Chapter 18
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
BLAKE
When I get Imani back to our room (she once again refused to let me carry her, hobbling all the way), I sit her down gently on her bed and crouch in front of her at eye level.
We stare into each other’s eyes for far longer than we ever have.
I search her eyes, seeking an entry behind those bulky walls she’s put in my path, but she’s colder than ever.
I know that I might never break through to her.
I might spend whatever time we have outside the battlements she’s crafted, banging on her fortress, barely managing to fall into the moat that surrounds her psyche.
I stand up, reach an arm behind my back, and tear off my shirt.
If I can’t emotionally get through to Imani, well, I’ll get through to her physically.
As I toe off my kicks, I keep eye contact with her while I throw the tee to some forgotten corner of the room, standing in front of her in sweatpants and a black sports bra stitched in rainbow thread.
Imani breaks eye contact, though, tracing my uncovered torso with her eyes.
I flex my abs under her perusal, barely just stopping before I raise my arms and do the same with my biceps. I’m not ashamed that I want to display myself for her. She pays me for my preening with every longing glance she throws my way. However, she’s looked long enough. It’s my turn now.
A snap of my fingers jolts her out of her daydreaming, and she immediately assumes my preferred position of Nadu, her face tilted toward the floor.
I tip her head up to look at me, grasping her by the chin.
Imani gulps loudly and visibly for me as I run my fingers through her permed locks, digging into her scalp to massage her and alleviate some of the tension she’s been holding since the interaction with the doctor.
“I don’t like it when you lie to me, Cupcake,” I tell her matter-of-factly.
Imani’s face screws up into anger, and she opens her mouth to refute my accusations, raising a hand to knock my fingers off her head, when I snap again. Her hands drape back onto her knees as she looks down and away from me, but she emits a frustrated sound.
“That’s all I’m going to say about it… for now.
You can think about your actions while you’re tied up and at my mercy.
” I stop petting her and move my hand to caress her cheek.
“Hm. A little overheated, there, Cupcake? Let’s see if we can set your cheeks aflame for a different reason.
Get on my bed—head toward the wall, legs toward me. ”
Imani does as I say, but grumbles the whole time. That’s fine. I’m about to torture the shit out of her for her misbehavior.
“Close your eyes,” I instruct her softly, running a finger down the bridge of her nose. Then I go to my closet, read: toy bag, and gather my supplies as I trust her to follow my orders.
When I come back to her, she’s quietly waiting on me, eyes closed. I proceed to cuff her wrists, connecting them with a spreader bar, then I do the same to her ankles after I’ve pushed up her legwarmers.
She’s being such a good girl for me, keeping her eyes closed and whimpering softly as she squirms in anticipation. I confess to my own, since we had yet another renegotiation and both CNC and face-slapping left the limits category, and are now tantalizingly in-bounds.
Deliberating on whether or not to ruin her practice leotard, I decide I shall, so I rip the scoop neck of it open, baring her gorgeous, dainty tits to my thirsty eyes.
“Hey! I’m not made of money, Sir,” Imani objects.
Still feasting my eyes on her gorgeous body, I distractedly reply to her understandable anger. “Hush, Cupcake. This is what I have a black card for.”
With Imani all laid for me, I pause to sigh and look her over: her brown skin gleams from the accumulated sweat of the afternoon, her chest is heaving in excitement, and I can practically taste the desire that is riding her body.
I reach an arm back and smack her right breast.
“Fuck!” Imani screams, opening her eyes. “Blake, ow!”
I raise an eyebrow and repeat the action on the left.
“Shitshitshit, I do know better. I just. Yellow! Yellow, Sir!” Imani blabbers.
Immediately softening, I reach forward to gently massage the affected area. My desire is pushed to the back of my mind as I soothe her angry skin. “Shh, Cupcake. You’re all right. What do you need?”
Imani’s eyes rake over my face in panic. “Can you kiss me, please? I’m just—I need—I. Wait. Hit me again?”
“Breathe, you’re safe, and I’m going to give you what you need. Let’s start with a kiss,” I console her, reaching forward to take her neck in my hand as I cover her body with mine, effectively trapping her beneath the spreader bar and stretching her legs toward her face.
My hand may be on her throat in a display of ownership, but the kiss I treat her lips to is soft and adoring.
I brush my mouth over hers several times, just a sweet whisper of touch, before I finally settle into a proper kiss.
Taking my time with her, I invite her to drink from me as I do from her, letting her feel my care and respect with every lick of my tongue.
Still holding her neck and pressing her into the bed, I lean back and check in. “How are we doing now?” I gently inquire, following my question with some sweet pecks on her cheeks and forehead.
Imani sighs and nods her head, finally opening her eyes to showcase that desire has replaced the panic. “Green, Sir.”
On a better track now, I massage her neck until I begin to cut off her airflow. “I need you to hear me. You’re a good girl, Cupcake. But sometimes good girls do naughty things. Do you understand the delineation between those two statements?”
“Yes, Sir. More slaps now, please,” Imani requests with wide eyes, and then she winces. “I mean. Shit. If my Sir wants.”
“I do want, Cupcake. But yes, let’s leave the scene direction to the Dominant, shall we?” I scold her, teasingly.
My words earn me a laugh, followed by a smile.
Good, she’s open again after that brief near-spiral. I do a large squeeze of her neck quickly, making her gasp in fright, before I stand up to my full height and administer two quick and hard slaps against the same tit.
This time, she shrieks, but the ending note quickly lowers into a pleasured octave, and I smirk, so I give the other breast the same treatment.
“Sirsirsir,” Imani chants breathlessly, and I break out into a grin.
“Now, back to your punishment. Are we going to lie to our Sir?” I demand of her, giving her four smacks in succession but alternating sides of her chest.
“But! Please!” She wails, causing me to laugh sadistically.
“But, please, what?” I ask with levity, hitting her even harder. If she can take it, I’m determined to hit her hard enough that her dark skin mottles for me tomorrow.
“No! Stop!” Imani cries, not only in words but in actuality, as tears begin pouring down her face.
Leaning down, I again trap her underneath my body.
“Neither no nor stop is your safeword, Cupcake,” I growl, licking a long line from her chin up her cheek to follow the tear track.
I can feel how feral I’ve become at the sight of the mascara that runs down her face.
I’ve wanted this ever since I first saw her cry.
That time, she was crying because someone was an asshole to her. This time, she’s crying for me.
“No, I mean it. Please, Sir, please,” Imani sniffles, crying in earnest.
I grab her pussy roughly, pushing the gusset of her leotard to the side and feeling through her tights to feel how wet she is. “That is so strange, Cupcake, because it feels like you want more of me, to include my cock.”
“I won’t lie, I won’t lie!” She yells through her tears.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’ve gotten the point, but it’s too late for that. I’m gonna fuck you in this skimpy little leotard,” I purr, my voice gone impossibly low.
“Please?” Imani whimpers out, breaking the scene for a moment.
It doesn’t feel broken, though. The moment tastes so sweet—a taste of her vulnerability while she is entirely at my mercy and trusting me with her body.
There can only be one response, and that’s to meet her softness with my own.
“I promise, Cupcake,” I affirm before nuzzling my face into her neck for a moment.
It’s a pause to take in her pulse and scent, the gift she’s been giving me since the first day I walked into this room.
Then I pull back, lick up the other side of her face, and grin down at her.
“Your tears taste delicious. Feel free to cry more.”
The response I receive is a moan as she wiggles her ass as much as she can while she’s restrained.
“Are you attached to these tights?” I question her, pausing in my movements before I rip into them.
“Since when do you care? You just ripped my top!” Imani yells after her invited brattiness.
“Good point. Shh, my silly little submissive.” I rip said tights to reveal her glistening center, a glaring fuchsia surrounded by her beautiful sienna skin.
Holding her leotard to the side, I dip my fingers into her cream to rub against her clit. Her moans spur me on, but I’m on a different mission here. Before I leave her to return to the toy bag, I slap her there and make her scream in pleasure.
From the bag, I retrieve a vibrating double-sided dildo, one side of which I deftly insert inside my own soaked pussy after taking off my sweats and briefs. When I come back to Imani and see her trembling, I laugh loudly.
“So eager to get my cock inside of you, Cupcake?” I tease, pushing a finger inside of her.
“I want you to fill me up, Sir,” she begs, the spreader bars clanking from her squirmy movement.
“Mm. Sounds like a fantastic idea,” I croon, before pulling her leotard to the side, pushing the dildo into her cunt, and shoving the fingers covered with her juices into her mouth.
Imani’s body jolts from the dual intrusion, and I bemoan the way I can’t feel her clench around my body.
I know her pussy must be fluttering so beautifully around the silicone of my dick.
Instead, I focus my attention on feeling her tongue on my fingers as it laps up her own taste.
Meanwhile, I test how open she is for me, circling my hips to bring her pleasure and obtain her relaxation.
I only get a flash of warning from her devious eyes before she’s biting down on my fingers. My eyes narrow as I pull them free, start fucking her (both of us, fuck, this feels so good) with a punishing pace, and hit her across the cheek.
There’s no immediate mark, of course, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t get instant gratification. Imani’s mouth drops into a wide “o” of surprise, her eyes turn into dinner plates, and—yes! That’s it—I hear sloppy sounds come from that delicious cunt.
“Oh, you don’t like the consequences of your actions, Cupcake?” I laugh cruelly, digging my hands into her svelte thighs in order to pound into her with abandon.
“I’m a good girl!” Imani protests, a bratty whine in her voice. “I don’t like it when you hit me!”
Removing my right hand from her thigh, I slap her again on the other cheek. “I thought I instructed you not to lie to me, mm?” And she is lying. Further, she knows how to stop me if she really doesn’t want it, and I know she will after she called yellow at the beginning of this scene.
Unfortunately for me, Imani has been rendered non-verbal after the last slap. What can I say? I’m a sucker for her bratting. That’s how we ended up in this position, after all. I’d much rather have her fight me as I fuck her into a puddle of mush. I guess I’ll just have to merely do the latter.
My reward is not only the way I’m barreling toward my own orgasm, but watching her fall apart for me.
I can’t look away from her as I fuck us both into oblivion.
Christ. She’s so beautiful, and I find myself thinking that, of course that fuckwad interviewer ascribes her stunning routines to a paramour, instead of understanding that Imani is just brimming with passion.
Of course she had to be a creative, of course she needed a place to put all that love of life.
She’s radiant, and she doesn’t even know how much.
Sure, she’s successful because of raw talent, but what’s going to win her that gold is the life she breathes into her routines.
I can already tell. And I get to be here to watch it unfold.
How magnificent. I don’t only get to watch her take the Olympics by storm, I get to worship her every night. I get to see her the way that no one has ever gotten to see her before. I get her submission. And that’s no small thing.
Unable to take it anymore, I fall atop her, one hand reaching for hers as the other cradles her head, my lips seeking hers. Our mouths devour one another as we shatter apart, finding solace in stolen breath.
“Fuck that was hot. I want to fuck you in a costume next. I’ll come away covered with your cum and your glitter,” I breathe, running my knuckles over Imani’s heated cheeks.
The only response I receive is a pathetic whimper, making me chuckle.
Smiling down at my wrecked girl, I give her a forehead kiss before I tear the dildo out of us and release her from the four cuffs.
I lie down, pulling her sweaty leotard and tights-covered body to my sports bra-clad one, letting Imani slump into me as I begin massaging her arms and legs. Her poor joints and limbs have been put through the wringer today, and I need to make sure she isn’t numb when she can talk.
That’s not yet, though. Currently, I have a panting puddle in my lap.
I massage her for a while, but finally I have to interrupt her thoughts or attempts at sleep before she passes out on me. “Hey, any lingering numbness, Cupcake?”
Imani’s head lolls on my chest before she dazedly tilts it up to look at me. I can’t breathe for the look she’s bestowing on me right now, but I don’t dare dissect it, an unusual thought for me, to be sure.
“I’m…” she sighs. “Perfect.” Shit. Those are goddamn stars in her eyes. That was clearly some fuck.
Keeping my cool, I throw her a grin. “That’s my good girl.”
“How can you see through me?” Imani shivers.
I give her the only honest answer I can. “Because I was once invisible too.”