I crossed the darkness to where the light pooled in the center of the room. The weird way my footsteps echoed left me unsure just how big the room was or if there was something more in here than myself. As I stepped into the circle of brilliant white light, the door closed with a groan. My heart beat triple time as I ran my hands over the goosebumps on my upper arms. Dressed in a cami and jeans, I wasn't exactly prepared for how chilly the room had turned out to be.
I heard him moving around me. His footsteps drew closer as they moved from my right to my left behind me. "Nice shoes..." he said in that rich, exciting yet ominous tone. I restrained the urge to shift uncomfortably on my feet and tried to ignore the discomfort of the heels. I had forgotten how they made my feet protest after a few minutes. He stopped at the edge of the light before me. The reflected light off the floor made his features look sharper somehow.
A cruel smile played on his lips and matched the light in his dark eyes. Hair black as night tumbled over his shoulders, almost lost in the dimness of the room. The t-shirt he wore was black and somewhat taught across his chest, betraying the cut of his muscles beneath. His jeans were just as revealing despite how much flesh they covered. The sight of him made my mouth go dry and I dropped my eyes down to focus on the scuffed black cowboy boots he wore. "Cowboy boots, eh?" I said, my voice a bit higher than I intended as it betrayed my nervousness.
"Stole the idea from King," he said, moving his right hand slightly. My eyes widened and I gave a tiny gasp at the sight of the black braided leather whip at his side. He stepped forward, raising his hand and lifting the coiled length up so that I could see it better. "You were curious about this," he said smoothly, "I thought I'd satisfy your curiosity. And a few other things." I could feel the blush stinging its way across my cheeks, down my neck, and over my chest.
He brought the whip back down to his side and tapped it against his leg. "So unsure of yourself," he mused. He stepped closer to me on the right and looked closely at me. A hand reached up and brushed an errant lock of hair away from my face. "And yet you're here," he added, cupping my chin with his left hand and turning my face so that I was looking him in the eyes. Hunger, curiosity, and sadism was in his gaze.I shivered but I couldn't look away. His studious expression fascinated me.
For a long moment, we just looked at each other. I started to break eye contact when his hand tightened its light hold on my chin. I swallowed anxiously and a slow, knowing smile curved his lips. "Wait here, sweetling," he said. He let go of me and turned. As he walked back into the shadows, he gave a merry tuneless whistling. I found myself torn between dread and excitement, not wanting to admit my anticipation.
After a short time where I heard him doing something in the darkness, he walked back. The whistling died on his lips as he emerged into my full view. The whip was coiled and tied to his belt on the left side. Between his hands, he held a wide scarf that was as black as the rest of the details of his outfit. "Close your eyes, sweetling," he said sweetly, "And then we can get started. No backing out now. That door is locked, you know." I swallowed uncomfortably and questioned the wisdom of what I was doing here. Still, curiosity and something deeper pushed me forward and I closed my eyes.
Despite the high heels, I was still shorter than him. As he tied my blindfold about my head, I could smell the subtly spiced scent of his cologne mingled with the clove cigarette he had earlier and the scent of him beneath it all. I couldn't help it as I began to breathe a little faster. He stood before me, stepping closer as I dropped my arms to my sides. But a breath away, he loomed over me and was imposing even with out my being able to see him.
The ring of steel drawn from a scabbard caught my ear and my breath froze in my throat. All of my senses heightened as tension ran through me. I could feel him smile and briefly regretted that I hadn't put on a bra which would have hidden how my nipples began to respond to even the idea of knife play. "Be a good girl," he said in my ear, the stubble on his jaw rasping against my cheek as he stooped slightly, "Don't move." He straightened and I shivered.
Something icy and edged touched my forehead between my eyes. Slowly it passed over my brow, against the blindfold, and down along my jaw. I tried desperately to control my response but as that cold, cold sliver of steel ran down with a ghost of pressure over my throat, I gave a little strangled groan of pleasure. It passed over my collarbone and along my shoulder to where the strap of the cami rested. The blade turned and the flat of it pressed against my skin as he slipped it under the strap. With a single motion, he cut the strap of the camisole in one pull. The lack of resistance by the fabric told me that his knife or dagger or whatever edged thing he had in hand was something very, very sharp. It was a thought that made heat pool in my belly and things deep inside go molten and soft.
With less teasing, he cut the other strap before pulling the fabric hugging my breasts forward. The tip of the knife scored a fine welt from between my breasts down to the top of my jeans as he cut the fabric in a single swift motion. The ruined camisole fell to the floor as the cool air washed over me raising goosebumps where it passed. The blade clattered to the floor as he took hold of my hair and pulled my head back, making me stumble even as I arched my back. A soft, throaty growl was all the warning I had before his teeth were at my throat.
Placing love bites along the column of my throat from my left ear to my shoulder, he held me hard against him. My knees threatened to go weak as I gave a shuddering sigh. With his left arm braced low on my back, he pulled harder on my hair and forcing me to arch further. As his mouth closed over my left breast, I gasped at the heat of it in contrast to the chill of the air. He sucked on and rolled my nipple between his teeth as I clung to him in fear of falling even as I made small noises of pained pleasure. He stopped as I found my knees growing weaker and lust made me dizzy.
He straightened. After a long moment, he gave a low chuckle that sent a chill down my spine even as it made me want to tear my clothes off and beg him for more. He let go of my hair and I straightened, finding myself a bit wobbly on my feet. "Come with me, little girl," he said in a tone that was inviting and menacing at the same time, "I have something to show you." The arm about my lower back held me hard against him as he took a step back and I stumbled with him.
A few more paces with my awkward blind stumbling and we stopped. With his hands on my shoulders, he turned me to the right as he guided me forward a pace. We stopped and I could feel something in front of me. There was just this nameless sense of some object before me. I found myself not caring what it was as I gritted my teeth against the wave of arousal that washed over me as he came up behind me. The heat of his body was like a physical touch against my back. My head lolled back and almost touched him when he pushed it upright forcefully. "No," he said sternly, "Be still." I gave a small whimper but he said nothing.
Taking my right wrist in hand, he stretched my arm up and away from me before fixing it in a chilly metal clamp. He did this with my left and then stepped back. I stood before him with my arms upraised and I shivered wondering what he was going to do next. He did something somewhere behind me and I unconsciously lowered my head as I struggled to hear what he was doing. A whip crack that was as loud as thunder sounded over my head and I threw my head upright with a cry of alarm.
A low, dark laugh came from him and I heard a rustling noise on the floor that I could only presume was the tail of the whip slithering. "This is going to hurt you more than me," he said with an unholy amount of amusement, "Good thing you're a masochist, isn't it?" I was about to make a retort when that awful noise came again, my vision went white with pain, and a feeling like a tongue of pure fire lit across my back from my right shoulder to my spine. Surprised by it, I screamed in pain. "Oh," he said with mock disappointment, "Now that wasn't in earnest. Come, my beauty, give us a scream."
I thought I was prepared for the second blow. I was wrong. I screamed again and pulled on the restraints. He swished the whip over the floor as I bowed my head and gave a choked sob against the pain along my back. But two blows and I was ready to cry off. "Now," he said mildly, "What do you think? Do you like the taste of my whip, my dear?" I squeezed my eyes tightly shut beneath the blindfold, trying to will the tears of pain away. I bared my teeth and tried to breathe through the pain. He made a tsk-ing noise and snapped the whip smartly. I screamed in alarm, not realizing at first that it hadn't struck me. "I asked you a question, girl," he said sternly, "I expect an answer."
Defiant frustration with the situation cut through the pain. It was not what I had anticipated. I had thought it would be heavy, thudding blows like the flogger and the sharpness of it, when I wasn't in the midst of it, lit a fuse under my skin that brought a reckless answer to my lips. "Actually, I rather hate it," I said sharply. He laughed and ice water went through my veins.
"And yet you have not called out your precious safeword," he said in a tone rich with amusement, "Your stubbornness will be your down fall. Come, have another." The third whip strike burned and made me want to scream but I gritted my teeth and bowed my head. "Ah," he said, "there she is. Now we'll begin in earnest."
"Like hell you..." I started when the fourth blow struck and I screamed despite myself. The fifth and sixth came in rapid succession as I gasped for breath. I strained against the restraints and howled in agony. He snapped the whip at my right side. I could feel the air disturbed by the cracker curl against my skin and I froze. My back hurt terribly. Though the shock of the initial blows was wearing off, the sharp pain of them lingered like hot wires against my skin.
"Apologize for your temper," he said, the amusement dropping out of his voice and replaced with something cool and still. A part of me screamed that I fight, that I resist him. It was a mindless struggle that mixed with the pain and made me give a wordless cry of frustration. A single sharp crack of the whip just above my right shoulder, deafening me for a moment, made me flinch away as best I could in my restraints. "Well," he said.
"I'm sorry I was short with you," I said in a shaky voice. I heard the noise of the whip slithering over the floor and my blood went cold with dread. Silence filled the room, with the exception of my ragged breath and little unconscious whimpering of pain as the anger was drowned by it. He walked up behind me. A finger settled with incredible lightness against where the whip had left an angry weal across my left shoulder.
The pain somehow had made my skin hypersensitive. As he traced the line of the blow, I shuddered in unexpected pleasure. "Six blows doesn't seem enough," he mused while he ran his hand over my back and listened to me give a low moan. "But I do have your attention now," he said, sliding his right hand around my side to grasp my breast. Slowly, he drove his nails into the soft skin and I gave a little wail of pain. "What do I do with you?" he sighed, dragging his nails down my stomach from by breast to the waistline of my pants. "I could whip you some more," he said thoughtfully and flicked the whip across the floor.
The sound of the tip of the whip swishing against the tile floor made me freeze and shiver. He chuckled. "Your screams are delightful, but not what I'm after tonight," he said. I relaxed imperceptably, or so I thought, when he dropped the whip. "What to do? What to do?" he murmured. He suddenly stepped back away from me. I gave a whimper of anxiety as I anticipated another blow from the whip as I heard him walk away. His steps paused a short distance away and then he returned.
The cold flat of the knife pressed against the back of my right wrist. "I know exactly what I'm going to do with you," he said, his tone warm and pleasant. The shift in tone, the presence of the knife, and the anticipation that flooded through me made me weak. The knife moved slowly down my arm to my shoulder. With a flick of the wrist, it was set on its edge against my skin. In agonizing slowness, he scored a line from my shoulder to my waist.
Where it crossed the weals from the whip, I cried out in anguish, otherwise I gasped and gave moans of pleasure. "You are going to listen very closely to me," he said, reversing his motion a few inches to the left. I whimpered and mewed, arching my back. "Never doubt me," he said in that cool tone, "Doubt everything else, if you must. Doubt yourself. But do not doubt me." I gave a sob of confused and pained arousal. My head lolled back as I moaned.
With a firm hand at the back of my head, he pushed my head upright and continued tracing lazy patterns over my back, never allowing the knife to go deep enough to draw blood. "Question everything and you won't like the answers," he purred in my ear, "Sometimes the answers are not for you anyways." I shuddered. "Understand me?" he asked. I nodded my head. "No," he said, "That's not good enough. Answer me out loud."
"I... I understand," I stammered. Beneath the blindfold, tears flowed. I couldn't tell if they were tears of pain, confusion, or pleasure. "I'm sorry," I said, "I didn't mean to anger you." He chuckled.
"Oh, I'm not angry in the least," he said, "You'll know when I'm angry. But, we're not done with your lesson, little girl." I froze and shivered, scarcely daring to breathe. He pressed his body against my back and ran the knife up along my right arm. "You are not to run from me," he purred in my ear, "Run and I will hunt you. I will whip you in earnest then. I will push you so hard that you cannot think. I will make you scream and you won't know if it is pleasure or agony. And you will want me to do it, again and again." I shuddered. "I know you," he said, "I know every inch of you. I know every place you hide. He may not, but I do. And I will find you and drag you out into the light where you belong."
I gave a little sob. I couldn't tell if it was fear or arousal. He nuzzled my neck and breathed against it. "Let me give you what you need," he said in a muffled voice.
"But I don't deserve it," I wailed. He bit my shoulder hard and I gave a hoarse scream of pain even as arousal washed over me. As he ground my skin between his teeth, I wailed even as I ground my hips against the frame of the device restraining me. He lifted his head.
His voice was hard and wintry. "Your opinion of what you deserve doesn't matter next to what you need, girl," he said, "Needs trump everything." I sobbed. I found myself in a place where I couldn't argue. I couldn't really talk. All that was there was feelings. And I wept, in agony even as I knew he'd take care of me.