Helene Blackmailed (10 page)

She thinks for a moment that maybe he’ll just take her like that, a way to celebrate their new bond, but no. He brings her to the bed and makes her lie down on her back. He reaches into the nightstand where he keeps her cuffs and anklets and she lies there as he buckles them in place.

“On your knees, Helene. Facing me.”

She gets up on her knees, her arms at her sides, and Daniel takes her right wrist and clips the cuff to the ring in her right anklet, pulling her back upright and erect. He does the same on the other side so she is forced to kneel on the bed like an Indian captive. Daniel picks up the crop.

If the feel of his clothes against her naked body was like one dream, this is like another. She knows immediately how to act and what she’s supposed to do, as if she’s been in this position all her life. She has no choice to do anything else.

He touches her with the whip, rubbing the tip across her cheek and down over her chest, her breast, along her ribs and up her back, finally lifting her hair with it and caressing the back of her neck, right at the base of her skull. The leather is wicked and cold, and its touch is dangerously intimate, like the nose of a snake, learning her skin, the topography of her body. Helene is excited from his kiss and her own vulnerability. Her fear is not that she’ll be hurt, but that she’ll fail to please him. If the cost of his pleasure is her own pain, she’s more than willing.

“I won’t hurt you,” he says, as if reading her mind. “You know that’s not the point. You also know you only have to tell me to stop and I will. This isn’t for me as much as it is for you. You know that, Helene, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Down over her cheek again and across her lips.

“Kiss it,” he says, pressing the head of the whip to her lips. “I have to know you want it. It’s no good unless you want it.”

She does more than just kiss it. She opens her mouth and extends her tongue and licks it as if it were his cock, with the same gentleness and fervent hunger. The leather is acrid and tastes of polish, as earthy and masculine as he is, and the tip seems to tremble against her lips as he himself does when her mouth closes on him.

He’s used a whip on her before of course, but it had always been desultory, an afterthought. It had never been the focus of what they did as it was now. It had never been the bond that tied them together, but now it was. The whip is a part of him and a part of her too. She realizes that now.

Down over her face, between her breasts then beneath them, lifting first one than the other as they rise and fall with the heaving of her chest. The slick tip slides over her nipples giving her chills. Her eyes are closed, waiting, following the trail of the whip with every bit of concentration she has. A quick shudder makes her pull at her bonds but her wrists are securely attached to her ankles.

“Here,” he says softly and the whip unexpectedly slaps down softly against an engorged nipple, startling her with the suddenness of the blow. There’s no pain, but she’s shocked at the richness of the sensation, intimate in a manner she’d never imagined. The whip takes possession of her entire consciousness. She’s never been so aware of her breasts as symbols of her femininity.

Helene gasps and he whips the other nipple, making her breasts glow with sexual fullness and pressure. She wants to hide them but at the same time something forces her to arch her back more, bringing her shoulders together behind her and thrusting them out toward the blow.

Another slap and Helene groans, throwing her head back and biting her lip, giving herself to him. Her body’s flooded with warmth and she feels her pussy throb with aching emptiness. She’s never felt anything like this—the feeling of being used and of giving so much of herself—and as she waits for the next blow she hears Daniel groan, overcome with lust and desire for her. Of course she’ll let him do this to her. She’ll let him do anything to her, anything he wants as long as she can feel his own reflected lust.

The blows keep falling, steadily, rhythmically, and she writhes, fighting with herself to keep still or to present him with new targets, to take the blows on the crowns of her nipples or around their supersensitive edges. All the while she’s aware of his excitement, of his barely contained desire for her. She can feel his urgency in each kiss of the whip and his own arousal inflames her and leaves her wanting more and more.

“Do you like it, Helene?” he asks. “Do you love what I do to you?!”

He pushes her down onto her side and she rolls over on the bed, feeling the hot burn in her breasts. He pushes her over on her back and with her wrists clamped to her ankles she’s forced to raise her knees and present her naked and defenseless sex to him. It’s a swamp of wetness now, the ache between her legs acute. Daniel juggles the whip in one hand while he puts the other on the inside of her knee and presses her legs apart. Helene sees the raw hunger in his eyes and knows what’s coming.

“Wider,” he says. “Open up for me, pretty!” She does, spreading her thighs the way she does when she’s ready to take his cock, but she’s never been tied like this before, compressed into a small and helpless ball so open and vulnerable. Her breasts throb, her nipples are painfully turgid and erect as if they’re crying out for his attention and the lips of her sex are swollen and distended with shamefully masochistic pleasure.

He spins her around until she’s on her back on the edge of the bed and then he puts one knee on the mattress beside her. Holding her knee in one hand, he brings the whip down on the tender skin on the inside of her thigh.

“Oh God!” she moans. “No! No, stop!”

He glares down at her. “Is that what you want? You want me to stop? Are you asking me to stop?”

“Yes. No. Oh God, Daniel! Please! Just fuck me!”

She can say that now without flinching the way she used to, but still she doesn’t know what she wants. This is so lewd, so terribly cruel and obscene and yet she longs to satisfy that glow she sees in his eyes. She wants to be everything for him, to be the source of all his pleasure, but still something in her rebels and will not let go. She feels her cunt twitch hungrily as if it resents her interference. Her pussy wants this. Her body wants this. It’s only her conscience that resists.

“No, do it! Whip me, Daniel. I want to feel it. I want you to do everything to me!”

The whip slaps down against her bare and shivering cunt, landing right above her clit and sending a bolt of pleasure through her body. She’s terribly ashamed and yet the pleasure is like water to a thirsting man—it’s everything she needs—to be punished for her need, punished for her desire for this man, for her greedy lust.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” she moans with every slap of the whip. Her hips are jerking, thrusting up to meet every blow, her thighs spread wide and straining, giving her lover what he wants and satisfying her own unspeakable desires.

She feels the blood rushing to her face, filling her throbbing breasts, dissolving her flesh into one raging puddle of need.

His eyes bore into her, gauging everything she feels. There’s no doubt now that she wants this, that she’s his to use as he wishes and seeing the trickle of her own wetness seeping from her aroused pussy, the way the muscles in her shoulders and belly clench tight with pre-orgasmic tension, he steps away from her.

Quickly he strips off his trousers and shorts as Helene lies trembling on the bed, knowing she’s lost. All her self-respect, her self-possession and confidence in herself, the person she is when she gets up on the morning and goes to work, that’s all gone. She’s his now, she belongs to him and his cruel whip and the slave collar she wears around her neck. The bonds holding her wrists to her ankles are like the savagery of his embrace. She can’t move. All she can do is lie there and take.

He returns to the bed and arranges her, pushing her feet up near her ass so that her knees open up like the wings of bird in flight, her arms reaching awkwardly down for her ankles. He places the blunt head of his engorged cock at her lips and she knows instantly what to do. There’s nothing she wants more than to give back to him, to show him what he makes her feel. He lifts the crop and slaps her between the legs again and Helene opens her mouth and sucks him hungrily inside.

He has one knee on the bed with one hand tangled in her disheveled hair holding her up so she can suck his cock. His other hand whips her pussy, spanking it with sharp, rhythmic blows—punishing her for her femininity, for her own lewd desires. Her knees are almost flat against the bed, which causes her to arch her back and shove her poor shaven labia up eagerly to accept his blows. Helene’s hands twist in their bonds. Her fingers spread wide and then claw at the bedcover beneath her looking for purchase, looking for something to hold on to as the world dissolves around her.

She can’t fight it a
nd there’s nothing left to fight for any longer. Her dignity is gone, anything that separates her from him is gone. He’s going to keep on spanking her pussy and feeding her his cock until she explodes in orgasm, until she acknowledges the mastery he has over her and gives him her ecstasy served up on her own quivering body. She hears him groaning and swearing under his breath as she sucks at his pumping cock. He swears at her—calls her rude and savage names—but all she hears is the helpless surrender in his voice, the sound of a man driven out of his mind by a woman’s surrender—all his strength gone, all his mastery gone, stripped down to bare sexual need, just the way she is.

“Get ready, Helene! Get ready! You’re going to make me come! Oh God, you’re going to make me come!”

And that’s all she needs. That’s the last thing she needs to hear and she suddenly chokes on her own scream of release, spitting his cock out convulsively and then sucking it back in as her body rockets up toward him, toward the unrelenting hardness of cock and whip. Her orgasm is bone-deep, soul-deep, and carrying every particle of herself away into a heaven of sexual surrender—his, his, only his.

She feels him grow and throb on her tongue and he shudders violently and wails as he spits his seed into her stuffed mouth. She fights to swallow and shout out her pleasure at the same time and it comes out muffled as she chokes and gurgles on his thick ejaculate. Her body arches, every muscle clenches tight and her thighs tremble convulsively as her pussy reaches for the whip. Her face grows bright red as the blood rushes to the surface like steam from a fire and she opens her mouth wide, hungry for him, reduced to no more than a receptacle for his lust.

* * * * *

Reduced to a quivering, weeping puddle of herself, he gathers her into his arms and holds her tight as she waits for her body to become solid again, afraid to move as if she might yet shatter or fly apart. She’s on her back, her wrists freed from her ankles but the cuffs still in place—all her symbols of submission still in place—and he leans against her, pressing himself against her flesh and keeping her grounded and together with his weight. One of his arms is beneath her around her shoulders, the other hand strokes her face and traces the outline of her lips, dips down to finger the leather collar around her neck.

“You don’t have to wear this for me,” he says. “And I don’t have to use the whip ever again. Not if you don’t want it. But you have to know what it does to me seeing you like this, giving yourself to me like this. It makes me crazy, Helene. It takes me to a place I can’t get to any other way.”

Her mouth is dry and redolent with the taste of his semen, the most masculine and sexual thing she’s ever tasted.

“I didn’t know,” she says. “I was frightened. I’m not frightened now. I didn’t understand before.”

“I didn’t know either. I didn’t know until it just struck me as something I had to do. You do that to me, Helene. You bring out these feelings I didn’t know I had.”

He leans back slightly so he can trace his hands down the curves of her body, down over her breast and her side and over the smooth rise of her hip. He blows his breath over her sweaty skin. It’s both warm and cool at the same time.

“You bring it out in me too,” she says, finally trusting her shaking limbs enough to raise her hand and caress his face. “I mean, this isn’t the person I know, the me I’m used to. I’m the office bitch, the woman who’s breaking through the glass ceiling. I don’t do things like this, wear a collar and let a man whip me. I just never imagined.”

“No,” he says softly. “You are who you are. This doesn’t mean you’re one thing or the other. This just means that with me, you give yourself entirely.”

“Yes.” She savors the thought. “I do. I give myself entirely to you. You know what to do with me. I haven’t any idea anymore. I have no idea what’s inside me anymore. I want to learn. I want you to teach me.”

He kisses her then with a kiss that’s like clouds on a mountain or the sun going down into the evening sea. A kiss so gentle and so profound that it goes beyond mere tenderness and reaches down into that deep place within her again and calls forth that passionate stranger she knows now she hides inside. Her mouth opens and her arms go around his back. On their own, her knees lift slightly and then fall apart and her hips reach up for him to find his hand waiting for her, ready to take what it wants.

* * * * *

Work, life, and the crowds of people in the street as she walks to work in her sensible business suit. Inside she’s a woman reborn, in touch with currents of life and passion that run as deep in her as her blood. Around her neck she wears a thin silver chain that reminds her of whom she belongs to, as if she ever needed any reminding.

Fall is coming and the sun reaches down between the downtown buildings, painting the streets and facades of the office buildings in sheets of flat, dry light. Automobiles honk in the congested traffic, lights change and people file by in herds, heads down, talking about television or what goes on at work. As she walks, Helene remembers the taste of her lover’s semen on her lips and the sound of his groans in her ear as he gave it to her. She recalls the slap of the whip on her ass and the feel of his fingers in his hair, his desperate need for her. Always his need.

Through the revolving door, into the elevator, standing hip to thigh with strangers, their eyes on the floor indicator. This is her floor. This is her office.