Twist Me
Page 31
Julian leaves the toy in place and starts stroking me all over, his touch oddly gentle. He starts with my feet, rubbing them, finding all the kinks and massaging them away. Then he moves up my calves and thighs, which are almost vibrating with tension. His hands are skilled and sure on my body; what he’s doing is better than any massage I’ve ever had. Despite everything, I feel myself melting into his touch, my muscles turning to mush under his fingers. By the time he gets to my neck and shoulders, I’m as relaxed as I’ve been since waking up on this island. If I hadn’t been blindfolded, bound, and sodomized, I would’ve thought I was in a spa.
When he removes the toy some twenty minutes later, it slides right out, without even a hint of discomfort. He pushes it back in again, and this time, the pain is minimal. If anything, it feels . . . interesting . . . particularly when his fingers find my clit and begin stimulating it again.
I don’t resist the pleasure those fingers bring me. Why bother? I would take pleasure over pain any day of the week. Julian is going to do whatever he wants, and I might as well enjoy some parts of it.
So I divorce my mind from the wrongness of it all and let myself simply feel. I can’t see anything with the blindfold, and I can’t put up much of a fight with my hands tied behind my back. I’m completely helpless—and there’s something peculiarly liberating in that. There’s no point in worrying, no point in thinking. I’m simply drifting in the darkness, high on post-massage endorphins.
He fucks me with the toy, pushing it in and out of me at the same time as his fingers press on my clit. His movements are rhythmic, coordinated, and I moan as my sex starts to throb, the pressure inside me growing with each thrust. Abruptly, the tension gets to be too much, and there’s a sudden, intense burst of pleasure, starting at my core and radiating outward. My muscles clamp down on the toy, and the unusual sensation only intensifies my orgasm. Unable to control myself, I cry out, grinding against Julian’s fingers. I want the ecstasy to last forever.
All too soon, though, it’s over, and I’m left limp and shaking in the aftermath. Julian is not done with me, of course, not by a long shot. Just as I’m starting to recover, he withdraws the toy and presses a different, larger object to my back opening. It’s his cock, I realize, tensing again as he begins to push in.
“Nora . . .” There is a warning note in his voice, and I know what he wants from me, but I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know if I can relax enough to let him in. It’s too much; he’s too thick, too long. I don’t understand how something that big can enter me there without ripping me apart.
But he’s relentless, and I feel my muscles slowly giving in, unable to resist the pressure he’s applying. The head of his cock pushes past the tight ring of my sphincter, and I cry out at the burning, stretching sensation. “Shh,” he says soothingly, stroking my back as he slowly goes deeper. “Shh . . . it’s all good . . .”
By the time he’s in all the way, I’m a trembling, sweating mess. There’s pain, yes, but there’s also the novelty of having something so large invading my body in this weird, unnatural way. I know people do this—and supposedly even derive pleasure from this act—but I can’t imagine ever doing this willingly.
He pauses, letting me adjust to the sensations, and I sob softly into the mattress, wanting nothing more than for this to be over. He’s patient, though, his strong hands caressing me, relaxing me, until my tears subside and I no longer feel like passing out.
He senses it when my discomfort begins to ease, and starts to move inside me, slowly, carefully. I can hear his harsh breathing, and I know that he’s exerting a lot of control over himself, that he probably wants to fuck me harder but is trying not to ‘damage me beyond repair.’ Nevertheless, his movements cause my insides to twist and churn, causing me to cry out with every stroke.
And just when I think I can’t bear it anymore, he slides one hand under my hips and finds my swollen clit again. His fingers are gentle, his touch butterfly-soft, and I begin to feel a familiar warmth in my belly, my body responding to him despite the violation. What he’s doing isn’t taking away the pain, but it’s distracting me from it, allowing me to focus on the pleasure. I never knew pleasure and pain could co-exist like that, but there’s something strangely addictive in that combination, something dark and forbidden that resonates with a part of myself I never knew existed.
His pace picks up, and somehow that makes it better. Maybe some nerve endings are desensitized by now—or maybe I’m simply getting used to having him inside me—but the pain lessens, almost disappears. All that’s left is a host of other sensations—strange, unfamiliar sensations that are intriguing in their own way. That, and the pleasure from his clever fingers playing with my sex, arousing me until I’m crying out for a different reason, until I’m begging Julian to do it, to send me over the edge again.
And he does. My entire body tightens and explodes, shuddering with the force of my release. He groans as my muscles clamp down on his shaft, and I feel the liquid warmth from his seed bathing my insides, the saltiness of it stinging my raw flesh.
“Good girl,” he whispers in my ear, his cock softening within me. He kisses my earlobe, and the tender gesture is such a contrast to what he’d just done that I feel disoriented. Is this normal kidnapper behavior? When he withdraws from me, I feel empty and cold, almost as if I’m missing the heat from his body pressing me down.
When he removes the toy some twenty minutes later, it slides right out, without even a hint of discomfort. He pushes it back in again, and this time, the pain is minimal. If anything, it feels . . . interesting . . . particularly when his fingers find my clit and begin stimulating it again.
I don’t resist the pleasure those fingers bring me. Why bother? I would take pleasure over pain any day of the week. Julian is going to do whatever he wants, and I might as well enjoy some parts of it.
So I divorce my mind from the wrongness of it all and let myself simply feel. I can’t see anything with the blindfold, and I can’t put up much of a fight with my hands tied behind my back. I’m completely helpless—and there’s something peculiarly liberating in that. There’s no point in worrying, no point in thinking. I’m simply drifting in the darkness, high on post-massage endorphins.
He fucks me with the toy, pushing it in and out of me at the same time as his fingers press on my clit. His movements are rhythmic, coordinated, and I moan as my sex starts to throb, the pressure inside me growing with each thrust. Abruptly, the tension gets to be too much, and there’s a sudden, intense burst of pleasure, starting at my core and radiating outward. My muscles clamp down on the toy, and the unusual sensation only intensifies my orgasm. Unable to control myself, I cry out, grinding against Julian’s fingers. I want the ecstasy to last forever.
All too soon, though, it’s over, and I’m left limp and shaking in the aftermath. Julian is not done with me, of course, not by a long shot. Just as I’m starting to recover, he withdraws the toy and presses a different, larger object to my back opening. It’s his cock, I realize, tensing again as he begins to push in.
“Nora . . .” There is a warning note in his voice, and I know what he wants from me, but I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know if I can relax enough to let him in. It’s too much; he’s too thick, too long. I don’t understand how something that big can enter me there without ripping me apart.
But he’s relentless, and I feel my muscles slowly giving in, unable to resist the pressure he’s applying. The head of his cock pushes past the tight ring of my sphincter, and I cry out at the burning, stretching sensation. “Shh,” he says soothingly, stroking my back as he slowly goes deeper. “Shh . . . it’s all good . . .”
By the time he’s in all the way, I’m a trembling, sweating mess. There’s pain, yes, but there’s also the novelty of having something so large invading my body in this weird, unnatural way. I know people do this—and supposedly even derive pleasure from this act—but I can’t imagine ever doing this willingly.
He pauses, letting me adjust to the sensations, and I sob softly into the mattress, wanting nothing more than for this to be over. He’s patient, though, his strong hands caressing me, relaxing me, until my tears subside and I no longer feel like passing out.
He senses it when my discomfort begins to ease, and starts to move inside me, slowly, carefully. I can hear his harsh breathing, and I know that he’s exerting a lot of control over himself, that he probably wants to fuck me harder but is trying not to ‘damage me beyond repair.’ Nevertheless, his movements cause my insides to twist and churn, causing me to cry out with every stroke.
And just when I think I can’t bear it anymore, he slides one hand under my hips and finds my swollen clit again. His fingers are gentle, his touch butterfly-soft, and I begin to feel a familiar warmth in my belly, my body responding to him despite the violation. What he’s doing isn’t taking away the pain, but it’s distracting me from it, allowing me to focus on the pleasure. I never knew pleasure and pain could co-exist like that, but there’s something strangely addictive in that combination, something dark and forbidden that resonates with a part of myself I never knew existed.
His pace picks up, and somehow that makes it better. Maybe some nerve endings are desensitized by now—or maybe I’m simply getting used to having him inside me—but the pain lessens, almost disappears. All that’s left is a host of other sensations—strange, unfamiliar sensations that are intriguing in their own way. That, and the pleasure from his clever fingers playing with my sex, arousing me until I’m crying out for a different reason, until I’m begging Julian to do it, to send me over the edge again.
And he does. My entire body tightens and explodes, shuddering with the force of my release. He groans as my muscles clamp down on his shaft, and I feel the liquid warmth from his seed bathing my insides, the saltiness of it stinging my raw flesh.
“Good girl,” he whispers in my ear, his cock softening within me. He kisses my earlobe, and the tender gesture is such a contrast to what he’d just done that I feel disoriented. Is this normal kidnapper behavior? When he withdraws from me, I feel empty and cold, almost as if I’m missing the heat from his body pressing me down.
