Be Careful What You Wish For (24 page)

He lashed her wrists behind her, not sparing the ropes or caring about the cruelty he inflicted, knowing they bit deep. Her shoulders strained, neck craned, pushing out her breasts to a position where even the shy one could not hide. He lingered, knowing she would not stop him, pinching, twisting, hurting each nipple between forefinger and thumb.

Using vac cups he tied her breasts so they became bulbous. Quickly they reddened, becoming hard as the blood was partially constricted. They didn't look pretty any more, but hell, were they a turn on! His cock was like rock; throbbing, needing, aching to feel the warm soft willing wetness of her cunt. It added to the growing excitement, giving it an edge. It was time for something different.

Pushing her roughly to her knees in front of him, knowing she could not help herself because of the ropes that bound, he again dragged back her head, pulling by the hair, forcing her lips apart and pushing his cock directly into her mouth. He fucked her back and forth... back and forth... back and forth. He had no mercy. This was going to be hard and fast, and yet not so fast that he couldn't pleasure himself along the way.

Predictably she gagged. Suddenly she was trying to pull away, uncertain as pictures of another place, another time, another man seared her memory with his red hot poker... hurting, jarring, clashing with the present and the man who held her now.

Her eyes closed, squeezing tears between the lids. They were silent tears. Her pain was her own, which she would not, could not share.

He knew it would come, and he was ready. They had talked and shared too often for him not to know. He knew her past as well as he knew his own. She had given herself to him in total trust for just this reason; to take and own control over the past as well as the present, and to finally let it go, to expunge what had been.

He was doing this now for her as well as for himself. This after all was the role he played in her life. She was his responsibility and it was his duty to see her right, to take care of his charge. The sub in him was working together with the sadist. They took it in turns, and right now it was the sub in him that was in tune with her sub, remembering the way it was, knowing the way it would be.

He watched the war going on inside her head as her thoughts caught between past and present, like a pendulum, ticking the years back and forth, back and forth, unable to decide where to draw breath or to finally find rest. She was clawing against him, her body held taut by the unforgiving ropes, while from her mouth came mewing noises like a kitten frightened and lost, seeking comfort and strength from a parent.

Completely ignoring her distress as the distraction it had become, he made her take the totality of his cock all the way into her throat. Her head twisted frantically this way, then that, wrestling with him, frantic to get free of the grip he had on her hair. But her attempts were futile. She should simply give it up and enjoy the experience when it came. But instead she tried another tack, using her tongue to bar passage.

For long moments she held firm while he butted and strained, trying to get his cock past the block and further down her throat. And she knew she couldn't hold the intruder back for long. They both knew the outcome, and the punishment that had to follow.

His fist became cruel, uncaring, unresponsive, curling her hair around it, drawing her face tight against the very thing she was trying to break away from. His cock was swollen and pulsing and hard. Her face was streaked with tears. Eyes peeked up at him, begging, pleading, willing him to release her, to let her go. But then, this was what she was there for; to learn, to grow, to reach beyond, to finally let go of the past and give it
all
to him.

In the beginning, when she first arrived at the island, and then again more recently, they had talked about these things, and she had been so willing then to offer herself to him.

‘If I try to stop you at any point, please, don't let me. Please, even when images from the past haunt me
please
, keep going. Please do this for me.' She had begged him and he wasn't going to let her down. She was depending on him to stay strong.

Slowly she was relaxing into him. There, now
that
was trust, true trust, the giving of herself to him. She'd known it wouldn't be easy. She knew he could be hard. It was the reason he'd been chosen by Richard, after all, to be the one to guide and teach her. Trust between them secured a safe passage.

Now he held her there on a whisper, the real fun could begin.

Without warning he pushed her head to the floor, grinding her face in the carpet. The familiar thrill of control surged through his veins like lifeblood. He had a driving urge which filled him, of being able to do what he wanted with her. He was a sadist. That part of him had kicked in. She was but a pawn in his game. Her feelings mattered little, if at all. She was there to serve. That was her Calling, her sole mission in life. She had been taught well. She understood the outcome. They were but opposite ends of the spectrum working as one. He needed her every bit as she needed him. It was the way Master/slave, Dom/sub, submissive/sadist worked. One could not be without the other. This was the symbiotic relationship they shared.

Still with handfuls of hair clumped in his fist he straddled her arse, feeling her buttocks rise high. With hands roped tight behind her back the ropes tightened and bit while her knuckles became white as he fucked her doggy style, for no other reason than he could.

The feeling of power was incredible. He felt Master; strong... invincible. There was nothing like it in the world, having a slave beneath him, riding her for all he was worth, feeling her arse grip around his cock, good and tight. He let go her head and took hold of her buttocks as they writhed in a frenzy, caught up in the heat of the moment. She was enjoying it too. That was only right. Just as long as she remembered he was in control, and it was his decision to take the action where it needed to go, and her along with it.

In a moment of rashness he paused to untie the ropes that bound, allowing her the freedom to move unrestricted. Her gasps of relief were audible, but there was an ulterior motive.

‘Reach around with your hands and tickle my balls.'

For moments she relished the ability to bring back feeling into numbed hands, to relieve tension from her arms, stretching and purring like a cat.

‘Now would be good...'

She had little option but to obey, and as soon as she was positioned he again sank his cock unceremoniously into her arse, grunting with satisfaction as he felt it harden and the anal sphincter grip and take firm hold.

The ripples of pleasure her fingers induced in his balls intensified the sensations, and he clenched her buttocks, riding her to the ultimate climax.

Cum oozed out of the valley between her cheeks, while screams echoed in the silence. For moments he wondered if he had gone too far. Was he causing needless hardship and pain? Was this really what was needed... or then again, perhaps something more? For moments the sub in him kicked in, fusing with her experience, enjoying the sensations it gave. But the sadist in him knew the game was not yet over, and he fiddled in a bag he had brought, placed at the side, not wanting her to sense his confusion. A plan could only go so far. In the end what he did next depended on dynamics and the mood of the moment.

Out of the corner of his eye he watched her body movements, they were what spoke to him, telling him how far to go. Unsteadily she raised herself from the floor, tears spilling down her face, and yet, the moon of her mouth told a different story as it lifted into a smile. The brightness of her eyes spoke of triumph, of sub-fever crying out for more, knowing she could, taking strength from what had been, needing to push the limits, to make it edgy, to go to places she'd never been before.

He debated about blindfolding her... but no. That was still to come. For now she needed to see, to feel, to know, to experience, to understand, and to see the marks made. Later they would be there to remind her of what had been, and the triumph over the past they'd shared together.

He made her kneel on a chair and bound her hands behind her, taking delight in her discomfort and confusion, not knowing what might happen next. Two pert nipples peeked at him, daring him to do what they knew would come. But instead he stood behind her, unexpectedly gentle, caressing, patient. Her head swayed from side to side, forward and then back against him, nestling close. She was confused by his sudden change in manner, but at the same time calmed. She thought it was ending, when in fact it was only beginning again. This was but the lull before the storm, while the sub and sadist in him struggled for control.

Tucking a hand under her chin he lifted her head to gaze into those watery pools, so trusting, so pensive and childlike in their aching need. They spoke of the depth of understanding and reassurance she craved. It was the sub she needed to see in him... for the moment. Somehow he needed to push that other self down.

He held her, surprising himself at his unexpected tenderness. This side of him was good also. The nurturing, encouraging, capable father figure, who fostered devotion and fed need. Sheila hadn't been able to have children. It was the one thing lacking in their marriage, and probably the reason she worked in the premature baby unit at the hospital. He would have made a good father, he thought, holding and fingering her neck. Her body trembled and he stroked down towards those beautiful breasts.

She lifted her body, neck strained back against him, watching his face, his eyes, begging to give what she craved. He held each nipple taut, lifting breasts off the chair-back, straining them high. Her eyes closed. She melted into him. A smile flickered across her lips, while a quiet moan escaped into the silence. Yes, she was ready; the crop... the flogger... the cane? Or the whip? No, that would be too cruel, especially in the mood he was in.

He teased a while longer, lulling her senses into a false sense of security. There was a pause while he reached back, and then a belt came lashing down across her exposed breasts, in response a sharp intake of breath.

The first stroke.

When the next bit he made certain her head was well out the way. No mistakes. He was too good a marksman for that, too practised and experienced to leave a mark where it did not belong. Already a weal streaked across the upper slopes of his target.

He took his time for others to follow, while her screams shocked the silence and filled the room. It was a delicious sound which excited and delighted, his senses curdling for more. The sadist in him had taken control. It was always the way. Always he had the upper hand and could push that other side of him down.

Just as he pushed her head down, and with a hand gentle then firm, deliberately aimed to confuse, swept down on bare flesh, smoothing, stroking, smacking, then replacing it gradually with the paddle, the flogger, the cane, the whip, building the pressure, all the time watching her body language, judging how much it could take.

He marked her bottom until there was no space left to fill. His aim was deadly accurate, delivered with precision. It was something he prided himself on. He took time to admire his handiwork, the chequered buttocks, thin trails of stinging whip markings slithering through the lines. He was reminded of the snakes and ladders board he'd played with as a child. He'd fix the dice and his friend Al had never caught on. It was their favourite game, and each time he'd taken the journey down a snake there had been a forfeit waiting. Many happy hours he'd lain in bed dreaming up all manner of cunning moves. Al had undressed to carry out the many varied and increasingly perverse ideas of his making.

Now the woman in Pandora had reverted to child and she had the same look as Al; needy, vulnerable, helpless, wanting, hurting. He helped her to the bed, laying her on her back to hold her tight to him, setting free her hands and caressing, stroking, whispering, reassuring; then letting her rest.

It pleased him that he could tease her this way, melting away the hardness with a caring response. But it was dangerous. He needed Woman, not Child. He needed to bring her back, to open her like an abandoned parcel left too long, and release the layers one by one by one.

He blindfolded her. Then with a final reassuring stroke across her forehead, brushing back her hair, he secured her arms to a bedpost. His Japanese rope work was good, given that he'd been taught by a Master. He resented the fact that the Master was Richard, but then many things they'd shared had been good through the years, which made it so unpalatable that it had to end now.

Her legs he lifted, pulling them apart, binding them just so, knowing the more she struggled the tighter they would become. He peeled the lips of her vagina open, then pinched her clit, taking her to the edge of an orgasm. The sensation was not a new one for her, but the next one would be.

He knew her past would kick in as he inserted the glass dildo. He rubbed tantalisingly, pushing it in... pulling it out. Her cunt juices were flowing, her stomach spasming with the orgasm drawing her further and further down. Her deep-rooted need had been there too long. The dildo ejected with a sucking sound, but she was wet enough to take more. He paused for only a moment, before he fisted her through the endless flow of juices, to the cervix beyond, exploring and fingering the small hole leading to that place capable of such intense feeling and pleasure. He settled her writhing by placing a firm hand on her stomach while fist and fingers disappeared well into the cave. Her body shuddered deeply, arms and legs dragged taut. Frantically she yanked at the ropes that bound, while her head rocked back and forth. He could sense the war waging inside her; giving and taking, needing and wanting, yet at the same time not wanting, her senses teased and tantalised and left reeling, unravelling like reels of cotton. All the time she was aching, crying out for more... more...
more
... until he found a way to reach that depth of emotion still rooted deep inside. It was the big one that would finally release the torment he knew was there, to send her screaming to sub-space and beyond.