Elicitation (7 page)

Finally, he pulled her into a tiny, narrow shop crammed with tall shelves of cooking supplies. The shopkeeper nodded and smiled in response to his question. He passed her some folded bills, and she gave him a small, tightly-wrapped plastic bag. He thanked her and took Eileen by the arm.

“Did you still want to explore?”

She shuddered. Heavy round objects pressed against sensitive places. Her eyes closed; her breathing quickened. “No! I want to go back.”

The return trip went much more quickly, in no small measure because of her increasing skill at walking without letting the sharp metal teeth touch her thighs. Even so, by the time they were within sight of the hotel’s signature tall, narrow revolving door, the sun had settled low in the sky. Her breathing was erratic as she battled a growing sense of urgency within her. She won the race only narrowly, contractions already building around the steel balls as they crossed the threshold of the hotel. She fled into the relative safety of the elevator and leaned against the wall, panting.

Chapter 5

The elevator lifted them smoothly to the top floor, announcing its arrival with a musical chime. He stepped out in front of her, took her by the hand. The door yielded to his key, and he led her back into the penthouse.

As they stepped into the suite, he grabbed her by the shoulders and threw her roughly against the wall. His mouth, hungry, found hers. His tongue pushed its way past her lips, demanding. His hand closed over her breast. She shuddered, moaned, tried to twist away. He dropped his package and took her wrists firmly in his hands. He growled and pinned them beside her; his tongue forced its way deeper. She quivered, helpless; wetness trickled down her thigh.

When he finally broke the kiss, she was flush with need, and her hips ground against his. He smiled, pleased. “Turn around. Face the wall.”

She hesitated. He growled again. Strong arms twisted her around. He shoved her hard against the wall, held her there with one hand. “Hold still.” He reached into his pocket.

Something slid across her eyes, obscuring her vision. She felt a strap slide snugly behind her head. Her hands flew to her face, and found a smooth, soft leather blindfold. He slapped her hands away. “Don’t touch.”

He turned her around again. His lips met hers; the kiss began softly, gently, and built very slowly. Coiling tension spread through her as he pressed harder against her. Her lips parted willingly this time, inviting the tip of his tongue deeper. Soon the last tattered shreds of her resistance had blown away and she found herself a willing partner, kissing him back deeply, passionately. She felt the heat of his hands on her sides, the firmness of his body against her. A giddy rush passed over her. She contracted sharply around the balls still within her and nearly came right there against the wall.

His fingers rose to her throat, unbuttoned the top button of her shirt. Her breath caught, and a tiny jolt of fear rippled down her spine. The fear found the heat of her arousal, joined it, and she moaned. His fingers moved again, and the next button opened. He bent down, kissed the hollow of her throat softly. Another button parted. One hand slipped inside her shirt, cupped her breast. She moaned again, louder this time. Her fingers twined through his hair.

Before long, her shirt hung open. His fingers turned their attention to her skirt, which yielded quickly beneath them and fell to the floor. A short pause, then the lock in the front of the belt gave way. Cool air touched her throbbing, hardened clitoris. His hand slid between her legs, tugged the strap holding the dildo secure inside its wet hole. One strong pull and it slid free. She cried out sharply, thrust her hips hard against his hand. The warm heavy balls tumbled out of her with a wet squishing sound. Her juices poured from her, soaking his fingers. The balls chimed as he rolled them in his palm. “You are absolutely drenched, little whore.” Nimble fingers stroked her, coaxing the longing within her to life. She heard him chuckle at her moan.

Steel manacles closed around her wrists. She jumped in surprise, and a touch of fear quickened her breathing. “What are you going to do to me?” she asked, her voice small.

“I’m going to train you, of course.” He knelt. Hard metal closed around her ankles, just above her shoes. When he rose again, she heard the heavy clanking sound of chains. Something tugged on her wrists, and she gasped as she felt herself pulled abruptly away from the wall.

He led her by the cuffs around her wrists. Chains dragged behind her ankles as she moved, weighing down her steps. She walked with exaggerated caution, unable to see, legs wide apart; with every step the fear grew stronger, and her heart pounded more wildly. Vivid memories of what he’d done to her when she was chained to the bed flashed through her head. A tear leaked from beneath the blindfold and rolled down her cheek.

“Right here. Step up a little bit.” His hand steadied her as she stepped forward onto something slightly soft and perhaps as thick as an exercise mat. He rotated her body slightly. “Good.”

Chains clanked. Her feet were pulled apart abruptly; she stumbled and nearly fell. By the time she recovered, he had secured the chains around her ankles to some fixed point on each side of her, and her legs were spread wide. His voice sounded in her ear. “Take off your shirt.”

Hands trembling, she obeyed. She dropped it and stood naked save for her shoes, her ankles chained to the floor.

More clanking. He pulled on the chains around her wrists, lifting her arms over her head. She cried out as he hooked the chains to a point above her, then tightened them until her body was stretched taut. She was chained upright, standing spread eagle, arms bound so high overhead that she was nearly forced her to stand on tiptoe.

Fear became panic. Her breathing sounded ragged in her ears; with every breath, her breasts bobbed and swayed. Hands caressed her body from behind, flowed over the curve of her breasts. “Your nipples are very hard, little whore. You must like this.”

“No!”

“Suit yourself.” Tight clamps bit down hard on her nipple. She screamed and struggled against the chains. “There we go,” he said.

She felt a painful tugging, and realized that he had attached some kind of chain or cord to the clamps. She felt him hook the cord over something above her. Her breasts were dragged upward painfully as he drew it tight. She screamed again and rose to her tiptoes, trying to ease the pain.

Something large and thick shoved deep into her pussy. It forced its way farther and farther into her until it bottomed out within her, painfully deep. She shrieked at this new violation and tried to move her hips, but the dildo within her, attached by a steel rod to the platform on which she stood, held her fast. She could not raise herself off it, could not move her hips in any direction.

Each breath, each tiny rocking of her body, made her breasts bob and sway in small motions, causing the clamps to tug cruelly on her nipples. The dildo impaling her forced her to stand on tiptoe; she could not lower herself without pressing it far too deep. The manacles dug uncomfortably into her wrists, already tender from her earlier struggles. She began to cry; the sobs shook her body, made her breasts bounce and jerk against the clamps pulling them upward.

He lifted off the blindfold.

She realized with horror that she was chained up directly in front of a giant, floor-to-ceiling window. The illumination in the room was a cool, dim red, save for a single spotlight just above her head that bathed her body in bright while light. Beneath her in the late afternoon sun, the London street spread out, crowded with hurrying people.

“No!” she wept. “What if somebody looks up?”

“Then they’ll see a naked woman chained in the window fucking herself on a dildo,” he answered, his tone matter-of-fact.

She hung there for many long minutes, fighting not to move, struggling to control her sobs. She could not force herself to remain completely still. Her breasts hung heavily from the clamps, jiggling with every tiny movement. The muscles in her legs began to quiver from the strain of holding herself on tiptoes. Before long, she felt them give out. She used the last of her strength to lower herself as gently as she could. As she settled on the dildo, she cried out in pain, giving herself the first of many bruises deep inside.

The cord attached to the clamps on her nipples tightened, dragging her breasts upward. Tears poured down her face. The full force of her weight on the dildo quickly became more than she could bear, and she lifted herself onto her tiptoes again, shuddering with relief.

She could not hold it. Her strength failed again, even more quickly than it had before. She was forced to lower herself once more onto the dildo. She shrieked and tried to rock her hips, to keep it from pressing in the same place. Before long, the pain became too much to bear, and she rose onto her tiptoes once more, sobbing.

The third time she gave out and was forced back down onto the dildo, she found she could no longer summon the strength to rise any more. She shifted and rocked her hips back and forth, afraid to stop moving lest the pain become unbearable.

“That’s it,” he said. “Fuck that dildo. Ride it good.” White cream flowed from her, coated the rigid phallus, dripped onto the platform beneath her. Her desperate cries of pain softened, began to take on a different character.

“That’s it, little whore. Keep raping yourself. Give it to yourself. You like it when it hurts, don’t you?”

Her motions grew more frantic. As long as she kept moving, it could almost, almost feel good; but if she stopped, even for an instant, the pain became too intense. She struggled in her bonds, her body stretched tight, her nipples screaming, and a familiar tension began to grow inside her.

“No!” she sobbed. “I don’t like it! I don’t want it!” She willed herself to grind down onto the thing inside her, hurting herself, heedless of the people flowing in a river beneath her window. Her moans became screams. “I don’t like it!”

Then, without warning, it happened. A wave of pleasure, ferocious in its intensity, roared over her, taking her completely by surprise. She came hard, fast, thrashing and crying out in ecstasy. She contracted sharply around the dildo, every squeeze an explosion of exquisite pain. Her orgasm went on and on and on, unstoppable, for several minutes.

When it finally tapered off, she hung limply from the chains, twitching and moaning. He lowered the rod supporting the dildo. It slid from her abused and aching pussy, smeared thickly with creamy juices. She scarcely stirred.

He reached around her and unclamped her nipples. Fire bloomed as blood rushed into them. She whimpered at this new pain. He released the metal rod from its base and picked it up, the hard black rubber dildo still attached to its end. Its head touched her lips.

Without protest, her mouth opened. She did not struggle as he shoved it deep, against the back of her throat. Aftershocks from the orgasm rippled through her body in time with his thrusts. She accepted the way he violated her mouth with the dripping, come-covered dildo, her mind far away. He pressed harder, and it slid without resistance down her throat until the base reached her lips. She remained still, eyes closed, heedless of the gathering crowd on the sidewalk below staring up at her.

Eileen returned slowly to her body, as if traveling back into it from a great distance. Then, in a rush, she was aware of her own physical self, of the steady ache between her legs, the burning pain in her nipples, the thickly textured rubber penis down her throat, the heavy, musky taste in her mouth. She tried to scream and gagged instead. Her throat closed around the intrusion. She choked and struggled in her bonds. He pulled it from her mouth. She coughed as it slid free.

“Mmm, good,” he said. “Your body is getting used to this already.” Working quickly, he unfastened the chains from the bindings around her ankles, then did the same for the manacles around her wrists. She sagged into his arms, incapable of mustering the strength to stand. Anthony carried her to the bed. She he sat heavily, and let out a small yelp as the spikes around her thighs, forgotten, dug into soft skin. She blinked and opened her legs.

“There you go, that’s better,” he said. “It won’t be long before keeping your legs spread will be second nature to you.” Gently, almost tenderly, he laid her down on her back, with her arms above her head. She remained still while he attached a second set of chains to the shiny steel cuffs, binding her wrists to the headboard. She made no outward reaction save for a subtle quickening of breath as he attached more chains to the restraints on her ankles and affixed them to the head of the bed, drawing her legs up and apart.

“Now let’s see,” he said when she’d been securely chained down. “Where did I put that package?” His dark eyes cast around. “Aha!” He retrieved the small bag he’d bought from where it lay on the floor, grinning. “If we’re going to get you properly trained in just two weeks, we’ll need to use some special tricks, hmm?” He arched his eyebrows and pulled a gnarled root from the bag. “I think you’ll like this. It’s a ginger root.”

Whistling cheerfully, he drew a large folding knife from his pocket and set about carving the root. In short order, he’d whittled out a thick, roughly cylindrical plug from its heart. She watched silently, eyes wide with apprehension.

When he’d finished, he sat on the bed next to her. “This will encourage you to relax. You’ll see.” He caressed the smooth, soft skin of her inner thigh. She whimpered, heart beating fiercely, as he brought the carved ginger root against the puckered entrance to her anus. “Try not to clamp down on it.”

He pressed, gently at first. The root was slightly damp, and she felt a tingling where it touched her. He pressed harder; as the tip penetrated her, the tingle grew, became a mild itch. She shifted uncomfortably.

The root slipped fractionally deeper. The itching sensation intensified. She whimpered softly, clenched tight against the intrusion. The itch became a burning. “Don’t fight it,” he said. “Relax. It gets worse if you clamp down.”

He held it there with firm, steady pressure. Slowly, it slipped deeper, and the burning, itching feeling grew. She moaned and tried to force herself to relax. All at once, it slid deeply inside.

She shrieked and closed tightly around the invader. Almost instantly, her ass was filled with molten fire. She screamed and arched her back, lifting herself partway off the bed; her struggles seemed to intensify the burning, making her stretched sphincter clamp down harder. She thrashed frantically against the chains.

“Shh.” He stroked her thigh softly. “Don’t clamp down. Relax.”

Her struggles subsided bit by bit as she forced herself to relax. The burning faded to a sharp, nagging itch inside her. “There. See, isn’t that better?”

He watched her for a long time. Every beat of her heart, every small vibration of her body brought with it new little flashes of discomfort. Every so often, she would tighten involuntarily around the root, and a bright burning pain would explode through her, making her cry out and writhe on the bed.