Naughty Bits Part II: The Training Session (12 page)

“I like not having that damn hair getting in my way. Yours, though, I like long. Gives me something to wrap my hands around when I fuck you.”

The electrical current changed, became more of a stroking, back and forth, skittering among all those nerve endings like a continuous ping-pong game.

She was moaning as he suckled her, so very tenderly, through the thin cloth of the shirt. He moved to the cleavage, running his tongue in the channel between her compressed breasts and playing there, making it impossible not to imagine him doing the same lower down. Then he shifted to the other nipple, got it aching for more, before he sat back, leaving her panting and squirming.

“A little higher intensity, I think.”

She let out a cry as the current strengthened. In the first moment it stung, but then she adjusted to it. Her hips jerked with the stimulation, fingers clamping around the slats of the chair.

Yes, in a clinical way, the sheer physical manipulation could arouse her, no different from the solo use of her vibrator, but there were far more elements to this scenario, stoking her to higher levels than she’d experienced with something battery-operated. And it wasn’t just the electrodes doing it.

She was wearing an outfit he’d ordered her to wear, was bound to a chair so he could watch her, indulge his own pleasure. The detachment he was demonstrating by watching the movie intensified her reaction, though she couldn’t explain why. All of it ostensibly about him, yet in an amazing, confusing way one of the most erotic things she’d ever encountered. He’d been right; it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d brought her favorite movie of all time. She wouldn’t have heard a word of it.

Her hips couldn’t stop twitching, because that electrical current had a gradual, building effect. Her upper body got involved, a sinuous roll. She dropped her head back and brought it back down, all of her as restless as if a tongue was stroking her between her legs, a hugely intense response blooming in her lower body and spreading out.

He’d been eating his popcorn; she could hear him crunching. Then he set the bowl on the side table. His palms molded around her breasts, his thumbs teasing over her nipples. She cried out, a near scream at that light touch.

“Ssshh. You’ll interrupt the movie, baby. Be quiet, or I’ll gag you.”

She bit back on the moans, the whimpers, but it was so hard. The effort made things even more intense, which she was sure was his plan.

Behind her she heard dialogue, gunfire, seventies theme music . . . it all rolled into one blur of white noise. Her mind became like a video camera mounted in the corner of her living room, imagining what this looked like, a man sprawled out watching a movie, drinking beer—she smelled the faint flavor of hops from where he’d had his mouth on her breast—while she sat there, tied up, vulnerable, so turned on she couldn’t stop herself from making these tiny cries and moans, whimpers that sounded a lot like pleas.

“Can’t help being a bad girl, can you?”

Though she tried to protest, pull her head away, he coaxed open her mouth with unrelenting fingers, pushing a rubber phallic-shaped object into it. The thick and short gag held down her tongue and stretched her jaw. He buckled it around her head, caressing her jaw with his strong hands, soothing her. Imagining it like his cock in her mouth had her tonguing it, suckling it, her throat working before she was even cognizant of doing such a shameless thing.

“Christ, you can kill a man.” His voice was a near growl, yet his hands left her. The gag muffled her wail of protest. He moved out of the chair and she heard him sink down on the nearby couch. Start eating the popcorn again. “There now. Don’t want you interrupting the movie at a good part.”

She would have called him a bastard, except for the gag and the undisguised rough lust in his voice.

It went on for what seemed like half the movie, well over an hour. She came so close to climax, so many times, but he was always aware of where she was at, that crazy combination of intense attention and seeming disinterest. The electric pulses died down or changed each time she was almost there. She wriggled, squirmed. At a certain point, the pleasurable stress brought forth tears.

When she was whimpering against the gag like a baby, unable to stop her continuous pleading, he turned down the volume, to the point she could hear her ceiling fan rotating. He came back to his chair, his legs against her again. That simple contact was enough to make her shudder. Unbuckling the gag, he slid it free, wiping the saliva around her lips, her chin, with a cloth. He gave her a few sips of water, then rose. She heard his chair scrape the wood floor as he moved it behind her. Her chair adjusted beneath her, and she guessed he’d hooked a foot in the slats beneath to bring her closer. He was sitting right behind her now.

“You asked me about my fantasies, Madison, but what I want to know are yours. Tell me. In your shop all day, surrounded by all those possibilities, what one fantasy belongs to you?” His voice was a mesmerizing purr. “When you’re in your bed alone, touching yourself, wanting to give yourself an orgasm, what do you imagine the most often? Pretend you’re there now, and my voice is your own mind. There’s no wrong answer, no judgment.”

Her mind was going in a hundred different directions. She could barely think. As his fingers slid along her nape, teasing that bone, she trembled, hard. Before that touch, her mind gave way, following the track he set for it, no resistance.

“I imagine . . . when I spread my legs, it’s someone else spreading them, holding them down while he does . . . oral sex.”

He pressed against her back, inner thighs brushing her hips. Sliding an arm around her, he put his knuckle against her pussy again. It interrupted the current with a startling quick shock, a light burn. She was so slick, it was easy to imagine his finger was a tongue. She jerked against the intimate caress, the play of that clever digit.

“Are you in your bedroom or somewhere else?”

“I’m in . . . his bedroom. He . . . bought me.” She blurted it out, whispered the rest. “Like at an auction.”

“What kind of auction? Present day, or a long time ago? Here, or in a desert somewhere?”

She’d never told anyone about this fantasy. It was shameful, far beyond political correctness, the dictates of feminism . . . It was a deep dark secret, yet she found herself speaking out in the dark, as if telling the devil himself what her greatest temptations were.

“It’s . . . here, now. One of those auctions where sheikhs buy virgins, like the
Taken
movie. Only we weren’t kidnapped. We were raised, groomed to become someone’s sex slave. Like
Story of O
.” She gave a desperate half laugh. “It’s like a dream, a mish-mash of things.”

“That’s fine. It’s your fantasy. You can make it fit your own desires. What are you wearing at the auction?”

“Just a thong and a collar, attached by thin chains to nipple clamps, a clamp . . . down there.”

“On your clitoris, or labia?”

“Clitoris. The chains are caught in the back . . . with a padlock. Before the auction, men come by, lift you to your knees by the chains, examine you.”

“Rough men, men who frighten you, make you worry they’ll be the one who buys you.”

She nodded.

“So is it a sheikh who buys you?”

She shook her head, then couldn’t stop, kept shaking it. She made an inarticulate plea and he had his hand under her hair, digging into a handful of it, holding her fast. “Ssshh,” he said firmly. “Be still. Focus. Madison, I’m ordering you to be still. Contain it, hold in the arousal, let it get more intense that way.”

It was as difficult as being told she had to do fifty more ab crunches at a fitness class, but she did it, because he’d commanded it.

“You haven’t answered my question. Is it a sheikh?”

“It’s a soldier. He doesn’t fit in. The others look at him, aren’t sure why he’s there. He’s high-ranked, like special ops. I don’t know much about the military.”

“Again, doesn’t matter. Your fantasy. What’s he wearing?”

“A dress uniform, very intimidating. He wants his own personal slave. The way he looks at me, I know I’m the one he wants.”

“Are you frightened of him?”

“Yes.” She shifted. “But during the auction, the way he looks at me . . . I can’t imagine belonging to anyone else.”

“Like he knows you’ll be his, no matter who he has to kill to get you.”

She shivered at the very real threat, the determination in the masculine voice. She could hear it in her fantasy.

“How do you feel, when he looks at you that way?”

“Like I’d do anything to please him,” she whispered. “He looks stern, a little cruel . . .”

Was she really doing this? Telling it as if it was real, as if she was playing make-believe with Alice and they were teenagers? Only they’d never played make-believe like this. Not together.

“He’s making you understand that he’s in charge, that you won’t manipulate him. That you’re his slave; he’s not yours. As long as you follow his rules, you’re safe, within the structure he’s set. There’s a big difference between a prison and a fortress. What do you do when they bring you to him, after the auction?”

“I . . . go to my knees while he’s holding the chain attached to my collar. It’s heavy. It was attached to a concrete ball. We wouldn’t run, we were trained for this, but—”

“But everything reinforces that you’re not free, your choices are not your own.”

Why was she finding this so incredibly arousing? She cried out as he removed his finger and the current went back to the stroking pattern. Another tear leaked out of the corner of her eye as her hips worked. She couldn’t come, it wasn’t strong enough for that, just enough to drive her even more insane.

Every word she spoke was something she’d never said to anyone. But in darkness, all secrets were kept, right? There was no shame. “I bend and kiss his foot, and he gives me enough slack to let me do it. That’s when I know . . . that I really belong to him. Not just as a piece of property. He wants me, not any slave. Or I hope.”

“As I said, the underlying needs are always simple.” His breath teased her skin. “Tell me about his shoe.”

“Polished, slick. I can smell the shoe polish he uses. Oil and smoke, like a gun.”

“When he takes you home, what do you imagine him doing first?”

“He puts me in his tub, scrubs off the hands of all the other men who touched me. He tells me that’s why he’s doing it, why he’s doing it himself.”

“You’re his prize. His possession. His treasure.”

“Yes.” She was whispering every word now. Those tears kept coming. “He commands me not to speak. But I’m lost in the way his hands feel. He tells me it’s okay for me to look at him. They train us not to lift our gazes except when ordered to do so. So I watch his face, his mouth . . . like I’ve been given a Christmas present. At one point I forget myself, reach out to touch it. He catches my hand before I can do that, ties my wrists to a bar in the tub until he’s done. Then he unties me, carries me to the bed.”

“What does he do then?”

She hesitated. Then she shrieked as the current shot up, a quick, hard sting, setting her tissues on fire. “Stop . . . help . . . Logan . . .”

It eased off, leaving her heart racing, her hips still jerking at the sensations. She’d been on the cusp of climax for so long, she knew she couldn’t go there, but she’d never been so close and held in such stasis. Imprisoned by his will.

“You’ll answer my questions right when I ask them, Madison. No thinking or pausing. What does he do then?”

“He examines all of me, every inch of skin, every crevice. Then he goes down on me.”

“He tastes your pussy, licks your clit and you squirm under his hands. But he’s much stronger than you, isn’t he?”

She nodded. He was in her head, seeing it as she was seeing it. It didn’t surprise her to find him there. “He makes me hold on to the bedrails, and then . . . he’s chained my wrists there. The manacles are lined inside, soft, but heavy steel on the outside. He says I’ll wear them when I sleep or whenever he wants to fuck me. He tells me he’s . . . eventually he’s going to invite the men in his unit in to watch and . . . if I come too soon, it will prove I want . . . all of them.”

“He’ll give you to them, won’t he?” His mouth was at her ear again, voice now with a touch of a growl to it. “What does he say?”

“He has his mouth on me and he says . . . this is my c-cunt, and I can do whatever I want with it, can’t I? I say, ‘Yes sir,’ because I want to do whatever he wants me to do, even fuck his friends. I know he’ll punish me for getting wet when that happens, but I’ll be wet because of him watching. Because I’m serving him.”

“Do you imagine it, with his friends?”

She whimpered again as his finger trailed down her carotid. “Different sizes, pushing into me. Different hands on my body, different ways of touching me. Then they get impatient, and it’s more than one at once . . . one is sucking on my nipples, leaning over my face, as another is inside me. Another . . . they get cruel, one slides a knife down my stomach, nicks me with the blade and tells me I have to stay still, no matter what they do to me . . . He’s not touching me, my Master, but I know he’s watching. I want to please him.”

“Can you see, or have they blindfolded you, like this?” He touched the mask over her eyes, stroking it so she felt the pressure of his fingers.

“Yes. They keep me gagged, except when one of them is straddling my face, making me take his cock in my mouth.”

“While another is fucking you?”

She took a shuddering breath. “Yes.”

“What do you smell, Madison?”

“Them. Different men. They’re burning candles, so they can drip wax on me, bring the flame close to my skin, make me think they’re going to burn me. I hear the clink of their dog tags as they’re pushing into me, feel their bodies against me. Ohh . . .”

She dropped her head back on her shoulders, panted harder. Logan’s hands closed over her straining shoulders. “God . . .” Now, no matter how she moved her hips, it seemed to be increasing the sensations. And still the climax was out of reach. She wanted to be touched. She could imagine her soldier’s fingers thrusting into her, his tongue . . . after it was all over, his cock slamming inside her, his harsh command for her to spread wider, take him deep, so he could . . .