Contained #3
After a few heartbeats, I lean in. Kiss the nape of her neck, not gentle but not biting, either.
Just weight, just presence. My teeth graze her skin, and she goes still, waiting.
Her body is symmetrical, prepared, braced.
I wait, too. I want her to feel the perimeter, the walls I built for her.
To know that even with every sense stripped from her in turn, I will not leave her floating in the dark.
You can only break someone as much as you are willing to hold what spills out.
I press my chest to her back, both hands flat to the desk, and say, “This is the last chance. Give me what I want from your mouth, and you’ll get what you want from mine.”
She swallows, jaw flexing hard below the blindfold. Her tongue darts over her lips. The twin high-wire acts, her need to refuse, my need to make her cave, stretch across the few inches of air.
She says nothing for a long minute. I wonder if she’s counting her heartbeats.
Then: “Please.”
It’s so soft, I almost miss it, like wind through an open door.
“Say it again,” I tell her.
Her throat works. The word is thicker now, hoarse and exquisite. “Please.”
My cock twitches, a pure reflex. For a beat, I just breathe, wind tethered inside me, then I reach up and unbuckle the cuffs—not both, just one. The other, I leave as a reminder, an anchor.
Her free hand goes immediately to the desk, splayed, as if even she doesn’t trust herself not to grab at me, dig her nails in, demand more than I’m giving. But the submission is total. Less costume, more confession. She wants, and she wants me to know exactly how badly.
I pull her upright by the hair, gentle but absolute.
She arches, her entire body a single living muscle, the sweat at the base of her skull slick against my palm.
My other hand is still guiding the wand inside her, pressure and wet heat where she wants it most. Three more strokes, and she’s gone, flooding, everything inside her shattering and rearranging as noise, sweat, animal expulsion.
Her head drops back against my shoulder, mouth searching blindly for the shape of my jaw. I let her chew air, breathe me in, feel my skin on hers as I piston the wand and my cock in tandem, a rhythm built to break her and keep her broken.
She’s crying now. In the way only she can: silently, except for the stutter of her breath, tears soaking the blindfold, no sounds at all but the deep, mechanical noise of the desk and our bodies.
I could take the blindfold off. Let her see the gentleness on my face, the pride. But she’s not ready for that, and maybe I’m not, either.
“Please,” she whispers again, and when her hand fumbles for my wrist, I don’t stop her.
Instead, I grip her hand hard, wrap it in both of mine so she can feel the thud of her pulse under my knuckles.
With my free hand, I rip the wand clear and drop it, replace it with two fingers and then my cock, driving the memory of the chrome away with something warm, something animal, something that claims her with every inch.
The gasp she makes is different now. Softer, perilously close to innocence. I fuck her slow. I fuck her like I can’t bear the thought of her not bleeding into me. Her hips rock back, blindly determined, each arc more desperate than the last.
I remind her, “Don’t let go. Not until I tell you.”
She nods, chin bobbing on the hinge of some tiny, indestructible will. The air is salt and a sweetness from her that I’ve never found in any other body.
I grip her breast with her hand, and her fingers curl over mine without thought, knuckles blanched white, desperate for the syncopation of containment and release.
She is so close, so unbearably close, that the whole room vibrates with the frequency of her restraint.
I stroke her hair, press my jaw against her fevered cheek.
“Do you want to come?” I ask, voice barely more than a growl.
She rasps, “Yes.”
“Then do it. Now.”
I sink in to the hilt, hips locked to her ass, the rhythm of us an avalanche. Her whole body shudders, and she howls, this time not even trying to mute it, and the sound obliterates the last boundary between us.
Inside her, I hit the limit and spill, heat searing through both our bodies. For a moment, I can’t tell where my pulse ends and hers begins.
Even after, I don’t let go. I hold her, thighs trembling and calves shaking with aftershocks, her ribs expanding and collapsing, raw and gasping, like she’s just survived a baptism with chlorine and fire.
There is nothing delicate in her now. Only the seismic rippling of her, wrung out and emptied, but humming with a kind of dangerous afterglow I recognize because it’s identical to what’s happening inside my own ruined body.
I stay inside her, caging her with my arms, until the quivering dulls to shivers and the sweat cools in the cracks along her spine.
She droops against the desk, forehead pressed to wood, fingers still locked over mine in an unbreakable knot.
I study our hands together, the way her veins stand out against the paler lines of my own.
The contrast is obscene. Beautiful.
But secrets still fill the room, and they aren’t going anywhere.