Authors: Gray Miller
Tags: #thriller, #action, #bdsm, #sex magic, #rope bondage, #kink, #graydancer
Nawashi (14 page)
Brian moved again, deliberately, to the front of
the horse, suddenly becoming aware of his own body, sweaty from
exertion, the white shirt sticking to his chest. Though his
breathing was deep and even, the energy filled his arms and
shoulders, traveling up and down his spine, making his head thrum
like a high-tension wire being plucked on a suspension bridge. His
cock was fully erect, a silhouetted contour under the fabric of his
pants, and as it neared Sally’s head again, she didn’t hesitate,
moving her cheek over to nuzzle it, laying little nibbling kisses
along its length, pushing the top of her head down under the
pouching shape of his testes, rubbing up and down.
He pulled away from her questing mouth, bending
over to murmur in her ear. “I know you want the cock, Miss Sally.
And it wants you, as well. But we have some way further to go on
this path. You have paid the price for your disrespect; are you
prepared to behave appropriately now?”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice was low, throaty, hoarse.
“Please, sir… I need your cock. In my mouth, in my pussy, I just
need it in me. Please.”
He was surprised at that. He had felt her
surrender, felt the way it was tied in to her desire. But this raw
need blazing from her eyes—they were heavy lidded, and he felt them
drink up the energy like a stroking caress along the connection
between them. Prepared to continue fighting resistance, her sudden
predatory lust had him off balance, and he didn’t know what to
say.
He overcame his hesitation, deciding to go for the
direct route and shock her. “Oh, suddenly the high and mighty
stylish Miss Sally has become a little slut, has she?”
Most of the Wrinkled Man’s Tools were little more
than impressionable humans who had been encouraged to stop thinking
too thoroughly about the world around them. Over the centuries, the
Wrinkled Man had assembled enough of an infrastructure, especially
in this young culture, that he rarely lacked for material to work
with.
When that material was not enough, though, he used
his Mauls.
They had been with him for a long time. They had
worn many uniforms, adorned with flags of all nations, from
lansknecht to green beret. They were used when oblique force was
not enough, when the Wrinkled Man decided that a Troublemaker was
worth more than the usual lazy elegance with which he sucked the
life of the culture into himself.
The Troublemaker had found a way past them once
before, but Mauls had long memories; they would not forget him, nor
what they owed him. Now he sent two, disguised as lesser Tools, in
a uniform of black with shining black plastic nametags, with
singleminded purpose. Find them. Take them. Destroy anything that
gets in the way.
They were the only tools that knew who it was that
used them.
They never smiled.
The rope that still bound her, that still glowed in
his mind, white hot with the flowing lines of pain and desire that
had coursed under it, the beauty of the pattern that it made drew
him back from the edge of raw desire. The line of its shape drawing
over and pressing on her skin, providing both support and
resistance to her movement and his ministrations to her. It
whispered of a greater goal, a larger reward than the rush of
orgasm and the release of simple endorphins. It hinted at the
possibility of a spiritual aesthetic peak within reach, of the
deliberate combination of discipline and desire into something
greater than the sum of the individuals.
He surrendered to it. Rather than let the fatigue
and desire push him into taking her with surge of animal lust, he
let the pattern of the rope and the energy it conducted wash them
away. It was like relaxing back into a salt sea, feeling the energy
supporting him and carrying him past the temptation and into the
smooth calm of centered readiness. And in that centered place, he
was able to see and realize the true nature of her submission.
She was not actually submitting at all. Her walls
were strong as ever, in fact energized and strengthened by the same
sexual power that flowed through him and the rope. This was
another, more subtle form of rebellion, an attempt to control the
situation not through defiance but through lust. He smiled, then,
with the satisfaction of knowing the game was far from over, the
acknowledgement of a worthy opponent. He moved back to her, letting
her head nuzzle him again, her lips now actively sucking at the
swell of his cock under the trousers. He knew she could feel the
pulse of his heart through the blood vessels there, and he
concentrated on that, letting the energy flow into her deeper and
more, increasing her own desire in a false security of her
impending victory. “You’re a cockslut, then? A cum-hungry cockslut
ready to be fucked any way you can?”
her to her feet, her body working out the stiffness while she
stared, eyes still wide with desire but also with a touch of
helpless confusion. She could feel the stirring behind the walls of
her defiance stronger now. And its strength frightened her. “You’re
not… not going to fuck me?”
He didn’t look at her as he led her to a
semi-private alcove, past all of the crowd that had gathered to
watch. “If I do, slut, it will be at a time and place of my
choosing. Not because you tell me to.” He stood her in the rounded
alcove, about ten feet in diameter, with a faux tiffany lamp
hanging down into the open area. There were mats on the floor, and
a stack of clean blankets on one side of the entrance. Naked save
for her stockings and heels, she stood, arms at her sides, not
turning, not even considering the idea of moving. She waited for
what he would do next, listening as he arranged something behind
them.
Finally there was silence, and she stood there,
breathing, for what seemed hours. Her ass was still on fire from
the working over he’d given it, a throbbing ache that at the same
time sent pulses of excitement to her clitoris. She could feel,
even as she stood there, a long slow drop of moisture flowing from
her labia down the side of her leg, and she couldn’t remember a
time she had been more scared, or more aroused.
of blood and emotion, and she swayed a bit, leaning into him. Deep
inside, the stirring came fully to life, and she recognized it for
what it was—the desire she had to submit, to be taken fully by this
man who played her body and mind with virtuoso skill. Now the walls
that had been her defiance became her cage, the strength of will
she’d developed as an independent adult keeping her from that final
leap, from being able to feel the surrender to the power that
pulsed within her. She pushed against them, her need a vast serpent
coiled and restless within her, constrained within the walls of
inhibition. She felt the sudden urge to weep, not from pain or
frustration, but from the desire for freedom that seemed so close
but was just beyond her reach.
She opened her mouth, and at first no words would
come out. “I will try, sir,” she finally managed, and almost sobbed
when she felt his hand stroke her neck.
“That is all I ask, slut. We begin. Place your arms
behind your back.”
Their eyes could not be deceived by something as
basic as a Ward, because they saw with deeper views than the humans
that were their prey. They could see the Mother inside, smoking a
cigarette as she washed dishes. They could see the blackness in her
lungs as it spread micro-thin with every breath. They could see the
stretchmarks like flames flowing across her stomach. They could see
she’d had a lover the night before.
Yet they waited. Because they could not see the
Daughters.
Yet.
crossed behind, unconsciously arching her back slightly to thrust
out her breasts, nipples darkly pink with her arousal. He lifted
his arms around her, and she saw him loosen a coil of sand-colored
rope, the tails flowing out in ribbons of energy as his fingers
moved through the loops.
The energy built between them seemed to take on a
different rhythm them, the wildness of their desire not diminished
but somehow more modulated. Brian pictured a tiny ball of energy
gathering between her hands as they lay, half cupped, behind her
back, and he felt it resonate and begin to flow as he wrapped her
wrists a few times, then secured the small binding with a simple
over hand knot. As the knot pulled tight, there was a tiny chiming
in his head, as if the wraps had completed some sort of structure
within which the tiny ball of energy could play and travel. Holding
her hands for a moment, he let his awareness examine the energy
contained there, and could feel it building with every breath she
took.
He drew a length of the doubled-up hemp rope up
before her eyes, and she could see every strand clearly in the
golden light, the twisting fibers seeming endless. She could smell
the earthy mix of hemp and mink oil that permeated it, and closed
her eyes slowly, letting the sensation fill her, not needing to
have her eyes open to know that he was lowering the rope across the
top of her chest, just above the swell of her breasts. As the
fibers touched her skin and wrapped around her back, she could feel
the rope drawing in the wild energy, binding it deeper into her,
buffeting the walls of her will with a storm of power. The serpent
she imagined inside of her, the desire for submission, also moved
more restlessly, responding to the new assault with its own tempest
from within.
Slowly Brian wrapped twice more around her,
underneath her breasts, each coil carefully laid and smoothly set
next to the first, the bands above and below pushing her breasts
out, the compression increasing their sensitivity to the air around
them. Her nipples now seemed like tiny tongues, tasting every
movement of air and even scents around her, and she knew if they
were so much as brushed she would scream out with pleasure.
rope was like a chiming bell, lending a sweet pure tone to the
energy as his concentration narrowed from the world around down to
the point of contact with his hands, the ropes, and her body.
Pulling tight the cinches that secured the bands under her arms, he
again tied the final knot, and felt a thunderous bass echo slam
into the two of them as the rope harness completed and the sexual
energy they’d gathered expanded to fill every part of this new
binding.
With the pulse came a further strengthening of the
Wards, and Brian and Sally caught a sense of what was waiting for
the daughters outside their Mother’s house. It was not a vision,
more a black menacing absence sitting at the edge of the second
Ward. Brian recognized the same cold sour taste to their auras as
in the coffeeshop, and he realized it was not enough to have the
Wards. The danger was too close and real for that.
the horse, suddenly becoming aware of his own body, sweaty from
exertion, the white shirt sticking to his chest. Though his
breathing was deep and even, the energy filled his arms and
shoulders, traveling up and down his spine, making his head thrum
like a high-tension wire being plucked on a suspension bridge. His
cock was fully erect, a silhouetted contour under the fabric of his
pants, and as it neared Sally’s head again, she didn’t hesitate,
moving her cheek over to nuzzle it, laying little nibbling kisses
along its length, pushing the top of her head down under the
pouching shape of his testes, rubbing up and down.
He pulled away from her questing mouth, bending
over to murmur in her ear. “I know you want the cock, Miss Sally.
And it wants you, as well. But we have some way further to go on
this path. You have paid the price for your disrespect; are you
prepared to behave appropriately now?”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice was low, throaty, hoarse.
“Please, sir… I need your cock. In my mouth, in my pussy, I just
need it in me. Please.”
He was surprised at that. He had felt her
surrender, felt the way it was tied in to her desire. But this raw
need blazing from her eyes—they were heavy lidded, and he felt them
drink up the energy like a stroking caress along the connection
between them. Prepared to continue fighting resistance, her sudden
predatory lust had him off balance, and he didn’t know what to
say.
He overcame his hesitation, deciding to go for the
direct route and shock her. “Oh, suddenly the high and mighty
stylish Miss Sally has become a little slut, has she?”
“Yes, sir. I am a slut.” None of
the fury he had expected from her; instead, he felt the way his
words had enflamed her lust even more, the air beginning to take on
that heaviness that signified the gathering of true power. “I am a
cum-hungry cock slut, and I want your cock, now, sir, please fuck
me, somehow, some way.” Her voice dropped slightly, in a throaty
growl. “You know you want me, too, sir, you want this ass, this
pussy with your cock deep inside, my lips wrapped around sucking
you dry. Please, sir, fuck me
now.
”
He stood there, a moment, enjoying
the feeling, letting some of the direct sexual arousal flow back
into him from her… and was struck by the thought,
Why not just do it?
He
was ready, she was more than ready, they could fuck and release
this tension right there. He was suddenly aware of how tired his
body was, in spite of the energy that suffused it, the muscles
under the pulsing scars of his Mark beginning to burn with the
lactic acid buildup. He had no idea of how long they’d been there,
but suddenly it seemed like hours, and the desire to simply stop,
to simply give in to the urges they both had and let their bodies
go where they would seemed overwhelming.
Most of the Wrinkled Man’s Tools were little more
than impressionable humans who had been encouraged to stop thinking
too thoroughly about the world around them. Over the centuries, the
Wrinkled Man had assembled enough of an infrastructure, especially
in this young culture, that he rarely lacked for material to work
with.
When that material was not enough, though, he used
his Mauls.
They had been with him for a long time. They had
worn many uniforms, adorned with flags of all nations, from
lansknecht to green beret. They were used when oblique force was
not enough, when the Wrinkled Man decided that a Troublemaker was
worth more than the usual lazy elegance with which he sucked the
life of the culture into himself.
The Troublemaker had found a way past them once
before, but Mauls had long memories; they would not forget him, nor
what they owed him. Now he sent two, disguised as lesser Tools, in
a uniform of black with shining black plastic nametags, with
singleminded purpose. Find them. Take them. Destroy anything that
gets in the way.
They were the only tools that knew who it was that
used them.
They never smiled.
The rope that still bound her, that still glowed in
his mind, white hot with the flowing lines of pain and desire that
had coursed under it, the beauty of the pattern that it made drew
him back from the edge of raw desire. The line of its shape drawing
over and pressing on her skin, providing both support and
resistance to her movement and his ministrations to her. It
whispered of a greater goal, a larger reward than the rush of
orgasm and the release of simple endorphins. It hinted at the
possibility of a spiritual aesthetic peak within reach, of the
deliberate combination of discipline and desire into something
greater than the sum of the individuals.
He surrendered to it. Rather than let the fatigue
and desire push him into taking her with surge of animal lust, he
let the pattern of the rope and the energy it conducted wash them
away. It was like relaxing back into a salt sea, feeling the energy
supporting him and carrying him past the temptation and into the
smooth calm of centered readiness. And in that centered place, he
was able to see and realize the true nature of her submission.
She was not actually submitting at all. Her walls
were strong as ever, in fact energized and strengthened by the same
sexual power that flowed through him and the rope. This was
another, more subtle form of rebellion, an attempt to control the
situation not through defiance but through lust. He smiled, then,
with the satisfaction of knowing the game was far from over, the
acknowledgement of a worthy opponent. He moved back to her, letting
her head nuzzle him again, her lips now actively sucking at the
swell of his cock under the trousers. He knew she could feel the
pulse of his heart through the blood vessels there, and he
concentrated on that, letting the energy flow into her deeper and
more, increasing her own desire in a false security of her
impending victory. “You’re a cockslut, then? A cum-hungry cockslut
ready to be fucked any way you can?”
She pulled away from his cock
slowly, letting him see her lips lingering over the mound. “Yes. I
am a slut, I want you to take me, fuck me, use me
now.
”
Brian reached down with his hand
and grasped her hair behind her neck, pulling her head sharply
upward and away from his cock. She gasped at the sudden pain, her
eyes alarmed and confused. “But I am not a slut, you see. I am a
Dominant, a Master, and I choose when and where and how you will be
fucked.” He leaned in closer. “It’s not about you being a slut,
Sally. It’s about you being
mine.
”
her to her feet, her body working out the stiffness while she
stared, eyes still wide with desire but also with a touch of
helpless confusion. She could feel the stirring behind the walls of
her defiance stronger now. And its strength frightened her. “You’re
not… not going to fuck me?”
He didn’t look at her as he led her to a
semi-private alcove, past all of the crowd that had gathered to
watch. “If I do, slut, it will be at a time and place of my
choosing. Not because you tell me to.” He stood her in the rounded
alcove, about ten feet in diameter, with a faux tiffany lamp
hanging down into the open area. There were mats on the floor, and
a stack of clean blankets on one side of the entrance. Naked save
for her stockings and heels, she stood, arms at her sides, not
turning, not even considering the idea of moving. She waited for
what he would do next, listening as he arranged something behind
them.
Finally there was silence, and she stood there,
breathing, for what seemed hours. Her ass was still on fire from
the working over he’d given it, a throbbing ache that at the same
time sent pulses of excitement to her clitoris. She could feel,
even as she stood there, a long slow drop of moisture flowing from
her labia down the side of her leg, and she couldn’t remember a
time she had been more scared, or more aroused.
Suddenly he was
there
, behind her, and
she could feel the bulge of his trousers pressing agonizing
friction across her ass, the soft material of his shirt brushing
her back, and his breath at her ear. “I am truly pleased that you
have found the slut inside of you, Sally. But desire is not enough;
we must also have beauty, and we must have discipline.” His soft
tone grew more intense as he pressed closer into her. “I would
decorate you with my ropes, slut. Will you give your body to my
art?”
of blood and emotion, and she swayed a bit, leaning into him. Deep
inside, the stirring came fully to life, and she recognized it for
what it was—the desire she had to submit, to be taken fully by this
man who played her body and mind with virtuoso skill. Now the walls
that had been her defiance became her cage, the strength of will
she’d developed as an independent adult keeping her from that final
leap, from being able to feel the surrender to the power that
pulsed within her. She pushed against them, her need a vast serpent
coiled and restless within her, constrained within the walls of
inhibition. She felt the sudden urge to weep, not from pain or
frustration, but from the desire for freedom that seemed so close
but was just beyond her reach.
She opened her mouth, and at first no words would
come out. “I will try, sir,” she finally managed, and almost sobbed
when she felt his hand stroke her neck.
“That is all I ask, slut. We begin. Place your arms
behind your back.”
Their eyes could not be deceived by something as
basic as a Ward, because they saw with deeper views than the humans
that were their prey. They could see the Mother inside, smoking a
cigarette as she washed dishes. They could see the blackness in her
lungs as it spread micro-thin with every breath. They could see the
stretchmarks like flames flowing across her stomach. They could see
she’d had a lover the night before.
Yet they waited. Because they could not see the
Daughters.
Yet.
crossed behind, unconsciously arching her back slightly to thrust
out her breasts, nipples darkly pink with her arousal. He lifted
his arms around her, and she saw him loosen a coil of sand-colored
rope, the tails flowing out in ribbons of energy as his fingers
moved through the loops.
The energy built between them seemed to take on a
different rhythm them, the wildness of their desire not diminished
but somehow more modulated. Brian pictured a tiny ball of energy
gathering between her hands as they lay, half cupped, behind her
back, and he felt it resonate and begin to flow as he wrapped her
wrists a few times, then secured the small binding with a simple
over hand knot. As the knot pulled tight, there was a tiny chiming
in his head, as if the wraps had completed some sort of structure
within which the tiny ball of energy could play and travel. Holding
her hands for a moment, he let his awareness examine the energy
contained there, and could feel it building with every breath she
took.
He drew a length of the doubled-up hemp rope up
before her eyes, and she could see every strand clearly in the
golden light, the twisting fibers seeming endless. She could smell
the earthy mix of hemp and mink oil that permeated it, and closed
her eyes slowly, letting the sensation fill her, not needing to
have her eyes open to know that he was lowering the rope across the
top of her chest, just above the swell of her breasts. As the
fibers touched her skin and wrapped around her back, she could feel
the rope drawing in the wild energy, binding it deeper into her,
buffeting the walls of her will with a storm of power. The serpent
she imagined inside of her, the desire for submission, also moved
more restlessly, responding to the new assault with its own tempest
from within.
Slowly Brian wrapped twice more around her,
underneath her breasts, each coil carefully laid and smoothly set
next to the first, the bands above and below pushing her breasts
out, the compression increasing their sensitivity to the air around
them. Her nipples now seemed like tiny tongues, tasting every
movement of air and even scents around her, and she knew if they
were so much as brushed she would scream out with pleasure.
Brian was in a state of meditative
calm as, inch by inch, he laid the lines of the
shinju
upon her, the chest harness
binding her arms closer as he pulled the loops tight behind her.The
doubled rope split and traveled up over her shoulders, looped
through each of the bands as they went into her cleavage and pulled
the horizontal lines tighter around her breasts. The power was like
electric clay, being shaped and drawn into Sally’s form by the
rope, compressing and travelling through and around her.
rope was like a chiming bell, lending a sweet pure tone to the
energy as his concentration narrowed from the world around down to
the point of contact with his hands, the ropes, and her body.
Pulling tight the cinches that secured the bands under her arms, he
again tied the final knot, and felt a thunderous bass echo slam
into the two of them as the rope harness completed and the sexual
energy they’d gathered expanded to fill every part of this new
binding.
With the pulse came a further strengthening of the
Wards, and Brian and Sally caught a sense of what was waiting for
the daughters outside their Mother’s house. It was not a vision,
more a black menacing absence sitting at the edge of the second
Ward. Brian recognized the same cold sour taste to their auras as
in the coffeeshop, and he realized it was not enough to have the
Wards. The danger was too close and real for that.
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