Chambers of Desire: Opus 1 (30 page)

With that, I ended the call, pressing the red end button. I was surprised, and pleased, that my hands weren’t trembling.
When Calvin sat back down a minute later, I didn’t mention the phone call. He looked more relaxed, at ease, and I didn’t want to risk upsetting him again. Besides, I wasn’t sure how I even felt about it. I was strangely disappointed that my dad would give up so easily, that I was so simply tossed aside.

“Sorry,” Calvin said, scooting closer to me. “I remembered I had a work thing to take care of.”

“No worries,” I said absent-mindedly, sure that his quick departure had nothing to do with work. “Do you want dessert? I was going to order something, but I wasn’t sure what you were in the mood for.”

Under the table, his hand found my bare knee. All thoughts of my family evaporated instantly. “I don’t think I can find what I’m in the mood for on the menu.” His voice was low and throaty, sparking that slow warmth to build in my stomach. The night air felt cool against my warm skin, and my nipples hardened in excitement.

“Maybe we should go then,” I said. Suddenly, I didn’t want to be anywhere except in a bed with Calvin.

His hand drifted a few inches north, lightly grazing the soft skin on my inner thigh. “Are you sure
you
don’t want to stay for dessert?”

The skin under his finger tingled. “I’m sure I’m sure,” I whispered, stomach tightening. “I’d rather have dessert back at your place.”

I didn’t have to tell him twice, and before I knew it, our bill was paid, and Calvin was leading me toward the elevator. The doors opened, and we entered alone, my heart pounding. Instantly, my back was pressed against the wall, and he’d pinned my hands above my head. I opened my mouth, letting his skillful tongue find mine, sending waves of desire between my legs. I gasped for air when the doors dinged, and Calvin pulled away, giving my ass one last squeeze.

He followed me into the limo, sitting next to me on the bench, thigh against mine, sexual tension mounting. “How fast can this driver get us back to your house?” I breathed.

He answered by touching his lips to mine, slipping his tongue back in my mouth. His hand cupped the curve of my neck before dropping to the swell of my breast. He traced the fullness of my cleavage, and then plunged inside the fabric, finding my taut nipple, finger probing the sensitive bud.

“What’s the rush?” he murmured. “Maybe you should just enjoy the ride.”

I met his intense gaze. “If you insist,” I said, slowly pulling the silk over my knees, exposing my thighs. I watched as he hardened in his pants, growing thick and firm, pressing into the fabric.

He parted my thighs gently, nudging between them with a wandering hand, raking his hand up my leg. Arousal pulsed through my stomach, spreading into my dampening thong. When his finger brushed against the elastic edge, I moaned, arching my back, begging him to dip inside. To my dismay, he didn’t, continuing to tease along the outside of my panties. The pulsing intensified, and I reached for his cock, running my hand over the hard length.

By the time the limo pulled into his driveway, I was dizzy with desire, aching to feel him inside me. My skin was on fire, panties wet, and folds throbbing.

“Tonight,” he whispered, “We will do something special.”

Chapter 18

There I sat, feeling the cold wood of the chair pressed against my naked bottom, feeling the creak of old mahogany in my bones as I shifted my weight back and forth. The creak was so loud, so dangerous. I couldn’t make too much noise, else he'd hear. Then again, I reasoned, he could have been standing right there. I wouldn't have known. The blindfold stole that from me. Tonight, I was his abductee. It was role-playing, a performance. The stage was a creaking old shed, and I had very few lines.

Saliva dripped on my lap, under and around the ball gag thrust into my mouth. I gave a low moan; I felt almost too helpless. Would that I could have just reached up, torn the blindfold off, torn the ball gag out, and dropped to my knees before him, but the play and the teasing was half the fun. I wove back and forth on my chair again. The knots were tight. The ropes wound up my body like so many snakes, constricting me in new ways every time I squirmed, and I felt as though they were somehow fashioned to suffocate me slowly the more I struggled. The man who did this—that dark, evil man—certainly knew his rope-work.

“Now, now.” a rumbling voice said in the darkness outside my blindfold. I stiffened immediately. Something about his tenor was so awe-inspiring. He cooed at me as though he really felt sorry for me, as though he hadn't been the one who did this to me.

“There's no need for haste, Sabrina” he said with that seductive hiss. Excitement mounted in me, in step with a mounting claustrophobia.

“We're not going anywhere for a long time,” he promised. I struggled against my bonds and whispered a muffled plea into the unknown shadow cast by that damned blindfold. He laughed. I went stiff. His laugh was like a blade cutting my perilous ego with all the subtlety of an axe. I felt cowed just for having heard it. There was some power in this man, something more than I’d ever felt. His hold on me was absolute. It’s just a game, I told myself. Why was my imagination so good at pretending it was real?

He's just a man. He's just a man. He's just a man. I chanted in my head half to stave off the anticipation, half to check my lofty expectations.

Then, he touched me. It was like being stabbed by a needle and caressed by a feather at the same time. The vastly separate feelings somehow mingled. I cried out and reeled back in fear. I had no idea what I’d just felt, not at first. I quickly realized that all he had done was stroke a single finger down my face.

He's just a man. He's just a man.

“Shhh, darling,” he said in that disarming tone, that venomous tone. Afterward, I found myself straining against the silence it left behind, eager to catch the next rumbling word he said. The fear—no, the anticipation; it had to be the anticipation—was killing me.

“It’s so erotic, isn’t it? Just my hands and a bit of rope. And a chair. And that gag,” he said, trailing a finger around my lips. I didn't recoil this time. It felt electric.

“Relax. This is what you wanted. This is what you've prayed for. I've heard you. I'm here to answer them. I'm here to give you what you've begged for,” he whispered, as blood rushed to my cheeks.

Suddenly, a touch sent sensation through my groin, as a single finger began to explore my inner thighs. The ropes, tight but not choking, had made me so sensitive to his touch. The loss of power was sending me into his arms and, much as I tried to resist, I allowed a short moan into the gag. I heard him chuckle, and I immediately regretted the moan. I began to think horrible, unrealistic things—that he knew what I was thinking, that he had some magic spell on me, perhaps he'd drugged me. The doubt cascaded on itself, building as he continued to trace spirals over the skin of my thigh, and I twitched away uselessly. I could hardly move and nowhere far enough to escape him. I felt the chair under me sodden with my wetness. I knew he could see it. It was embarrassing and so arousing.

“Relax...,” he repeated, and his hand slid to my pink lips, sliding up one side of my sex, up to brush over my sensitive cherry, only to dive down the other side. His light touches were worse than any rough handling. Roughness I could understand; I could buck back; I could participate in. I had some control. This was torture, plain and simple, and it was driving me mad; it banished every clear thought from my head with each stroke. He'd hardly touched me, and here I was nearly screaming...

I let out another moan; I just couldn’t stop it. I felt like a bottle of cola, shaken and fit to burst. The only way to make it better was to let him know, to moan for him, to let him hear what he was doing to me. Maybe then, he'd stop, maybe then, he'd just throw me over and take me already—

No, that was not what I was supposed to want. I was supposed to want home, freedom, sex with men I chose. But he was the man I chose. Eventually, he reached my most sensitive spot again, this time lingering there, pressing the tip of his finger against it, and rolling it underneath. My hips shook; my lips trembled. I whined. Suddenly, I felt warm breath over my left ear. His lips were inches from the skin of my face, and he whispered.

“All this can end right now. Just say, 'Thank you, sir,'” he explained. A rush of recognition surged past the mindless lust in my head. He was trying to break me. All this teasing wasn't to satisfy him it was to crush me. He’d told me to resist just so he could watch me crumble.

In the end, he’d get what he wanted. He always did.

I didn't respond for a few seconds, and he chuckled again. The warm breath left me, and so did the finger. For a few short moments, I felt nothing. I couldn't tell if it was better or worse this way. His touch was... it was amazing. Somehow or other, I had to fight not to fall into his rhythm. Yet, this silence was worse.

Fortunately, or not, it didn't last long. I felt the breath again, this time nowhere near my face. Something wet and soft began to slide up and down between my legs, and again, I jerked away from it, fearing how abrupt and intense it was. His... tongue? Powerful hands grabbed my tied ass and forced me forward into the waiting wetness of his mouth. He licked at me like a dog, letting his entire face rub and play against my sensitive folds as he devoured me with a ferocity I’d never felt.

This time, when I moaned, I moaned loudly. The gag vibrated between my teeth, and I didn't care. This was what he wanted, right? Let him have it; let him have whatever he wanted. The feeling, the sensation... it was too much; how could I do anything but give in?

I tried to say thank you, but all that came out were more moans. He ignored them and began to bite at my lower lips, to pull at them with his mouth, to tongue my clitoris, to lick my wetness clean. I began to buck into his mouth with what little room I had to move as his fingers curled into the skin of my ass. I felt pain, remote and faraway, and it mixed as well with the pleasure as a splash of vodka mixes with cranberry. I felt myself stir inside. My toes began to curl; my back began to arch. I strained against the ropes, which only grew tighter against me. I felt my breasts squeeze between two thick strands, and I could feel the blood trap in them. I didn't care. My body began to rock in orgasm, and he ignored it.

His hands left my ass to spread me apart. His tongue hit parts of me that no man before him ever even thought to notice. My orgasm peaked, and I found myself literally shaking under his touch—spasming more like. It came hard, and I writhed, bucked, and screamed into the gag. He let me go, and I could only assume he watched me with a horrible look of triumph on his face as I tired myself out against the ropes.

Tears rolled down my face. I wasn’t crying; at least I don't think I was. It was just so intense. He kissed my tears away, licking the salty trails up my face. He wasn't done with me yet, I could tell. But he spoke gently.

“You have ten minutes. I'll be back.”

I couldn’t tell whether he kept to his timeline. It didn’t matter. As soon as he was back, I felt his hands trail down my thigh. I was still so charged with nervous energy that I immediately started to whine. The touch was so cruelly light that I almost couldn’t handle it. Calvin had told me that some women enjoyed being tied up to feel more comfortable during rough play, almost like a security blanket for a child. That wasn’t the case for me. I felt bound, restricted. It was a sweet torture, a prolonging of release despite the orgasm. I wanted to touch him, to run my nails over his back, slam my hips over his cock, and feel my nipples slide over his solid chest as I rode him. I wanted to be wrapped up by
him
, not some ropes. I wanted to be taken by him, used by him, consumed by him, liberated by him. Every touch in this state was some gorgeous species of pain, a pain I knew would make freedom all the sweeter. Until I was free, however…

His hand sloped over my knee and raced down my calf. With a twist, his palm slipped under my heel and lifted my lower leg. I jumped when he kissed the bottom of my foot. He moaned, sliding his lips gently over the ticklish skin as I gasped and twitched. Until I’d met Calvin, I had no idea how sensual tickling could be. Now, I couldn’t be tickled without feeling that telltale warmth between my legs, especially when my feet were involved. The master had trained me to respond as he liked, and when he slid his tongue between my toes, I, too, moaned lustily.

“Look at you, getting so excited,” he teased. I wanted to tell him it was his fault, but I could only moan. It made me sound so pitiful. I knew how much he loved that. Knowing I turned him on so made me even more aroused.

My foot dropped to the floor. A strong hand curled over my throat. I felt it push up against me, gripping tight. My body screamed at me to respond. I ignored it. I felt fear mingle with excitement in the pit of my stomach.

“We’re going to move now,” he said. “Don’t struggle.”

I felt the chair lean back on its hind legs. I was off balance and clearly held back from falling only by the tight grip on my neck. His hand pushed up against my jaw, and I began to feel the blood trap in my veins as he began to pull the entire chair backward using only me as his grip. When I was where he wanted me, he dipped my head back farther, leading it to rest on the ground. I felt the chair press awkwardly into my shoulders. I had no idea why he’d tipped the chair on its back. I caught my breath and relaxed my muscles. Whatever was going to come next, I knew I’d enjoy it. Calvin had never put me through an ordeal I hadn’t come to love.