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~ Darren ~
Present
Blood pounds in my groin as I survey Bridget in the basement of a house I’m using outside of San Francisco. The residence belongs to Old Dog, a retired triad member, and he agreed to let me use it while he’s touring remote areas of the mainland. Most houses in California don’t have basements, but Old Dog, a former contract killer, found them useful.
This basement doesn’t have windows. A light bulb hanging from the ceiling provides incomplete lighting. But otherwise it’s actually clean and tidy.
Bridget’s arms stretch toward the piping she’s bound to. Her skirt is hiked up over her ass, and her panties wrap her thighs just below the butt cheeks. Tied and gagged, she’s mine for the taking. And my body wants to do just that. Fuck whether she wants to or not.
But a part of me holds back. A part of me wants to hear her beg for it. I’ve never had to force myself on a woman before. And even if I were rejected by a woman, nonconsent isn’t my thing. But for better or worse, Bridget inspires emotions that aren’t easy to contain. I used to think she only inspired me for the better, but now I see the flip side of that inspiration.
I caress a buttock. She releases an almost imperceptible moan. I give it a good swat, remembering all the different implements that have kissed her backside. I don’t have anything on me, not even a belt I can fold in half. But seeing a sink in the corner gives me an idea.
Whipping off my shirt, I run it under the water and wring it so it’s only mildly wet. I return to Bridget and see that she regards me wearily. I don’t like seeing the fear in her eyes, but she shouldn’t have run out on me.
Pushing aside feelings of guilt, I grasp her by the jaw. “I just gave you an orgasm, Bridge. Where’s my thank you?”
She stares at me, making me feel like a fucking demon, before mumbling something. Maybe a thank you. I decide not to give a shit.
“You know the rules,” I tell her. “Forgetting to thank your Master is grounds for punishment.”
She speaks more forcefully, but the tape muffles her words.
Walking behind her, I slap the shirt against her ass. She grunts. I smack her harder. She yelps.
I whip the shirt against her bare thighs several times, then flip the shirt over my shoulder as I bend down to untie her ankles. Standing back up, I nudge her feet apart.
“Wider,” I command.
She hesitates for a moment before spreading her legs.
Grabbing the shirt, I slice it between her legs. She cries out into her gag.
I want to snap the damp shirt against her breasts, too, but I don’t want to untie her to take off her dress just yet. So I whip her breasts through her clothes. Then I land the shirt on her ass, first the right cheek, then the left, then right again. I pause to feel her between the thighs. She’s more wet than the last time I checked. I press two fingers up into her wet heat. Fuck, that feels amazing. I work my digits inside her for a few short minutes before withdrawing.
I backhand the shirt on her ass again, which is blushing nicely. I should spank her till she can’t sit for days, and I may do just that, but my hard-on is raging seeing her ass turn crimson for me.
Stemming my ardor, I whip the shirt against her pussy, her legs, and back to her ass again. She squirms. Her body instinctively wants to avoid the brunt of the blows, but she knows better than to eschew her punishment. She knows that doing so will worsen her consequences.
Whap! Whap!
The shirt snaps against her ass as loud and as cutting as the tawse. I can’t hold out much longer. I haven’t tasted that pussy in over two years. She could do better offering water to a man who’s been stranded in the desert for weeks than deny me access to her body.
I hang the shirt over my shoulder and, standing beside her, reach between her legs again, caressing her clit. A tremor goes through her. Her breath is uneven from all her grunting and cries. I fondle her swollen bud. In a more patient state, I would relish every whimper, every groan. But the tightness in my crotch is unbearable.
I sink my fingers into her again. “Were you planning on giving this to Josh?”
She doesn’t look at me.
“Did you forget that this is mine?” I growl, pushing my fingers in deeper, fucking her more vigorously.
Her lashes flutter quickly.
Pulling my fingers out, I grab her jaw and force her gaze to mine. “Did you?”
I can’t tell for sure, but it seems like desire mixes with fear in her eyes. She mumbles something against the tape. I remove it, freeing her mouth. She looks at me with pleading eyes.
I’m sorry, I expect her to say. I was wrong to leave you.I’m yours. I won’t ever run from you again.
At least that’s what I wanted to hear.
Instead, she says,
“Fuck me.”
