“So many options,” he murmurs against my ear, his sudden nearness unexpected and shocks the hell out of me. I hold my breath at the same time his feathers against my cheek. His quiet scrutiny unnerves me, my eyes darting back and forth beneath my blindfold trying to sense his next move.

Trying to predict my punishment.

Punishment. Pain. A small thrill jolts through me right before I realize how seriously disturbing that is. My core clenches and tightens around the object as I try to rationalize the sick, demented part of me that is aroused by this all. And I’m not allowed to finish the mental chastisement because I feel him climb over my torso. I fall motionless as his muscular thighs press against the sides of my rib cage, his shaft rests between my breasts, thick and heavy.

I fight the forbidden desire that pulses through me at the feeling and try to focus on what he’d said. Punishment. Fear comingles with desire and causes my muscles to constrict with such vigor that I push out the ice within me. A deluge of cold water comes with it, but I fight the gasp because if he’s facing me, then he doesn’t know. And if he doesn’t know then that means that he might not require my penance for that too.

But why do I secretly want him to?

His peppermint breath is back on my lips, his erection squeezed between my breasts as he leans forward. My nipples harden, the swelling increasing the pressure between the clamps. “What I’d give to make you take my cock all the way to the back of your throat. Feel your wet tongue on my dick and suck me dry.” Saliva pools in my mouth at his words, my tongue darting out to lick my lips in reflex. His chuckle resonates again, and I can feel his scrotum tighten and release with its sound. “Ah, you want that, no? Well I don’t quite trust that your bark is worse than your bite just yet,” he says, followed by a quick tug on the clamps.

The release of pressure is sudden but then comes a searing sting as blood flow returns. His weight on my torso stifles my immediate urge to twist and turn as a means to absorb the oddly pleasurable pain tearing through me and manifesting into a deep ache in my lower belly. I moan out and yank my arms and legs against the restraints, trying to relieve the overwhelming sensation somehow, someway.

“You like that, no?” he whispers, his weight shifting so his mouth barely brushes against mine when he speaks. “You see, I need to punish you.” He traces his tongue over the seal of my lips. “I need to have my cock buried so fucking deep in that beautiful cunt of yours that when I punish you, it clenches around me. So that you tighten and tease and pull me over the edge with you.” I feel the bed shift some, his hips tilt up as he leans back and his fingers enter me hard and fast. Unexpected and invading. The startled cry is muffled on my lips. “I will own this. Your pussy, your orgasm, and every ache, breath, and moan in between.”

His fingers thrust in and out momentarily. The room fills with our panting breaths, the slick sound of wet flesh being manipulated, his soft grunts of effort and my pleasured moans as the friction heats up my frozen walls. A liquid warmth starts to spread through my body. The unique combination of my throbbing nipples, the inimitable scent of maleness as his cock thrusts closer to my face, and the claim he takes by fingering me causes my body to seize up and prepare for the climax I fear will rip me apart.

Pray will rip me apart.

“Oh god,” I moan out incoherently as my body floats in that suspended state before the eruption of bliss. My head angles back and lips fall lax, my breath hitching and mind stuttering over thoughts as I try to grab and let them go all at once because I’m such a mix of contradictions. The tremors of sensation slowly escalate toward a full blown earthquake when his fingers pull out, and before I even have a chance to respond, the wide crest of his cock is thrust between my parted lips. I’m so shocked from being denied the release my body desperately craves that I can’t even react fast enough to deny his thick shaft as it hits the back of my throat and pulls out.

The guttural grown he emits only adds pressure to the denied orgasm weighing heavily between my thighs. I’m turned on, desperate to come, and his musky taste overtaking me only adds frenzy to my fire. And just as quick as he fills my mouth and unintentionally blocks my airway, he withdraws before I can rationalize what he is doing or where my teeth should clamp down.

I gulp in a draw of air as he shifts from the bed once again. His body leaves mine, the slide of his dick across my nipple is oddly arousing, and I want to cry out for him to stop. To come back. To fuck me good and hard because my muscles ache and my need is unsated.

If denying me my orgasm is his punishment, then holy hell, I’ll take more wax.

I want to yell at him, insist that he finish me off, but I catch myself before the words tumble out. I realize that such a demand would be giving him exactly what he wants—exactly what I want—but under his terms. He has enough of an upper hand in this whole situation and I need to keep something. For what? I’m unsure, but the thought gives me enough gumption to keep my mouth shut despite the ever increasing ache.

His hands on my right wrist snap me from my daze of thoughts. The building ache is momentarily doused as he works at my restraint. Is he releasing me? My mind processes possible scenarios at a rapid pace as I hold my breath and don’t say a word trying to figure how to play this. My joints are relieved of the restraint’s unending tension momentarily before his hand is like a vice grip around my wrist. Even if I wanted to try something, my strength would be no match against his.

“Don’t even think about it,” he says, the quiet warning from somewhere at my side as he forces my arm across my body and to the headboard opposite where it was originally. My hands are now near each other and my legs still spread apart on the bed when he starts working on the opposite wrist. And then I realize what he is doing. He’s turning me over.

A thrill shoots through me, followed by trepidation because if I felt vulnerable before, I feel even more so now when he finishes. He has loosened my restraints somehow so I’m able to be on my hands and knees on the bed. In this position, I can feel the cool air of the room against the now heated flesh between my thighs. My breasts hang heavily and the weight of them stretching against my swollen nipples is like a livewire to my core. The blindfold remains in place, and yet I can’t help but dart my eyes against the blackness as the floorboards creak toward the end of the bed where my backside is on display.

He groans out in satisfaction and I flinch when the palm of his hand smooths ever so gently over the curve of my ass. “Ah, Lilly. This ass is perfection. I want it pink from your punishment. I want it violated by my fingers. I want it filled while I fuck you long and deep with my cock in that willing pussy of yours.” My body trembles and sex moistens from his words, fear and desire a potent combination that is impossible to deny regardless of how hard I’m trying to fight it.

In the silence, my only focus is on the gentle movement of his hand caressing gently over my hips, my inner thighs, over my sex. I moan at the gentleness of his touch as he continuously strokes me, not quite hard enough to add the needed friction to my clit but just enough to have the blood engorging it to that fine edge of being painful.

The strike across my ass takes me by surprise, fooled naively by the gentle nature of his caress. I cry out, back arching, breasts jostling, pussy clenching as the flogger whips little bits of pain into my bare flesh. And as I’m trying to process and absorb the sudden assault—the forewarned punishment—he pushes into me in one slick thrust. My clenched walls give under his invasion but grip his dick so tight that his large crest hits every single attuned nerve within. This time the sound that falls from my lips is a strangled moan mixed with protest.

If I thought he had warmed me up to accept his girth, I was far off base. My vulnerable flesh protests against the stretch with an intense burn.

Pleasure and pain.

I don’t think I ever quite understood the magnitude of that phrase until now. Until he starts to move his iron hard erection within me, filling me, stretching me, taking me without asking. And then when he’s buried to the hilt, one hand gripping the flesh of my hips, the flogger strikes me again. The difference is this time when my body tenses from the tiny splinters of pain and when my pussy convulses around him, he pulls out so that his broad head drags against my tightened walls. Sparks of pleasure ignite from his unexpected withdrawal.

“Oh god,” slips from my lips as my body welcomes the contrast of sensations. And he doesn’t stop but rather keeps up a distinct rhythm, his hips slapping against mine while the flogger—what feels like leather with rounded tips—trails slowly over my back. He removes it and my body prepares for the quick flash of pain, and sometimes it lands smartly and other times it caresses in a gentle ruse, tickling my anticipatory flesh beneath it.

I am so focused on the flogger and whether its next movement will bring me pleasure or pain that I don’t realize my body vibrates on the cusp of my next orgasm. My back burns with the little licks that have assaulted it, and the muscles within my core ache from clenching so tightly around the thickness of his cock. My head falls forward, my arms weary from what feels like his endless machinations, and my mind is floating in pseudo-reality when my thighs constrict and back rounds.

The orgasm hits me like a runaway freight train: hard, fast, and unrelenting. It’s so powerful—so everything—that I try to pull away from him, try to press my hips forward to relieve the depth he’s penetrated, but I can’t. He grips the flesh on my backside harder, holding me still while he grinds his hips against my ass so just on the off chance he’s missed any interior nerves, he’s making up for it and then some.

But I can’t take any more. The force of the orgasm. The merciless onslaught of sensations barraging my system. “No. Stop. No,” I stutter in broken gasps, wanting to crawl away from him. I am able to get one knee forward, and he slips out of me some before his hands are back on my hips yanking me back to him. My yelp only gets louder when his hand wraps around my hair and tugs my head back. His mouth is at my ear, fury laced with a raw carnality that causes my posture to stiffen on the defensive.

“You don’t deny me. You take what I give you, bella, and right now, it’s me. Hard. Fast,” he demands as he slams into me from behind, bottoming out in the best way. In the worst way. I can’t process which way because my own climax continues to softly tremor through me, and the dominance in his voice and ownership in his touch spurns the release I just found to reignite. “Until I stop.” He reinforces his threat by tightening his grip on my hair as he continues his punishing rhythm, our bodies connecting with a jolt that reverberates through me and then back.

I begin to squirm again as everything increases and draws me toward what feels like the never-ending precipice of ecstasy. My fingers grip the sheets, my toes curl, and breath falters as the sparks of pleasure turn into a full-blown wildfire I can’t escape. Burned and bruised by the flames of desire, I have no option but to succumb to the heat pulsing within me. I whimper incoherently and shake my head back and forth as my body begins to collapse under the weight of release. My arms give and my face welcomes the cool sheet pressing against my cheek as he keeps my hips positioned to his liking.

His hips piston continuously for a few more moments, and then I hear the man who seems to always be in control groan out a guttural sound as his cock spasms inside of me. My shoulders push forward into the mattress while he draws out the last of his release. My eyes close, exhaustion overtaking me so that my only comprehension other than the lowering of my hips, is the kiss he presses to the space just above the swell of my ass. An oddly intimate action that normally I’d question, but my body sags and I succumb to the fatigue in my limbs.

I welcome the darkness the blindfold provides and allow myself to block out what his confusing display of tenderness says.

Chapter Five

I can hear him shuffling around the room. My head is groggy and my stomach is unsettled but my body is boneless, completely and utterly spent. I wait for him to tell me to get up or snap to, but he leaves me be. My back still burns subtly from the punishment he doled out, and the length of my sex is swollen and tender from his continuous usage. My hands are sore from clenching and gripping the sheets, my mind exhausted from trying to rationalize everything in my head. The contrast of feelings, the forced betrayal of my fidelity—everything—has me well beyond emotional overload.