Chapter 33 #2
He’s back seconds later. One hand closed around something, keeping it from me, the other with the sports bottle again. He doesn’t hold it before me, but walks behind to where he just was, arm sliding around my waist. Only then does he offer me the straw.
“Drink, Hellcat. You’ll need fluids for this.”
I’m so thirsty I don’t fight it, taking the straw between my lips and sucking. There’s no point resisting anyway, not when my body will need its strength. I’m going to escape at some point, and to that end, I’ll take anything he gives me that’s useful.
Even a mouthful of his cum.
The thought lands unbidden, and I both hate the dark irony of it, and the truth of it.
As I drink, the taste of him diminishes. His arm holds me the whole time, supporting me, fist still clenched around whatever he’s holding. But I’m grateful to him anyway; it eases the strain of the ropes.
I suddenly wonder if he’s doing it on purpose. Stretched this taut, he has me completely helpless, and he must know how uncomfortable it is. Yet he’s taking some of my weight, making it bearable, if not even comfortable.
I don’t get it. His goal is to torture me. Why bother being nice?
Why bother with the drink, come to that?
He has me entirely at his mercy, yet he’s showing care.
It makes it seem like it’s not even real torture. Like it’s just… a scene. Looking after me between one part of it and the next.
Fuck. Is that what this is? Is he playing with me? In the literal sense?
I don’t understand him. His very actions are a contradiction.
I suck at the straw again, and it gives a rattling slurp, the bottle empty. Declan eases it away, then drops it to bounce on the mat, roll off onto the bare concrete, and keep going until it hits the wall.
“Better?” he asks.
There it is again. Checking on my welfare.
Why? So he can torture me for longer?
“Yes, I’m perfectly comfortable, thank you.” Apart from my aching arms and shoulders. Every inch of my skin on fire. My pussy sore and sensitive. My left nipple abused and tender.
“Good,” he says, ignoring my sarcasm. He swaps arms, freeing up the one holding me and replacing it with the other. The first drops between my legs, pushing something inside me. The unexpected invasion makes me gasp, and my cheeks heat at how easily it slips in. I’m so damn wet, it’s humiliating.
I feel it inside me, warm, hard, and small. Plastic.
An egg. He’s just put an egg inside me. And now I know what he intends.
Shit.
“No. Declan, please don’t.”
“What’s the package?”
“I don’t know, I swear. I don’t know.”
“Sorry, Hellcat. I don’t believe you.” His thumb brushes over my clit, and my pussy is so sensitive I can’t help my gasp.
“It’s true, okay?” I cry out. “I know as much as you do.”
“Earlier, didn’t you say, ‘Not telling you, let me go?’”
Fuck. I might have.
“Not what I meant. It was just…” Defiance. Where’s that gone now?
“A bit late,” he murmurs.
The egg starts vibrating inside me, and I wail my helplessness.
It’s only on a low speed, but it’s right there, resting on my g-spot.
He must have the remote in the hand holding me to him, and his other is between my legs.
One finger keeping the egg inside, the rest playing lightly through my folds.
“Please don’t.” It comes out high and desperate. I can’t help it.
“Save your strength for begging later,” he suggests. “You’re going to need it.”
There’s not even a click or any warning, but the egg ratchets up, vibrating harder. He strums my clit with his thumb, and I pull at the ropes, body tensing, my gasp becoming a moan.
“I have a single-strand whip in that box,” he whispers in my ear. “If you come without permission, it’s ten lashes on your ass. And then I’ll fuck it.”
“I hate you so much.” It’s not a smart thing to say, but it slips out, raw and honest.
“You think you hate me now,” he practically purrs, “give me an hour.”
I sob at that threat. The damn egg has barely been going. I can’t take five minutes of this, let alone an hour.
“Please, Declan. Please can I come?”
“So soon?” His chuckle is way too damn smug. “No.”
I knew what he’d say, but I still cry out my frustration. The egg subsides, back to its lower level, and I whimper at the loss. He leaves my clit alone… for a few seconds. Then he flicks his fingertip over it.
My hips jerk back against him, and his groin presses into my ass.
He’s hard again; I can feel him, even through his jeans.
They rub against my burning skin, adding more sensation.
His bare chest is against my back, and that’s warm and soothing against where he flogged me.
My whole body is aware of even the slightest touch. It’s almost too much.
His lips brush my ear. “I love the way you writhe in my arms. So alive, so aroused.”
The egg jumps up a level, strumming my g-spot. His fingers play across my pussy, both soothing against my sensitive skin, and also more stimulation than I can bear. I grit my teeth.
He’s far too damn patient, taking his time, torturing me. The egg peaks and subsides. His touch flirts with my clit, my opening, and everything between. My arousal sits just beneath the precipice, wanting me to beg for more.
My whimpers echo in the quiet of the room. The only sounds he makes is his breathing, close to my ear.
Minutes pass. I have no idea how many. My body jerks against him, over and over, each touch rubbing my ass and back against his jeans and chest.
The egg peaks again, driving my need to the very edge.
“Fuck.” It comes out on a breath, high and short. So out of my control. So embarrassing.
“What’s the package?” he murmurs.
But I can’t even think to give him an answer. I’m so close. If he continues, I know I’m going to come whether he lets me or not. “Please, Declan.” I give in at last. “Please let me come.”
The egg shuts off. His touch disappears.
I wail, a sound I’ve never made before. So needy, so desperate. I hate hearing myself make it, but I still can’t help it.
“You’re doing so well,” he says into my ear. “Shall we try again?”
I expect him to ask me that damn package question, but he doesn’t. He just starts the egg at its lowest level. My arousal had barely drawn back from the edge, and it jumps up. But it’s not enough by itself; I need the friction.
His fingers toy with my folds, dipping into my opening for more of my wetness, and spreading it up over my clit. Such a light touch, still not enough. Deliberately torturing me, trying to make me beg and break.
Back and forth, gentle and teasing. Minute after minute. Over and over, until my legs are shaking, and I’d be hanging from the ropes if he wasn’t holding me.
“You’re a bastard,” I breathe, my jaw trembling like I’m cold. I’m so not cold. “An utter, fucking, bastard.”
“And you’re gorgeous. Naked, wet, willing, and helpless.”
I’m not willing.
Okay, I might be willing. If he gives me what I need.
“Please, Declan.” I say it even though I didn’t mean to. Then it doesn’t seem to matter if I continue. “I need more.”
“What’s the package?” He circles my clit, barely touching it.
“Your fucking package! I’m going to take that goddamn package and shove it up your—”
“Such a hellcat.” Amusement in his voice. “I’m starting to think you don’t know.”
“No shit! I’ve told you I don’t know!”
“So you have. Ten more minutes, and if you still haven’t answered me, we’ll try something else.”
Ten more minutes? Has it been an hour already?
What ‘something else’?
But the egg begins vibrating at a higher level, and two fingers rub over my clit, back and forth, his touch so light it’s just another torture. I’m right there, on the very edge.
But he’s learned.
He knows exactly what I can take, and what will push me to beg him to let me come.
He hasn’t stopped for so long. I’ve been so damn close for ages, desperate for just a little more.
“I hate you so much.”
“You’re repeating yourself now.”
“I despise you. I abhor you. I loathe you.” I can’t think of more than that. My brain is mush.
“And I love you,” he replies.
What?
“What?”
“My little hellcat. So wonderful. So fierce. So mine.”
“What did you say?” I must have imagined it.
But the egg leaps to its highest setting, and his fingers rub over my clit, back and forth. I jerk against him, pressing my hips back. Not trying to escape, but needing the solid feel of him behind me.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck… please, Declan. Please… please… can I come?”
“Come for me.” He pinches my clit, and my world explodes.
Pleasure washes through me and carries me with it.
I can’t fight it, I can’t resist, and I don’t want to.
My pussy convulses, my cries so loud they echo from the bare walls.
I’m floating in it, my only anchor his arm holding me, safe and strong.
I give myself to my release, and in that moment, I’m even grateful to the ropes.
I can just hang, held by them, held by him, as my body shakes with the force of my orgasm.
It’s a long time until I can breathe again.
“Beautiful,” he whispers, tone reverent. “Absolutely fucking gorgeous.”
His body against me is grounding, and I cling to that feeling as aftershocks make me writhe again, another sob escaping.
His hand leaves me, and a moment later the whir of the motor behind me precedes the ropes lowering. Declan holds me all the way down, until I’m sitting on the floor, arms relaxed for the first time since I woke up in this damn torture chamber.
“Such a good girl,” he says, turning my head and taking a kiss from me. It’s strangely passionate, his tongue seeking mine, and I’m responding before I even catch myself. It feels natural to do so. How does that work?
Did he really tell me he loved me, or was I hallucinating?
Why would I even want that? Expect that?
I must’ve misheard. It must’ve been an illusion, or a pre-orgasmic delusion, my body convincing my mind of something I might want even though he’d never say it.
He steps away, leaving me sitting there on the mat, my thighs slick and wet from my orgasm. There’s a pool of stickiness beneath me, and I know it’s my own cum. He made me do that.
He’s going for his box of torture devices. I haven’t got the strength for any more of this, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping him.
Yet he’s not; he shifts the box to the ground, carefully placing my clothes within, my boots to the side. Then he starts dragging the vaulting horse toward me.
That can’t be good.
He catches me looking, and smiles playfully.
“You don’t think we’re done, do you?”
I just sit and stare at him, too lost in post-orgasmic bliss to find any words.
Until what he said sinks in.
Shit.
I’m not sure how much more I can take.
But the worst part?
My body’s responding to him. My nipples tightening, my pussy clenching, my imagination running wild.
And God help me, I want whatever he has in mind.