by Joey W. Hill
"Yes." She shifted. "But during the auction, the way he looks at me . . . I can't imagine belonging to anyone else."
"Like he knows you'll be his, no matter who he has to kill to get you."
She shivered at the very real threat, the determination in the masculine voice. She could hear it in her fantasy.
"How do you feel, when he looks at you that way?"
"Like I'd do anything to please him," she whispered. "He looks stern, a little cruel . . ."
Was she really doing this? Telling it as if it was real, as if she was playing make-believe with Alice and they were teenagers? Only they'd never played make-believe like this. Not together.
"He's making you understand that he's in charge, that you won't manipulate him. That you're his slave; he's not yours. As long as you follow his rules, you're safe, within the structure he's set. There's a big difference between a prison and a fortress. What do you do when they bring you to him, after the auction?"
"I . . . go to my knees while he's holding the chain attached to my collar. It's heavy. It was attached to a concrete ball. We wouldn't run, we were trained for this, but--"
"But everything reinforces that you're not free, your choices are not your own."
Why was she finding this so incredibly arousing? She cried out as he removed his finger and the current went back to the stroking pattern. Another tear leaked out of the corner of her eye as her hips worked. She couldn't come, it wasn't strong enough for that, just enough to drive her even more insane.
Every word she spoke was something she'd never said to anyone. But in darkness, all secrets were kept, right? There was no shame. "I bend and kiss his foot, and he gives me enough slack to let me do it. That's when I know . . . that I really belong to him. Not just as a piece of property. He wants me, not any slave. Or I hope."
"As I said, the underlying needs are always simple." His breath teased her skin. "Tell me about his shoe."
"Polished, slick. I can smell the shoe polish he uses. Oil and smoke, like a gun."
"When he takes you home, what do you imagine him doing first?"
"He puts me in his tub, scrubs off the hands of all the other men who touched me. He tells me that's why he's doing it, why he's doing it himself."
"You're his prize. His possession. His treasure."
"Yes." She was whispering every word now. Those tears kept coming. "He commands me not to speak. But I'm lost in the way his hands feel. He tells me it's okay for me to look at him. They train us not to lift our gazes except when ordered to do so. So I watch his face, his mouth . . . like I've been given a Christmas present. At one point I forget myself, reach out to touch it. He catches my hand before I can do that, ties my wrists to a bar in the tub until he's done. Then he unties me, carries me to the bed."
"What does he do then?"
She hesitated. Then she shrieked as the current shot up, a quick, hard sting, setting her tissues on fire. "Stop . . . help . . . Logan . . ."
It eased off, leaving her heart racing, her hips still jerking at the sensations. She'd been on the cusp of climax for so long, she knew she couldn't go there, but she'd never been so close and held in such stasis. Imprisoned by his will.
"You'll answer my questions right when I ask them, Madison. No thinking or pausing. What does he do then?"
"He examines all of me, every inch of skin, every crevice. Then he goes down on me."
"He tastes your pussy, licks your clit and you squirm under his hands. But he's much stronger than you, isn't he?"
She nodded. He was in her head, seeing it as she was seeing it. It didn't surprise her to find him there. "He makes me hold on to the bedrails, and then . . . he's chained my wrists there. The manacles are lined inside, soft, but heavy steel on the outside. He says I'll wear them when I sleep or whenever he wants to fuck me. He tells me he's . . . eventually he's going to invite the men in his unit in to watch and . . . if I come too soon, it will prove I want . . . all of them."
"He'll give you to them, won't he?" His mouth was at her ear again, voice now with a touch of a growl to it. "What does he say?"
"He has his mouth on me and he says . . . this is my c-cunt, and I can do whatever I want with it, can't I? I say, 'Yes sir,' because I want to do whatever he wants me to do, even fuck his friends. I know he'll punish me for getting wet when that happens, but I'll be wet because of him watching. Because I'm serving him."
"Do you imagine it, with his friends?"
She whimpered again as his finger trailed down her carotid. "Different sizes, pushing into me. Different hands on my body, different ways of touching me. Then they get impatient, and it's more than one at once . . . one is sucking on my nipples, leaning over my face, as another is inside me. Another . . . they get cruel, one slides a knife down my stomach, nicks me with the blade and tells me I have to stay still, no matter what they do to me . . . He's not touching me, my Master, but I know he's watching. I want to please him."
"Can you see, or have they blindfolded you, like this?" He touched the mask over her eyes, stroking it so she felt the pressure of his fingers.
"Yes. They keep me gagged, except when one of them is straddling my face, making me take his cock in my mouth."
"While another is fucking you?"
She took a shuddering breath. "Yes."
"What do you smell, Madison?"
"Them. Different men. They're burning candles, so they can drip wax on me, bring the flame close to my skin, make me think they're going to burn me. I hear the clink of their dog tags as they're pushing into me, feel their bodies against me. Ohh . . ."
She dropped her head back on her shoulders, panted harder. Logan's hands closed over her straining shoulders. "God . . ." Now, no matter how she moved her hips, it seemed to be increasing the sensations. And still the climax was out of reach. She wanted to be touched. She could imagine her soldier's fingers thrusting into her, his tongue . . . after it was all over, his cock slamming inside her, his harsh command for her to spread wider, take him deep, so he could . . .
". . . brand the others away with his come." Holy crap, she'd said it aloud.
"What happens when it's all over?" Logan's voice was stern, like she'd imagine her soldier's to be.
"He's back again, and they're all gone. I know his scent. He's holding me, calling me . . ." She was still too aware of her surroundings and self to say it out loud, but then Logan wrapped his fingers around her throat, tilting her head back to caress her windpipe, put his mouth against that churning artery.
"Tell me, Madison. Speak the words. Tell me what you want me to call you."
"His. His sweet cunt, his devoted slave, his treasure."
"You never doubt his care for you, the fact you belong to him. There's no uncertainty, no loneliness, no fear. That ownership is the ultimate sense of security, isn't it?"
She closed her eyes under the blindfold as he stroked her throat some more. She made a sound of intense pleasure as he released her arms, loosened the belt around her waist. He drew her to her feet, which set off a whole other level of stimulation through the clips, such that she was a puppet with no coordination, driven by the current coming through those lines. It didn't matter. He had her, the belt replaced by his strong arm as he put himself behind her in the chair, bringing her back down on his lap, with her still facing outward. His other hand settled on her forehead, pushing her head back on his shoulder. All the way back so if the blindfold were gone she'd be staring at the ceiling, held by him like a doll.
"Logan . . ." she gasped. She couldn't control anything. "Help . . ."
"Let it happen. Give it all to me. You don't get to hold anything back. It's all mine."
He broke the current, reaching down to press into her pussy once more, collect that fluid on a finger, withdraw it. When he painted it on her lips, she smelled herself.
"Lick yourself off of me."
She did, tiny, frantic motions of her tongue, then he cupped her jaw, turned her head and took over with a full, open mou
thed kiss, plunging his tongue deep as she quivered and convulsed from all the stimulation he was throwing at her.
The climax started building like a wave in her lower belly, like before, only this time it went so high, it scared her. It was going to make her head explode. It was crazy, she wanted it like she'd never wanted anything, but she was afraid to go over alone. She was calling his name, and he answered.
In those final few escalations, before the wave crashed over her, he had his hands on her face, her waist, his mouth against her cheekbone, breathing the words she needed to hear.
"I'm here, Madison. Go over, baby. I'll hold on to you."
She screamed herself hoarse, fought the climax because that was the nature of it, so excruciating there was no choice but to struggle against it, a base survival instinct that only fueled it to greater levels. At a certain point, he cut the connection, because his hand was there instead, rubbing her, giving her a critical human contact that had her twining all her emotions around that one touch, binding herself to him in every way she could, to give her something to hold on to during the fall.
It was ruthless and powerful, much like him, but he held her through all of it, gave her the last ounce of sensation. When she was done, she was limp in the bonds, her vocal chords raw, her body weak as if she'd been drained of every ounce of energy. She wanted free, needed to be free, but only so she could crawl into him, be held in a different kind of binding. One made of flesh. He understood, for when he removed the clips and freed her legs, he scooped her up, rose and took them to the couch, settling down into the deep cushions with her in his lap. He tugged the blindfold loose, though she kept her eyes closed. He let her wrap her arms around his neck, bury her face in his chest and sob for breath, her body trembling as he murmured to her, stroked her, rocked her.
"Easy. I have you. I'm right here."
*
It took a while for everything to settle. She might even have dozed off, because when she surfaced, she realized the TV volume was higher. He was taking a sip of his beer, holding her in one arm as her body lay against his, molded against every plane. When he put down the beer, he stroked her hip, the length of her thigh, a pleasurably possessive gesture.
"You've thought a lot about that fantasy," he said. "Developed the story over time."
"Yes." She'd crafted the whole scenario over a variety of lonely masturbation sessions. She wasn't going to share that, but she supposed he'd already guessed it. "Sometimes I fell asleep thinking about . . . less sexual things. He marries me, and yet I'm always his slave behind closed doors. Caring for his house, his clothes . . . but not like . . ."
She obviously was still too caught up in sensation, for her to say such foolish, easy-to-misinterpret things. But Logan didn't laugh at her.
"Not like some asshole who expects you to pick up after him," he finished. "That's different."
She nodded, relieved that he understood. He kept holding her, soothing her. Caring for her. "Why did you . . ."
"Hmm?"
"Why did you sit behind me? I was still blindfolded."
"Sitting where you're aware of me but I'm out of your line of sight, whether blindfolded or not, makes you more comfortable about speaking the deepest things in your head." He dropped a kiss on her temple. "Your body language becomes less self-conscious as well. Non-verbal cues give me as much as your words."
He wasn't the only one who could read non-verbal cues. One of the sensations adding to the pleasurable aftershocks was the enormous erection against her ass. Even now, it was still substantially hard enough to catch her attention. He'd just given her the climax of her life. She wanted to give back. If only she could find the energy to move.
His arm banded around her as she started to shift. "Sssshh. Stay still, Madison. We're at one of the best parts of the movie."
"How would you like to watch the best part while I'm going down on you?"
When he stilled, she put her mouth at the base of his throat, teasing the pocket between his collar bones with her tongue. A bit lethargically, but her motive was clear.
Tangling his hand in her hair, he tipped her head back. She'd finally opened her eyes, but when she looked into his face, saw the heat of lust there, his undeniable, total absorption in her, she remembered what she'd said in her fantasy--gazing upon his face was like being given a Christmas present.
"Getting sucked off by your sweet mouth while I'm enjoying my favorite movie and beer is a guy fantasy come true. But not tonight. Tonight is about something different. Don't ask me what. Just stay quiet and be still."
"But what if I want that? What . . ."
She couldn't believe she could be this forward, but after that climax, was there really any physical realm that she could be shy about? When she pulled out of this weird post-climactic state where Logan had convinced her she could be as open and vulnerable as she wanted, she'd no doubt be mortified, trying to re-craft all her shields. She wanted to take advantage of this state while she could hold on to it.
She curled her fingers around his hand, brought it down her body until it was between her legs, against all that slick moisture from her climax, but more than that. When she pressed his fingers against her, her clit was still flush and full. Through the pressure, he should be able to feel what she felt, the urgent pulse. Yes, she'd just had a climax over the moon, but she was still orbiting. She wanted, needed more.
She met his gaze. "Let me do it. Please."
She wanted to be on her knees for him. She couldn't believe how strong the desire was. When she pushed up out of his lap this time, he let her. Fortunately for her wobbly legs, it wasn't far to go to slide into the opening between his legs and kneel on the rug below. Her fingers clasped his splayed thighs for balance, but she stopped there, waiting, staring up at him. He hadn't said yes yet. She would beg, coax, but there was a line she wouldn't cross to push her suit. A true sign of what she'd revealed about herself tonight, wasn't it?
Recognizing it, diabolically willing to impregnate the moment with even more sexual tension, he'd laid a deceptively casual hand on his inner thigh. Now he lifted the beer in the other, taking a swallow, his attention on the TV screen. She remembered how he'd made Troy wait while he touched her face, and her body responded as Troy had at the anticipation, a low-level coil of need.
She put her mouth on the hand he had on his thigh, tiny touches of her tongue to his knuckles, kissing and tasting his skin. When he turned his fingers over, pushed his thumb into her mouth, she sucked on it, making it clear what she could do for him. His other fingers stroked her throat, a light touch like meadow grass against skin.
Then, victory. He put the beer down, and moved to open his jeans. He slipped the top button, pushed down the zipper and reached in to free himself from the garment beneath. Her lips parted, breath shallow as he revealed his cock, stretching it out full length before her. It had a nice thick steak-and-potatoes meatiness to it. Saliva pooled in her mouth, telling her she wanted that organ stretching her mouth, pushing into the back of her throat. She'd savor every excruciating inch of it.
Curling his fingers in her hair, he guided her to it. As she opened her mouth further to take his girth and length, he pushed her down on it slow. She'd put both her hands on his thighs, but now she shifted them to grip his base, her thumbs resting on the heavy nest of testicles still inside his jeans. He wasn't going to strip them off, give her every inch of his flesh the way he'd compelled her to offer hers. Not tonight. But for now, this was enough.
She remembered her earlier thoughts, about loving to give head, the way it made her feel, as though she was servicing a lover. Servicing . . . her Master. She let herself say it in her head, accept how much she wanted to think of it that way. For the first time in her life, there were no questions or doubts, no games to play that would drain her energy. Logan accepted this side of her, cultivated it, drew it out. He was in charge. She wasn't trying to talk him into something he didn't want to do, or worried what he'd think of this side of her. H
e'd loosened the grip of her control-freak claws and made her believe that, at least tonight, this might turn out okay.
As a result, the need to submit was surging up far stronger than she'd ever allowed herself to experience it before. It was the difference between a high school crush and first mature relationship. A sad thought, given her age and track record of relationships, but right now the truth didn't hurt as much. There was no room for the sting of failure or embarrassment when her mind was committed to one purpose. Pleasing her Master.
She enjoyed having him in her mouth, and devoted every scrap of energy she had left to giving him as much pleasure as she could. His thighs flexed, his hips pushing up to shove deeper into her mouth as his movements began to simulate the act that had her own hips shifting restlessly against her calves. Sex was so casual now, something people often decided to do on a first date. But nothing felt casual with Logan. He'd even said that wasn't going to happen tonight, no matter what she did, underscoring that it had significance. It had to be earned.
As a result, she put all her effort into teasing him into a higher and higher state of arousal, reveling in the bruising grip of his hand as it became even more aggressive, pushing her down on him. His breath rasped, his body jerking as he started to tip over that edge. She made an encouraging plea against his cock and closed her eyes, triumphant, when that vein pumped under her grip, a harsh groan tearing from his lips.
He came, jetting to the back of her throat, and she sucked, licked, swallowed, not allowing herself to flag, stimulating him to the very end. Until his grip tightened for different reasons, telling her to ease off.
As she obeyed, slowing her pace, he released her hair to stroke it. There was an initial clumsiness to his movements as he had to find coordination again. It felt good that way, more balanced. It also felt good when, after tucking himself back into his jeans, he lifted her under the arms and put her back into his lap. He pressed his jaw against her temple as she curled her hands in his shirt. Picking up the remote, he made a grumbling noise at her.
"Now I'm going to have to go back three scenes. I lost my place, thanks to you."
She snuffled a laugh against him, and he squeezed her. Quiet ensued as they both recovered, as she listened to the thunder of his heart go back to a steady thump, thump and she tasted him on her lips, in her throat.
