Hostile Takeover

Page 35

“You ready to behave now? Don’t bother to nod. I know you’re a little liar.”
He came back at her with his cock. She focused with all she had, and he worked himself against her sphincter muscles. She pushed against him, wanting him, wanting him now, and the muscles gave, letting him slide in deep, ruthless, irresistible. She wished she could flex the muscles inside her pussy. It was distressing to have him sunk deep in her while her pussy was held open, rendered as helpless to his will as any other part of her.
She was lost, just lost. All she had in this silent darkness was him. He began to thrust, shoving her forward so she had to brace her straining, trembling muscles against the onslaught. His fingers reached beneath, pinched that cold thing off her clit, slid the speculum free. There was a muffled clatter as he tossed it away, replaced it with his own fingers, sliding them into her cunt as his thumb and forefinger went to work on restoring the life to her frozen clit.
It swelled up in her like a finger-of-God cat-five tornado. “No, no, no.” She was wailing against the gag. This orgasm was going to tear her apart, take her into places she hadn’t known existed. He was beyond what she could handle, no matter how much she loved him. But he wasn’t leaving her a choice. Hadn’t even given her a safe word. He’d simply taken, because she’d told him that was what she wanted and because he was bound and damn determined to prove her wrong.
I love you, I love you… I want to serve you. You’re my Master. She realized then there was a struggle happening inside her mind, and that struggle said she was still trying to hold onto control. She couldn’t totally trust him because he was resisting the idea that she was the one meant for him. But she had to have faith for both of them, had to let go.
She couldn’t. Oh God, she needed his tenderness, his heart, and this was a ruthless Master who was demanding she surrender everything while he gave her nothing.
But those were the terms. That was the risk she was taking. It didn’t matter anyway. She was being dragged to the edge of the cliff by that punishing cock, those knowledgeable fingers, his heated breath on her spine. But what would happen if she stopped pushing back, if she just gave him a smile, her heart in her tear-filled eyes, and took the leap joyously?
“Come for me, Marcie. Come now. Obey me.”
Heart, lungs, every major organ, were gripped in the squeezing moment of decision, then the orgasm crashed over her. He was pumping into her, the fingers at her clit working her like a maestro. Her nostrils flared, lips stretching to allow as much air past the dildo as possible. Her breasts wobbled beneath her with the motion of his thrusts, her fists in their cuffs and chains gripping that anchor point, her whole body chained and subjected to his will. His slave, in every way.
She screamed against the gag until her vocal cords gave out. Even then, she continued to convulse and buck as if gripped in a full epileptic seizure. Tears were on her lips. Her orgasm gushed forth so strong she spurted over his cock. Her legs buckled, but he had her by the waist, kept lifting her with his thrusts. He released then, taking her up once more with the heat of his seed. She shrieked as he kept massaging her clit, milking every last sensation from her. She strained to hear his release, a grunt, a moan, but the mask was too damn effective.
Still, he kept going even after she rode that tide to the end. He would fuck her as long as he wished, until her tissues were sore and begging for relief. Did he do it because he knew it was the key to his and her pleasure both, underscoring that she was his to do with as he desired?
With a mix of terror and other, less sensible, emotions, she realized he was still hard. She couldn’t keep up. She couldn’t be enough for him. No, she would be. She had to be.
At last, he was slowing down. She was panting. Easing her back to the ground, to her knees, he removed the spreader bar and the hobble chain, but he cuffed her ankles together. He adjusted her so she was lying on her back, her arms up above her head, for he left her attached to whatever furniture leg he’d chosen. When something silky touched her ankles, she realized he was binding her legs with nylon rope. He did a wrap from ankles to her thighs, tied off there. Then he took her arms down, unchained them.
For a moment her wrists were held in his hands, and she stretched out her fingers, seeking his face. Please, please let me touch you.
His mouth touched her palms, making her sob. She touched his jaw, his cheeks, stroking, desperate, needy. But then he was wrapping nylon rope between her forefinger and thumb, moving to the other fingers to lace them together so she was palm to palm before he did a similar snug rope wrap from her wrists to her elbows. Oh God. It was like her fantasy when he was biting her neck.
She couldn’t follow what was going on anymore, floating in sensation. He slid his arms beneath her, lifted her. He smelled so good, heat and sweat, aroused male. Moving through a spiraling darkness, she focused on the way it felt to be held in his arms until he laid her face down over what felt like a sofa arm. He adjusted her arms before her, so her fingers gripped a cushion and there was space between her face and the couch surface, protecting air passage. Straddling her bound legs, he put his hands on her hips, thumbs on her buttocks, spreading them open. The opening was sore as hell, but then she made a dove’s cry as he knelt and put his mouth there.
“Ahkh…” She was losing track of all the involuntary sounds he was wresting from her. God, that felt so good. His clever tongue was licking her rim, swirling inside, soothing and stimulating at once, setting off small contractions in her pussy, compressed by that rope wrap. His hands stroked her buttocks, reminding her of the punishing strokes he’d put there, but soothing them as well.
Then he rose. She couldn’t help it; she made an apprehensive noise as he fitted his cock to that opening once more. She couldn’t. She couldn’t possibly.
“Easy, baby. Real, real, easy. Let me do all the work. You just feel.”
He didn’t thrust in hard this time. He worked his way slow. She whimpered throughout, because it was uncomfortable, but it was more than that as well. The desire to serve him, to give him whatever he wanted, superseded everything, made her pussy keep doing those little clenches. It was impossible that she could be getting aroused again so soon. But her nipples were brushing the stiff sofa material, hardening anew. He slid a hand between their bodies, petted her slick and compressed pussy with little strokes that had her mewling like a cat.
When he was all the way in, he leaned over her back, dropped a kiss on her nape, catching that padlock in his teeth and tugging, reminding her she was his prisoner. “Squeeze down on me.”
She did, and earned a rasp of his breath against her neck, a reward that warmed her like the teacher giving her an A in front of the whole class. That squeezing motion made sensation ripple through her cunt and lower belly. She did it harder.
“Fuck. Keep doing that.” He was close enough to her she could hear the rumble of his voice against her neck, through her back where his chest pressed against her. She’d been right. He still wore his dress shirt, though the tie was gone. She’d felt his open slacks against her ass and thighs when he was fucking her before, and now she felt them again. Somehow it just underscored her subjugation, him remaining in his work clothes. She imagined how it would feel to have him completely naked against her, hard muscle and curling male chest hair rough against her skin.
“Lift your tits off the couch.”
His hands reached beneath her. No unkind pinches and tugs this time. Something far more devastating. He started brushing his palms over just the tips in a way that had her making little moans, increasing the rate of those constrictions in her ass. She could feel him swelling larger. They probably made Viagra out of whatever special hormone Ben carried in his DNA.
“That’s it. Good girl. Keep working it.” He laid another kiss on her nape, brought his other hand down beneath her to tease her clit with one finger, more light brushes. In a matter of minutes, she wanted to spread her legs with everything she had, open herself wide to him, but of course the rope wrap prevented her. What the hell was he doing to her?
“My sweet, sweet slut,” he murmured. “You’re so hot for it. I’m going to keep working you like this all night. We won’t be stopping until my cock’s had enough.” His voice dropped to a whisper, right against her ear. “And baby, my cock never has enough of a sweet ass like yours.”
Despite that thrilling threat, he surprised her. She expected him to take her to another completion, at least for him, but instead, after a few moments, he lifted her again. She was carried down a hallway, and then she was in another room, though she couldn’t tell what function it served. Until he laid her down on what felt like a padded massage table.
“Lie still. No speaking unless I give you permission.”
Unwrapping her legs and arms, he removed the phallic gag. Then he began to rub her limbs, back, shoulders and hips with firm, capable hands that knew exactly what they were doing. She had to bite back a moan as he worked over the sore muscles and strained joints.
“Your color’s good. Wiggle your toes for me. Now your fingers. Any numbness anywhere? Yes or no.”
“No.”
She wasn’t lying, not exactly, because she knew what kind of numbness he meant. He didn’t mean the fact her lips could barely move because her body was trapped in a logy place where everything moved through molasses, even her thoughts. She felt like she was in a permanent world of hushed darkness.
When he was done with that, he turned her over, did the front. He cupped her breasts, passed his thumbs over her nipples, an idle caress as he checked her over. She knew he was looking for any discolorations or dangerous levels of tenderness. She’d learned that from watching Marcus do sessions with Thomas at their favorite New York club, and later she’d seen Ben do the same with the three women at Surreal. Only Ben was like a torturer who knew the limits of the human body exactly, straddling that border of pleasure and terror. A zone far wider for her than she’d realized, until she was under his command.
He slid his arms underneath her. “C’mon, brat.” Was there tenderness in that murmur?