Part VIII
Him
I have never been more proud of you than I am at this moment. I lean
forward to whisper this to you, but I know too that this is a test for me
as well. Can I withstand the temptation of your helpless form any longer?
Will I be strong enough to withhold mercy long enough for you to achieve a
passion as yet only imagined in your darkest hours of dreaming?
For gone is my Sarah Rose, and in her place I have bound my Angel, hung
there for my taking. I smile at this, knowing that release awaits us both,
but in a fashion we have yet never experienced.
I walk to the front of you, my eyes drawn to your working limbs and your
heaving breasts, bisected by the leash, marring the surface of your perfect
skin. I see you begin to calm, and your head settles, resting now,
wondering what will come next. Your position, while helpless is far from
uncomfortable, but I can tell that your strength to stand will be sorely
tested. I turn, reaching behind me for an object I have yet left alone,
something I never would use outside these doors unless you said the words.
But you have, said them over and over again, in that silent language of a
body betraying a logical mind.
I see the message written in the glistening flow down your thighs. You want
more. Much more. But how much more you can stand will be something we both
shall find out soon enough. I stroke the tip of one achingly hard nipple
with what I have taken from the wall, and you stiffen, both in the taunting
pleasure and in the knowledge of what is being applied. It is a short
riding crop, designed to inflict sudden, searing pain, but to not mark its
target unless applied excessively. Used on horses, you will taste it
tonight on your skin. Not as a punishment, for no crime has been committed,
but as an understanding of yourself, of what you are capable of sustaining.
And of myself as well, knowing that you, in some part of your soul, need
and desire the completion this night will bring.
I stand behind you now, the crop sliding along the curves of you. You lunge
backward at me, trying to feel more, feel anything, and then I step closer.
My hand, gloved now in supple calfskin, cups your right breast. You
shudder, moaning loudly at the first hint of contact. I caress the nipple,
feeling its hardness straining under my ministrations. Then I place two
fingers on either side of your protruding need there on your breast, and I
begin to squeeze. Gently, applying more pressure. I see your head begin to
move, side to side, my eyes riveted to you watching for the only plea for
release to which I can respond. I let go, and the blood flows to it again,
hearing you sigh beneath the leather of your silencing. Then I fiercely
tweak it, and the hint of pleasure is nearly flooded away by the pain felt,
and just as suddenly, my left hand, armed with the crop, descends.
The contact of leather with bare, helpless flesh is one I have imagined for
quite some time. But your body's thrashing at the dual impact of both the
leather crop and the mangling glove is one I had not anticipated. I nearly
give in, telling you how many more you will have to endure, as I see your
head loll to one side, the echoes of a stifled scream seared forever in my
memory.
I strike again, swiftly moving the other side of your body, my left hand
now renewing the assault on the left most sister of the previous victim. My
right hand bears the crop now, and it is applied swiftly. Once, twice,
alternating blows. I count, beginning a rhythm at the 3rd stroke that lasts
until... 10.
Yes, 10 will suffice. The tears are flowing down your cheeks freely now,
and I see you begin to nod your head to stave off further agonies. I step
away, and I see you raise your head as your body shakes with sobbing. My
Angel, my sweet one, my eyes are drawn to the gaping of your thighs. And I
see what I had feared might be absent...the glistening wetness has grown in
the candlelight. Your smothered cries now taper off to quaking sobs, as I
am transfixed at your body's reaction to what has taken place. I step to
you, releasing hands and feet, and you crumple against me, your arms
seeking solace around my body. But I push your hands away, and you tighten
in my arms again. You had thought that this was the final test. And indeed,
in many ways it was.
But release...I crave such a thing from you in ways both familiar in their
end, but alien in what I have yet in mind for you.
I half carry you in your weakened state back to the table, laying you face
down where your torturous journey began. You sigh, still quaking in the
aftermath. I gaze at you, as your head rests on your arms, and I see the
redness raised by the leather as it colors the roundness of you. Unable to
control myself, I lay my lips along each cheek. Once. Briefly. You stiffen,
for that area is still too tender to touch, but you moan as well, craving
more from me. And more you shall have.
I run a wide strap underneath you, as you turn your head seeking me. I
secure the strap to its connections, but do not put it into use as yet.
Swiftly, your hands are again bound, as well as your ankles. The gag is
removed, and the leash is fastened to a ring in the floor. Some of this you
are able to perceive, while the rest is unknown to you.
You feel the table begin to lower beneath you, and then the strap is
tightened around your belly. As the table lowers, you are raised, until the
table stops, and you are drawn up on your hands and knees. You smile at the
strap, knowing that you savor this position anyway.
But the strap is to hold you up when you can no longer do so yourself. It
will secure you when your strength is gone and I am still taking you for my
pleasure. For such a thing will come to pass. And soon.
I walk to the front of you, and my hand grabs your hair. I pull your head
up.
"Open your mouth."
You groan, hoping that at last this means what you have been craving for
these last hours. Your welcoming mouth opens to me, and then you are nearly
gagged as I plunge the length of me past your lips. You quickly recover, as
you try to relax your throat to accommodate me. But I am merciless,
ravaging your mouth as I will soon ravage the rest of you.
I stroke in and out, your hands straining to touch me, helpless there. Then
as quickly as I have begun, I pull away, and you hear me striding behind
you. You whimper, you moan, you nearly speak, but you know that such things
are not yet to be.
You nearly cry out Mercy! to end this now and enjoy what we have enjoyed so
often. But you cannot. You dare not.
Not yet.
Not now.
I position myself behind you. You hear buckling, straps being tightened,
then a sound you are not familiar with. Then, you feel something begin to
enter your dripping chasm. You tense, nearly crying mercy, for it is
unfamiliar...did I bring another here? Then your stomach leaps, and turns,
as you realize that while it feels lifelike, the object is decidedly not
human. Then, it is withdrawn. You sigh with relief, but also
disappointment. Disappointment. Such a mild word to describe the nearly
devastating withdrawal of the object.
Soon it returns, but only the head. Then you feel a more familiar object,
nudging at the entrance that now rests above. Lubricated, it begins to
nudge against you, and then my fingers move under you, working your
hardened secret. You gasp loudly, then scream, as both the real and the
manufactured me plunge into you. Hard. Brutal. And your mind briefly
wonders how...then you remember a picture we had seen of such a device. A
strap on for a man to pleasure his partner in both openings simultaneously.
You are revolted at the alien intrusion, but your body cannot deny what the
dual assault is doing for your pleasure. Kept on the brink so long, you
begin to tremble violently.
I sense this, and quickly withdraw. You cry out your denial of this event,
wordlessly. I stand back, watching your body heaving in the candlelight.
You are slumping against the strap now, me thankful for its presence... you
wishing it gone so that you could at last rest. But you hope, oh you hope
that this is not yet over.
I step behind you again, and without preamble, the ravaging of your most
secret places begins anew. I plunge in and out of you, my hands now absent
from your body, and you start to buck at me again. You are so close, your
release imminent, and then...
NO!!!
I withdraw again. I remove the apparatus, and step to you again... Me,
myself, all of me, is suddenly plunged into the raging torrent that washes
from between your thighs. You scream again, in the greatest of pleasure,
but this is not yet the time. I pull away, but I quickly return. To that
brutalized ring of muscle. That forbidden place where you seek my intrusion
so desperately. I plunge in and out, once, twice, again, then away.
My control is nearly done, as is yours. I stand now, silent, as your body
writhes in the hope that your movements will incite me to mercy that I will
return and satisfy the inferno, which my efforts and your own body's
betrayal have stoked.
