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“I do want it, love.”
“I don’t want the hurt again. If you accept this now, you commit everything. You make promises to me that you won’t break. They’ll be no other men but me and you will not leave.”
“You’re the one I want,” I tell him.
“I love you, Anna.”
“And I love you, Heinrich.” My voice is barely a whisper, though my soul sings loudly.
He comes so close; I can feel his chest against my back, his breath going in and out in an easy rhythm. He clutches my neck where the collar fits snugly, and with a simple movement of his hand, he indicates I rise.
Cameron’s gallery could not be more perfect for an S&M scene—all the shiny metal, the ring bolts and eyehooks, even pulley’s. It’s a fascinating fabrication, a cozy warehouse style, if that makes sense at all, where shelves hang suspended, and dividers make alcoves, and modern divans are interspersed amid the exhibits for guests to lounge on while they observe the artwork we display. Paintings hang on partitions, or are simply suspended in the air. Endless possibilities stir the imagination of a sub or dom, and Heinrich is as inspired as I am. I know how his mind works, though I don’t know the exact method he’ll use to bind me.
“Take off your clothes,” he tells me.
I still haven’t seen his face, or how he’s dressed. I find this thrilling, as if a stranger is mastering me. The fear rises steadily and the excitement makes my belly churn.
I’m soon nude, standing in an alcove made of several partitions, an unused pulley and ropes dangling overhead. Cameron and I just changed the design this morning, eliminating the suspended shelf that once floated in this spot. We left the rope to hang because we were too tired to take it down. How convenient for my master.
When it’s time to bind my hands, I’m turned around, given my first glimpse of Heinrich in six days. I look for distinguishing features on his face that might tell me if the man that came to dinner a week ago is still the one that will dominate me tonight. Giving him back my life, I want to be sure of what I do. In his eyes there is the dark cold I know well—what thrills me, drives me and keeps me content. His jaw is firm and the coldness of his dominant mien flows around me in the icy silence we share. He binds my hands with rope—carefully, his movement skilled from much experience. I think I could sink into him now and simply disappear.
Attached to the dangling rope with a clamp, he then draws down on the end and my body pulls up tight until I’m on tiptoe.
“Rings are nice touch,” he says as he toys with the tiny baubles that pierce my nipples. He twists them gently until I wince.
I’ve almost forgotten them; they are so much a part of me now. I think briefly of Lockhart, but I can’t remember his face. I focus on Heinrich, watching as he meticulously threads smaller ropes through the rings, at the nipples and my clit and labia. Drawing the loose ends together, he tugs down.
I gasp
“Hurt?”
“No, sir.”
He tugs again.
I gasp louder.
“Hurt now?”
“Yes, sir,” my pained response.
My husband walks away, out of my view. Returning he holds a music stand in his hand which he sets directly in front of me. Raising the height of it to just above my chest, he then draws the ropes over the top, and ties the ends to a loose metal pulley. When he lets go, the weight drops, swinging six inches above the floor. A shriek escapes my lips as my nipples and pussy are jerked taut and painfully stretched before my eyes. I hold back my cries because I know he wouldn’t be happy hearing me protest. Letting the pain move in me, it soon spreads beyond the tightness I feel. I think I can manage this feat without a great cry of protest, but when he comes at me from behind with his multi-taloned whip, I’m jerked back and forth, each movement rudely awakening new pain throughout my body. The lashes excite me, but the jerking to my rings drives me mad. I want to be lifted from this scene, transported elsewhere, there’s too much to handle all at once.
***
Anna writhes for me struggling with the pain she feels. That pain gets inside me, making my cock respond with a vigorous pulse. It jolts against my jeans. I see she’s beginning to panic as she teeters at an uncertain precipice. I climb in her mind knowing how she wants more—and less—at the same time. If I can take her further, I will.
Her backside reddens a deeper and deeper crimson with a beautiful rash of stripes and welts, and her ass looking wicked as the skin darkens and her inner heat climbs.
Just as I think I need to stop, when she shrieks loud enough to worry me, I then hear her voice draw back inside her. She reaches the edge in pain, and the ecstasy begins. Her voice drifts and turns into a delicate whimper. She moans, as her whole body sighs. She begs for more, so I continue. And with more, she stays high; the natural drug flowing through her veins won’t quit.
I feel her fire and need her. But how time has changed me too. I need more than just the sight of her punished flesh, or the sound of her agony, or the arousal I get from connecting a whip with her ass and shoulders. Her soul’s in my blood and won’t let go. I know now that I’m in hers, and we will not let this love go.
***
I feel myself coming down from somewhere. Heinrich’s squats in front of me, detaches the ropes from the weighty pulley, and the pain eases. In its place, there’s the hot sensation of my punished body. He kisses me and I kiss back. He runs his hand lovingly on my skin and I think I could faint into him, into his beauty and his resolve, his mastery, and the love I feel from him pour out to me.
He massages my arms as he removes them from bondage, then we move up the stairs to my loft, and into my bed.
