“So you would miss me. Or perhaps only the orgasms I give you?”
“I crave them,” I finally admit. “I crave you.”
“It’s not a weakness to need another person.”
I want to scoff again, to roll my eyes. He’s wrong. Needing someone is the greatest weakness of all. Instead, I challenge him like the lawyer I am. “Who do you need?”
“You.”
I don’t want to believe him. But he takes my wine, drinks it down in one deep swallow, and takes me back to bed to prove how much one part of his anatomy needs me. Several orgasms later, I’m back to drifting off in his arms, enveloped in his wintry scent. I’m not thinking of how I could incapacitate him and escape. I’m thinking of steaks and massages and sessions on the cross. Secrets whispered in the middle of the night.
Being the one person in the world this dangerous man needs? Fate, save me from this exquisite hell. I do not want to give it up.
14
Lula
Seven meals,five bottles of wine, three training sessions with the knife, and many, many fucks later, he has me tied up, standing in the middle of the room. My arms are cuffed over my head, and there’s a blindfold over my face. I have a spreader bar between my legs, a plug in my ass, a gag in my mouth, and a diabolical shield over my clit that vibrates at odd intervals.
He places a plush sphere into my hand. “Squeeze.” I do, and the ball squeaks like a dog toy.
“Squeeze this three times, and I’ll stop.” He waits for me to nod, then adds the finishing touch of plugs in my ears.
When he’s done, I can’t see, and I can’t hear. I flex my free hand in the bindings, reaching for something. Proof of the world beyond this dark, silent place.
His hand at my hip steadies me, and I know he’s chosen something particularly wicked to begin with.
A line of fire blazes across both globes of my ass.
My hand clenches, but I don’t squeeze the toy.
Another stripe across my sit spots. A third below that.
I strain, but I can’t hear anything. Not that it’d be a mercy to hear the implement whistling through the air or cracking on my flesh, but at least it would be something to focus on other than the throbbing stripes on my buttocks and the backs of my thighs.
Another stroke and subsequent sting. A fifth slanting over the rest. My rear is a fiery mass, each caned line pulsing in echoing waves.
I dangle, half dancing in my high heels, twisting this way and that. The flogger comes to bite my breasts, and I drop the ball.
Sweat rolls down my chest, beading between my breasts. I can smell the animal scent of me.
And I can smell the cool winter wind of Victor.
He leans into me, returning the ball to my hand. I squeeze it once to prove that I’m still with him.
His lips caress mine. Cool mint, a bite of pine. I sigh.
Then the nipple clamps come. And more flogging on my back. I lean from side to side, shifting my weight in the small increments I’m allowed by the spreader bar and the bindings on my wrists. I turn my head, but the blindfold lets in no light, no shapes, and the earplugs allow no sound.
I can only feel.
A crop on my pussy.
A paddle on my ass.
A tightening of the nipple clamps so they pinch with a sharper bite.
Victor’s fingers trail over the marks he made, and I can only imagine his satisfied expression.
