Take Me With You(30)

My pussy throbs, again being close to the highest of pleasure during a time when I am at my lowest. But I can't.

He lets go of the rope suddenly, so that I fall forward onto the table. The soft sound of his footsteps head away from me. He's going to leave me here, bound, for I don't know how long. So that I can't even relieve myself of the heat that has built between my legs.

I turn my face towards him. His bare, muscled back and ass are shaded by the shadows of the dark space. The shiny blade extends from his hand, and for a moment he looks like an ancient warrior. “Wait! Wait! Please don't leave.”

He keeps walking, about to approach the corner and disappear.

“It—it feels good. It feels so good,” I call out through a tense throat. My stomach twists in a mixture of arousal and humiliation. He stops, but he doesn't turn back.

“My pussy is throbbing. It feels like—like I'm hot and there's a cool wave coming my way and it's just right there…right about to crash over me. But I need you to do it. Your lips and mouth…I did almost come that night in my house. It scared me. I used to think about you. I didn't know it was you. But you saw me at the library, right? And I thought you had the most incredible eyes. And I thought of looking into them instead when I fucked Carter. I think you're a sick fuck. But maybe that's irrelevant because I'm here, and…” I almost chuckle through my stuffy voice.

Before I can finish, he's striding towards me. He yanks me up to my feet by the twine and spins me, so that I'm face to face with those piercing eyes.

“I want to see you,” I mutter.

He shakes his head, his eyes colder than the metal table edging into my ass.

He grips his cock in one of his hands. Like him, it is unforgiving and brutal as it savagely burrows into me. I let out a cry from deep within as he pistons his hips. I'm grateful that my arms are tied, because if they weren't I'd wrap them around this man who is filling me—the ultimate betrayal to everything I ever thought of myself. But my legs are free, and without seeking my permission, one wraps around his warm bare leg. His slick chest slips against my breasts as he grinds against me.

I moan, allowing myself complete abandon. He has stripped away so much of me that it's impossible to feel shame in front of him at this point. He is my shame. He owns that too.

I want to call out a name, but I have nothing.

“Who are you?” I cry.

“The Night,” he rasps.

I let my body collapse around the sensation of him inside of me, resting my face against the curve of his neck. His smell, a heady dose of masculinity, intoxicates me, allowing me to get completely lost in The Night. It's his firm arms that hold me together as I increasingly go weak around the swollen cock inside of me.

“I'm gonna come,” I pant. The wave begins to crest. He grips the neck binding and tugs it back so that our eyes are inches apart. I told him I imagined the owner of those eyes fucking me. Now, he's reminding me this is not just a fantasy. This is real. This is a dream. This is a nightmare. Like he said, maybe sometimes they're the same thing.

He twists the back of the binding so it closes around my windpipe. The wave crashes over me. Spraying pleasure onto every inch of me. Each thrust just another little wave colliding against me. Like someone in a desert who has stumbled upon a great shore of relief, I drink up the salty water, knowing it could kill me, but all I care about is the instantaneous relief of now.

He grunts and plunges deeply into me, taking himself to the climax he couldn't achieve weeks ago.

I think it's over. I'll come down and feel the guilt I used to feel after playing with myself to my stepdad's dirty magazines. But he pushes me back on the table and spreads my legs. The warmth of his cum slowly drips out of me, the ultimate mark of a beast on his conquest. He uses a finger to wipe some off of me, taking the creamy mix of us and rubbing it on my nipples, glossing them with our filthy sex. He sucks on my breasts, cleaning up the filth with his mouth.

It's so fucking dirty. So repulsive, and yet, I can't help but watch it greedily. Watch him worship upon the altar of this whole fucked up thing. He lowers his face between my thighs and mouth fucks my still blooming pussy. It only takes seconds for me to come again. My thighs clench The Night as it consumes me.

“Oh god,” I call out, knowing that there is no such thing down here. At least not the one to which we say our evening prayers. Only Night.





I'm not sure what's next as I watch Night (I guess that's what I'll have to call him from now on) get dressed. He hasn't released my bindings and I worry that what we just did hasn't quelled the rage. That maybe the two body-quaking orgasms were simultaneously my punishment for my venomous talk and the reward for my submission. Maybe he'll leave me here for days, bound, forcing me to start over again to earn that balance we had just begun to find.

Evening has descended so that all I see are shadows of the masked violator getting dressed. Revulsion and attraction brew in me. Though the revulsion isn't just towards him. Never have I felt that level of abandon with another human being. Like two feral people relying on instinct, void of morality. He has taken away every sense of decency from me, so that there is literally nothing left to hide. Carter loves me. He is kind. He is sweet. He accepts me for who I am. Or does he?

Vesper must be good. She must be kind. She must take care of everyone. Because otherwise, who would love her? Her own mother barely did and her father has never laid eyes on her. Who would love a girl who is impure and dirty? A fiend with whorish desires? Not Carter. He loves the perfect Vesper Rivers. Normal Vesper Rivers. I was lucky to have such a handsome successful fiancé. Asking for anything more was greed. I always understood that.