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He leaned his head in and kissed me. He took my lower lip between his and moaned as he sucked on it, and I stood there, feeling my body go limp against his, letting it, using its traitorous reaction to my advantage. And when I tilted my head back and he kissed me full on the lips and slid his tongue inside my mouth, I struck. Even knowing full well I’d be punished, I struck. I drew my head back and banged it into his nose. A break would be painful enough to give me the second I’d need to get out.
I didn’t break it, though. I knew instantly because his grip on my wrists tightened and he slammed them hard against the door.
“You’re a bitch.”
He lowered my arms and twisted them behind my back into one of his hands, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his other hand. He turned me so he stood behind me, then walked me toward the chest where, without a word, he unlocked and opened it to take out three sets of leather cuffs similar to the ones that had shackled me when I’d gotten here.
I struggled against him as he led me back to the bed. I didn’t ask for freedom. I didn’t beg. But I fought because he was right. I was a bitch. And I wasn’t going to make this easy. Even if that meant I’d pay.
He didn’t speak either, didn’t tell me to be still, didn’t do anything but keep his steady hold on me, tightening it a little. When we got to the bed, he released my wrists and took hold of one arm, pushing me to sit on the edge. I struggled against him as he drew it out and attached the leather to the wrist before fighting me for the other and binding them together. He met my gaze afterward, and I knew this was a show of who was in charge and just how in charge. And I hated myself for the little scream I let out as he drew me backward on the bed to attach the cuffs to a ring on the headboard. He was nothing if not prepared.
He released my arms and stood, looking down at me.
I tested the bonds, knowing they’d hold but needing to anyway. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the clanking sound of it, of metal on metal, of my louder scream, of the desperation in it as he took one ankle and stretched it toward one corner of the bed and bound it. His face remained empty of expression as he walked casually to the other side, and I found myself mumbling, muttering pleas as he stretched the other leg out and bound me so I lay spread eagle, exposed, at his mercy.
He stood back and looked down at me, first at my face, my eyes, then down over my breasts and belly and to my sex. There his gaze hovered and when he moved to climb between my legs, I screamed and I begged. I begged for him not to rape me. I begged for my life. I begged for mercy. And he just watched me, watched it, and placed his hands on my inner thighs, softly trailing fingertips up and up until tears streamed down my face. His fingers settled on either side of my pussy and spread me open.
“Please. Please don’t.”
He stopped then, and his gaze met mine. I thought he’d say something, but he didn’t. He just watched me for a long time, as if he wanted me to know he held all the power. That he owned me. That he could do whatever he wanted to do to me. And then he bent his head and licked my pussy. He licked its length slowly and purposefully while his eyes remained locked on mine and my breath caught in my throat. He did it again, taking his time, tasting every inch of me, teasing the hard nub of my clit until I couldn’t take anymore, until I felt my back arching, my body moving without my brain’s permission. I couldn’t look into his eyes because I’d see my shame there, see how my body yielded so quickly, gave itself so easily to this man, my captor. My jailor. My keeper. My tormentor.
I squeezed my eyes shut and lay there while he sucked on my clit and died a little when I heard the moan that came out of my mouth as he teased and taunted and tasted and made me gush, made me come so hard I thought I’d break apart. And maybe I did, maybe, in a way, I did.
He didn’t speak when it was over, and I opened my eyes to find his locked on mine as he rose from the bed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. We stayed like that for a long time until finally, I blinked, turning away, humiliated, and he walked back out the door and locked it behind him.
