Mile High (Up in the Air #2)(57)
He moved very close to me as he reached above me, pulling down a metal chain that clicked loudly with each link. He dragged the length along my cheek, my collar, against the side of one breast, and finally to my joined hands. He attached the chain rather noisily to the handcuffs, stepping away. I heard the links clinking again as the cuffs were raised above my head agonizingly slowly. My arms pulled up high until I was stretched taut onto the balls of my feet.
“Grip the chain,” James told me.
I tried, but obviously did it wrong, because he adjusted my hands until I had a firm double grasp on the chain that held me up. He jerked suddenly on my neat little work braid, arching my head back. It pulled at the chain between my clamped ni**les, as everything seemed to.
I whimpered loudly.
“I want you to be silent,” James told me, his voice a hoarse rasp. “Don’t make sexy little noises. Don’t beg me to stop. Be as quiet as you can, unless you need to safe word.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I gave a little nod, since I couldn’t speak. I felt him move away. He was gone for long minutes, and I felt bereft. I couldn’t move or speak, because he’d ordered me not to, so only my mind was active. It was the most torturous part of all, as I imagined what he would do to me, what he was planning, and all I could do was wait.
Soft music began to play, the notes of a dark song drifting through the room. It had an ominous tune.
I didn’t even sense him move but just suddenly felt something soft brush across the skin of my back. A feather, I realized, as he trailed it down my spine. He removed it, but it was instantly replaced by something else, something rougher, with thin strands that caught at my skin as he stroked it where the feather had been. The feather came back, stroking along my butt and down my thighs.
I shivered as he softly stroked it over the back of my knee and down to my foot. He moved the feather back up my body via the other leg. It covered every inch of the back of my body before he pulled back.
The rougher object began to move across my skin, mirroring the feathers trail exactly. Where the feather had made me shiver all over, the rougher trail made me writhe, fighting to keep from making noise.
The rough little tails were absent, and the feather was back, brushing just below my shoulder blades. It lingered there, slowly whispering over that skin oh so carefully. The feather pulled away and the instant it left my skin he struck, flogging me with those rough little tails viciously.
I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, my back arching, spine bowing.
He struck again and again, only striking those tender spots that the feather had paid such special attention to. My heart was trying to pound out of my chest, and tears ran down my cheeks silently but freely before he stopped.
I felt him unclip the tiny slip at my waist, felt it drop to the floor, the feather lightly caressing my naked ass. I wondered if he was timing the feather contact to the timing of the flogging. It seemed that way to me, and it was a torturous realization, because he lingered for the longest time on my rear, that soft feather relentless. Of the two touches, I thought the feather was the cruelest.
The feather’s absence was immediately replaced by the sharp bite of the tails. It went on and on, striking again and again, and I began to move with the strikes, circling my hips, the pain taking my mind to a little fuzzy place, and I thought I would come if he so much as touched my sex.
I heard his ragged breaths when he replaced the tails with the feather on my thighs. When the feather touched my inner thigh, a scant breath from my sex, I nearly came. I didn’t know if I could stop myself when the tiny whips replaced that cruel feather. I wondered, very briefly, if I would be punished for that.
My breaths were so ragged that I worried I would be punished for the noise when the tails replaced the feather, slapping at my sensitive thighs relentlessly.
My back bowed, my feet pushing on my toes as the whips hit that spot on my groin, and I came, gyrating on my chain and biting on my bloody lip. At least I had kept silent, if you didn’t count my loud panting breaths.
“Fuck,” James panted, and that was all. He replaced the little whips with a feather on my calves. This was a shorter touch, and a shorter flogging.
He seemed to finish with my back, stepping away. I felt him studying me for impossibly long minutes.
My release had been involuntary, and done very little to ease the ache. My pulse still beat in time to the blood pounding in my veins and every inch of me wanted him inside of me, against me, touching me. My hips made little circling thrusts as he watched me.
Finally, I felt him moving to the front of my body. He studied my front for nearly as long as he had my back.
Abruptly, he released my br**sts from the mean little clamps. I took deep breaths, counting to ten, trying to keep the noises in my throat. He began to move the feather along my front, starting with my cheek. He circled my lips with the feather.
He stopped abruptly, walking away. I wanted to scream at his abrupt absence, but he returned almost instantly, placing some type of strap against my mouth.
“Bite down on this if you need to,” he ordered. “Don’t bite your lip anymore. You’ll need stitches if you keep that up.” I bit it. It was an instant relief to have something firm to bite down on.
He started in on me with the feather again, covering the front of my body with those soft caresses. He mirrored the movement with the tiny whips. The pattern was already familiar, but still I agonized over what he would do next. The feather was back again, and I knew what to expect when the whips had a turn, every touch telling me sadistically just where and for how long I would get the attention of those