Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire, page 92
“Good.” Like the inspector of some animal, he put his splayed hands either side on the cheeks of my ass then used his thumbs to stretch my lower lips, opening me to his gaze.
I moaned softly. Fuck me, please. My wrists were against each other, my eyes were closed, and I waited, heating up more and more with each passing moment. I knew where he was looking.
I heard the rip of tape being peeled from a roll and then a second later he taped my wrists together. While I was testing the inescapability of those bonds, the cane smacked down on my butt. With no warm-up the pain bit hard. Squealing and screaming only made him hit me again. Eventually I stayed silent and trembled, and took the last few blows only shuddering and gasping wetly into the floor.
Something had changed. I could sense an edgier purpose in what he did.
Fear crept into my bones and whispered to me, dark things.
“Count the stairs,” he said, as he hauled me up the stairs with a hand under my arm and the leash at my collar. “I will test you.”
Count?
I counted. Apparently I got it wrong, because after he went back and counted them too, he came up the stairs and caned me, again. The lines on my butt were lines of fire. Then he fucked my mouth again until I gagged, untaped my hands, then got me to do the dishes while my head was whirling. I was to count the dishes too, as I went, even when he put a vibe to my clit and got me off, gasping, crouched over the sink.
After that he lubed a small butt plug and inserted it. He came inside me while I sluiced out a cup. I wasn’t to move, or break anything. That cup got washed well. Round and round the sponge went for at least five minutes until I gave in and just held on tight. Dishwater sloshed out of the sink. I was punished, for grabbing the tap to keep myself still. Gasping sounds odd when you have a spider gag in.
The mess that dripped down my leg as I went back to washing and drying, I had to clean up after, and I had to count the tiles on the floor under the mop. Ever so dirty. Ever so wrong. Strange. And yet the times when I had the gag off, it hadn’t occurred to me to say no or stop.
I got good at counting over the next few days. From the tick of the second-hand on the clock at my back, to the timber floor boards I washed, to the teeth on the zipper of his pants. I counted them all, got some wrong. I mean really, teeth on a zipper?
Sometimes he used the cane, sometimes it was clothes pins on my nipples or labia, or my tongue. I hurt everywhere. I had orgasms by the dozen some days. The vibe used up all our batteries and he went away to get more. Then the package arrived with my new leather mittens he could buckle on instead of tape and take off if he needed to. In the same package was a huge massager that he commenced using to bring me to orgasm faster than anyone should orgasm. I found out my clit could go numb.
My clit and mouth and pussy were well used. Numbers ran through my head all day. The exercise bike I had tucked away in a storage cupboard was dragged out and I was allotted times to exercise. Klaus alternated so that every second day I was deprived of sight, of sound, and of normality.
Ear plugs, black goggles, mittens, I began to feel ever more disconnected from reality. I could hear, but sound was muted. I couldn’t see at all. I could only feel the insides of the leather mittens and rub my fingers against one another.
On those days the only time I was alone was in the toilet. Sometimes I wondered if I was sleeping at night or in the day. After one occasion when he caught me peeking from beneath the goggles and punished me with the cane, I gave in. Besides, the world was simpler behind them. I only had to breathe, and count, be fed delicacies by Klaus, and be fucked and have orgasms.
No money worries, no traffic, no stupid lame conversations with people you never wanted to meet again. No worry, at all. Even my existence seemed up to him. If some disaster happened, I’d have to rely on him to get us out alive.
But the thing that seeped into my consciousness above all was what I valued most on the days when I could see, and that was being able to serve him. We exchanged smiles, he bestowed on me loving caresses and kisses, and I knew I was the focus of his world as much as he was of mine. If I had to put my finger on it, I guess I’d grown to like giving of myself to him.
When I knelt and offered him a meal I’d prepared, and saw pleasure in his eyes, that was fulfillment. When he let me up on the lounge to be petted while he watched TV, I was grateful. Yet when I had to curl up on a pillow at his feet, I was just as happy. I’d changed so much. I knew the how and the why behind this change, and I didn’t care. I could see so much more in selflessness than I could ever have imagined as the woman I once was. I came to wonder if this was a form of love.
On some days, everything faded and I merely was. I existed. When I came to think about it, I knew that he’d aimed for this—I was his, nothing more.
I pined for things of course. Sometimes I wanted to choose. I wanted the variety of life beyond this. But it was still there. When I was ready, when Klaus was ready, we would return to it. I knew this. What I had now was unique. The pain he liked, it had less hold on me too. I’d learnt to bear it, and even, sometimes, to ride it into the realm of pleasure.
But one day I had an idea. A bad one. I thought of a way to escape. With Klaus away at the shop, I realized I’d not heard the usual click of the door. He’d left me in the basement room with the goggles on and ear plugs in. Knocking the goggles awry with my mittened hands was easy. I blinked and looked about, dizzy for a second as my balance mechanism reasserted itself. It always happened to me after long periods blind.
The ear plugs could wait until I got the mittens off. And wow, the door was ajar by an inch and not locked. On the floor I spied a splinter of timber caught between the door and the door frame, stopping the door closing. Glee possessed me at the danger of what I was doing. He could only beat me if he caught me. I nudged through the door with my shoulder and padded up the stairs, half-naked, in a bikini top and one of the skirts he liked. No panties.
Curious, I checked—polka dot blue and white this time. Huh. I had a notion he got these second-hand. It explained why he discarded them so easily.
The back kitchen door was deadlocked. Perhaps the front door? Or the garage door? That one would do. I couldn’t use a key but I could press the garage door button, surely?
Almost giggling with delirium, I went down the other short flight of steps into the garage. The button was on the center column. I approached it and stopped, thinking. Unused brain cells chugged back to life.
Crap. How clueless had I become? I couldn’t go out as I was. I needed underwear. I needed, I held my mittened hands before my eyes, to get these off. My heart pitter-pattered double time. Where was I going? What would I do out there? Was this the end of our experiment? The anxiety that arose was so stupendously ridiculous that more amusement bubbled up. I was worried about being normal? But, do I really want to stop?
Because I liked where I was.
I hadn’t made a choice, a decision, in days, weeks. I hadn’t needed to think ahead. I swallowed, shifted from one bare foot to the other.
The ear plugs didn’t block out everything, they just made things quieter.
The grinding hum of the door motor made me jump. The door bottom lifted, showing a widening sliver of bright sunlight. Gravel clacked as the jeep drew up. I could see tires, then the face of the driver, of Klaus. Frozen in place, I stayed where I was as he drove in, opened the door and stepped out.
Big. He was big, muscular, and cross. I swallowed.
The garage floor was concrete with chips of rock and grit. I didn’t hesitate a second longer. I dropped and prostrated myself in obeisance, and I waited, shaking.
Did I shake from fear or some sort of adrenalin high? Even I wasn’t sure.
He knelt on one knee beside me and gently, with his hand under my chin, encouraged me to raise my head. “Been bad, pet?”
His gray-green eyes looked somehow puzzled, yet the longer I met his gaze the more it changed to that familiar sadistic and evil one. The one that he wore when he walked about marking me with the crop or the cane.
On cue, the tingles of arousal trickled straight to my clit.
“Yes-s.” I was a mouse. A mouse with goosebumps prickling cold down her arms, and with heat gathering in her groin. Whip me, beat me, I’ve been bad. “I’m sorry.”
“You will be.”
The promise in those words made me inhale sharply and bite my lip.
Chapter Eighteen
Klaus
‡
The needles—since I’d told her she’d be sorry, I’d been imagining using them as punishment.
This is wrong, had been going round and round in my head for ages. Should I, would I?
I wanted to do it so much. This would all end sometime soon. It was a good punishment. Maybe too good. Was it wrong? I still hadn’t figured that out. I hadn’t decided if I would use them.
I hadn’t tied her in bondage this restrictive for ages. From the couch, I watched her little squirms, as she tested the ropes to get loose. The unhappy pout and tiny scowl she sent my way had me striving not to grin. I loved that. Knowing it wasn’t quite what she expected added to the satisfaction I got from all this.
Where I had her sitting in the center of the dining table on the mattress, she doubled as a decorative centerpiece.
The shibari I’d done was beautiful, pushing out her breasts like ripe fruit. Perched in the middle were those pink-brown targets—lures for my tongue and mouth. Simply tying her, binding her, into position had stirred my girl and five minutes ago her nipples had been standing up pert and tight. Now they were flat but that only made her areola look shinier and succulent. They seemed to beg me to go over there and suck them. My dick twitched at the thought. I could taste them already, I knew them that well.
I had such a good idea for tonight. I’d been thinking about this for days, wondering if I should go there. Like Moghul recommended, I’d tested them on my own skin to make sure I could do this. Ouch for sure. But I had my experience helping out Jon now and then at his vet clinic on the island. His nurses tended to be away on the mainland on weekends, and as a regular fellow kayaker, I’d gotten to know him well on my early morning stints.
A pang of regret hit me. I missed being able to do those. An hour out paddling on the ocean with Jodie left here alone? No. I couldn’t do that.
At any rate, I’d become nonchalant about sticking needles into animals, so why not people, or women in particular? It wasn’t that difficult to use needles. And now, I had the best excuse ever. Punishment. I put my arm along the back of the couch and contemplated her some more as I decided.
She whimpered enticingly and wriggled.
The midway point of the rope looped at the back of her neck then went down and wrapped about her chest, circumnavigating each breast before the rope continued on down and dived between her legs. Her knees were folded up and strapped; her wrist cuffs were clicked to the outsides of the thigh cuffs. She was bent over like a little package. Every entry I wanted access to was available in an instant. But it was her breasts I wanted first.
I waited some more, pretending to concentrate on the TV, when really, I was going over what she’d done today. It had scared me. Not because of what it might have revealed to others, but because of what it had shown me about myself. During the minute or two while I’d driven in and exited the jeep, I’d been as insecure as a man clinging to a cliff edge by his fingernails. And I hadn’t been quite sure why.
If she’d gotten away, it would be before I could explain about anything, about my feelings. I figured that was it. Trouble was, I still didn’t know what to say. I want to hurt you, but I care for you? How dumb did that sound? I shook my head. Leave it.
On the coffee table the crop waited for me along with other implements such as the diamante nipple clamps, the clothes pins and the belt. I hoped to use them all on her. Soon. This needed to be a lesson. A slave caught attempting to escape, would expect to be punished. Which was why I also had the packet of needles. Twenty-five gauge. Tiny, but not as fine as acupuncture needles. I picked up the plastic zip lock bag, tossed it high, caught it. She paled.
“You know what these are?” When she didn’t answer, I rose, gathered up the other items and crossed to the table where I deposited everything at one end, a few feet from Jodie. “Do you know?” I opened the bag and removed ten of the needles.
“Of course,” she croaked, rocking a little on her legs. “I don’t want—”
“Enough.”
Though she licked her lips she stayed silent. A thrill ran through me, all the way to my dick. One word and she was quiet, even in the face of this, something she obviously dreaded. Right now, I was king to her. And not because she feared me more than the needles. I knew she didn’t. It was from pure habit.
I went to her and gently laid her on her back on the mattress. Folded as her thighs were, sitting up might be hurting her.
I checked her feet for circulation trouble—for color and capillary refill. As a precaution, I undid the straps for a minute and massaged her legs, then refastened the bondage. She waited patiently, like a little doll.
Once I had her again how I wanted her, I studied her. Naked. A woman I could do with as I wished. In-fucking-credible.
I wrapped my hand about her ankle, held on tightly so she knew it was I who had command of her. A shiver shook her body. My nostrils dilated, my gaze focused minutely on her. I was the predator here. I. How many men in this day and age got to be as primeval as this? I could never explain this, how much it drew me. I doubted even Moghul understood.
“Do you deserve punishment, Jodie? For trying to escape?”
She squeezed shut her eyes then opened them again. I could see her ice blue orbs as she regarded me. Her lips parted. Her face was reddened and she breathed in tight bursts that lifted her breasts toward me. I placed my palm on the nearest one and waited. Her nipple crinkled. Then its partner followed. In the depths of her eyes, there seemed fear, astonishment, even lust.
“Jodie?”
“Oh God.” She shook her head, swallowed. Her voice was still raspy, as if she’d been out screaming at some rock concert. While I waited for her to gather herself, I shifted some strands of hair that had strayed into her mouth and across her nose.
“I…Yes. I do. I’m sorry.” Her forehead wrinkled. She shifted as if testing the secureness of the straps. “I don’t know why. This is…madness. But I want you to punish me.” Her words dropped into a whisper. “I don’t know why but I do.” Tears leaked from the corners of both eyes and ran down her face into her hair.
Hell. Transfixed, I stared back. I had not expected that reply. She wants this? I’m lost now. How can I let her go?
I bent and I kissed her softly, and still I could barely conceive of what the whirl of thoughts in my head meant. Why did this mean so much to me? She wants this? Then she kissed me back, avidly. I spent time worshipping at her lips before I pulled away. By then my erection was hard as rock and Jodie was flushed even more, and panting.
I found the alcohol wipes and cleaned off her areola. She peered downward, her tongue curled up against her upper lip. When I plucked the first needle from its cap, she whined a little, barely audible but it was there. I paused, head down, thinking. To reassure her, or not?
The urge struck me to ask her if she trusted me. Why then? No idea. Trust though. There’d been a time I’d taught her how to do an eskimo roll to right a kayak if she got flipped underwater. I’d asked her if she trusted me just before I turned the kayak over. She’d said, yes. But I didn’t dare ask her now because I didn’t want to hear her say no.
I figured I knew the mind fuck would send her flying if I did it right. That she’d enjoy it in that odd way she seemed to like it when I plowed through her protests. Yeah, really, deep down, she liked most of what I did. I was sure of that. Even, perversely, when she didn’t like it, she liked it.
I grinned. Damn. That thinking was so fucked. I was like Jodie, things in my head were not adding up.
I showed her the point of the needle, letting it shine in the overhead fluorescent light. “This, one just this size, I tried on my own skin. It hurts, but it’s bearable. Okay?”
“Nooo. Not okay.” Her eyebrows jerked as if a storm of emotions tore at her.
I leaned in and poised it an inch from her skin. “I know how to give injections safely. You understand that?” She nodded but her lip trembled. “I didn’t try it on my nipple, though.” I smiled evilly. “I’m not that keen. Now. Stay very, very still. This will only go in shallow and skim along under the skin for less than an inch, then come out.”
When I advanced the needle closer to her, she flinched, of course. Flinched too much for this to be safe. “You can speak for now. Until I say to stop.”
“Uh. Then, no. No, no. no. I don’t want this.”
“Are you going to stay still?”
“No,” she squeaked out, quietly. “I can’t.”
So I brought out more rope and a long strap, and I tied her to the table. Tied her breasts down too. She couldn’t shift far. Took ten minutes, but I did it. This time, when I approached her nipple, she could only watch, and whimper.
I wasn’t aiming to damage the precious milk ducts that a woman needed to feed a child, so I aimed a tiny distance from the nipple itself.
The needle tip pierced her areola, and slid beneath to the accompaniment of her high-pitched keen.
“Fuck. No, Klaus. Shit, shit. That hurts!”
“That’s the whole idea.”
I started on the next needle, slipped it in, along, and exited. By now she was only muttering fuck in a long stream under her breath.
“No more words, Jodie. You can take it.”
She gulped and nodded. Sweat beaded on her forehead.
“Good.”
I worked fast after that, and slid in four around each nipple. Eight in total. The tightness in her eyes said pain, but her high-pitched noises had become no louder. I’d thought of attaching these via string to eyebolts above, but no, too dangerous. Instead I looped string from her nipples to the D-ring on her collar and drew them in tight.
