Gagged (31 page)

He pulls off his blazer and hangs it over another piece of equipment. Then he unbuttons his left cuff and the button on his forearm, pulling his shirt sleeve above his elbow. It’s higher than I’ve ever seen his arm exposed. Higher, I think, than just about anyone ever has.

“You asked about my scars,” he says.

I say nothing.
 

“You asked about them that first day in the park. When you said that I — not you — were the one who was frightened.”

Still I’m silent. I don’t know when I’m allowed to speak.
 

“If you had to guess, how do you think I got them? You, who’s heard so much more about me than the press ever has?”
 

So I say, “Becky Jeffries.”
 

“No. I whipped Becky, and Becky whipped me. I cut her, and she cut me. I have scars from her, but not these. Not these famous two that everyone is always so curious about.”
 

I look the scars over as best I’m able. Both are long and white, running from mid forearm to above his inner elbow, onto his large bicep. They’re perfectly parallel, like a set of railroad tracks.

But of course I know the answer.
 

“Your father.”
 

“Wrong.”
 

“I don’t know.”
 

“What you said earlier. Is it true? Do you really trust me, Aurora?”
 

I don’t like the way he says it. And for some reason, I don’t like the way he dodges my dead end line of questions. But I answer anyway, swallowing. “Yes. I mean it.”
 

“You can’t move. Your restraints are tight. Nobody ever comes up here. The penthouse is soundproofed. I could do anything to you I wanted.” He moves to my side, and now I can’t see him even if I turn my head. “Anything at all.”
 

He slaps my ass again. Harder this time. It hurts a little, but the stimulation, so close to my throbbing pussy, pushes me an inch closer toward orgasm and the release I desperately need.
 

I hear a rustle of fabric and metal. I can’t see a thing. Then all of a sudden his cock is balls deep inside me. I cry out. He smacks me again. I’m about to come, but then he pulls out after a few hard thrusts. Now I’m even closer. Now it’s all so much harder to take. Or think. Impossible to concentrate.
 

“How does that strike you, Aurora?”
 

“I want it.”
 

“You want me to fuck you?”
 

“I want you to do what you want with me.”

“Do you?” He circles around in front of me again, but now his cock is out and rock hard, inches from my face. I can’t stop thinking of all the things I’d like to do to it and have it do to me. My usual restraint and decorum are gone. I don’t care what anyone thinks. I wouldn’t care if the world could see us. I’m staring at his hard shaft, wishing it would erupt as I watch it. Wishing he’d come all over me. Use me. Abuse me. In the moment, it hardly matters.
 

“Yes,” I say.
 

“But will you in the morning? Will you when all this is over? Or will you regret it, as you have so far?”
 

“I don’t regret yesterday. At all.”
 

“Hmm. Because that was a day when I had to trust you. When you had it your way. But that’s the catch. That’s why neither of us can ever win. Consider my turns, all of them. Have I really tested you? Was there really need for trust? We didn’t do anything you didn’t want. We only did things you claimed not to want, after the fact. Or that you’d think you’d never want. But you
do
, Aurora. You’re not the good little girl you pretend to be. The fact that you’ve practically
begged
for my cock proves it. You’re more like me than you realize. You’re less like yourself than you claim to be.”
 

“I can be both.”

He takes a step forward. His cock is so close, I can feel its heat.
 

“Good girls don’t let themselves be tied down. Good girls don’t do
this.”
 

He takes another step. His cock enters my mouth. He reaches across my back, leaning into me, and rubs my pussy from behind. I don’t like what he’s implying, but in a way he’s right. I don’t
want
to refuse him. I
want
to suck him dry. If he stops playing with my pussy before I come this time, I’ll die.
 

His cock leaves my mouth. The stimulation stops. I’m heaving, gasping for air, wound tighter than a clock spring.

“And the girl you used to be doesn’t beg for me to come down your throat.”

He’s teasing me with his dick. I can barely get my lips on it. I feel it throb, the head engorging with every small lick.
 

“Say it.”

And I hear myself saying, “Please. Please, Caspian.”
 

“Please what?”
 

“I want you to … to come down my throat!”

So he pushes it into me. And I gag. And I gag. And then he’s fucking my mouth in a smooth rhythm while he reaches back again to touch my pussy, and it doesn’t take long before my hole grips his fingers like a fist, the orgasm so intense it seems to lift me off the ground. I want him deeper in me. I want his pleasure. So I suck him hard, and all of a sudden he erupts, and I taste it go down, licking my lips as he pulls away.
 

“This is you, Aurora. Admit it. Admit that I’m not forcing you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I’m both people. Just like
you’re
both people.”
 

“Shut your mouth. Or I’ll get a gag.”
 

But I feel like I know the answer to that one. “I’ve been gagged my entire life.”
 

He’s pumping his flagging cock, bringing it back to life. Pearlescent liquid drips from the end.
 

“I’m doing this to help you. Even if it hurts.”
 

“Why?”
 

“Because people like you are dangerous. You believe in everything. You believe all that you’re told. You
trust
. You know someone a week, and you’ll believe every word that he says. You have no reason to trust me, Aurora. None.”
 

It’s true. I don’t. Except that I do. Because I’m right about this, and he’s wrong. He thinks he’s helping me break free? I saw the man beneath the shell yesterday, and I know he’s still there. I have
every
reason to trust him. He says I’m not who I used to be. But he’s not who he used to be, either — no matter how hard he tries to pretend.
 

“Why does it bother you?” I ask. Let me make my mistakes. “It doesn’t affect you.”

“Oh. But
everything
affects
me,”
he says it sarcastically, like he’s mocking something I don’t recognize. “That’s what I keep hearing lately. Everyone’s problems are my problems. The world is on
my
shoulders. Everyone around me has an issue, and it’s somehow my fucking responsibility to solve them all. Never mind that I live my own life and have never asked for help from anyone. Never mind that it’s only ever been me, by myself. I built this company with sweat and work, not hope and unfounded trust. I don’t believe in those things. Trust will destroy you.
Hope will crush you.”

“It’s not black and white.”
 

“Says the girl who was so shamed by her parents that she couldn’t admit to her own desires.”
 

“That’s not black and white, Caspian!”
 

“You knew who I was when you met me. You got yourself into this.” And he slaps the pommel horse thing for emphasis. “You came to me because you knew I’d give you the truth. You wouldn’t allow yourself to believe things about the real Aurora that your upbringing wouldn’t allow you to see. So you came to me and made this bet — not
fearing
I’d win but
knowing
I would. Because you wanted it. We all want to sample the darkness inside ourselves. Most of us just won’t admit it.”
 

“I was afraid. My parents made me afraid.”
 

“So you traded one fear for another. Fear of them for fear of me.”
 

I don’t know. I’m not sure. I don’t know what this is. I’ve never been so conflicted. I don’t want to have this discussion, and don’t care if I win. I’ve flipped end for end. Now I just want to fuck.

“The thing about fear,” Caspian tells me, still idly stroking his cock, “is that you have to let it in. But it’s okay because once you let fear inside, it’s the last decision you have to make. Then someone else can decide for you, making choices you won’t allow yourself to make. And if you’re never afraid, you’re never truly alive.”
 

“Then prove it,” I say. “Let me down from here, and prove it.”

“You
prove it,” he says.
 

He vanishes again.

Then he’s behind me, rubbing his cock across my sopping wet slit. He fucks me for minutes, slamming into me, rattling the table I’m bound to.
 

Then he moves his slippery dick north, to my puckered asshole.

“Admit that you want it.”
 

I don’t respond. Just the pressure of his cock against my ass is lighting me up inside, threatening a whole new category of orgasm.
 

He pushes.
 

There’s a flash of pain, but I’m so aroused that it passes immediately, and then there’s only pleasure.
 

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

A
URORA

C
ASPIAN
SEEMS
TO
BE
OUT
of words, but it’s okay because I couldn’t hear them anyway.
 

Nothing I’ve experienced before could possibly prepare me for what’s happening now.

Pressure in my ass, giving way to an abandoned breed of euphoria.
 

Caspian bent over me, the rest of his clothes finally ripped off and tossed away. I see his shirt and pants and everything else flutter past my peripheral vision as he fucks me, our bodies flapping like strange birds.
 

His bare chest against my back, our skin separated only by a singlet of sweat.
 

His strong arm — one then the other, sometimes both — wrapped around my torso from behind, palm flat on my belly, palm on my pubic mound so the internal stroking of his cock presses my clit from both sides. His big hands roughly grabbing my small tits, pinching the nipples and fondling the flesh, forearms squeezed between me and the table’s padding, every motion electric.
 

His hot breath on my neck.
 

His hard, carved chest and abdomen draped over me like a cloak, thrusting, gyrating, his manhood filling me up.
 

I’m in an undifferentiated haze of bliss. Everything is uncoupled. It’s no longer carnal or spiritual; there isn’t even pleasure or pain. There are only nerve endings. Only sensation.
 

And I take it. And I take him deep inside, crying out, not caring who might hear my raw ecstasy.
 

At some point Caspian must grab a dildo from a rack because although I can’t see and my senses have become a stew of synesthesia, I feel shafts filling both of my holes, their movement against one another massaging the delicate tissue between to send me tumbling through a delirious rose-colored cloud. I couldn’t say which end is up. I barely feel my restraints. I’m glad I have them on, because I don’t need to take responsibility for this. For all he’s doing to me, to make me feel so spectacularly good.
 

And my mind says,
A fake cock in my pussy. A real cock in my asshole.
 

He’s slapping my ass. He’s got a whip. A crop. Something.
 

And it’s so good. So good.
 

Fuck me,
I’m thinking.
Fuck me in all my holes
.
 

Maybe I should hesitate. Stop myself from enjoying this. Recognize it as the hedonistic tragedy I’d have seen all of this as, just one week ago.
 

But then I’m coming. And the sensation is everywhere. In my clit. Deep in my pussy, perhaps around my G-spot, if I have one, though I don’t know where it might be. It’s in my breasts, rubbed hard against the padded table. In my ass, and every square millimeter of my skin, from scalp to lips to groin to toes. And then Caspian is coming too, and I know it because he slams hard into me a few final times before going mostly still, sweaty, my ass spasming with my orgasm, gripping him like a grudge.
 

Caspian slides out of me. The dildo, if that’s what it is, slides out, too.
 

He removes my ankle restraints. He removes my wrist buckles.

And he says, “What just happened, you wanted. Admit it’s what you’ve always wanted from me.”
 

I slide off the table, sweaty, spent, and ending up beside him.

I lean forward. We’re so close that he almost flinches. As if, now that I’m free, I’ll hit him back.
 

But I don’t hit Caspian.
 

I kiss him sweetly instead.
 

“I’ll admit it,” I say, “if you’ll admit that
you
wanted me.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

C
ASPIAN

A
URORA
SAYS
, “Y
OU
NEVER
FINISHED
the story.”
 

I look over at her. We’re both naked. I took a shower after the first time, to freshen up, before I fucked her again. I don’t think there’s anything left inside me. I’m a gun without bullets. A cat with no claws. I want to tell her, the second she looks at me in that way I think she might, that I’m safe. I spent my aggression. I took my tension and worked it all off. I’ve made my point about Aurora, her desires, and her denial. The idea of her being bound and gagged — not literally by me, but figuratively by her parents and her shame all those years ago — has been made. It’s her turn now, and without even a day in between. This is the part of the story where she can tie me up with her actions and questions and words. Where she can push me to my limits and make me do things I desire but can’t admit to ever wanting.