Wednesday, September 30, 2015

Cinderella Pt. 7

The carriage clattered over the stones in the road as Ella looked anxiously out the windows. As they drew closer to the house, Ella felt a curious sensation. It seemed the carriage was shrinking and the fabric of her gown growing coarse. The carriage began to slow. She tapped the door to her left. "Let me out," she called. The driver reined in the horse. The sense that things were changing was no longer something of a suspicion as Ella felt the frame of the carriage door contracting beneath her hand. In a burst of panic, she threw herself out of the carriage.

The moment Ella's feet hit the cobblestones, she was off and running for the garden gate. She felt the dress transforming as she ran with her skirts held up in her hands. Her hair fell down out of its elaborate coiffure. Her apron bounced against her russet colored skirts as she opened the gate and dared to look back. Where the white carriage had stood, there was now the white pumpkin she had picked earlier. The rats and lizard were not visible, but Ella knew that they had transformed back to their proper nature and most likely were seeking shelter from the rain which began to fall.

As she hurried through the garden and into the kitchen, Ella could hear the clattering of a carriage in the distance. The city's streets did odd things to the noise of the carriage's approach. It sounded to Ella as though it was closer than it truly was.  She lit a lamp and took off her apron. As she hung the apron upon its peg, Ella looked about vainly for something to appear to have been doing. Spotting a basket of knitting nearby, the lamp and sat in the chair beside it. She picked up the needles and had gotten half of a row finished when the carriage came to a halt before the front entrance of the house. Ella set aside the knitting, taking care to make it clear she was interrupted mid stitch.

She lifted her lamp and reached the door as her stepmother and stepsisters did. Ella opened the door and gasped in surprise to find the woman she feared glaring at her with an expression of near murderous rage. "You," she hissed, stepping over the threshold as Ella retreated back a pace. "You were there. Where is the gown? Where are the horses and the man? Where have you been hiding your wealth, Lady Ambery?" the graying woman said as she stalked forward, turning the title into a sneered insult. "Why don't you still smell of your work, girl?" she demanded.

"I.. I bathed," Ella stammered, "I did so after you left." The second wife of the late Lord Ambery raised her hand to slap her unwanted stepdaughter when she saw the lamp in Ella's hand and reconsidered. She did everything she could to acquire what fortune her late husband could acquire in the years after he came into the city. It was she who poisoned Ella's father, though the blame was never discovered. Ambery was a kind man who thought his second wife merely ambitious.

At her urging, he took up the trade of a merchant. His business went quite well, for Ambery had an eye for what was truly fine quality. The creditors still came to harass him over his deceased brother's accounts. So, what wealth that could have come into her hands, went into theirs. She blamed Ella. If Ambery didn't have his daughter, she was sure that he would have spent more upon her and her daughters. Instead, he put money by for Ella. He arranged so that Ella was the only one to draw funds from the account. And it was a considerable amount that he managed to hide from his brother's creditors.

Ella's stepmother was furious that she somehow managed to attend the ball. She was doubly so at the signs of wealth that her unwanted stepdaughter wore. "Tomorrow, we are to find what became of your fine dress," she hissed, "Then it will be torn to rags and sold. Even as rags, it will fetch a high price. You will remain here until the Prince has chosen a bride. Maybe, after then, you will be allowed freedom." Ella did her best to conceal the trembling in her hands as she watched her stepmother motion her daughters in.

"Set the lamp down," the older woman commanded. The moment the lamp was safely on the table, Ella was struck by something hard upon her shoulders. She cried out in surprise and pain, but the blows continued to fall. Ella fled towards the kitchen but her stepmother followed, continuing to beat her. Ella fell to the floor and covered her head with her hands as yet more blows fell. When her stepmother stopped, Ella was crying. She stared up at her tormentor who held a parasol in her hand. "Perhaps now you won't be so fine to the eyes of others. I'd strike your face but I need you to look well when we go to the bank tomorrow and I learn how much you truly have," the stepmother said, "Now, attend me and my daughters."

Ella rose with some pain, biting back additional cries of pain as she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. She regretted going to the pear tree that night. She regretted going to the ball. But she could not bring herself to regret the Prince.

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

Cinderella (Pt. 6)

The prince gave his courtiers a smile that was blandly appropriate and did his best to mask the fact that he was thinking about the puzzle that was the young woman sitting near him. As she listened intently to the chattering of the eldest daughter of some viscount from the west, the prince noted that she seemed quite enthralled with the complaints of the woman. Ella had been quiet for much of the evening as she watched the crowd with a thread of anxiety through her demeanor. The musicians began to play a merry tune and dancers took the floor.

The prince's distraction led to him missing details from the viscount's story about his recent hunting trip. The viscount fell quiet, waiting for his liege to say something about the story. The prince's gaze snapped to the spindly man standing before him. "I must speak with this young woman," he said to the viscount. The viscount's expression flickered to disappointment when he realized that the prince was not speaking of his daughter. However, the man made a graceful gesture and turned his attention to another minor noble that was hoping to rub elbows with the prince.

Ella looked at the dancers and was filled with despair. She knew the hour was getting late. While her stepmother and her stepsisters seemed to have forgotten her, Ella suspected that the next day was going to be pure torment. She was so caught up in her worries that she missed the prince's quiet question. She looked over at him, mildly confused. The prince saw the expression of bafflement on her face and he smiled. Just when he thought she couldn't become more endearing, she somehow managed to accomplish it.

"Will you have need of an escort to see you home safely?" he asked again. Ella swallowed uncomfortably. "I would be happy to send someone with you. The little you have told me of your stepmother and stepsisters, I am concerned that something untoward would happen to you tonight. I would like to see you again," he said. Ella shook her head. The prince reached over an took her hand in his. "If you have no need of an escort, at least let me send word that your stepmother and stepsisters are to treat you well because you have my favor," he said, "They will not dare refuse me."

Ella heard someone comment that it was nigh eleven thirty. Her eyes widened in panic. "I must leave," she said. The prince looked at her in curiosity. "Please," she said,"I must go. I am late." The prince let her slip her hand from his.

"I would have you come again," he said, "The third ball is to be held in three nights. Come and keep me company. These affairs are terribly boring with out pleasant company." Ella started away from him.

"I will try," she said before darting off through the crowd. The prince motioned one of his trusted friends over. They had a quick, quiet conversation. Then the short man set off quickly to catch up with and follow Ella. The prince turned his attention to the viscount and his daughter. As he exchanged pleasantries and gave a bland offer to dance to the young woman, the prince thought about the purpose of the balls.

He was to find a wife. Though he was the fourth son, his father deemed it necessary that he wed by his twenty first birthday. Surrounded by all of the eligible, wealthy young women of the court and several from afar, the prince could not help but question who Ella was and what sparked such fear in her.

The prince's friend rushed after the woman in the golden dress. He reached the courtyard as the white carriage raced away down the lane from the chateau. As the short man with the crooked nose turned and walked into the castle, he noted the coat of arms he had seen briefly as it raced away. It confused him, for it was arms he did not recognize, though the looked familiar somehow. He gave the guard a curt nod and continued back to the ballroom.

The sight that met his eyes was the prince dancing with a wealthy young widow of some northern count. Despite the beauty of the woman in his arms, the prince had an expression on his face that his dear friend recognized. A look of forced pleasantry, much like the one he had when his father announced the balls were to take place. The man gave noncommittal greetings to several people as he passed. To others he mumbled apologies for disrupting them on their way to where he knew the prince would head when the dance was finished.

 The dance set complete, the prince made his way to a quiet corner where his friend awaited him. "She is somehow of noble birth," he said, "The carriage was white but upon the back was a coat of arms. A lily upon a blue field with a golden pennant behind. I can't place why it is familiar, though." An older man overheard them speaking. He leaned towards them.

"Those are the arms of Lord Ambery. An ancient house that lost its fortunes when the eldest son died in battle many long years ago. The second son was sent in to poverty with his young wife when the creditors came for his brother's debts. It was quiet the scandal. No one knows what became of them after that," the older man said, "But Ambery's line is all but vanished. Their lands were seized by your father, m'lord," he continued, "You and your brothers were children when this happened. If some heir were to appear, it would complicate things."

The prince looked towards the older man, considering what he had said. "It seems that I must talk with my father," he said.

Sunday, September 13, 2015

Lesson 2: Finding Words

I stood with my wrists tied to the St. Andrew's cross. The room was marginally brighter than the last time I had been here. I saw the vague shapes of the other pieces of equipment about the room. The place where I stood on my toes in bare feet was light by another bright light. If I raised my face, I knew my eyes would be dazzled by the light above me. Dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, I was more covered than the last time I had been here.

Time seemed to stop. My feet felt as though they were beginning to cramp and my arms had begun to protest the position they were in when he finally returned to the room. The black t-shirt was replaced with a black button down shirt. Then jeans and cowboy boots were unchanged. His long hair was tied in a messy braid that mirrored my own, even laying on his right shoulder like mine. The heels of his scuffed boots sounded loud in the stillness as he walked towards me.

He held in his right hand my heels, by the ankle straps. Idly, he swing his arm. "A bit harder to stand there with out them, isn't it?" he said lightly. Unsure what answer he was looking for, I remained quiet and watched him. A wicked smirk curved his lips as he tossed the shoes at my feet. "Why don't you step into them. I'm sure you'll be more comfortable," he said in that conversational tone. I tried to slip my toes into the left shoe, but it slid away from me. I gave it one more try, sticking out my leg but to no avail. I glared at the shoes that were maddening close and scowled in displeasure. "Ah, what a shame," he said, "They'd have looked nice."

My irritated glare turned to him. "I'm not supposed to have them, am I?" I asked tersely. The smirk became a grin. "I don't know why I came back here," I said. The moment the words were out my mouth, I realized my mistake.

"Are you of a habit of being curt with your hosts or is it just me?" he purred. A trickle of fear went down my spine as arousal suddenly bloomed in my awareness. "Such manners would get you into trouble with my friends," he said, halting just before me.

Again, recklessness won out over sense and I said dryly, "I don't see them here." He laughed. It was a rich sound that both satisfied me and made me hunger for more. He looked down at me, still having over a full inch of height on me though I stood on my toes. He reached forward and picked up the braid on my shoulder. Slipping the tie off the end, he began to unbraid it. The feeling of his hands in my hair made me shiver with pleasure.

As he worked, he said, "All you have to do is ask and I'll hurt you." My breath froze in my throat. He ran his fingers through my hair, spreading it so that it lay upon both my shoulders. "This game of sass and funishment gets boring after a while," he sighed. He pressed his hands over my forearms and leaned against the cross. His eyes came down to my level as he smiled.

"Tell me what you want and it will happen. I could never deny you when you're all tied up like this," he said dropping his gaze and then slowly raising it, clearly admiring what he saw. "With you at my mercy and all," he purred, "I would be horribly remiss if I hadn't listened to your desires, to your needs." I closed my eyes against the heat in his gaze. It was too much for me. It made my stomach flutter, my heart race, and my mind befuddled to see that raw hunger. "You can't hide," he said moving his face closer to mine, "Your efforts to delay are pointless. I could drag the answer from your pretty lips but that doesn't suit me tonight. Speak, girl."

"I... I don't know what I want," I stammered.

"Lies," he responded, suddenly gripping my forearms hard enough to dig his nails in. I gasped and opened my eyes in surprise. Slowly, he began to drag his nails down my arms to my elbows. As he did so, I closed my eyes with pleasure and sighed. "Confess what you want, sweetling," he said in a tone that was silken and suggestive, "I may even let you have it." I held still and shivered with my eyes closed. When words did not come tumbling out my mouth, he stepped back. Wanting to bast in the heat of his presence, I opened my eyes and silently plead for his closeness. "Soulful doe eyes do not get you what you want," he said coolly.

The chill in his voice made me stiffen as my eyes widened with anxiety. A smile slowly bloomed on his face. In that chilly tone, he said, "Speak your desires or nothing happens. You remain there bound with out even a step to ease your aching arms. Unless that is what you want. Tell me do you want to remain bound and have nothing happen to you?" I shook my head.

"I said speak!" he roared at me. I would have jumped with surprise if I had been able to. Instead, there was a noise of alarm and an expression to match. His face turned to a mask of frustration. His words were harsh as he said, "Must you be so damn stubborn? Must I beat it out of you?! Answer me!" Arousal warred with fear and anxiety.

"I'm sorry," I said in a small voice.

His voice turned arctic and the tone was filled with warning. "That is not an answer. Answer my question," he commanded. I swallowed past a lump in my throat.

"I... I don't know..." I started when his eyes narrowed and he looked intensely into my face.

"You're afraid," he said, all frustration dropping out of his voice and expression to be replaced with something inquisitive, "And not of me. You want to answer yes, but you're too afraid to."

I blanched. "I.. I didn't say that," I stammered. Panic began to raise even as arousal burned hotter. He smiled and stepped back, crossing his arms as he did so.

"You can't say it," he said with amusement, "You literally can not bring yourself to say it." I shook my head in a small nervous gesture. "Is a good beating what you need?" he asked as his tone turned mockingly compassionate, "Do you need someone to beat that mental block out of you so that you can speak?" I looked everywhere but at him. He laughed softly. "Oh, you poor repressed creature," he sighed, "You need someone to snap your chains."

"I'm not in chains," I squeaked nervously. He grinned wolfishly.

In a tone that was like a lover's caress, he said, "Lies."

"This is a bad idea," I babbled, "It could have problems. Bad problems." He made a noise of disbelief and stepped into the darkness. "I really don't think this is a good idea," I called after him. He reemerged from the darkness with a length of rope in his hand. He threw one end of it high in the air over my head as he held the other. It looped over something high above us and then fell to hang in front of me. He dropped the end he held. He stepped around the hanging rope and over to me.

With a smile, he said, "Come, let me ease your pain." He freed my left wrist and then my right. I stumbled into him as my wrist dropped. Wrapping his arms around me, he held me close. Gently, he kissed my brow. I closed my eyes and he placed feather light kisses on each one before covering my mouth with his own. I tasted spices and honey on his lips. The cinnamon and cloves mixed with the taste of his mouth filled me with hunger for deeper kisses. I tried to raise my hands to draw out a longer kiss but his arms tightened about me, pinning my arms at my sides.

I made a noise of frustration when he broke the kiss with a chuckle. "You have to ask for what you want, sweetling," he said in a tone that bubbled with amusement, "Not try to take it. That'll get your hand swatted." I stared up into his eyes, briefly overcome with the dizzying sensation that I was falling into them. I blinked and broke eye contact. He chuckled again. "Come now," he coaxed, "Say what you want, or I'll put you right back up on that cross."

"Kiss me," I said quietly, sounding half apologetic. He reached up suddenly and turned my face up towards his. My surprised gasp was muffled by the bruisingly forceful way he kissed me. The harshness of his kiss crushed the breath from me. I tried to break the kiss but he gave a low, feral growl and continued. When he broke the kiss, I was dizzy and weakened. I wasn't sure if it was from lust or breathlessness. As I blinked up at him, he gave me a hungry smile. His eyes lit with what some would have called an unholy light. My lips were tender from the force of his kiss and a small scratch on my lower lip throbbed and oozed a little blot. That taste of blood in the kiss seemed to have excited him but he did nothing except hold me and give me that intensely predatory stare.

"What do you want, sweetling?" he asked me in a tone full of temptation and lust.

"More," I said lamely, finding myself struggling with words. Slowly he pulled my hair and head back. The thrill of pain from my scalp made my knees weaken.

"Of this?" he asked, "Do you want more of this?" My eyes rolled with pleasure at the silken suggestiveness of his tone.

Speaking as though I was in a dream, I said with a sigh, "Yes." He pulled harder and I groaned.

"What about it do you want, little girl?" he demanded.

"The.." I started when the words stopped in my throat, choking me as he let go of my hair. I gave a little sob of frustration. I bowed my head, my brow touching his shoulder.

"Say it or nothing. You'll get nothing more," he said in a cool, implacable tone. Tears began to fall as I struggled to find words. "Confess it," he hiss in my ear, "Name your need."

"I want to feel," I wailed, "I want to feel it all. Oh god, please. Make me feel." I sobbed a little with the feelings painful frustration and shame for saying anything out loud.

"That is a step," he mused, "Not much of one, but a step none the less." I quietly began to weep as those awful feelings grew stronger. "No," he said firmly, "No tears." I gulped air and tried to stop myself from crying when he raked his nails down my back firmly. I gasped as though someone had thrown cold water on me. When he reached the bottom hem of my shirt, he grabbed it and pulled it off over my head in an almost violent motion that made me stumble.

With his right hand, he threw it aside while his left grasped a handful of my hair. He stepped back and pulled my forward by my hair, eliciting a yelp of protest. "Shut up," he snapped, "You like it or you'd have cried off." I stared at him, truly seeing the calculating coldness in his expression for the first time and struggling to reconcile it with the wildfire in his eyes. We stopped where the end of the rope lay on the floor. He let go of my hair and stooped to pick it up. In a sheath at the small of his back was a long knife. The very sight of it made my heart speed up.

He looked at me over his shoulder. Something about the expression on my face cracked that cold mask and he grinned. I blushed and dropped my gaze to the rope in his hands. "Arms out," he said, not bothering to hide his amusement. Overcome with a sudden wave of shyness, I slowly held out my arms with the wrists together as I kept my gaze on his hands. "Clever girl," he said approvingly as he turned to face me and bound my wrists together. The knots were painfully tight, which only brought pleasure.

He stepped behind me and did something with the rope. Soon, the upward pull of the rope was irresistible and my arms were forced over my head. Then, I was raised up to the tips of my toes. I pulled on the rope but to no avail. Behind me, he fixed the rope to something. I gave a small wine of frustration which became a cry of surprise when he stepped up behind me  and gripped me around the throat. He held me against him, his left arm holding my hips against his, as he slowly increased the pressure on my windpipe. I made a small noise of distress and kicked my feet, only to throw myself off balance and increase the strain on my shoulders.

"Mmm," he sighed in my ear as he ground his hips against me, "Fight me all you want. You'll lose. And you want to lose."

"I don't know what you're..." I started when he squeezed my throat harder. I gasped and squirmed, unable to resist the wave of arousal that came from it.

"Lies," he said in that sensual sigh, "Do you know what I do with little girls who lie to me?" I shivered and tried to pull my neck out of his grip. "Oh, no. No. No," he chided, bracing me against his shoulder, "You don't get to run away. Not tonight." I whimpered as he rand his hand down my chest. His hand seemed to burn my skin where it passed, making me shudder with pleasure. My head lolled against his shoulder. "What I do with girls who lie to me is I make them cry," he whispered in my ear, "I make them scream. I make them repent their errors." His hand slid lower to the waistband of my jeans. "And you want that," he said, "Or you wouldn't have lied to me."

"I didn't lie to you," I groaned as he slipped a finger between the denim and my skin.

He sighed in something that sounded like a strange cross between pleasure and disappointment. "Wicked girl," he chided, giving a tug at my pants. I gave a little shivering gasp of anticipation. "Next you'll say you don't enjoy this," he said with another laugh. He unbuttoned the fly of my pants before thrusting a hand into them and rubbing my clit through my underwear. I arched with pleasure. "If you're good," you'll get more," he said as I began to breath harder and wriggle my hips in an attempt to feel more of his touch. He pulled his hand out and I moaned in protest.

As he stepped away from me, he gave me a little shove. I struggled to maintain my precarious footing as he walked past me. In the dimness of the room, I struggled to watch him. The sudden sharp crack of a whip made me blanch as I recalled our last session. Moment's later, I heard him walking towards me and I shuddered with dread. The whip snapped before my face and I threw my head back with a shriek of fear, which only made me swing backwards. "I have your new favorite toy here," he said, "As you just noticed. Shall we give it a go?"

"No," I whimpered, "Please no." From the shadows before me, he chuckled.

"Come now," he said, "It's not so bad." The whip snapped at my legs cutting a line through the fabric covering my shins and raising an angry weal. I screamed in pain. It dropped down to a sob as he stood there watching me. He flicked again, snapping it in the air just over my breasts. I gave a wordless cry of fear and thrashed at the end of the rope, consumed by the desperate need to flee the whip. So consumed in my flight response, I didn't hear the whip being dropped. When the heavier blow of the flogger landed on my left side, I shrieked and sobbed as though the single tail had struck me.

"I'll be good," I wailed, "I'll be good."

"Oh," he said in mock disappointment, "And ruin my fun?"  A second blow from the flogger, this time on my right side, made me take a deep breath of shock as it registered that it wasn't the single tail whip hitting me. Walking around behind me, he randomly flicked it at me. The flogger made ominous sound but it didn't touch me. He stopped behind me. I guessed he was near the cross. I closed my eyes and lowered my head in an attempt to hear what he was doing.

The unexpected heavy blow of the flogger across my lower back made me stiffen with surprise, whipping my head upright with a little shriek of alarm coming out my mouth. "Close," he said thoughtfully, "But not close enough." He nit me again, this time harder. This time a genuine cry of pain came from me as I tried to escape and lost my footing. "There it is," he sighed happily. As I swung back towards him, he let fly with the flogger. The blow across my shoulders burned and I cried out again. He gave me three more blows, each one moving farther down my back. I shrieked and kicked with each one. I twisted and tried to pull myself free from the rope. He paused and watched me. "And still no safeword," he said with amusement.

"Maybe I'll beat that out of you," he said in a darkly suggestive tone, "Make you scream yourself hoarse so that you can only whisper it."

"No!" I wailed, "No, not that. Please not that." The flogger struck as I was speaking turning the final word of my plea into an agonized, keening cry.

"Oh, I like that," he said before raining a dozen blows on my back. I screamed and sobbed, eventually no longer writing at the end of the rope. He laughed. "Just give up," he said pleasantly, "The sooner you give up the fight, the greater your pleasure." I didn't have the presence of mind to say anything. I just moaned softly in a mixture of pain and pleasure. A series of light blows landed on my bruised back and I groaned with arousal. Slowly, he built up the intensity of his strikes as my sounds of pleasure grew louder. By the time he was whipping me with the full force of his strength, I was giving little screams with each blow as I orgasmed.

I lost track of time in the haze of pleasure and pain. I was dimly aware of the sound of his voice as he said something to me. Though no blows fell on my back, the skin was so tender and sensitive that the little breath of air that blew through the room set me to shuddering with smaller orgasms. I heard something fall to the ground behind me before he walked up behind me but couldn't fathom what it was through the blindly waves of pleasure rolling over me.

He grabbed hold of my hips and pulled them against his. "Ooh," I squealed, "Oh, please." He leaned forward some, the end of his braid brushing over my lower back. I gave another squeal of pleasure as he kissed my right shoulder and nipped my neck.

"Hmm," he said huskily in my ear, "Surrender looks good on you." He ground his hips against mine as I panted a little and leaned my head back. "So eager," he said with humor in his voice," What do you want, little girl?" He still held my hips hard against himself and I could feel his erection stiff against me through our clothes. He moved forward so that my back was against his chest.

"You," I gasped between trembling sighs of pleasure at the feeling of how the fabric of his shirt rasped against my back.

"Me?" he said, "Sweetling, you have to be more specific than that." I shut my eyes tightly and gave a choked sob of frustration. "Come on, you can say it. They're very simple little words. A clever girl like you knows all kinds of words," he whispered suggestively in my ear, "Just say it."

"I..." I started in a pained tone and he made an expectant noise as I faltered. "I want you inside me. I want to feel you in me," I said, sounding as though each word pained me to say.

"Good girl," he cooed, "Such a brave and very, very good girl." I wept a little feeling torn between arousal, anticipation, fear, and frustration. His hands began to wander over my body, washing away all of my thoughts with pure pleasure. There was only him, his light touch, and the way he made my body burn with lust in my awareness then. Gradually his hands came to my hips. He took hold of my pants and pulled them down with my underwear as he knelt. He tugged the pile of fabric out from beneath my feet and looked up hotly at me.

He stood, his warm hand sliding up the outside of my right leg. I closed my eyes and sighed with pleasure. His hand moved towards my abdomen as he stepped in front of me.  "Open your eyes," he commanded. I opened them and stared dazedly at him. In the dim half light, he loomed over me as a figure of stark contrasts. His hair was like shadows at midnight. A small, cruel smile played on his lips, an expression that made me blush as my heart hammered. His hand moved down between my thighs and I moaned wordlessly for more.

He ran a fingertip over my clit. His smile turned to a grin as he realized how wet I was. As he tickled my labia, my eyelids fluttered. He stopped. "No, keep your eyes open," he said.  With out waiting for my compliance or giving warning, he thrust his finger deep inside me. My eyes opened wide with shock and I gave a small gasp at his invasion. He moved his fingers within me, massaging my g-spot roughly. As the orgasm hit me, I screamed with pleasure and shook with the force of it. I opened my eyes briefly and shut them again as he ripped a second orgasmic scream from my lips. He brought me to the edge of a third and stopped.

I stared at him, confused and desperately hoping he was going to fuck me.  As he stepped back, I realized he wasn't going to do anything more. "Please," I begged, "Please, give me more." His expression, which had been one of close and careful attention as he stimulated me, turned again to that cruel mocking smile of earlier. "No," I whimpered, "No, I need it. Please, don't stop." He blew me a kiss. Then he brought his damp fingers to his lips and, staring intensely into my eyes, he began to suck my cum off his fingers. Tears formed in my eyes as the fact I was being denied the orgasm I so desperately wanted became real.

"Please," I said, my voice breaking a little as the first tears began to fall. Taking his fingers out of his mouth, he grinned at me.

"Cry for me," he said in a tone that was like a caress, "Weep. You're not getting more. Not until you stop lying to me, little girl." I sobbed.

"Please, I'll be good," I wept, twisting in sexual agony. I wept harder as he began to walk away.

"Maybe next time," he called over his shoulder in a tone full of sexual heat and promise, "If you're good and you don't lie to me." Blinded by my tears of frustration, I didn't see him walk out of the room. But I heard the door close and I screamed with my frustration and lust burning in my blood.

Saturday, September 5, 2015

A Glass of Wine

The room was dimly lit and the table I sat at was bare except for a crystal goblet of rich red wine. The delicacy of the goblet was in stark contrast to the rustic heaviness of the furniture. The light from the fireplace was caught in that goblet and the wine within, making it a dazzling sight to my weary eyes. Sitting on a rough bench facing the fire, it was difficult for me to see in the darkness around me in that large space.

I heard his step before I saw him moving at the edge of the circle of light. His long, wheat gold hair was tied back into a loose braid that fell over his left shoulder and gleamed silkily where the light hit it. The red and white plaid of his flannel shirt looked muted, as though the lines of the fabric became fuzzy in that golden light. I watched him out the corner of my eye, unsure what to say or do. It had been so long since we had been together like this.

I reached forward. Nervously, I toyed with the stem of that goblet as he stopped behind me. I could feel his presence at my back like a slow heat seeping through my clothes. The urge to hide rose up strong within me and I found myself feeling painfully self conscious. I pulled the hair tie out of my hair and looked down at the table before me. My stomach felt filled with butterflies as he stepped up so close that his body nearly touched my back.

"You've been away too long," he said quietly, catching a lock of my hair in his fingers and twisting it around them. "Running and hiding doesn't suit you," he continued, a mixture of amusement and sexual heat in his voice. He let go of the tips of my hair to brush it over my left shoulder. As his lips settled against the nape of my neck, a shiver ran through me. That one touch made me feel like I was burning and freezing at the same time. Dizzying arousal began to rise up in my blood as I attempted to keep myself calm and still.

I struggled with the feeling that I was doing everything wrong, feeling confused by the pleasure that came from his hands as they moved down from my shoulders to cup my breasts. "What are you so afraid of?" he asked in a husky whisper in my right ear, "Nothing can harm you here." He placed another kiss on my neck, this time closer to my shoulder.

"You make me feel like I'm drunk," I said, "Like I'm intoxicated and out of control."

"You haven't had a drop of wine. And what of your precious control? You can not control everything," he murmured, "Why do you fight yourself like this? Why don't you let yourself be happy? Why don't you let yourself feel pleasure?" I closed my eyes as painful shame washed through me. A warm hand settled over my right hand. The heat of his touch sent an electric thrill through me.

"I don't deserve it," I answered in a voice scarcely more than a whisper, "I don't deserve you."

His voice was warm with amusement and sexual suggestion, "Isn't it a good thing I decide who deserves what I give them? And who deserves me? You don't have to worry about any of that." My head swam with the contrast between the arousal that made me shiver with pleasure at his words and the anxious misery that had kept me away from him for so long. Slowly, he moved his hand up my bare forearm. The feeling of his skin against mine, even with it only being his hand, filled me with hunger to feel more.

I closed my eyes against it, trying to remember what I had wanted to talk to him about. Even as I mentally fumbled and tried to grasp the reason why I had wanted to talk to him before anything more happened, the words slipped away. The stubble on his cheek rasped against my cheek as he looked over my shoulder at his hand's slow ascent up my arm over the thin fabric of my dress's sleeve. I breathed in the smell of him and the feeling of being home rolled over me. As much as I didn't want to admit it, he was right. It had been too long since I had come to him like this.

"Drink your wine," he said, turning his face to kiss my cheek. I thought to argue with him but the warmth of his presence lulled that anxiety into silence. His hands rested on my shoulders as I picked up that glass of wine and raised it to my lips. Kissing the top of my head, he stood quietly behind me while I drank my first sip. The alcohol sent warmth through me. Despite my earlier insistence on keeping my head and resisting long enough to get words out, I closed my eyes and leaned back against him. "So stubborn," he chided gently, "That will get you in trouble one of these days."

"It hasn't today?" I answered in a droll tone. He laughed. "I worry I'm not good enough for you," I continued, unable to keep the tiredness out of my voice. He took the glass of wine from my hand and set it a bit farther away from me on the table before leaning down to look me in the face.

"You worry too much," he replied before giving me a slow, full kiss. His right hand cradled the back of my head as he kissed me. As he broke the kiss, he looked at me with a serious light in his eyes. "I see," he said, though I didn't understand what it was he saw or realized in that moment. I opened my mouth to ask him when he moved suddenly. His hands were at my sides, lifting me up from my seat. I gave a little alarmed squawk of surprise but he continued to pull me to my feet as he stepped away from the table.

"Wait," I said as I scrambled to get my feet under me, "What are you doing?" I had just managed to win clear of the bench I had been sitting at when he stooped and lifted me up over his shoulder. "What are you up to? Put me down," I cried in shock as he straightened. Ignoring my demand to know what he was intending, he carried me from the room over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The dimness of the hallway didn't give me much of an idea as to the direction we were going, only that we were moving away from the fireplace and that we had passed a door on our way.

The thunderous sound of his boot hitting the door we stopped briefly at made me yelp heartbeats before the crash of the door striking the wall. Striding across the room in a few paces, he shifted me from his shoulder to his arms. I was then abruptly dropped onto something soft, which I could only presume was a bed judging from how it felt when I landed. I sat up as he crossed to the door and shut it firmly. I moved to the edge of the bed as he opened the shutters.

"No," he said firmly, "You are going to stay right there. I'm not done yet." I arched an eyebrow and almost said something impertinent but something about the hardness in his expression gave me pause. In the cool light of the moon, his face took on an eerie beauty that fascinated me. I stared in rapt attention as he turned to look at me. His green eyes burned with an intensity that I couldn't tear my gaze from. I was only half aware as he started taking off his clothes. When his shirt came off, I swallowed nervously.

Old battle scars showed on his chest, looking darker in that dim play of light and shadow. He kicked off his boots and looked down long enough to unbuckle his belt. As he did so, he said, "You apparently need someone to grab your attention." He shimmied out of his pants, continuing, "And you apparently need someone to remind you that life is for living." As he spoke, a faint note of anger warmed his tone when he said, "And you clearly need to be shown that you're worth more than the sum of your parts. Because someone has forgotten her value, again."

"I'm..." I started when he pointed at me with a stern look. I blushed and started to look away.

"No," he commanded, "Look at me. You are not some scullion to run and cower. You are my wife. Run as you may, I am done chasing. This ends now."

"I'm not running..." I protested when he finished the sentence for me.

"Not tonight," he growled. He walked up to me and yanked me off the bed and to my feet. He held me hard against him and I had no choice but to be aware of his erection pressing insistently against me. "Feel this," he said, taking my right hand and putting on his erection, "This is not some passing compliment. This is not some game." He let go of my left arm and plunged his hands into my hair, forcibly lifting my gaze from his chest to his face. The intensity in his gaze and the mingled expression of hunger and outrage made me blush. I started to look away when he shook me slightly one time. "This," he said, some of the anger bleeding out of his voice, "This is no game. Not to me."

He kissed me. At first, I was stiff with shock and uncertain of what to do. As he kissed me and I began to relax, I placed my hands on his chest. I found myself beginning to be short of breath and tried to break the kiss but he pulled me against him when I did. When I found myself on the edge of desperation to breathe, he broke the kiss and ran his hands down my back. He pressed his forehead against mine as he said breathily, "If you must fight me, then fight. I'm tough enough to handle it."

"I need to catch my breath," I said weakly, unsure what I was supposed to do.

"Then breathe," he said, smiling fiercely, "I've other things I'm going to do." I looked at him not comprehending what he was saying. That word of warning should have prepared me for when he took hold of the neckline of the dress and tore it apart. It didn't, so I just gaped at him in amazement as he ripped the gauzy fabric apart with his hands. The fabric tangled about me as he tried to pull it off me. He gave a short bark of laughter and stepped aside.

Dropping to his knee, he grabbed hold of the lower hem of the now ruined dress and the under dress. He stood, pulling the silky fabric up over my head as he did so. My arms caught in the sleeves as he took the dress off me. I tugged awkwardly at it as he laughed. My gaze snapped from trying to look over my shoulder at where I was tangled in the dress to him. "Forget about it," he breathed before giving me a shove. My ungraceful tumble back onto the bed was accompanied by a little gasp as he grinned at me. "Where to begin?" he sighed looking me over as a starving man would a banquet. I vainly wondered if my honoring his request of going commando was a good idea as his gaze lowered to my hips.

He set his right hand on my left knee and gently pushed it aside. Guessing his intentions, I parted my legs. He smiled as he knelt. Placing a kiss on the inside of my right thigh, he murmured, "All the fight running out of you?" I shivered in pleasure at the erotic warmth in his voice. His hands moved up my thighs as he placed light kisses up my leg. As he drew near to my sex, I started to wrap my legs about his shoulders. I sighed as he breathed against my labia. He dragged his tongue slowly along that tender flesh with a little groan of pleasure.

His left hand continued its upward journey as his right moved from the top of my thigh to where his fingers brushed against my labia. He watched the way I arched with pleasure as he slipped a finger into my slick sex. He flicked my right nipple and I gasped. Slowly, he pumped his hand, relishing how I moaned for more. A second finger entered me and I shuddered. "Let go," he urged me, "Just let go." I gave a small sob of sexual frustration as I felt a climax beginning to slowly rise.

He took his fingers out of my dripping pussey. I groaned. As he stood, he wrapped his hand around his erection. Rubbing my juices against his hardness, he looked down at me. My arms were pinned beneath me, still caught in the fabric of the dresses, forcing me to arch my back slightly. My legs were spread wide to give him full access to my hungry sex. I looked up at him, dazed by lust. He lifted my hips slightly and thrust into me with a smooth motion.

I gasped and came almost immediately. Where our previous love making was gentle and slow, he was rougher with me this time. Our hips met with such force that I gave a little cry of pain. This only seemed to encourage him as he thrust as deeply into me as he could. I shuddered and groaned with a second orgasm after what seemed mere moments of this harsh treatment. "Good," he said harshly, "Just give in." The sound of his voice, roughened by frustration and lust brought a sensual little moan from me. Though I couldn't see it because my eyes were closed in pleasure, he grinned with the same fierce expression of earlier.

"I'm going to fuck the fight right out of you," he gasped. My body shook with the force of his thrusts and the trembling that came before a particularly hard orgasm. I gasped for air as I felt my body tense. Somewhere in the midst of things, I felt something rising deep within me. Some sort of heat that both made me shudder and relax. Sudden terror of that sensation made me throw my head from side to side as I gave a little sob. He paused for a moment and the words came out my mouth before I could stop them, "More. Give me more." He gave a triumphant little laugh and resume his efforts with what seemed to be an air of greater vigor.

That molten heat beneath my skin reached a crest. Unable to withstand the pressure of resisting the urge, I threw my head back and screamed with pleasure as the hardest of my orgasms rolled over me. It seemed endless and I screamed until I was hoarse. Where I had been bowed and shuddering with my orgasm, I fell back against the bed bonelessly when he finished with his own climax. The moment he had withdrawn himself, all of my strength ran out of me like water through a sieve. I opened my eyes and looked at him dazedly. He lightly ran a hand over my left thigh. I gave a little gasp and a shudder as a much smaller orgasm struck me.

He smiled at this development. As he lifted me and turned how I was laying upon the bed, I groaned with pleasure at the heat in his hands. Laying on my stomach, I discovered that I lacked the strength to lift my head. All I could do was lie limply before him. He took hold of the sleeves tangled about my arms and began to work them off me. I gasped and rolled my eyes with pleasure at the sensations that shot through my arms and shoulders as he did so. With my arms free, he again reached under me and lifted me slightly at the shoulders.

Limp as a rag doll, I struggled to turn my head to look at him. Once I had done so, he placed me upon the bed again and then laid down beside me. With his right hand, he drew lazy spirals and patterns on my back. As he did so, my breathing sped up and the earlier feeling of irresitable heat rising in me returned. I made a small agonized sound and he chuckled. "Do I have your attention?" he asked in a tone filled with mirth, "Or do I need to do this again? Because I can, you know." Despite the arousal, a chill washed over me at the thought of yet more intense sex in my weakened state.

"I... I don't think I could handle that," I whimpered. He laughed and brushed some hair away from my face. The touch of his skin against mine seemed to burn and weaken me further even as I gasped and shivered, rolling my eyes.

In a more serious tone, he asked me again, "Do I have your attention?"

In a very small voice, I answered "Yes." He smiled wolfishly. Something about his expression unnerved me. "Are you going to kill me with pleasure?" I said nervously.

"Oh no, not at all," he replied as he lightly dragged his nails over my left shoulder making me mew with mingled pain and pleasure. "I simply want to talk to you, tonight."

"That was talking?" I asked in confusion. He snuggled up closer to me, his smile turning into an almost feral grin.

"No, that was getting your attention. Now that I have it, I'm going to tell you something," he said. I blinked at him. "Do not ever do this again. Do not run from me. He is not the only one who'll hunt you. I, however, will wring screams of pleasure out of you with out giving you that harshness you crave." I swallowed nervously as he caught a lock of my hair between his fingers. "Run and I will find you. I will always find you. And I will take you," he continued, his voice turning suggestive, making me squirm slightly, "You don't need to be hurt for a message to go through. You just need to be very aroused. Unable to think clearly. It stops you from second guessing and it stops you from running." His expression, which had turned solemn, returned to that grin from moments before. "I can rip your wits away from you as surely as he can," he said, placing his hand flat on my spine, "I can probably do it better. And that is what scares you."

"I'm.. I'm not afraid," I said weakly.

"Oh really? Up for another round are we?" he said and I blanched. "I guess you are afraid after all," he chuckled, "I can make that work for me as well. And I think I will. But now, you'll sleep. And when you wake, you'll be unable to stop thinking about me. And that is good. Very, very good." He pulled a warm, soft blanket over me. As the fuzzy fabric moved over my bare skin, I closed my eyes and tried to keep my breathing even despite the feeling like my whole body was being caressed. His soft laughter rang in my ears as he wrapped his arms about me. As I dropped down into sleep, I couldn't help the anxious thought 'What am I getting into?'