Chapter 8
Lula
Victor setsdown the tool he was holding, something silver and vicious-looking. When he trails his fingers up and down my torso, I’m so on edge that I flinch from his comforting touch.
“Shhhh,” he shushes me. “We’ll start off easy.”
“I bet you say that to all your victims.” How many people has he had on this table to carve into until they beg for death?
He fondles my breasts, and I close my eyes again, goosebumps prickling over my body.
“No, beautiful. You will want to watch this.” He holds up what looks like small silver tweezers in one hand while the other rolls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Then, he clamps it with the tweezer’s padded end. Pain bites into me and subsides almost immediately. I clench my jaw. Is it better to holler loudly now and pretend I’m more sensitive than I am?
No, I decide, watching him study me and stroke my chest, tracing the spot where my sword necklace used to lie. He wants my real responses. Faking it will make him angry.
Not that this is a game I can win. I’ve calculated my odds of survival at less than ten percent.
He clamps my other nipple and reaches under the table. There’s a whirring sound, and the table starts to rise. Victor waits for it to finish its movement, stroking my leg. His fingers find the raised edge of my most recent scar, and I suck in a breath.
He reaches down and stops the table from moving, leaning down to study the slight scar on my thigh.
“What is this?” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Who hurt you?” He raises his head, making it clear the question was aimed at me.
“It was stupid.” I shake my head and remember his admonishment to be truthful. “My one souvenir from the shootout with Bruno.” A reminder that I got so close to Stephanos only to fail. “There were chairs and tables in the way, and in all the shooting, there was shrapnel.” It wasn’t even a bullet. It was a splinter.
I admit this to Victor, but he doesn’t laugh. He nods, looking thoughtful.
“I misjudged him,” I admit. “Stephanos. I never knew he’d have men who’d be so loyal.”
“Ah. Yes. Bruno. He is loyal. Like a puppy you raise to tear out men’s throats but also to eat from your hand.”
He touches the button under the table, and it continues to rise before tipping forward. I’m on an incline with my head higher than my feet, my weight supported by the steel table and little metal platforms under my heels. With the slight pull of gravity, the tweezer clamps hang from my nipples.
Victor takes a moment to toy with them. “Easy, right?” He unclamps my first nipple, and I suck in a breath. Blood flows back into the tender bud. “Now, let’s try these.” He holds up a new pair of wicked-looking clamps with tiny screws on one end and little chains on the other. Each chain is tipped with a tiny black jewel. “They’re not as bad as the clover clamps. We’ll work our way up to those.”
He leans in close, his breath caressing my face as he clamps me. First, he twists my nipples this way and that, lifting my full breasts until my back arches off the table. I should hate being manhandled like this, but something about his intense attention mesmerizes me. Every touch stokes the heated longing deep in my core. I try to fight it, but it’s inexorable, like a rising tide.
It’s a relief when he’s finished. He plays with the dangling jewels, then tightens the screws. The sharp sting steals my breath.
“Too much?” He watches my expression. “Breathe through it.” He drops his hand, stroking the tops of my thighs. “Vera. Breathe.”
“Don’t call me that.” I almost laugh. “That was my mother’s name.”
“All right, then. Lula.” He purrs my nickname. I’ve never heard anyone speak it outside of family. It sounds different on the lips of a man who’s been inside me. A melodic rise and fall, a line of a song. “You must breathe for me. Otherwise, you might lose consciousness, and what’s the fun in that?”
“I thought you’d like me unconscious. Or dead.”
“The dead feel no pain.” He tightens the screws another millimeter. “What do you know of endorphins?”
“Feel-good chemicals. The body’s response to pain.”
“Natural morphine. The body releases a load at a time. A round of pain, another load. More time, an increase in pain, another load.” Another turn of the screws. My belly is taut as if that will help disperse the sting. “Eventually, you will grow high from it. That is where you will be malleable to me.” He puts his face close to me, nuzzling my cheek like a lover. “I will take you to the edge of what you can endure, again and again. Then, I will stretch your limits until you can take more.”
“How?”
“Like this.” And he puts his hand on my pussy.
Goosebumps break out all over my body. His soothing touches do their job, filling me up with liquid arousal. I’m wet for him. Despite myself, I flex my hips and push into his palm.
“That’s it.” He rewards me with a little rub. He knows just how to touch me, where to slide his fingers to collect my juices and scratch the itch that awakens more need in me. His lips brush my jaw, their softness belying the cruelty of the clamps. I’m stretched between multiple points of sensation—his kisses, his touch, the stinging pain in my nipples. Suspended between heaven and hell.
He drops his head and sucks lightly on my neck. His fingers grow more insistent, pressing into me. He uses his thumb and forefinger to rub my inner and outer walls until I’m shaking. When he withdraws his fingers, I whimper.
He brushes my clit. “Shall I clamp you right here?” I shudder, and he soothes me. “I could make it feel good.”
I bite my lip to keep from begging. I’d rather him cut out my tongue than loosen it.
If I were honest, truly honest, I’d tell him that I don’t want the highs, the ecstasy. I don’t want to crave him. I want this to hurt.
“Or I could use a binder clip,” he offers. “Make you scream. Wait for you to go numb and then pull the clip off very slowly.”
My knees buckle. As I fall, he drives his fingers into me, holding me up like a puppet. He wrenches an orgasm from me this way, brutally stretching me while kissing me softly.
I snap my teeth on his upper lip and bite until I taste blood.
He releases me and plugs my nose until I unclench my jaw. I lick his blood from my lips, spread it across my teeth and give him a bloody grin.
His eyes are icy slits. “Very well. We’ll do this the hard way.”
* * *
Victor
My captive looks like a superheroine,beautiful and defiant, with her glossy hair spilling over her shoulders. She’s still halfway upright, tilted backward so her weight is on the table, not the steel bonds.
She’s so lovely like this. The only thing I’d add is the necklace she used to wear. The one I sleep with every night.
Maybe if she’s good, I’ll return it to her.
I check her limbs to make sure her circulation is all right while she glares at me. My lip throbs, and there’s a distant echo in my gut.
“Okay?” I press my thumb to the tip of my forefinger, creating a crooked O. In time, she’ll learn this unspoken signal means Okay or Go ahead.
She salutes me with her middle fingers.
“Still not ready to obey,” I say with satisfaction. I’d hoped she’d fight. Fighting is ninety percent of the fun.
She bares her teeth at me. They’re still stained red.
I select a flogger and snap it. I bought all these toys for her and tested their impact against my own thighs. I start small, flicking the flogger so it lands lightly on her chest and belly, bringing a flush to her skin.
“Is that all you got?” She sounds bored.
I finish with the red flogger and swap it for a black one with heavier strands. I let it fall in waves, focusing on painting her red. There’s a clock on the far wall, in my line of sight only. I time myself, finding a rhythm and counting down the moments until her body hits a threshold and releases an endorphin load. The only sound is the impact of the leather, a constant, thrumming rain. Her eyelids grow heavy. Both of us are breathing heavily but also more deeply and in sync.
When I pause to check her, running my hands over her heated limbs, her lips part in a sigh. She wakes up a little when I check her pussy, whining a little when I slide a single digit into her soaked channel. Not enough to push her to orgasm, just enough to stimulate her. I remove my finger and lick it clean.
She’s ready for more pain.
I use the same black flogger, but this time, I snap the strands so they bite her sides. She arches her back, mouth open in a silent cry. This is just how I imagined her, night after night. Lula naked, at my mercy, succumbing to sensation. The fantasy got me through months of convalescence. The only thing missing now is the stark red lipstick.
The flogger bites her breasts, leaving faint red lines. She’ll look like she swam in a sea of jellyfish.
She has silvery stretch marks on her thighs. I target them next.
Depending on the angle and force of the flogger strands, I can make the hits sting, prick like a volley of needles, or let them soothe the skin, drumming down in a rhythmic rain. I cycle through this, increasing intensity and then backing off. Her mouth is lax and soft, lips parted to suck in more air. Her eyes are almost closed.
There’s nothing in the world beyond her prone body—the heat shimmering off her, the sweat rolling down her back. A twitch of her eyebrow. I am made and remade in the rise and fall of her chest.
Even when I work to master her, it’s me who is in thrall.
I step close, scenting the sweet bloom of her arousal, and stroke her. She hums a sigh, letting her head loll.
“You’re doing so well. Good girl.”
Her black brows knot. A part of her wants to reject the compliment. She’ll come to crave them in time.
I twist the screws on her nipple clamps tighter, watching the tiny muscles in her face jump.
Another round of flogging, another turn of the screws. There’s sweat beading on my back now. My shoulders are warm with the heat of a good workout. My cock is an iron bar, hanging awkwardly down my leg. I run the hard ridge of my palm down my length, savor the painful pleasure, and get back to work.
I let the flogger cleave her psyche open, filling her world with pain. She’ll be awash with it, full to the brim, and floating on the ocean until the golden tide of her neurotransmitters transforms the sensation into euphoria. Agony to ecstasy in the span of a simple flogging.
I have many plans for her. Ropes, chains, blindfolds and bindings, even a cage. But all these serve one purpose, one end. Surrender.
She’s close. We’re nearing the end. I drop the flogger and return to her side to stroke her reddened flesh. Her skin glows with heat, singeing my palms, and her flesh is raw enough that the kindest touch is cruel. I croon to her as I give the screws a final twist, letting her poor, abused nipples feel the maximum pinch of the spring-loaded teeth. She hums a moan but endures.
I check her vitals and give her more water before returning to my row of implements to choose my final weapon. A dragon tail.
The black leather cracks like lightning and bites like the serpent. I let the pointed end taste her skin over and over in increasingly painful pops. She shouts and writhes, but when I step close to admire the blooming red roses on her skin, her pussy gushes into my hand. I tease her until she’s panting but pull away before she goes over the edge.
Time for my finale. I crack the whip and flick the nipple clamp off her right breast. Her body snaps upward like she’s a puppet, and someone cut all but the middle string leading from her navel. Her cries are high and breathy. I wait until she comes down to let the dragon tail bite one more time and send the left nipple clamp flying. Her heels thrum against the table, an orgasm surging through her like an electric shock.
I drop the whip.
“Lula, are you with me?”
I squeeze her fingers and wait until she presses mine in return. “You did so well, my beauty.” I lay a hand on her stomach, and she shudders so prettily. I can’t take it anymore. I shove my pants open and take myself in hand.
She’s dazed, floating in subspace now. I lean in and lick her tortured right breast. She draws a juddering breath, and I switch to the left one, my tongue circling her tender nipple. Her unhappy mewl only spurs me on. It’s not until she lets out a sob that the pleasure gathered at the base of my spine breaches the dam. I let the orgasm take me and spurt my seed over her reddened flesh. I collect some and paint her lips with it. She’s earned this much.
“You’ll have to earn my cock,” I tell her and am gratified by the flicker of disappointment in her eyes.