42. Lucy #2
She flips me over so my chest is pressed to the table, my arse in the air for her. Then she loops the rope around one wrist, chucks it over the table and ties my other wrist. She throws the rope under the table and picks it up, the other side knotting me in place, keeping me pinned to the table.
“Whores give their bodies. Is that what you are?” she snarls over my back.
She doesn’t stop to ask me to move, just kicks my ankles out, displaying both my holes and my soaking pussy. My toes struggle to touch the floor. I’m barely able to keep myself in place. It makes my heart race, my breath short and a bolt of pleasure rush between my thighs.
The flogger comes down hard on my cheeks. It’s the lightest sting but still makes me tremble.
I crane my head as she swishes her wrist this way and that, making sounds only someone practiced with one can. The kind of whistle and crack of leather that’s both threatening and sexy simultaneously. I squeal in anticipation.
Whip. Whip.
She cracks the flogger on each side. I moan, my legs wriggling on the table. I can’t see behind me and not knowing what’s coming makes my heart rate spike. A warm, wet tongue swipes from my clit all the way to my arse.
“Oh gods,” I cry out.
A clatter startles me. Through the crack in the table, I spot the flogger, and I brace instantly. The paddle comes down on my now-sensitive cheeks.
Once. Twice. Three times.
I scream as the sting burns viciously hot. My hard nipples rub against the table. There are too many sensations.
Her tongue assaults my clit with lavish licks and laps, the sensitive bundle of nerves already engorged.
She’s relentless.
Pissed.
She sucks my clit between her teeth, applying enough pressure it makes me arch my back and sends a bolt of adrenaline coursing through me. She’s taking me right to the edge. Pushing me, testing how much of myself I’ve really given to her.
I turn molten as she eases the pressure and resumes licking. My body floods with every hormone and emotion simultaneously. Her tongue carves me in two as she explores every millimetre of sensitive skin.
Worshipping it.
Praising it.
Making it hers.
She sucks and nips and licks and bites until my legs tremble so hard I have to grip the edge of the table to hold on.
A cool breeze flows between my legs as she backs off, then the head of the dildo meets my entrance and hovers. Teasing, tempting.
“What do you need?” she says.
So many things. To be free from Ignatius. Free to love her. But I can’t have either of those things, so I choose the alternative.
“To not feel,” I pant. “Make it all go away.”
Because having pieces of me ache for Midnight and not being able to give them to her hurts worse than having my soul reaped.
She thrusts deep, spearing my pussy and shoving me against the table.
“Fuck,” I cry out.
She pulls the dildo out and drives forward again, until she’s hilt deep, the vibration from the ring pressing against my clit.
“Oh gods,” I whimper.
She leans over me, her nipples caressing my back.
“You think I’m going to stop?” She breathes against my back, dropping kisses over my skin. “And I don’t mean fucking you.”
Oh gods, she means loving me. Making me fall for her. I try to wriggle, but the restraints have me locked in place. The first hint of panic coils in my gut as I try to move.
She thrusts in and out, and the loops of adrenaline morph into something else.
“Do you?” she whispers and then sinks her teeth into the fleshy bit of my shoulder. I cry out, the blister of teeth radiates as her hand smooths the skin.
I lie there moaning and turning to mush as she pumps in and out of me.
“You’re mine. Tonight, tomorrow and every day you can conceive of. I am not letting you go, Lucy. No matter how long it takes, I will come for you.”
The pressure lightens on my back as she stands up, dragging me to the edge of the table to relentlessly fuck me.
Over and over she drives into me, the vibrations bouncing on my clit. On. Off. On. Off.
I can’t speak, I can’t move. Pinned in place taking everything she gives me.
“Do you understand yet?” she says.
But when I don’t answer, she brings the paddle down on my arse.
I rear up, barely rising two inches before the restraints pull me back down.
Paddle.
Paddle.
Paddle.
My cheeks are raw and burning, her hands caress the sting away. The pounding slows to a rhythmic thrust.
“Mine,” she says.
Thrust, thrust.
“Mine.”
In. out.
“Harder,” I whisper.
She kicks up her hips. Pumping into me so hard we shift the table forwards.
“Harder,” I beg. I want it to hurt; an orgasm wrapped in the delicious burn of pain, everything heightened, everything more.
But two wet drips plop on my back, and I realise this hasn’t broken me.
It’s broken her.
And that makes me crack. My eyes glaze, my own little pools of salty wetness forming under my cheeks.
“Harder,” I sob.
“Mine.” She thrusts and slaps and thrusts.
My body winds tighter and tighter. Cool drips raining on my back.
I’m yours, I think.
“Mine,” she whimpers.
A raw throb settles between my ribs. For her, for me, and for everything we can’t have. For everything I want laid before me and I’m unable to take.
“Say it,” she pleads.
And this is all I can give her.
“I’m yours,” I breathe as she picks up speed and rams into me over and over. Driving my body right to the brink.
“Come for me, baby girl,” she says and spanks me again, driving the cock deep and pressing the vibrating ring against my clit in a relentless flow of pleasure.
I spill over, moaning her name and cursing my soul.