Maid for It (A Maids for It Novella) (10 page)

By the time we reach the main house, I know
where he’s taking me.
That room.
And even though I once
wished he’d take me there and get it over with so that I could stop
living in dread of what would happen there, now I really am
frightened. Not because I think he means to hurt me in any lasting
way, but because I know he means to break me into begging him to
let me go. Before, he might have taken things slowly, taught me in
small, manageable increments how pain and pleasure could merge. But
now, there will be no such generosity.

When we enter the room, I can’t stop myself
from shrinking back. The instinct to run away is primal and
instantaneous. I’m not sure what I fear more—the restraints or the
whips and floggers. Both seem equally cruel, equally awful.

And then he points to a platform on the far
side of the room, one I didn’t notice when I peeked in before. It’s
about four feet long, three feet wide, and approximately two feet
off the ground. A variety of metal objects are affixed to each end
of it. Shackles. And not just for wrists and ankles, I realize, but
for my throat.

“Take off your clothes and get on. Knees and
elbows.”

I swallow audibly. I know now what I’m most
afraid of.

Conquering the urge to throw myself at his
feet and beg him not to make me do this, I strip then climb onto
the platform. My crucifix, which I put on after he removed the
collar, dangles from my neck. He closes the iron shackles around my
ankles first, then comes around to the front. My eyes are level
with the zipper of his slacks, and I can see the thick bulge of his
erection as he locks my wrists in place.

“Lift your head.”

The throat shackle is affixed to a
telescoping post, which he adjusts before closing it around my
neck. Unlike the collar, it’s tight. If I slacken at all in my
position, I’ll begin to choke.

He steps back and looks at me, as though to
admire his handiwork. Although I’ve assumed this position plenty of
times for sex, my confinement makes me feel each part of my body
more acutely. The hard surface of the platform already rubs my
knees and elbows raw. My breasts hang like foreign weights from my
torso, heavy and pendulous. My neck, forced to hold my head
upright, will soon begin to ache.

After a brief, satisfied nod, my master—or is
he Sir or only Ben to me in this moment? I’m not sure and that
increases my unease—walks away. I can’t turn my head to see where
he’s gone or what he’s doing, and my dread of what’s to come
grows.

When he returns, I hear him laying things on
the platform beside me, but I can’t see what. I close my eyes, as
though that will make my lack of knowledge more bearable.

“Open your eyes.” He’s standing in front of
me, his expression surprisingly gentle. “I want you to know before
we begin that I won’t leave any permanent marks on your body. I
won’t break any bones or cause you any internal harm. But what I’m
about to do
is
going to feel like pain. Do you
understand?”

Feel like pain?
If it looks like a
duck and quacks like a duck…

I clamp down on my rising panic. “Yes,
Master.”

As soon as the word ”master” crosses my lips,
I regret it. What if I’m not supposed to call him that anymore?
Will he be angry? Hurt me even more?

But all he says is, “Good.”

My stomach flutters with anxiety as I follow
him with my eyes until he’s out of my line of sight.

I hear the jingling of lightweight chains and
bite my lip to keep from whimpering. I’m scared but also curious.
What is he handling that’s making that noise and how does he plan
to use it?

I don’t have to wait long to find out. His
hand brushes against my breast and then something clamps
down—hard—on my left nipple. Tears rush to my eyes as agony rockets
through my body. But he isn’t done. The right nipple receives the
same treatment seconds later, and oh,
Dios Mio
, it hurts, it
hurts, it hurts.

Why did I ever believe he wouldn’t truly hurt
me? This is excruciating. And he
likes
to do this to women.
To immobilize them and torture them. What kind of monster is
he?

I’m weeping silently when I feel the final
pinch—between my legs. My clit.
Puto!
He’s a beast. How
could I believe I loved him? What a fool I was to return.

He removes his hand from between my legs and
I realize a lightweight chain connects the three clamps. As gravity
pulls the chain downward, the clamps tug at my abused flesh,
dragging a sob from my throat.

“I warned you it would feel like pain, didn’t
I?”

“Yes, Master.”

“If you give it time, it will become
pleasure.”

That’s like saying if you give death time, it
will become life, but I don’t argue. He’s a madman. A sadistic
lunatic. Suddenly, this has become not an exercise in convincing
him to keep me, but one in surviving long enough so that I can
escape.

As if he reads my mind, he says, “You can ask
me to stop any time.”

“I can?”

“Of course,” he says, his tone utterly
nonchalant.

“And you’ll stop? Let me go?”

He laughs, deep and low in his throat. “I
didn’t say that. On the contrary, the more you ask me to stop, the
longer and harder this will be. On the other hand, if you beg me to
hurt you more, I may be motivated to go easier on you.”

So that’s the way it’s going to be. I lick my
lips. At this point, I’ll do anything to lessen my torment.
“Please, Master, hurt me more.”

“As you wish.”

The sound of lubricant squirting from a tube
reaches my ears, and at first I have the hope that maybe he’ll just
fuck me now and get it over with. But what I feel slide into my ass
isn’t his cock, but a large, vinyl butt plug. I moan as he twists
it in to the hilt, each of the toy’s progressively larger ridges
more pleasurable than the last.

Pleasurable?
I blink in confusion, as
it dawns on me that my nipples and clit have begun to tingle, not
with pain, but with arousal. How—?

A paddle smacks my ass. Despite the limited
range of motion the shackles give me, I jolt forward. The toy rocks
inside me and the chains swing, pulling on my sensitized flesh. My
skin burns where the paddle struck me, but I can’t say it hurts.
Or, more accurately, it hurts, but in a strangely good way.

Another blow falls on the opposite cheek with
similar results. My breathing accelerates as he continues to paddle
me. I imagine my ass must be bright red, and the thought increases
my arousal. The chain swings beneath my body, each tug providing a
fresh jolt of stimulation. The sensation reminds me of what it
feels like when my master pinches and tugs on my nipples while he
fucks me or plays with my clit, only fiercer, more direct.

He must have put down the paddle, because he
slips his fingers between my pussy lips and coats them with the
liquid evidence of my desire. The movement causes the clamp on my
clitoris to jerk harder, and I suck in a shocked breath as I almost
come.

“Christ,” he mutters, yanking his hand
away.

He’s angry, but I can’t fathom why.
Unless…it’s because he doesn’t
want
me to like this.

Comprehension comes in a deluge through the
haze of my pleasure-pain. He’s trying to prove to both of us I
don’t belong here, but my body isn’t cooperating with his plans. As
much to my surprise as his, it’s proving exactly the opposite.

“Please, Master, hurt me more.” Only now, I
mean it.

“Fuck.” It’s a guttural curse, but I’m no
longer afraid.

That is, until I smell sulfur and flame. He’s
struck a match. I cringe.
Santa Maria
, is he going to burn
me? But no, surely not. He promised he wouldn’t do anything that
would leave permanent marks, and burning me would do just that.
Wouldn’t it? Or has he changed his mind, changed the rules since my
body has perversely decided to ignore his script?

The first inkling of what he’s about comes
when I catch the faint scent of melting wax. A candle? But why? I’m
baffled, but I’m not scared, merely curious. And then hot wax
dribbles onto my back, singeing my skin.

I can’t suppress a yelp. This hurts, a lot—a
thousand times more than the clamps or the paddling, but to my
amazement, the stinging only lasts a few seconds. As the wax cools,
however, it becomes almost soothing.

He seems not even to notice my distress,
because he continues to pour stripes of wax across my back, each
one just as painful as the last when the scorching liquid hits my
skin, just as soothing when the it cools and hardens. I’m bombarded
with sensation—the wax, the ache of my flesh where he paddled me,
the biting fullness of the plug in my ass, and the tug of the
clamps on my throbbing nipples and clit. I float in a haze that’s
made up of both pain
and
pleasure. I’m not sure where one
ends and the other begins anymore.

Two sides of a single coin
, he
said.

And they are. I understand now. Even an
orgasm is as much torment as it is release, both exquisite and
excruciating.

“Please, Master,” I beg, sobbing now, “hurt
me more.”

Suddenly, he’s standing in front of me, his
hand beneath my chin. “I can’t,” he says softly. “Not when I need
to kiss you.”

He bends down and captures my mouth with his.
It’s a long, leisurely kiss, almost sweet, and yet it fires every
nerve ending in my body with fresh, carnal longing. His tongue
sweeps over mine, dances in the hollows of my mouth. Trapped in my
shackles, I can only taste him with equal fervor, trying to
communicate the only way I can how much I want him, how much I need
him, how much I love him.

Finally, he lifts his head. “I’m sorry,
Gabi.”

The panic that’s never far from my mind
flutters in my chest. “Sorry? Why?” If he’s about to send me away
after all this, I might kill him.

“Because I can’t wait to release you from
your shackles to be inside you. I have to fuck you now.”

A laughing sob escapes me. “Oh God, please
do.”

In no time flat, he’s behind me, his cock
probing my slick entry. He doesn’t stop to release the clamps or
remove the plug from my ass. As he tunnels into me, I’m so full,
both literally and figuratively, I feel I might burst at the
seams.

The kiss may have been sweet and leisurely,
but his possession of me is swift and violent. It’s as if all the
emotions he’s been nurturing for the past two months have built
into this one moment. I didn’t know before where pain ended and
pleasure began; I’m not sure now where my master ends and I begin.
The fact that I’m held nearly motionless makes me feel even more
like an extension of him, the completion of his desires, the
embodiment of his will.

He reaches between my legs and releases the
clamp from my clit. Blood comes rushing back and with it, the most
overpowering orgasm I’ve ever experienced. Every organ in my body
is involved—heart, lungs, spleen, liver—and every muscle from the
top of my head to the tips of my toes contracts and trembles. I
would collapse beneath him, but the shackles trap me, forcing my
liquefied limbs to support me even though that seems utterly
impossible.

And through it all, he keeps fucking me. “Beg
me for more,” he orders.

I won’t
survive
more, but I don’t
think I care. “More, Master, please, fuck me more.”

His fingers find my clit, so raw and engorged
that his touch is agonizing, and with the other hand, he pulls on
the chain that’s attached to the clamps. Fire grips me, and the
climax that wasn’t even over yet begins again, harder and more
excruciating than before.

I lose control of my limbs, my head sagging
forward. The shackle presses on my windpipe, but I can’t lift my
head to stop it or speak to alert him to my distress. Blackness
closes in, narrowing my vision, focusing my senses on the
unbelievable ecstasy coursing through my veins.

If I die, it will have been worth it.

An acrid, bitter scent rouses me to
consciousness. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”

I wrinkle my nose and push away the hand that
waves the smelling salts beneath my nostrils. “Sleeping Beauty was
awakened by a kiss,” I grumble.

Ben chuckles. “That can be arranged.”

He sits on the platform beside me, and I
realize I’ve been released from my shackles. I’m lying on my back,
my head propped on something soft. The nipple clamps and the butt
plug are gone, too, although I’m still naked.

He bends down and bestows a chaste kiss on my
lips. “Better?”

“Not the same.” My voice is hoarse, and I rub
my throat reflexively. “I’m already awake.”

“We could do it again if you like,” he
offers.

Despite a low flare of heat at the
suggestion, I shake my head. “I’d love to. But later.”