Friday, March 8, 2013

Scene: Plaything

I lay bound, waiting. There are others here, but we don't speak. This is a place where women go to be forgotten. The work of the daylight hours seems a pleasant memory to this confinement and what is yet to come. Nude and helpless, I stare up at the ceiling in an effort to remove myself to somewhere else in my mind. My concentration is shattered when the door into the long dormitory hall opens.

Booted feet make their way down the row. Somewhere, someone weeps. Another person babbles please to be released to the new arrivals, unaware of what their purpose is. I simply wait, knowing it is just a matter of time until they choose who will be their entertainment for the evening. The matron makes her way down the hall, pausing to release women as they are chosen. One man decides that he wishes to engage in his revelry with a full complement of viewers. He and a couple others of similar minds laugh. The woman who had been sobbing shrieks at his rough hands on her body. Her tormentors merely laugh.

The sounds of their amusing themselves by toying with her body makes a catastrophic background to the other women being taken off to where they will serve the whims of their respective men. Foot steps halt at the end of my cot. I can feel the man's eyes on me as the matron walks up to him. They speak quietly in a very low tone. The sound of her keys jangling as she searches for the proper one to my restraints sounds suddenly ominous.

As I am released from my confinement, the man at my feet says, “Get up.” I sigh and sit up. He looks at me, his dark eyes filled with a brooding quality that threatens like a thunderhead. I straighten my shoulders and place my hands in my lap, looking down at my toes as I sit at the edge of the cot. “Come with me,” he says. I stand and follow him. I do my best to ignore the looks of his companions as I walk past them.

I try to focus my attention on the heels of his boots as he walks before me. I can't help but have my gaze pulled from there to admiring his long legs. A part of me was screaming with sexual hunger. It had been almost two weeks of torment. I could hear others being used, their bodies giving up the resistance and moving from sounds of pain to sounds of pleasure. Some women were just making noises of pleasure from the start. Sometimes, hands would settle on me and idly toy with me but I had no release.

We passed down a hallway with a luxuriant runner down the middle. As we walked, I mentally counted down the doors we passed, having spent my day cleaning the rooms in preparation for the night. We reached the sixth door, across from the stairs. Standing there at the top of the stairwell, I knew any other guests of the house could look right up at me. I shivered and did my best not to care about any possible gaze on me.

I followed the man before me into the bedroom. He walked off to the right as I stopped in the middle of the space between the large bed and the door. Behind us, the matron shut the door. He poured himself a drink as he looked me over. Little did I know that this was the author of my sexual torment, the one who had paid handsomely for me to be brought nightly to the edge of release and left squirming by any hands willing to do the work.

I avoided looking at him as he walked around me with his drink in hand. He reached forward and flicked an errant lock of hair off of my shoulder. I looked over, torn between the urge to back away from his touch and to shiver from it. Dark eyes seemed to drink me in with an almost physical intensity in the gaze that looked me over from head to toe. He held the glass of brandy to my lips, tipping it just enough so that the amber liquid was against my lower lip.

“Drink,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument. I took a sip and he tipped the cup further, forcing me to take a deeper drink. The alcohol burned its way down my throat as he took the glass away from my face. His black leather gloves flexed like a second skin over his fingers as he turned the cup in his hands. I found myself staring at those hands as though I were entranced, unable to stop myself from wondering if they would be gentle or cruel when the finally settled on me.

He noted my fascination with a smirk. My eyes flicked from his hands to his face. He took another drink of the brandy and held out the glass. “Take it,” he said. I took the glass in hand as he turned his attention to his gloves. With a mild expression, he slipped them off, ignoring my looks of keen interest. He turned and walked away from me, putting his gloves down on the table. “You had better be worth what I paid for you,” he said in a mild tone as he took off his jacket.

He set the tailored black wool jacket carefully on the back of the overstuffed chair beside the table. As he began to unbutton the collar of his shirt, he sighed. I watched him out the corner of my eye, my breath catching in my throat as he continued unbuttoning his slate gray shirt. He folded it neatly and set it on the table. He then sat down in the other chair and began taking off his boots. I looked away when he paused and looked over at me.

“Bring me the glass,” he said. I walked over and held out the glass to him, my head bowed as the matron had taught us. “Take off my boots,” he ordered, leaning back in his chair. I knelt beside the chair and started work on removing his footwear when a free hand settled on my head. I froze for a moment surprised by this casual touch. He said nothing but continued to toy with my hair as I resumed removing his boots.

As soon as I had his boots off, I set them beneath the table and sat back on my heels. He looked thoughtfully down at me as he finished his drink. He stood up and opened the fly of his pants. As he pulled his semi-erect penis out, I felt a mixture of shame and heady exhilaration. “Well,” he said, “say hello.” Cautiously, I took him in my mouth.

Carefully, I ran my tongue all over him as I gently sucked at his member. A hand settled at the back of my head, holding my still as he stiffened. I closed my eyes when he suddenly gripped the hair at the back of my head in his fist. My eyes opened in surprise and I looked up at him in shock. My face nestled against his hips, I looked up and blushed with shame at the powerful wave of arousal that washed over me. With a bemused smile, he thrust into my mouth a few times. He chuckled as I gagged on his hardening erection as it tickled the back of my throat.

He pulled himself out of my mouth and let go of my hair. “Stand,” he said. As I did so, he let his pants drop down to the floor. He pointed at the bed and I walked to it. I stood at the side of the bed and looked at him, waiting and half dreading what ever he was going to do next. He walked up to me and put a hand on my shoulder. With a hard shove, he knocked me back onto the bed.

My surprised yelp quickly turned to alarmed silence as he loomed over me. He knelt and pushed my thighs apart. As he closed his mouth over my sex, I again made a small noise of shock. This dropped down into a low groan as he delved deeply into me with his tongue. Relentlessly, he sucked on my clitoris and teased it with his tongue. As I gradually grew louder in my moans of appreciation, he gave a dark chuckle. I froze and shivered as his teeth brushed against my clit.

Softly, he closed them against it. I meweled in fear and then wept with pleasure as he teased the tip with his tongue. Gently, he rolled it between his teeth, pressing just hard enough that it was caught between them but not enough to cause pain. Soon, I was shuddering and sobbing, my hands alternately gripping and open splayed against the sheets. As he ripped my first orgasm out of me, I groaned and sobbed loudly.

He lifted his head and slipped a finger deep into me. Soon, his clever fingers had me writhing, wordlessly making noises of pleasure, and nigh on senseless. He stood, his solid erection resting in his hand like some sort of fleshy weapon. He put my legs against his chest and thrust into me with out preamble. I gasped and shuddered from head to toe. With an almost furious effort, he slaked his lust on me, thrusting hard enough that our flesh slapped together. When his orgasm had stormed over him, I lay whimpering and sobbing, on the verge of another.

Satisfied with his work, he pulled out of me. “Move,” he growled. I started to slip off of the bed when he shook his head. I made my way to the far side of the bed as he lay down. Tormented by my own frustration, I listened as he dropped down into a light doze. Quietly, I wept, struggling with the urge to beg him for more.

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