8. Eight Ella
Eight: Ella
The door creaked open, a low moan of hinges that made the hairs on my arms stand at attention. Chris' hand pressed against the small of my back, not gentle but not forcing either. My breath hitched as my eyes adjusted to the dim light. Walls lined with leather whips, metal cuffs, and an array of sex toys that would make even a seasoned sinner blush.
"Priscilla’s orders," Chris growled. "You're to be trained for your buyer. He ain't no fucking prince, sweetheart. Last girl couldn't survive his... tastes."
His words were like a cold slap, jolting me from the daze of fear. I twisted around, pleading in a whisper, "Please, oh God, don’t do this. You can’t..."
He just stared down at me, his expression carved from stone. Slow, deliberate fingers reached up, peeling away the black bandana masking his face. The sight of him struck me—gorgeous wasn't a word rich enough for the man beneath the outlaw facade. Blue eyes that could have been plucked from the sea, tattoos crawling up his neck like dark vines. But his lips...
Goddamnit. I thought, my mind a traitor to my terror. "There are worse ways to learn about dark pleasures than from a tattooed god."
"Better me than some sick fuck who won't care if you break,” he smirked.
Shit, I didn't realize I said that part out loud.
Desperation clawed at my chest, his body caged me now, heat and muscle and an undeniable threat.
Cold metal kissed my skin as Chris's fingers started pulling the dress over my hips.
"Wiggle," he commanded, the dress freeing from the swell of my breasts before coming off entirely. My bare legs quivered, not from cold but from a primal fear that knotted my insides.
"Good girl," he grunted, approval lacing his coarse voice. "Now for your real lesson."
His hands, rough from years of dirty work, grazed my arms, guiding me to the bed centered between shadows and light. The monstrosity had four-posts – one on each corner, its frame solid, like the man who now blindfolded me with a strip of satin.
Sight stolen, my world shrank to the sounds of my erratic breaths and the pounding of blood in my ears.
"Can't see shit," I muttered, the darkness amplifying every touch.
"Exactly," his breath was hot on my nape.
"Arms up," he ordered, and I obeyed, compelled by something more than fear. There was power in his voice, command in his presence. For once in my life, I felt truly driven to obey without a fight.
His fingers laced together my wrists with a rope, binding them tight enough to feel the bite but not break skin. My heart sprinted, chest rising and falling with shallow gasps as he secured my bonds to the bedpost. I was spread before him like a feast to be devoured.
"Fuck, you're actually doing this," I breathed, disbelief tangling with a surge of unwanted arousal.
"Priscilla's orders," he snapped.
"Is she watching?" The question left my lips before I could stop it, an image of her cold eyes dissecting my vulnerability sending a shudder down my spine.
"Doesn’t matter. Focus on what I'm teaching you." His reply was terse, the clink of metal loud in the small room as he selected a tool. God, I hope it's not a knife. I'm not into being cut. I think.
"Teaching or breaking?"
"Both," he admitted, a shadow crossing his voice, heavy with something I couldn't name. Fear? Regret? It didn't matter. His hands on my body were all that existed—mapping, claiming, seizing territory with every press of his fingertips.
"Remember this, Ella," he murmured, a dark promise threaded through the words, "It's only pain if you let it be."
The velvet darkness pressed against my eyelids. My skin prickled with vulnerability, each sound magnified—a creak of the bed, Chris's steady breaths, the soft rustle of his clothes. Wait, why was he still clothed?
"Relax. Goddamnit, relax. I'm not going to hurt you. Right now, anyway."
I flinched as his hands descended again, a shiver dancing up my spine. Warmth radiated from his palms as they skimmed over my collarbone, blazing a trail of fire across my flesh. Each touch was deliberate, as he flicked a nipple.
"Christ, you're responsive." His breath hitched, a sinful praise that felt like a brand upon my skin.
"Please..." The word slipped out, half-plea, half-moan. I didn't know if I begged for him to stop or to keep going. My body betrayed my mind, arching into his every caress.
"Fuck, listen to you," he muttered, his mouth grazing the soft swell of my breast. He sucked a nipple into his mouth and bit down gently before releasing. "All sweet sighs and whispered prayers."
"Chris."
"Shh... just feel," he commanded, his tongue tracing the curve of my ear before nipping at the lobe, each sensation amplified by my blindness.
My pulse hammered, a frantic drumline keeping time with each stroke of his hands, each press of his lips. Heat pooled between my thighs, a molten ache that demanded attention.
"Can't fucking wait to see you come undone," he swore, his voice rough against the shell of my ear.
"God, yes," I gasped, hips canting toward his hand as it dipped lower, fingers teasing the edge of my pussy.
"That’s a good little ember." His thumb circled, coaxing a cry from my lips. "You like that?"
"Too much," I confessed, my confession snatched away by a moan as his mouth claimed mine.
"Never too much," he rasped, his grasp tightening. "You were made for this, Ella. For me."
Oh fuck, did he mean to say that out loud?
"Who owns this pleasure?" he asked, as his fingers worked their ruthless magic. "Mine, Ella. Say it."
"Yours," I panted, the admission torn from the depths of a desire I couldn’t deny. My body responded to his claim, heat unfurled deep within.
The cold metal felt foreign, a cool intrusion against the heat of my core as he slipped another dildo inside me. We'd been at this for a couple hours now and my body was boneless. Each one grew in size, stretching me further, pushing against boundaries I didn’t even know I had.
"Jesus," I gasped, the sensation teetering on pain.
"Shh, focus on the feel," he instructed, voice firm and unyielding, fingers deft as they worked the metallic length deeper within me. "Gonna put something really special in your ass."
I tightened, my muscles tense as I fought to push the metal out of my pussy.
"Relax," he commanded, pulling the dildo out and rubbing something smaller over my ass. The feeling was alien, yet somehow intimate as he pushed the plug snugly into place. My body clenched around it, a shiver raking through me. That wasn't so bad.
My breath hitched, the edges of curiosity sharpened by the undeniable rush of arousal, a treacherous warmth spreading through my belly.
"Feel that?" His lips hovered at the nape of my neck. His breath hot against my skin as he twisted the plug subtly, eliciting a stifled moan from deep within me. "You're doing so well."
"Are... are you going to—" My voice broke off, eyes squeezing shut as I grappled with the burgeoning need coiling tighter inside me.
"Not today." He denied me the words I couldn't finish, his hand moving lower to drive another dildo home, the increasing girth pressing insistently against my stretched walls. "Today's about you coming apart under my hands."
"Please," I begged, the shame of my desire battling the raw hunger he stoked with every thrust.
"There's my little ember." His praise was a dark promise, each movement of his arm driving the dildo deeper, setting a relentless pace that unraveled me. "Want to see you fall apart."
"Chris, I can't—" But I could, and I was. A crescendo of pleasure built rapidly, a rise I couldn't fight. Didn't want to fight.
"Let go, Ella. Give it to me." His command was a growl, a possessive rumble that vibrated through me.
"God," I screamed as the orgasm shattered, waves of ecstasy ripping from my core and leaving me trembling and spent beneath him.
"Motherfucking fuck. You're a goddamn sight." His approval was guttural, as he continued to move the dildo within me, milking every last shudder that wracked my frame.
The fabric of the blindfold twisted against my skin as I lay there, my body still quivering.
"Christ, you're fuckin' beautiful when you break," he muttered, fingers tracing patterns on the damp skin of my thigh. The blindfold denied me sight, but I imagined the wolfish grin that must have played across those full lips.
Hours seemed to pass, or maybe it was minutes—time had lost all meaning. At last, the blindfold was removed, a sliver of light causing me to squint. My eyes met his, deep blue oceans I could drown in, and for a moment, the world outside this room ceased to exist.
"Drink," he ordered, lifting a glass of water to my parched lips. I drank greedily, the cool liquid a balm to the fire that still licked at my insides.
"Enough, I'll drop you some water bottles and food in your room," he said, pulling the glass away. With careful movements, he untied my wrists, the sudden freedom both a relief and a loss. I didn’t realize how much I had begun to crave the restraint until it was gone.
"Can you stand?" His voice was almost gentle.
I nodded weakly, limbs trembling as he helped me to my feet. My legs felt like they were made of something softer than bone, wobbly and unreliable. He pulled an oversized t-shirt over my head and helped me slip on some black tights.
"These should be more comfortable to sleep in."
I was at a loss for words. He seemed to care about me and yet he was shoving me back in that room.
"Lean on me," he instructed, sliding an arm around my waist.
"Back to your cage, princess." His words were a mocking endearment as he guided me through the maze of hallways.
"Chris, please," I managed to whisper, my voice hoarse. It was a plea, a question, a prayer—all the things I couldn't articulate, loaded into the syllables of his name.
"Relax, Ella. I'll be back with food in a bit," was all he said as he ushered me inside, the door closing with a soft click behind him.
I stood there, my flushed skin prickling with the chill of the room, feeling the lingering heat where Chris's hands had been. My body was a live wire, thrumming with energy. I didn't want to rest, or sleep, or eat.
I wanted to be fucked by the man who put me here. The one who refused to release me.