by Roni Loren
He closed his eyes, abject fear of exposure twining with that other part of him, the part that liked a dose of humiliation in his fantasies. “Sam . . .”
“You know what color cherries are. I doubt you’ve forgotten.”
Red. His mind whispered it. She was reminding him of his safe word, giving him an out. But if he said it, this would stop. He’d have chickened out before they’d even started. He’d have failed her and himself. But what if she recorded him and the video somehow got out? There were phones involved and the mysterious cloud and what if she hit the wrong button and it went into the ether? He was spiraling, panic whirling up and taking over. His ears buzzed.
So he didn’t hear her move, didn’t hear footsteps, didn’t know she’d returned to the spot behind him until he felt the sharp, blinding slash of pain across the back of his thighs.
“Fuck!” His eyes snapped open. Another hit came right below the last and his body reared up, everything going on alert. Wires crossing. Pain. Arousal. Confusion. Fire. So much fire.
“Pay attention, Gib. I don’t like it when you don’t answer me.” Another hit came, another blazing line. A cane.
She was using a cane. His sweet, pretty mistress had gone straight to one of the most brutal tools in the arsenal. He gasped when she slapped her hand over the stripes she’d put on him. Swift, hard slaps. Ones that made the pain flare even hotter.
Fuck. Fuuuuuck.
Blood roared in his ears and his arms flexed against his back. His skin ignited, agony spiraling. But the panic he’d been drowning in was a distant call in the back of his head. “Mistress.”
“Oh, look who’s back with me.” Her voice had a hardness to it, one that went straight through him, made his cock ache. “Remember the color of cherries yet?”
When he didn’t answer, she flicked the cane against his ass, right over his exposed hole, and his eyes nearly rolled out of his head.
He wet his dry lips, panting. The pain was buzzing through him, adrenaline showing up to the party, making everything bright and tingly. The reality of the situation played at the edge of his mind, but things were getting blurred in the rush of endorphins. He fought to hold on to the threads of his thoughts. She wanted to record him. Wanted to expose him in front of the camera. It would only be for her. She would respect his hard limit. The fear was still there, but the pain dulled it, made him want more, made him want to give in to her. “I don’t like cherries, mistress.”
“Excellent.” Her hand reached between his spread legs, cupping his balls and massaging the heel of her hand over his perineum, braiding pleasure in with the pain still pulsing over his skin. “That pleases me, pet. I’m going to film you. Then one day when I’m all alone, I’ll watch you like this and touch myself. I’ll come thinking of you spread for me, ass covered in my cane’s stripes, cock leaking onto the floor.”
He groaned and pressed his cheek hard into the wood, silently begging her to stroke him, to offer some relief. He was never going to last for any kind of extended scene. It’d been so long since he’d felt real pain that his arousal had gone from zero to two million. And imagining Sam fucking her fingers while watching a video of him only made it worse.
Without meaning to, he rocked his hips, trying to encourage her grip. But she didn’t let him get away with it. She tugged his scrotum and gave a little twist. The sharp jolt made his toes curl but did nothing to alleviate his throbbing erection. “You trying to come, Gib? Trying to get me to jerk you off before I’m ready?”
His throat felt like he’d swallowed sand. “No, mistress.”
“You gonna last for me?”
“Yes, mistress.” If it fucking killed him, he would last.
“Hmm.” She released him. “Not sure if I believe that.” She got up and strolled over to the phone, putting him on guard again. She pressed the button and he heard the telltale sound of a recording starting. “Smile for the camera, love.”
His heart crawled up his throat.
“Look how pretty he is, everyone,” Sam said, her eyes on his. “When he sweats, those waves in his hair turn to curls, curls that make a girl want to rub herself on him.” She walked around him as if examining cattle. “And that body. Wow. Ladies, you can bounce quarters off that belly. And this ass.” She grabbed him right over the stinging part. “I just want to bite it, leave him bruised.”
He groaned, unable to stop himself. No one was on the other side of the camera, but the way she was talking was fucking with his head nonetheless, making him think of an audience, himself on embarrassing display. But at the same time, the way Sam was describing him, like he was some object for her use, was pushing those buttons inside him. “You can bite it if you want, mistress.”
She sniffed. “Of course I can, Mr. No Limits.” She trailed her hand up his arm. “And ladies, you won’t believe the cock on him. He makes such a mess, getting turned on so quick. Look at him, dirtying the floors yet again.”
He couldn’t look down to see, but he could feel how on edge he was. There’d be a puddle beneath him at this rate.
Sam stood behind him, bracing her hands on his hips. “And you should see his tight little hole. Untried, ladies. All for me. Be jealous.”
Gibson shuddered, but he didn’t know if it was fear or need. Both. It was both. Never had he wanted to be touched there, but now he felt himself holding his breath, entertaining dangerous images.
Sam drew her hands down along his sides, down his thighs. Then her leg pressed against the side of his foot. There was some sound of shuffling things. She probably had her bag of toys somewhere back there.
He swallowed hard, expecting another kiss of pain. If she was kneeling behind him, maybe she was going to use that cock ring or clamp him in some way.
But before he could brace himself for it, he felt something hot and wet against his opening.
“Holy fuck.” His entire body jolted like he’d been hit with a cattle prod.
But the spreader bar wouldn’t let him do what instinct demanded, snapping his thighs shut, and Sam had gripped his ass cheeks, spreading him wide and holding him in place. He could go nowhere. The slick heat moved over him again.
Jesus Christ. She was licking him. No, rimming him. Sweet, sassy Sam had her tongue on his ass. The whole image was so filthy, so out of bounds for him, that his brain wanted to detonate. No, his cock was going to. “Sam.”
“Hush. You take what I give you.” She kissed and licked him for what may have been the most erotic minutes of his life. She had no hesitation. No shame. Dipping low and catching the back of his balls and perineum with her tongue before returning to where she started. Now he realized why she’d made him shower, prepare himself for her. She’d already been thinking about doing this to him.
Knowing she’d had this planned only made him hotter. Sam was dirty in the best possible way. Sexy. Perfect. Sweat slicked his back, and he had to fight hard not to fall right off the bench. The sounds she was making were so fucking hot he thought he would die.
“You shouldn’t be doing that,” he panted. “I should be serving you.”
Sam’s hands tightened on him. “I enjoy hearing you moan like that, to know that every part of you is mine right now, to know you’ve never let anyone else do this to you.”
Had he been moaning? He didn’t even fucking know anymore.
“Plus,” she said, her breath hot against his skin, “I need you ready for what’s next.”
“Next.” The word was choked, half-stuck in his throat.
She shifted behind him and then cooler slickness hit the sensitive spot. Sam rubbed him with her fingers, spreading lubricant and making him moan again.
“You can’t take what I’ve got in mind yet, but you’re going to prepare for me and get this first orgasm out of the way.”
“Sam,” he begged as she pushed a fingertip inside him, lighting up nerve endings. “Let me free. I’ll c
ome for you, inside you. Let me make you feel good.”
“Stop trying to direct, Gib. Watching this is going to make me feel good. This is what I want. Now relax your muscles for me.”
Gib’s teeth ground together. Her touch was setting off every button inside him in a completely new way, but nerves clamped around his belly at the invasion. He wasn’t going to call his safe word, though. So he tried to focus every bit of his attention on relaxing. He knew how this worked. But he’d always been the one on the other side, the one in charge, the one pushing into that forbidden zone.
He took a deep breath and released it slow.
“Very good,” Sam said, voice soothing. Something blunt and smooth pushed against him. His body tried to clench. “Shh, easy. The toy isn’t too big.”
Big was apparently relative, because it felt huge to him, like the Lusitania was about to come into harbor. But if he could handle the cane, he could handle this. He would handle this. Because he could hear the excitement in Sam’s voice, and that alone was enough to dial his arousal up to boiling. He breathed out again, and the toy pushed past the ring of muscle and slid in. The full feeling was strange and new and . . . whoa.
“God,” Sam said softly, breaking the tough-ass domme voice for a second.
He tensed. “What?”
“You look so fucking hot, Gib. Seriously.”
He rolled his lips together, the praise strumming something inside him. “Thank you, mistress.”
She climbed onto his legs then, kneeling on his calves and giving him a hint of pain, holding him down with her weight. She adjusted the toy, making his muscles ripple with tension again, and then the thing came to life, buzzing inside him. He nearly leapt off the bench, but she held on to him, draping herself over his back. “Easy, there, big guy.”
The toy hummed inside him, waking up nerves he didn’t know he had, the outside of it teasing his taint and the inside stimulating a spot that felt so fucking good, he couldn’t help but buck his hips. He tried to breathe through it, tried to ride the pleasure without letting it overcome him. He would not come. He could beat this. Mind over matter. But as the vibration went on, the need inside him only got stronger, more intense. Sweet, throbbing pain. “Shit.”
Sam pressed a kiss to his bound hands. “It’s okay. Let it take you. Come for me, Gib.”
The vibrator was relentless, the pleasure near painful in its intensity. It was stealing his control over his own body. Anxiety swept through him.
“No,” he choked out. “Please, not like this. Let me . . .” He turned his head, pressing his forehead to the bench, trying to hold the pleasure back. The thing was humming against his prostate, torturing him with the need to come. His body wanted to fuck, wanted to break free of the bindings, grab Sam, and pound into her with violence. He didn’t want it like this, didn’t want to spill on the floor like some animal without having even touched her. He’d told her he’d last for her, and he wanted to. But his body and will were being stolen more and more by the second.
His hips started moving on their own, humping the air, even as she held on to him, stayed atop his legs.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “Sam . . . please. I want you.”
“No. Let it have you, Gib. Give in to it. To me. You can’t stop it. You can’t control it. Let it have you.”
His body jerked and bucked and he cried out, fighting hard against the tide of sensation. “I can’t. Please. Not like this.”
He could only imagine what the camera was seeing, a grown man fucking the air like some pathetic, desperate thing.
She grabbed his wrists, holding on. And he thought for a minute, she was going to listen, let him go. But she didn’t uncuff him. Instead, she dug her nails into the tender skin there. “That’s it, gorgeous. It’s not for you to decide. Your body is mine. You have no control right now. Rut like a beast and come all over yourself. Make a mess, Gib.”
Mortification bled through him at the way he was moving, the sounds he was making, but he couldn’t stop what the stimulation was doing to him. He would kill to get a hand on his cock, to squeeze the base, to stop this. To win. But it was no use. There was nowhere to go. “Turn it off, Sam!”
“Is that a safe word?” she asked, voice cool.
His teeth gnashed together. He wasn’t going to give up to this goddamned toy, and he wasn’t going to safe word. “It’s not going to work.”
The words were desperate, ragged, his voice not his own.
Sam climbed off of him and the bench scraped against the floor as he continued to thrust. She would stop it. She would turn it off. She knew she’d pushed him too far. He’d be okay.
Then fire lit him up again. Pain struck like a lightning bolt to his thigh. “Fuck!”
Not a cane this time. A riding crop. She wasn’t putting a halt to the thing. She was going to hurt him more. Hot bursts of agony rained down in sharp, unrelenting bites against his skin. Bee stings. All over the backs of his thighs, his ass, right atop the toy, even one to each of the soles of his feet.
“Look how much my boy can take. How determined he is,” Sam said from behind him, sexy pride in her voice. She hit his ass again with full strength. “He’s so very beautiful. And stubborn.”
Sweat stung his eyes even though he had them squeezed shut. “I can’t, mistress. I can’t . . .”
But his thoughts were fuzzing around the edges, his senses crossing over themselves and everything bleeding together. He tried to hold on, tried to keep his focus, but it was like sand through his fingers. A loud whooshing sound filled his ears.
Then he felt the cool handle of her crop tickling his inner thigh.
“I said, come for me.” The crop snapped upward, lighter than the hits to his back but stinging and wicked on the base of his balls.
Light bursts behind his eyes, everything turning to shards of broken images in his vision, and he rose up from the bench, back arching and neck bared. A roar of desperation came from deep within his chest. And for the first time in his life, he came without his cock being touched. Hot jets of semen shot out of him with almost painful force, landing on his stomach and thighs, the floor, the orgasm seeming to go on and on. He shouted, his voice grating over his vocal cords and echoing off the walls.
His breath sawed out of him and his head felt like it was going to split down the middle. But right as it was starting to feel like too much, like he’d jump out of his skin, Sam had a hand on his shoulder and was sliding the toy out, raining gentle words over him.
“It’s okay. Breathe. I’ve got you. Just breathe it out.” She eased him back down to the bench and once he was solidly on it, uncuffed his hands and legs, rubbing his wrists and ankles as she did it.
He tried to say something, to grab on to a thought, but his words were drifting by like clouds, wispy and impossible to capture as he tried to regain control of his breathing. His hips still rocked, gently now, a ghost of a movement, searching for something, searching for her. He needed to focus, needed to . . . he wasn’t sure.
“You okay?” Sam asked, rubbing a hand over his lower back in small circles. “Still with me?”
He mumbled nonsense, managing to respond in the affirmative but not much else.
“Okay, it’s all right. I’m going to grab a few things and then get you up.”
He closed his eyes, content to just stay there for a second. Staying seemed like a good thing. Yes, let’s stay.
He didn’t know how long she was gone, a minute probably, but her voice startled him when she came back. “Just me. I’m going to clean you up a little first. You’ll feel warmth. Be still for me.”
A warm washcloth gently wiped away the lubricant. Vaguely he registered that this should feel awkward, but he couldn’t find it in himself to do anything but enjoy being cared for.
“Okay. Let’s get you up and onto the bed before you fall asleep like that. I’m going to nee
d your help getting you there, though. Think you can do that?”
He wasn’t sure he could move, but he fought that temptation to just lie there and drift a little longer. He felt . . . drunk. But some part of him knew he couldn’t stay like this. He slid back toward his calves and lifted his chest off the bench. It was like lifting the weight of a semitruck, everything heavy and cumbersome.
Sam shoved the bench out of the way and crouched in front of him. She cupped his chin, her eyes searching his, some unknown emotion glittering in hers. She gave him a little smile. “Good job, baby.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead then over his eyelids. “You did great.”
His mind felt like all the wires had been cut, everything sparking and disconnected, and his body hummed. He had this overwhelming need to be touched all over, petted.
“Let’s try to stand, okay?” she said, her voice like silk against his skin.
“O . . . ka . . . y.” The word seemed to float out of him, extra syllables showing up.
With a hand braced on the bench and her gripping his other arm, he got to his feet. She sat him on the edge of the bed and grabbed another warm washcloth to gently wipe off his belly and then the floor. When she was done, she pushed his hair away from his forehead. “I’m going to get you a bottle of water. I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t . . .” He reached for her arm. The thought of her leaving made him want to fucking cry. The hand he had on her was trembling. What the ever-loving hell? He let her go. “Sorry. I—I don’t know why I did that.”
“It’s okay.” She took his hand and squeezed it, rubbed it between her palms. “Here, why don’t we get you lying down first. You’re flying a little, Gib. Just ride it out, enjoy it. I’ve got you covered.”
He blinked, trying to make sense of her words, but she was already tugging his arm and guiding him up the bed. He scooted backward, and she eased him down onto the pillows.
She touched her forehead to his. “I’ll only be a second.”
She climbed off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom while he tried to get his senses to operate again. His entire body was tingling like he’d been out in the cold. The pain he’d been feeling was now a steady whir of something else altogether, like everything was pulsing and alive in a different way. And though he felt exhausted, all he wanted was to touch Sam, to be touched by her.
