Kick (Songs of Perdition #1)(5)

He puts my hands behind my back and begins. He handles me roughly, moving my body to tie it. There will be no suspension today. Just me, on the floor. It’s too soon to risk suspension. I’m not practiced enough. And he won’t put anything through my nipple rings until he’s sure I can stay still. He’s still keeping it simple—teaching me how to hold my hands, checking my reactions, my ability to take instruction, my commitment to safety.

He touches me more than he ever has, and though I’d promised many men I’d be their f*ckdoll, for the first time, I actually feel like one. My arms twist behind my back, hands clasping elbows, wrists facing away from the ropes, protected from the pressure. I’m to tell him if anything tingles or feels wrong, but so far, everything is exactly right.

He loops the rope around my ponytail, yanking it so the short rope can be tied to my ankles, and he’s done. I’m immobilized, calves to the floor, back arched, forced to look at the hooks in the ceiling from the pressure on the back of my head.

I’ve never been so aroused. From the tips of my toes to the beating of my heart, my tranquility vibrates with awakening. I feel him standing over me, cutting off the light.

“You doing all right?” he asks.

I open my eyes halfway. He’s down to his bare feet and trousers. Shirtless, magnificent Deacon. I can’t make words, but my smile answers in the affirmative. He kneels and puts his fingers to my lips. I part them, and he slides them in.

“I’ll gag you next time,” he says. “The cloth will go around the ropes.”

I wet his finger with my tongue. I usually have a ton of dirty talk at my disposal, but I’m so high from this, I can’t even speak.

“You’ll only be able to grunt, but I’ll understand you, kitten. You and I, we’re going to speak without speaking.”

Lightly, so very lightly, his fingers stroke inside my thigh. I feel my spit drying on them.

“I’m going to tie you and f*ck you breathless.” He slides my panties aside and runs his finger along the length of my slit. “I’ve never seen a girl so wet. You really want to f*ck.”

“I need it.” I whisper the only three words I have at the moment.

He gathers the wetness at my tingling opening and moistens me all over, * to clit. His pressure is perfect, delicate, gentle. He’s not trying to get me to come; he’s trying to get me turned on. He slides two fingers in my cunt so slowly, I feel my soul go to heaven.

“You like my fingers?”

I swallow in response. He pulls them out, slowly again, then touches the hood of my clit, shifting it slightly. The effect is hypnotic.

“Look at you,” he says, his face close enough to mine that I can smell his peppermint breath. “You’re a slave to me right now.” He runs his fingers back to my opening, and to my clit, with just the tip, in circles. “Your discomfort is getting crowded out by pleasure. You want to come so bad. This isn’t even pleasure. It’s the expectation of release. Do you know how long I can keep you going like this? Do you know what I can do to your body? As long as you need that release, I can take you to the breaking point. What wouldn’t you do for me?”

He circles a wet finger around my * then back to my clit, which feels explosive, engorged, hot to the touch.

“Show me what a kitten you are. Meow for me.”

I mewl, wiggling my hips to get a little more pressure on my cunt when he puts his fingers in me. But he and the ropes have complete control.

“Not like that. Don’t be saucy. Do it like a real kitten.”

“Oh God, just let me—”

He squeezes my clit, and I cry out, because it hurts, and it’s just about as close to an orgasm as possible.

He slaps the inside of my thigh. “Easy, girl. The more you demand, the longer I’ll keep you on the edge.”

I’m sweating, leaking fluid everywhere. I don’t have a brain. I don’t even want to f*ck. I just want to come.

“Meow for me,” he says.

A kitten. What does a kitten sound like? A real mewl. No M sound, just a vowel. I make it. I mewl for him as he runs his fingertip over my hood, shifting it just enough. I mewl again. It’s humiliating, to make animal sounds while tied and bent over, but it gives me something to concentrate on. This isn’t the first time I’ve enjoyed being debased.

“Good girl. You’re such a good girl. Do you want to come?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, please. Please. God, let me come for you.”

With his free hand, he grabs the hair on the top of my head, yanking it against the ties to my ankles. “Don’t move. Just meow.”

He slides a finger in my *, and my mewl turns to a cry of pleasure. When he presses his thumb to my clit, hard, I lose my breath. He rotates the thumb, and I explode. My * pulses around him, my cunt tightens, and the rush of release comes out of my mouth in grunts that I can’t concentrate on enough to make the kitten sounds he likes.

His thumb drifts off me halfway then presses again, and I explode all over, wiggling in the confines of the ropes. The orgasm is eternal, like an electrical pulse arching my back, my fingers gripping my forearms. He does it again, leaning forward and shoving two fingers in my ass. My back arches farther, and the ropes press into my ribs.

Time happens for someone else, but not me. The orgasm goes on and on under this madass bastard’s hands.