ISAK & Red: An enemies-to-lovers Dark Romance

by Cari Silverwood

I have a hobby now, I reminded my hard cock. But… however… Things could be done. Nasty, depraved, violating things that Red loved, and did not love. The CNC or consensual nonconsent was the closest I could get to my old sadism.

  “Suck me off until we get home. Consider this the start of our scene.”

  She stared at me for all of one second, and I knew that had made her wet.

  “Yes, sir.” Red lengthened her seatbelt then leaned over and unzipped me.

  I sighed as her mouth descended, and I held her down a while, choking, before I let her begin in earnest. Fuck yeah.

  We arrived at Jeremy’s a little late, but that was more my fault for doing things to Red at home. It took the edge off, I told myself. Plus, the dog had wagged its way into proceedings and demanded pats and food. Hilarious, but Banjo had a way of making himself the center of attention.

  However, now I really had Red where I wanted her…

  On display in front of the whole party, naked and suspended upside down with her legs strapped apart to the bar on those chains. Jeremy could be relied on to install good strong anchor points. It was safe.

  I had her arms bound at her back in strappado, in our lovely new leather arm-binder.

  Methodically, I attached the big wrist buckle to the wall by rope. Then I went around to the front and squatted before her, took her head in my hand, and unbuckled the gag. The string of drool was exactly right – she hated being made to do that and yet enjoyed being made to do it.

  Yin-yang. Mindfucks R Us.

  A mesmer was a master at this.

  I wiped her red mouth, with my hand at her neck steadying her.

  Red worked her jaw, which was aching, and I could feel that. Hadn’t lost that power, thank god. When she climaxed, and I came too it was enough to white out the world for a few damn decades.

  Whipping her was even more interesting for my balls, because to a lesser degree I felt the strikes. I’d grown a fetish for a bit of pain, myself.

  “Everyone is watching us.” Not quite true, but close. This ground floor set up of Jeremy’s was inside an old barn that he’d refurbished. High ceilings. Great acoustics. Big enough for thirty subs, Doms, and whatever else one might have a kink for. We’d set up a mock medieval village last year with stocks and whipping posts. No neighbors for miles. No one to hear the screams as the subs were flogged and fucked.

  Red nodded. “Yes, Isak.” Her cute tongue came out and she almost… almost poked it at me.

  “Good girl.” I straightened and unzipped, worked my cock a little in my fist while Red watched avidly. “You know anything goes in here? Say red, Red, if you need to.” I chuckled.

  That never failed to amuse me.

  She nodded. “I’d raspberry you, but I’m afraid for my ass… sir.” The bar swung with the shift of her weight.

  “And so you should be.” I walked around her once, fingers brushing her skin and making her shiver. I whacked her butt with a crop and made her squeal, left a lovely mark. I kissed that butt and listened to her shuddering breaths.

  My upside-down girl.

  Ass, tits… all of her was a glorious work of art. For the small mindfuck, I grabbed both nipples and pulled them outward like taffy until her body swayed forward. Her arms were fastened in place behind her, and her eyes widened. Red squeaked in alarm, until I let them go and she fell back into place.

  The glare she shot me was worth it.

  I circled her again, admiring the black leatherwork and buckles adorning my sub while ignoring Dave, who was standing a fair distance back, next to the wall.

  There would be others who watched, but I usually had him observing. It made people happier if I stationed an observer. Not that I needed one.

  This probably reassured Red and I had to admit my desires to hurt still took me beyond the norm sometimes, even for in here.

  I tightened the rope suspending her, so she was at cock height, picked up my favorite Bad Dragon dildo – the thing had veins, knobbles and the middle was bigger than my own dick – then I waded in and tapped her chin.

  “Open.”

  I fucked her mouth while I slowly introduced that big muthafucker of a purple-and-red dildo to her pussy and, within minutes, had her crying out and begging to come. Her spread thighs strained as if to open or close, and I devoted some time to fingering or tonguing her clit, circling it in a tease.

  “Do not beg,” I ordered her.

  Red sobbed but said no words. She knew I would not budge, and if she begged I would make her remain in near-orgasmic limbo for longer.

  Not coming could be her state of frustration for ages, when I chose to make it so.

  I stepped away from her, left the dildo sticking out partway – it narrowed at the tip and was safe there. She’d have to buck like a bronco for it to fall out, and that was impossible with the bondage.

  I backed away despite her whining. Put my finger to my lips. “Shhh.”

  She shushed and sent me a pitiful look that made me grin.

  “Keep an eye on her, Dave. Just stepping out for a while.”

  It was all pre-arranged with him, though Red didn’t know.

  I left by the front door, not zipped up. This place was well isolated. A cold breeze almost made me regret that decision.

  “You are a diabolical man. I saw what you did to Red.” Debbie was out here too, smoking a cigarette. A Domme with a fine man under her heels, she had become our friend, as were many of those who attended.

  “I am that. She loves it.”

  “I noticed.” She chuckled and tossed the cigarette, screwed her boot into it on the cement. “Did you hear they caught that guy who murdered that girl and drowned her? Found him floating, all cut up. His dick was gone even. Sorry. Bit of a damper on the uhhh ambience, I guess.”

  I shrugged, but inside I was glowing.

  She glanced down at my erection. “That doesn’t seem bothered.”

  “Nope. Hearing an asshole got his due penance makes my dick happier. I’m going back in.” I grinned. “Wouldn’t do to let her go off simmer.”

  “With that huge donkey dong in her? No way. Also, I’m coming in to watch.”

  What I’d said was so very true.

  I’d realized that lying put a bad taste in my mouth. I guess taking the drug was altering me.

  Maybe it was time to do some more altering?

  I was still pondering that when I was forcing that dildo deeper into my wriggling girl. With her writhing belly muscles and tits before me, and with her trapped and at my mercy, with the heat of her wet mouth slurping around my cock, not coming in her mouth in seconds took a fuckload of effort.

  * * * * *

  At home that night, I had her dress in a pretty red see-through negligee, and we lay together in front of the fireplace. I kissed her nape and simply enjoyed this wonderful sensation of cuddling the woman I thought I had grown to love. Love was something I had read about, felt in my long-distant past, and even probably was in the middle of.

  It was nevertheless like a blind man seeing a movie people had only related to him. He could get the audio, but the rest – imagination required.

  Maybe I would grow into it.

  So, I said the words.

  “I love you, Red.”

  “Mmmm. Me too, Isak. I love you.” She snuggled deeper, worming that butt closer.

  “Do that again, and I may have to fuck this ass, and I know you are sore.”

  She laughed. “Tempted.”

  “I have a present for you tonight. Look at what is under the kindling. Look closely.”

  She stiffened. “Is that the…”

  “It is the suitcase, yes. I decided I have enough ways to screw with your head. It’s done, burning.” The flames crackled and licked over it as we watched. I’d broken it up small, but it was recognizable. “Also, I am gifting you with a scene name so I don’t have to worry about Red getting mixed up with red hard limits.”

  “Ohmigod. What? We can always use another word like tentacles, f
or hard limits.”

  “I’ve decided. How do you like Isabella?”

  My heart seemed to stall, as I waited for her answer.

  “Isabella. That sounds nice, Isak. It feels good on my tongue. Like, maybe, my parents should have thought of that?”

  “I’m glad you like it. Isabella you shall be whenever we scene, from this day forward.”

  I knew why it felt right to her.

  It was her real name. And I would never tell her why and how this had happened.

  Once upon a time, I had compelled her to forget her real name.

  So much of what I had done in the past had been forgotten by others, but I would always know. I still had an itch now and then, and my sadistic impulses had driven me to excess on occasion. I had learned to channel it into good choices. It was actually fun.

  That last one…

  He had screamed well, even after we gagged him with his own dick.

  Killing murderers, rapists, and the odd murdering rapist, was a beautiful outlet. Tracking them down was a lot easier for me than any law officer. Figuring out ways to make them wish they were dead before they died – it was really satisfying. And my accomplices were silent partners. I made them forget their deeds.

  No evidence was left. No loose tongues. I made the cops happy. Win, win.

  “Red?”

  “Yes?” she asked, sleepily.

  “One day soon, we should have a wedding.”

  I hadn’t planned to say that, not exactly. I guess I am a little crazy.

  “Isak! Wow. You know you are supposed to ask me first?”

  “Sure. Think about it.” I inhaled, smelling her hair, and watching the scarlet of her locks shine where the firelight haloed through. “Say yes or I spank your ass black and blue and red.”

  Her laughing shook the blanket covering us. Banjo arrived a second later and tried to burrow in with us – partly succeeding but mostly dragging the blanket off us. He wrecked the intimacy, what with Red shrieking and giggling and me laughing at everything, while we fended off the hairy addition to our twosome.

  Finally, he snorted and snuggled in between us with his warm weight partly on top of our feet.

  The perfect end to a day.

  Vigilante justice, a content and slobbery pet, and a wedding on preorder.

  “How are you feeling?” I whispered. “No nightmares?”

  “Huh? No. None.”

  “Good.” I drew her hand to me and kissed the palm. The missing finger sparked a faded remnant of my ire, reminding me of my reasons for anonymity and a fairly staid life.

  “Why?”

  “Forget it. I thought you’d said something.”

  “Hmph.” She sighed and bumped her head on my arm as she found a better place to rest it on me.

  It had been a while since the last time, since she’d grown restless. She always said yes when asked if she wanted the nightmares gone. The burning tower never quite left her, but I could fix her. I could help her.

  It was a small correction.

  As she drifted into sleep her body relaxed against mine, the tension in her muscles ebbed, and her breathing grew quieter. I resisted the need to stroke her hair and merely watched Red. I lay with her head in the crook of my arm and her hair a muddled mess on the quilt, my arm, and my chest.

  This is peace. Surely, this is love? That word was important to her.

  I’d burned the suitcase, returned her precious name, and I was making good choices.

  I drew a deep breath. My chest movement must have disturbed her. Her forehead creased and her lips moved in silent protest.

  I would kill anyone who tried to hurt my soft little creature, my ex-CIA analyst, Red.

  The same fate was due for anyone who hurt the dog.

  I could mull on this forever, or I could sleep. I settled lower and closed my eyes.

  What do you create… what do you add to the human existence? That is what matters. Eddie Izzard was right. At the very least, I figured I’d done something good. I’d made a happy Red, a happy me, and a very happy dog.

  The End

  See where the MESMER stories began with

  DARK HEARTS on Amazon

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  An Excerpt from

  CLOCKWORK STALKER follows

  What if the storybook hero becomes the villain?

  She is my arch enemy’s niece.

  I’m an arrogant, controlling bastard, an excellent detective, and women are turning up dead and bound, with strange marks on their bodies.

  This is the least appropriate time for me to fall in lust with the enemy.

  Obsession is the sign of a man who is losing control.

  Be punctual for this appointment Miss Moriarty.

  I have things I need to do. Filthy, perverted things.

  This is an erotic Sherlock Holmes romance with a hint of Cthulhu and horror.

  With his shoes barely making any sound as he placed them on each tread of the stairs, Sherlock descended the last two steps. From the top, he’d seen what was down here—Willa, nude, blindfolded with red cloth, and bound to a rectangular table. Her hands were tied together at the wrists and above her head, while the ropes leading from her ankles pulled apart her thighs, for they were tied to separate table legs.

  This threatened to take his breath away, to leave him swimming in lust like some uncontrolled beast. He was a man, not an animal, and a better example of a man than most of those outside on the streets.

  Yet her presence had swallowed him and the room.

  Nothing existed except her and the warning drumbeat of his heart, and so he made himself stop and look.

  The house above was safe. He should be deliberate and precise, he had plenty of time.

  No one would be coming to disturb him.

  He made himself take in everything here, as if this were an average crime scene: the stains and moisture on the plastered walls, the small, waist-high table, the healthy pinkness of her feet and hands…

  The coolness of the air that made her nipples jut upward in the center of her areolas.

  The neat triangle of her scarlet pubic hair, and the line of her slit where even now moisture glistened… and the smallness of her toes.

  Sherlock inhaled, exhaled, and shut his eyes. Listen to the beat of the blood. Make the body obey. Turn the eyes elsewhere.

  He pressed his lips together.

  Except this was not an average crime scene. He had her naked, helpless, and alone.

  The room was dominated by this massive elephant of a table that you’d need a lorry or four men to shift. The floor beneath was stained where the stone tiles met. Sherlock knelt and scraped a dark red substance from the grout into a bottle and stoppered it. If human blood, the Uhlenhuth Test would detect it.

  On the table between her spread legs was a large wooden dildo and for a second he was angry—at the men and what they must have contemplated doing to her, and at himself for how tempted he was. He moved on.

  The small, round table held a tray with a hypodermic syringe and a vial. He paused to read the label, check the level of fluid, and to collect himself. The languid rise and fall of her breasts said she was under the influence of the drug, as did the bleb of blood at her inner elbow. With the blindfold on, she couldn’t know how intently he stared, nevertheless this was a beginning, and he refused to begin in any way except perfection.

  With a gentle touch, he rolled down the blindfold, enough to let him lift an eyelid and see her pupil. It was constricted more than normal considering her eyes had been covered. He loosened the cloth, slid it aside, and still she barely stirred.

  A chair waited in a shadowed corner. He carried it closer, beneath the dangling electric light then untied both her feet but left her hands bound. It should not take long for her to rouse. Already she moved, showing signs the sedation was lessening. In that
respect, her laudanum habit was to her advantage.

  The edge of the table was cool under his palms as he leaned over her body.

  Such lush beauty. The swell of her breasts and sweep of her hips and waist stirred him carnally.

  He would not touch her.

  He would not.

  CLOCKWORK STALKER on AMAZON

  About Cari Silverwood

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  Cari Silverwood is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling writer of kinky darkness or sometimes of dark kinkiness, depending on her moods and the amount of time she’s spent staring into the night.

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  Recent releases

  DARK MATH JESUS – a satire about how Sacrificed to the Sea ended up in Religion and Math categories. *not in KU.

  SACRIFICED TO THE SEA

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