Chapter 18 #2
He leans in, hand curving between my hip and the pants, encouraging them to drop further before he pushes my thighs apart and slides his hand over my mons, cupping me beneath my panties. Those fingers are heading for my slit, when I grunt a wait, that I wish I don’t have to.
He halts his invasion.
My pants slip to my ankles.
“Blood,” I recall, almost sorry to mention it. “You need to clean those.”
“Do I?” That surprisingly deeper voice, I heard once before, grinds out.
This time, I connect it with his sadistic side coming to the fore because he crashes his lips onto mine, growling while he presses my head into the wall.
He devours my mouth until I’m moaning, panting, my mouth bruised.
When he drags on my hair, I have to rise onto my tiptoes.
“Clean myself? Fuck this.” He’s staring at the floor between us, like an answer is there. “Okay.”
“Okay?” He doesn’t sound…rational.
“Come.” He twists me off the wall, wrestles me to the floor and onto my stomach, kneels on my back.
My pants and shoes are thrown somewhere.
He overpowers me effortlessly. I may as well resist a tidal wave.
My hands and feet are zip tied then connected, hogtied together, and he stands then rocks me with the boot he plants on my ass. “Stay.”
Bewildered, I crane my neck to watch as he stalks toward the stairs.
“This isn’t what I agreed to!”
He stops, slowly turns. “You are sure of this?” He runs up the stairs and vanishes into a room. The bathroom, I think, for I hear water running.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
I hope I am safe. Should I scream? Even if Ron and Molly come running, what could they do? I don’t want them hurt, but I also don’t know where he is going with this. Unease has largely replaced arousal, and this position is beginning to hurt.
He returns down the stairs, naked, carrying his clothes. His erection sways as he walks, and so do his hips. He’s wearing a pair of black disposable gloves, and the dissonance between nakedness and those black gloves is alarming. The crisscrossing sutures snake on his skin as his muscles shift.
The floor creaks.
This could be a scene in a horror movie.
He stares at me, lying where he left me, bound at wrist and ankle.
“This is a problem,” he says to himself, quietly.
My eyes lock wide as he ambles closer, then circles me. The clothes slide from his fist to the floor.
I can’t run. I won’t scream. And Kail seems to have gone strange. Or insane, and since his origins are practically supernatural, I’m worried. His feet stop near my stomach. He closes his eyes, squeezes his expression into an ugly scrunch, then goes to his knees beside me with a thump.
“I’m sorry. Sorry. I went too far.”
With little effort he snaps the tie that connects my wrists to my feet, and my hands drop to the small of my back. I lower my feet to the floor then eye him, my head turned to the side.
Cautiously, I speak. “What…was that?”
He hasn’t fully released me and now repositions himself so he sits cross-legged beside me. Meticulously, he rests one gloved hand on my hip, pushing the loose corner of my shirt away so he can cup my bared hip.
“I will tell you something.” He frowns, unfocussed, looking as though he’s calculating the price of something. “That before was the bad me. I’ll make the scares less scary, more pleasurable. I’m new to this.”
“So am I.” I swallow. “Are you going to be the…good you, now?”
“Mmm. Such a pretty girl.” Not an answer.
But then he moves more of my shirt up my back and the light touch makes me shiver, my nipples peak.
I’m so close to naked. His eyes are warm, and I can tell he’s assessing my body.
His hand roves, he rolls down my panties to the crease of my thighs, then walks those black-gloved fingers over my ass cheek and across my back, slowly, until he reaches my tied hands.
“I’m good. Your fingers are cute, especially like this.
” I can feel him handling each of them. “I may need Bad Me, sometimes. For fun.”
I swallow. “Oh.”
He slides his knife from its sheath and lays it between us on the floor. His smile is small, tight, and something disturbing shows in his eyes. I want to shrink into the floor.
“I won’t cut you. Don’t be afraid. I’m simply readjusting to the idea of really, really fucking about with your body…and your mind.”
He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, picks up that shiny, sharp knife.
Crap.
What is Bad Me? And why did I hear it in capitals?
“If I fuck you here, where do I— No. Not that.”
“You might be scaring me, again.”
“I’m just thinking out loud.”
After delving in one of his pants pockets, he half pulls out a silver chain or a leash, then tucks it away again, pushes away the clothes. On one of my ankles, he traces near the plastic of the tie where a line of tenderness tells me the skin has been scratched. I hiss as he pokes it.
“I’ll replace the zip ties with something less damaging. Be good for me so I don’t do worse.”
Worse?
This switch to gentler Kail is something else. I’m suspicious, but he turns me over onto my back, cuts off my shirt, panties, and bra, then cuts the ties, and sheathes the knife. My spluttered cries of no and don’t when he demolished my clothes did not slow him at all.
When I try to sit up and reach for the remnants, muttering threats, he pushes me down and climbs over me, straddles my legs.
My thighs are kissed, with his mouth roaming closer to my mound and where my clit hides, so that I gape and sit up, propped on my forearms. This, I like. Things are changing for the better.
Wedging his knee between my legs, he forces mine apart.
“What did you mean by worse?” I ask, trying to snap my knees together.
Of course, he leans on me, pushes between my breasts to make me lie flat again, brings his other knee to join the first between my legs. I’m spread beneath him. His erection stands up, obvious and maybe threatening that worse. I inhale. Pretty sure I’d welcome that particular worse.
I can’t help staring and hoping.
“Worse as in making you suck me off while I spank you with whatever I find in the kitchen.”
“A spatula?” I frown, pouting at the idea of those old utensils being used, in any way, for sexy stuff.
“Or a knife, or a whisk. The list goes on.” He gathers pieces of my clothing then lifts me off the floor and stands. “Then if you were really bad, I would insert them. Maybe in your ass. What else is in the kitchen that’s dick-like? Rolling pins?”
I hope he’s joking. Lightly, I punch his biceps.
“Ouch. That was not you being good.” He scoops me into his arms and cradles me to his chest as he carries me to the living room.
Here is where the old leather sofa waits in what was a sunroom, a playroom even, when I was young.
An elbow bump turns on the overhead light.
Kail swings me over the sofa as if about to drop me, but then tosses me airward, flipping me in his arms as if I’m a doll.
The air whooshes from my lungs, and he drapes me over the arm rest, belly down, legs over the edge.
When I wriggle…I’m shoved onto the sofa with a hand on my back, and he worms three fingers into my pussy.
I squeak at the suddenness of this penetration. My pussy though…my walls clamp onto him.
“Give me your hands.”
I hesitate. After all the craziness, I’m wary.
“Hands.” He pumps those fingers in and out, leisurely.
The wet sounds as he plunges into a mess of my arousal reminds me of our journey home.
I close my eyes, arching a little, remembering how I wanted this.
I yearned for it. Then he leans over and bites my ass.
I yelp. “Hands. Or else we gets the whisk, Miss Hailey.”
The awful humor, the sorry he said before, and this forceful reawakening of my desires, that my ass is almost welcoming his hand inside it…I collapse fully and place my hands at my back.
“Good girl.” He straddles my rear and ties my hands together with what must be my shirt. The knot is snugged tight. The wetness left by his handling will be my own arousal.
I sigh and bury my face half in cushion as he again finger fucks me and bites along my back and my ass, murmuring about kink and how he wants to do things to me. His weight leaves me.
He comes around to my front. From the safety of the cushions, I peek out at his legs as he lowers himself. The remains of my bra hang from one hand. With his hand making a V under my chin, he angles my head so he can kiss my mouth.
“Now.” He shows me the length of my poor mangled bra. “Open that mouth so I can gag you.”
Ducking away proves impossible with his hold on my jaw.
I blink at him, moisten my lips, which only makes him smile as he watches me.
I could argue about gags and whys but the intensity of his need to do this, the hand at my throat, the sheer audacity and sexuality mixes together to somehow excite me.
He’s already got me helpless, tied. This…
it’s like being decorated, yes, and more.
My body thrums with this weird new thrill.
I open my mouth. My eyelids flutter down as he pushes the cloth between my lips then ties it at the back. My tongue pokes at it. Maybe this is freedom? I no longer need to choose. I can simply be.
I look back at Kail, my stitched man, my frankenstruct. We met one night ago. I’m the crazy one. I want that thick cock inside me. I can feel it sliding in whenever I see it jutting upward. The whole of it, sutures and scars included, gleams with my arousal because he’s been stroking himself.
I’m definitely in need of intervention.
He trails his hand along my side and positions himself behind me. Finally. I curve my spine and sway my ass before him.
“Soon.” He delivers a few smacks to it, pulls apart my cheeks, then slips his thumb tip inside my asshole. The unexpected invasion makes me squeak. His laugh is low and throaty, then sneaks his thumb further in.
I’m panting already, cursing him quietly through the gag. Groaning even, as he fingerfucks my pussy then pushes that thumb in. The fear he invoked before is like an extra layer of spice.
I just want him to dick me down into this sofa until I orgasm like a train and we bust all the springs.
That’s the small stuff really. Being fucked by a monster is the cream on top.
Trust, though. One needs to trust to sink into this.
Do I have that?