Chambers of Desire: Opus 1 (27 page)

I nodded, feeling yesterday’s pain slowly begin to evaporate. “Say you understand.” Calvin’s eyes pierced mine, and I knew he’d rather die than hurt me again.

“I understand,” I whispered.

“Come here,” he said. His tone was warm, but there was an undertone of steel, the power he commanded in the bedroom.
Yes, sir,
I thought.

I pulled my legs from under the comforter and sat up, waiting for him to make the next move. His arms reached out, swiftly pulling me on to his lap, pressing me tightly to his strong chest. I inhaled his spicy scent and let out a long sigh, burrowing deeper into his neck.

“I’ve missed you, baby,” he murmured, squeezing me into him. His neck was warm against my lips, smooth and supple, and I grazed my fingers through his thick hair.

“Me, too,” I exhaled.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about your body, how you taste,” he continued. “I need you again. It’s been too long.” With those simple words, my stomach tightened, and I became aware of his hard thighs beneath mine, the thin T-shirt I wore. My nipples puckered and poked through the light fabric, alerting him to my arousal.

“Way too long.” My lips met his, timidly at first, then hungrily, drinking them in like an icy glass of water on a sweltering day. When our tongues touched, I groaned, instantly craving his hands on my skin, begging him not to stop. Never to stop.

Chapter 16
 

To my surprise, we didn’t return to the room with the fireplace and the rough-hewn walls. Instead, he led me through another door or, more accurately, a trap door. Hidden under a rug in his bathroom was a staircase that descended into a
second
basement. It was unlit by any fireplace or lightbulb. What light flooded in through the bathroom was swallowed by what seemed a massive chamber. I could only see to the bottom of the stairs, so I followed Calvin closely as he descended.

He seemed to pay no mind to the darkness as it swallowed us, instead, walking us to the center (at least, I thought it was the center) of the room and commanding me to stay still. I obeyed, but I felt a bit of a chill run down my spine as I did. I could see the silhouettes of tables and chairs and other things I couldn’t identify, such as the giant black X-shaped device in the corner near the stairs. Bits of light glinted off metal loops and chains that hung from each of its extremities, though I had no idea what they were for.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” he asked me. “It’s been an emotional few days.”

“I need it,” I whispered. “To get away from everything. I need it, master.”

“Sabrina,” Calvin said, “face me.” He was back with some piece of leather that looked like a very lean bag with laces threaded up one side.

“This is an arm binder,” he explained. I didn’t have to ask what it did. He let it fall to the floor, though, and stepped over to me. He kissed me, and I felt oddly warm from it. There was a tenderness he didn’t usually convey in his touch, a gentle caress of my cheeks with his fingertips. He wasn’t forcing himself on me like his usual aggressive self. It felt nice, but in a way I was very unused to.

“Wow…,” I whispered to myself after. He stepped back and looked me in the eyes. Half covered in shadows, he looked exactly as diabolic and sensual as he was. When he spoke again, it was again with all the tremendous power he possessed.

“Undress.”

I stripped for him, sliding my hands over my skin seductively as he watched. I let my fingers roll over my breasts as I pulled off my bra, and I bent over to give him a full view of myself when I was taking off my panties. He didn’t move, yet I could feel his growing arousal even with my back turned. When I was naked, he darted toward me, sending his hands exploring over my flesh.

Where I had let my hands glide teasingly, he grabbed, squeezed, rubbed, and massaged until I was warm all over my body and wet between my legs. He pulled on my nipples until they ached and throbbed. He slid his finger between my ass cheeks and rubbed me until I squirmed. I moaned lovingly for him when he slipped a finger inside me. He kissed up my neck to my ear, grinding it gently between his teeth and sucking until the entire side of my face felt flushed and hot.

“Master,” I whispered; there was no doubt he’d earned that name. “Please, don’t tease me,” I begged.

“What do you want, slave?” he whispered dangerously. It wasn’t often I spoke up for what I wanted. He was testing me, seeing if I was going to be greedy or good.

“You, master. Please?” I answered. I felt his cock press against my ass, thick through his pants. I knew how badly he wanted to let it free, to thrust it inside me. He must have. I wanted so badly to know I was pleasing him. I felt empty without him inside me.

He picked up the arm binder and pulled my arms behind my back. The device was like a long, stiff sock that trapped my arms together. It was uncomfortable, but not painful. I liked how helpless it made me. When he grabbed me by the crown of my head with his strong hand and forced me to my knees, I felt all the wild pleasure of submission. I was going to make him feel good. I was going to be used for his pleasure.

My skin felt that nervous tingle one must feel before lightning strikes. Calvin loosened his pants and let his thick manhood free. I opened my mouth, and he guided my face onto the head of his cock. As soon as I touched it, I felt a thin trickle run down my leg. The power he held over me was immeasurable.

I refused to let him guide me slowly onto him. In my little way, I rebelled against him by forcing him down my throat immediately. I knew he wanted me to. I could feel it in his skin, in the way his hands gripped my face, with that telltale restraint he had—almost like a shiver under his skin. He was a rough, sexual tyrant. Given his way, he would slam his cock down my throat repeatedly until I was red-faced and choking. He held himself back for me. I wouldn’t let his generosity go unrewarded.

He moaned, no doubt far earlier than he had intended, as my lips dove up and down his cock. The sound of my muffled groans vibrated into the skin of his shaft with each plunge down my throat. I had practiced, and I hardly so much as gagged now. I wanted him to be impressed by how well I could handle him. I wanted to be the first woman who could let him fuck her throat so deep.

His hand grabbed me by the hair; his hips began to thrust into me. I kept my composure, riding the waves of arousal I felt pour from him. They infected me like a disease, pushing my lips faster down his shaft, closing my jaw to let my teeth glide over his skin. He bucked all the harder. I wanted more. I wanted to make him lose control. If my mouth hadn’t been so full, I would have begged for it.

But Calvin was not a man so easily manipulated. As soon as I established a rhythm, he twisted his hips, sending his manhood hurtling down my throat at an angle I didn’t expect. Each thrust became a challenge, one that forced me to maintain my composure. It wasn’t until he slid his wet cock from between my lips that I realized he had made me play to
his
rhythm. I gasped in the air after he exited me, my half-lidded eyes watching as strings of saliva dripped from my chin.

“Good,” he congratulated. “Very, very good.” It was patronizing, deliciously so. I looked up at his chiseled body. I was drunk with glee at being congratulated by the man I served. When had this all stopped being a game?

“Are you ready to do it again?” he asked. I was. He wouldn’t surprise me this time. No matter the angle, each thrust ended in the same place. I took a deep breath and nodded. His hand caressed my face, and I obediently parted my lips. He let me sit for a few seconds, enjoying the look of his slave so willing and ready to receive him, before his fingers trailed up my cheek, over my eyebrow and down my nose to pinch my nostrils shut. My eyes widened, and his manhood shoved into my open mouth.

For the first few seconds, it felt normal. He slid his cock into my mouth gently, savoring every inch of my tight throat. Conflicting emotions roiled in my stomach. I was pleased because I was pleasing him, but I was worried because I knew that in a minute, my lungs would empty, my nostrils would try to flare, and my body would try to breathe. I looked up, he looked down, and I knew this was exactly what he wanted.

A struggle erupted in my mind, a conflict of lust and self-preservation. I moaned piteously. His free hand slid over my hair and down the back of my neck, guiding himself in increasingly faster each time. I felt the softness of the skin against my tongue, the flare of his thick head as it filled the back of my throat and pulled back out. He knew I would start to panic; he knew I would start to gag. When I did, when the first convulsion of my throat closed on his shaft, he inhaled sharply. He never looked away from my face, though.

My lungs began to burn with that horrible feeling of emptiness, and I squeezed my hands into fists uselessly. The fear made me almost giddy, and I shoved my face forward with nervous energy, forcing him harder down my throat. His breathing quickened; it was so heavy I could easily hear it. Every time I nearly pulled him out of my throat, he held me. His eyes were locked on my face as though he waited for something. All I could do was desperately blow him harder.

“Does it feel good, Sabrina?” he asked, his voice dripping with pleasure. I moaned, but it didn’t sound lustful. It sounded frightened. When I looked in his eyes and saw how wide and gleeful they were at the sound, it struck me. My fear aroused him. My being in danger, this playful suffering, was what made him excited. All the times I had tried to overwhelm him with physical pleasure I hadn’t considered that he wasn’t like other men. What we did was special, deviant.

Of course, he would have unique needs to bring him to completion. Regular men only needed a half-decent woman to pay attention to their cock for them to orgasm. Calvin was far more composed, far more particular. He was a man who knew what he wanted, not some slave to whatever pleasure he could find. Was this what he had been training me for all this time? Was this the revelation I was meant to have? And even if it were, even if I knew all this…what could I do?

I moaned again, half a cry. Despite all my turmoil, having his manhood so deep in my throat was hugely arousing. I gloried in how wet he made me, how the feeling of his hand on my skin was like sitting with my back to a fire. I was gagging now; I couldn’t help it. Each thrust elicited a weak squeak of panic out of me. My lungs screamed. My fingers ached from squeezing on each other, and then relaxed. I tried to press the underside of his cock with my tongue. I wanted him to cum. I wanted to breathe. I wanted to make him happy. I wanted to live.

My body began to shiver; I began to feel lightheaded. My eyes began to droop, and my shoulders began to slouch. My tongue could do no more work. I was tired. My body was in complete panic, but all I felt was an overwhelming lack of energy. Soon, my world was the fast pumping of something long and warm down my throat. I felt filled by it. It was a good feeling. The light began to dim around me.

And suddenly, I felt a cool rush in my throat. Air. So much air. I was on the floor. Strong hands guided me down. My leg was lifted into the air, but I was too concerned with breathing to care. For a few moments, I felt nothing. Then, it hit me. Something soft and wet pressed itself where my legs met. It snaked over the lips of my pussy, sending overwhelming pleasure through my skin. In contrast to the soft, lifeless feeling I’d felt a moment before, it was like being born again. Something invaded me, slipped inside me once, twice, repeatedly, until all I could feel was wave after wave of sensation. His tongue.

I tried to moan. Nothing came out. My body was so weak. How could the pleasure be so strong? His tongue licked its way up to my clit, and he began to dart over it furiously. It was too much. I couldn’t move—forget the arm restraints. My whole body was paralyzed by the lack of air. I wanted to writhe; I wanted to scream. I could do neither.

Instead, I sat there and embraced the torturous amount of pleasure he inflicted on me. It was sensory deprivation on steroids. He hardly had to work at me for a minute before I felt the throes of an orgasm building in me. When it hit, when my body began to shake, and my muscles began to clench and contract, I released a loud moan. He grabbed my ass and squeezed, as though holding on for dear life, his tongue guiding me through the explosion of pleasure it had introduced me to. And then, I felt my leg drop.

He let me lie on the floor until I caught my breath. It was the strangest feeling, almost losing consciousness. I had no idea it would be so gentle. Once the aching in my lungs subsided, I felt only tired. Coming back from that was like waking after a good nap.

“Master…,” I said.

“Slave?”

“Thank you.”

I felt him kiss my cheek. It was a warm blossom on my revitalizing skin. What a man!

“Stay where you are. I’ll be right back.” He said, as though I had a choice. When he returned, life had mostly reasserted itself through my body. With one strong hand, he rolled me onto my front. The cold floor felt almost painful on my breasts. He pulled my hips off the floor and aimed my ass into the air. He had a lit candle in one hand. I smiled, despite it all.

The pain of the hot wax was heavenly on my skin. Each drop that fell on my ass made me wince, but the feeling that came after, the soft burn that faded so quickly, was like being teased with little bolts of lightning. It was as though my master were blowing hot ashes on my skin. Soon, my cheeks were covered in dried, flaky wax. A single strong slap on my ass sent the stuff flying and sent my face, pressed on the cold floor as it was, pressing desperately against the stone. I gasped in delight.

“More!” I begged again. I knew how much my gluttony turned him on. He flipped me over, and my warmed ass cooled on the floor. He sat behind me, spreading his legs and letting me recline on his lap. The back of my head rested against his chest. His hand, the one not holding the candle, wrapped under my armpit to tease my nipple. With a squeeze, he aimed that nipple up and tilted the candle over it. The thrill of pain overtook me, and I began to pant rapidly. This was unlike any other time; the wax hardened over the bud of my nipple and left me reeling. He peeled the wax off and did it again, and again.

After a few times, it began to hurt in earnest. I considered saying something, but fought against it. Did I like the pain? I couldn’t tell. My feelings were so muddled. I could feel his warm breath quicken on the skin of my ear. He loved this, and I loved turning him on. His arousal made me aroused. I wanted to feel his cock grow harder against my back. I wanted to know that my pain translated into his pleasure. It wasn’t so bad—no worse than when I lost my virginity, no worse than being fucked like an animal when he laid in to me. It was a feeling I knew I would grow to enjoy.

The pain helped me slip into a submissive state. I felt like a toy to Calvin, a plaything that he could make moan and squirm for his pleasure—and I did squirm. I pushed the back of my head into his chest; I rubbed the small of my back against his groin. He reacted immediately, sliding his hand like a jolt of lightning toward my neck, grasping me under the chin. His hand continued to caress my breast. I stopped moving.