Seize me From Darkness (Pierced Hearts Book 4) (8 page)

When they pulled off the sack and I saw her,
standing there under the lights waiting for me, I nearly turned around and said no.

I didn’t because I couldn’t.
In those few seconds, I’d flashed through what would happen. They’d kill me. They’d hurt her worse than I would. The consequences ruled out self-sacrifice.

I’d done this before. Each time, would I have to argue with myself? Or would it get easier?

Though it was a new problem that had shocked me. I was looking forward to this, just a smidgeon, just enough to creep myself out.

Fok
this.

H
er lonely figure in the center, beneath the dangling chains, spoke of the purest of vulnerability.

There was so much room in here and so much equipment lining the wall.
Diabolical stuff. Good things, depending on your point of view.

I walked to her, saying,
as I drew near, “It’s me, Pieter.”

The poor
girl was quivering already.

They’d left it all up to me this time. No tying
her down in position. Just her, standing, with her plain dress, and her head covered by the black bag they used on her. Her wrists were cuffed at the front, but that was it.

M
e, I was in suit, pants, black shoes, and tie. My best guess – this client had a fetish for women being molested by men in suits.

The speaker came on. “You have a blank canvas, Mister Pieter. A pretty woman to draw on. Do what you wish
to her. But make it good.” I could hear the amusement in his voice. “Wait. There is one proviso. Our client wishes you to cut off her dress.”

Christ
.

I held up my
empty hands.

“Harrison
, please, a knife for Pieter.”

After a heavy pause, my friendly guard, lazing by the door,
heaved himself upright and slid a knife across the floor to me. I picked it up by the brown handle and rotated it. Light curled across the steel.

Lekker
.
Very nice. Pity I couldn’t stick it in Gregor.

“And Pieter, no excessive chatting to her this time. The mic
registers it. We will know.”

No talking?
Shit.

The edge
of the knife was well honed. The guard tensed when I stared his way, but there was no point in angering him. I turned to Jazmine, walked a slow circle around her, while she vaguely followed the sound of my path by tilting her head.

They wanted me to cut
off her clothes? She knew I had to be rough. I should do it properly.

Her dress was thin and soft and my grasp of the
hem made it ride up the back of her thighs. I gathered it some more until I pulled her off balance and she gasped and staggered into me. The knife carved through the fistful of cloth. Casually, I tossed the weapon in the direction of the guard before I tore the top of each sleeve. The dress slipped to the floor.

Naked
and,
damn
, that ivory-white expanse of female skin. No bikini tan lines. I sucked in a long breath. Pervert that I was, I couldn’t help looking.

With her head covered, she appeared more of an object, a
thing
, than my wife had ever been in our S and m scenes. But what a cute thing. The slope of her spine as it curved into her waist, the tease of her glossy hair across the small of her back, the tremble of her hip when I rested my hand there and pulled her to me, her ass to my groin.

I held her tight
er, fingers digging in. So soft. My fingers dug in more, as if they were obeying another, deeper call, until she squirmed the smallest amount...and whimpered.

“I’m going to show you the
other side of pain,
bokkie
.”

I recognized the familiar zing of an
ticipation. Inflicting pain on women did things to me. Before had been different. This time, I had consent, of sorts. She knew what I did. Why.

I neede
d to allow myself to enjoy the sadism. It gave me a hyperawareness I’d never get if I stayed distant and gritted my teeth. I had to devote myself. All amped up, I was a gourmet and expert sadist, I could
taste
the pain with my eyes, my hands...maybe my tongue.

Ja
,
she was a meal laid out before me. I circled her, twitchy to get going, to see what toys they had.

This was bad.

Be guilty after.

I had to zone in
, see every reaction, every flinch, every blanch of skin and trickle of blood from the strikes. And there would be blood.

I’d
realized last night that blood was the only way I’d be likely to convince Gregor and co that I’d done it properly. I hadn’t told her that. It seemed wiser and kinder not to.

Zone in.

Just me. Just you.

This was a
woman I’d have jumped at the chance to scene with, if she’d ever asked me in Cape Town, when I was young and free and, yes, stupid. Getting my brother killed had proved my stupidity.

I sniffed.
Zone in.

I must be
Master here and dance on the precipice. Pain. Pleasure. Starting now, my little captive. That thought sneaked in and I let it pass. For this to work, she had to be mine in these scenes. Not theirs. Mine.

There was no
safeword. No hiding. She was my woman to do with as I wished. My balls tightened.

Such
a heady situation, enough to spin me off into space if I wasn’t careful.

I’d long ago learnt to disassociate from the
violence of what I did for a living. It acted as a buffer though some things still got through. I’d talked to a doctor and it was the same for him and the suffering and death he saw from day to day. Either you took that mental step back, or the stress would pull you apart. I could do this, though it was weird because I also had to keep my emotions engaged as a sadist.

Jazmine
had no training, no buffer. She was an innocent. I had to keep that in mind.

I stepped away.

The jacket was uncomfortably tight. I took it off and tossed it aside, rolled up the long sleeves of the white shirt. No protests from Gregor? Good.

Be damned if I’d scene looking like a model from a catalogue.

Should I remove the bag? Perhaps being blindfolded would calm her?

I picked up the rags of the dress and tore off strips then
took the bag from her head. After the barest glance at her eyes – she blinked at me and swallowed – I blindfolded her. With a second strip, I tied up her hair, out of the way of any implements.

I risked
a whisper. “I begin.” From the faint inclination of her head, she’d heard me. “Don’t move.”

I
padded to the wall where a rack stood.

Floggers, paddles, whips, canes, leather harnesses, bondage g
ear. Nothing sharp or piercing, though you could do damage with any implement, if you wanted. Was this, what they had me do to her, so rare? It seemed as if they didn’t aim for the darker, nastier, sadistic acts. Why now? Why Jazmine? Or perhaps they’d taken away some things to keep them from my reach?

I selected two floggers and a whip, then
a crop with a rectangular end. The harnesses called to me. I’d never been allowed with Elenor. I’d been her top not her Dom. I had no such limitations today.

Fok
.
I almost salivated at a shiny black leather straitjacket with what looked like an open front. There were rubber-tipped forceps too. There were
D
rings on the jacket for attaching things like rope. There was rope. If I kept her still, it would be safer.
Ja.
And I’d possibly come in my pants.

For a man with death watching from the other side of the window, I was way too eager.
But I’d faced death before and this was for the best. I banged my head with the side of my hand, stared at the stuff. Then I picked it all up.

Wrapping her in the jacket, which did have an open front, then connecting the chains hanging from the ceiling to the shoulder D rings, meant she was bound standing. The jacket encased her arms and
, when buckled, crossed them over her chest and beneath her breasts so she was hugging herself. Everything I wanted was still accessible. Best of all, her tits were bulging out, front and center.

I’d found a spreader bar too
and I attached her ankles to it so her feet were kept apart.

“Gorgeous,” I said softly from b
ehind, cruising my hand over her belly to her mons then downward, cupping her, feeling the heat of her pussy. I recalled how she’d reacted the other time, when I’d held her tight. I barred my other arm across below her bare breasts, squashing in her bound arms. Her breathing deepened and a small, almost imperceptible, shudder ran through her body. My middle finger, when extended, nestled beautifully into her slit.

Very wet.
Good.
I had at least one piece of knowledge.

“So, you
like tight bondage?”

Her breathing stalled
, and a second later, she shook her head vigorously in negation.

Here, now, I doubt
ed she’d admit to liking her favorite food, let alone bondage. I eyed the dark window. She didn’t know I’d set her facing them. I had my reasons, apart from letting the client think it was to display her.

“I don’t believe you. But
let’s see.”

Before they could complain about
us chatting, I went to my pile of implements and selected the softer, thuddier flogger.

I took one breath, released it, and began on her back.

The wide falls of the flogger laced across her – back, breasts, ass, and upper thighs. I circumnavigated, painting her with red lines. I planned to cover her body with my strikes, sensitizing her to the feel of light pain. But I didn’t dare keep this mild play up for long, not when our watchers wanted more. As I increased the zip of the leather through the air, Jazmine tried to turn away, her feet searching for somewhere to go. The chains held her in place. It would be hurting now.

I aimed some
blows between her legs, slapping the leather near her clit. Light hits. Heavier ones on her thighs.

Did she spread her legs?
Was that a breathy shudder? Eagle-eyed and greedy to both harm and please her, I concentrated on her pussy.

H
er lips worked, pursing, pouting, and huffing.

Was it good or bad for her? She was new to this and I was new to her. I had a theory that most could be trained to like pain.
It was only a theory. Some serious masochists craved the immediate, nastier, harder stuff, but this woman...I had no idea.

I watched
. I studied her to get a fast degree in Jazmine 101. I picked up the stingier flogger and whisked her skin, here and there, then swung it in forcefully. What got her moving and breathing differently? What made her moan?

Ahh
.
Her face had contorted.

More strikes, more sting,
until she seemed crosshatched in red.

I
recoiled, just for a second.

What I was doing?
This was terrible. Deep inside, I knew it. I walled it off.

Afterward,
I can help her.

Now, I
had to
be her sadistic torturer.

P
anting, I admired my work. Her tits heaved. The leather squeaked as it stretched. I stepped in closer until I could feel her exhalations on my chest where I’d undone some buttons. My sexy victim. Her breasts were an all-over pink and her slit showed the puffiness of arousal and my blows.

Sweat saturated the twists of hair that fell across my eyes.
It was hot, thirsty work, beating a woman. The tropical atmosphere penetrated even the thick concrete of this bunker-like building. I dried my palms on my pants and tossed my head to clear my view. Then I took her hair in my fist and kissed her.

“
Are you liking that? Are you hurting?”

No answer. If I could see her eyes, would they be glazed? I was tempted to remove the blindfold.

I nipped her upper lip, listening to her small sounds of protest. Slowly, I ran my hands over her plumped and warm breasts. A woman trussed like this looked succulent to me. Biteable. Her nipples jutted out, tight, tempting me. I stooped to suck one into my mouth, circling it with my tongue, before sucking some more, then doing the same to the other breast.

“Pieter.
” She wriggled but I wasn’t letting her go.

“Hmm?”

Moans and little gasps accompanied my sucking, as well as a jerk when I grabbed a handful of her no doubt throbbing ass.

But...
Pain, remember? I stepped away to my pile of goodies and found the forceps, returned to her to decide where to apply them first. Not her clit...not yet.