oh," she said. She had begun to unbutton my shirt, but there was less frenetic speed to her movements. She had a better view of the wound than I had, and obviously, she had seen that it wasn't that bad.

  "Did I get winged?"

  She chuckled.

  "No, you got hit, but not by a bullet. It looks like a nasty splinter. About an inch and a half is sticking out of you, not sure how much is buried, but it's at an angle, so it should be relatively shallow."

  I grunted again as she moved the shirt away. She didn't need to cut it, but I could tell now that something was embedded in my side.

  "One of those fuckers opened fire on a door when I was on the other side. It probably got me then."