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My pussy twitched, still wet and overwrought. I moaned softly as he started to withdraw from my ass. He pinched my nipples at the same time, hurting them until I tried to squirm away.
I felt him shift beside me as I lay there, empty and fucked out.
“Do you want me to let you go?” he asked in a soft voice.
I whined behind the tape, thrashing and kicking, protesting my treatment. He laughed and shoved his fingers into my pussy, pistoning them in and out of that soaking wet place. He withdrew and trailed his wet fingers across my forehead and down my cheek, taunting me with my own perversity. “When I’m ready, little slave girl, I will.”
* * *
Chapter 7
Price
I gazed down at Chere as I fingerfucked her for another minute, enjoying the last of the black cotton blindfold and the silver tape across her lips. Her hair was a mess, her cheeks criss-crossed with tear trails, but I thought she’d never looked so beautiful.
I wished I could hold this moment forever, but I had to take that tape off her mouth so she could breathe better. I needed to take off her blindfold so I could gaze into her furious, sparking eyes. I could see the fury building back, now that her orgasm had gone and I’d withdrawn from her much-abused ass.
“Now, there. Be a good girl,” I said, stroking her pussy juices onto her cheeks again. “No freaking out when I let you go. Remember what I said, what this was all about.”
She held herself still, but I could see her chest rise and fall, and that’s where I could read the fury. I supposed she had a right to be angry with me. This was almost as bad as the time I’d pretended to rape her when she was working as my escort. Well, maybe I’d really raped her that time. We’d never really come to a consensus on that.
Maybe this was actually worse.
“I’m going to take the blindfold off first,” I said, keeping my voice calm and level. “Then the tape.”
I turned her head to untie the clumsy knot Timu had made. Well, he and Nojus weren’t professional kidnappers. They’d done their best. I lifted the fabric away from her face, then drew in a breath as her amber-brown eyes fixed on mine.
Yes, still very angry. Also vulnerable and reproving and tired and anxious and a thousand other things. I stroked her hair and held her tormented gaze.
Then I started to whisper kisses over her face, her cheeks, her forehead. Those eyes. I couldn’t help it. There was so much emotion in her, emotion I loved beyond bearing. Her gaze was a poem, a masterpiece, one I’d never be able to write into words, although I wished I could.
“You’re mine,” I reminded her. “Just remember…”
But how could she forget. She was still bound, still naked on my bed. Still mute by my choice. She finally looked past me, around the room, her eyes widening.
Yes, take in these new surroundings, starshine. If I get my way, we’ll be spending lots of time here.
I had, let’s say, refurbished a property I’d owned for some time. It was a stately, sprawling mansion in the New York suburbs, in north Westchester County, with a big lawn, bordered by wide, residential streets. Most of the place looked normal, inside and out, except for this room, where I’d knocked out walls and ceilings to make a giant echoing cell with a huge cage in the middle. We were in that cage. The bed was in the cage. Shelves and racks and evil things were in that cage. It was a sturdy, cavernous cage I’d designed and had constructed at ridiculous expense over the past three months, by contractors who’d been paid well enough not to question me about it. I hoped she could feel at home in this cage, eventually.
See, we had a fraught history with cages. After a particularly vicious episode, I’d promised—again, with some ambiguity—never to stick her in a cage again. But this was a big, airy cage with nice wide bars, not the kennel-sized cage we used to have in our dungeon.
I watched her study the solidity of it, from the bars sunk into the stone-tiled floor to the ones that crossed over our heads, about fourteen feet above us. The bars were polished brass, not cheap aluminum, to better match the floor.
While she looked around, I pulled at the easy-release tape, freeing the corners of her mouth, then peeling the rest away.
“I hate you.” That was the first thing she said, which I expected.
“Be nice.”
“I hate you, really. Truly. You are such a fucked-up person, and I hate that I’m married to you.”
“Poor baby.”
She tugged at the cuffs. “Let go of my hands.”
“If you’re going to order me around like you’re the one in charge, we can start over with the training. That’s what this whole place is for.”
She burst into tears. I kissed her newly freed lips, gently. I didn’t think she really hated me, she was just upset with me. Poor, poor baby.
