Sweet and Dirty (18 page)

She shuddered with pleasure. Her attention was divided between his fingers and the sweet pain of electricity now travelling down the underside of her breasts, down over her belly button, down…

Her eyes flew wide open. She protested around her gag.

The rake sent its parallel electrified whipcracks into the smooth skin just above the soft triangle of her pubic hair, then into the delicate, sensitive flesh of her inner thighs.

He wouldn’t.

She jackknifed, galvanized by fear, but Mage was ready for her and held her in place.

She yelled, but the gag strangled the sound.

He heard it, though. His body shifted slightly as he checked her hand for the stop signal. He chuckled at its stillness, lifted her by her hair, and spoke into her gagged face: “Scream all you want. Muffled screams get me hard. See?” Tears sprung into her eyes from his grip on her hair. Her gaze flicked down. Sure enough, he throbbed as if ready to explode.

As if eager to hear her scream as soon as possible, Mage gave the nub of her nipple one last cruel twist, then spread her labia wide, and raked her with the attachment, starting from her ass and pulling it up. The zaps assaulted her horribly, and as the device traveled it just got worse. At her anus it felt like a hundred stinging bees. At her pussy it felt like a welder’s arc. And then…

She screamed.

Nothing could have prepared her for the blinding pain, the intensity like a sun exploding as the static electricity snapped her clit. It faded as the point of the rake temporarily left the sensitive nub of flesh, then returned as if the sound of muffled screams were truly music to Mage’s ears. She obliged him, the sounds she made sounding desperate to her own ears. She threw her hips right and left trying to sever the relentless connection of energy connecting the rake to her skin, but Mage followed her movements, allowing her only the tiniest of reprieves.

She heard him laugh. For a moment, she hated him.

Then, the impossible happened. The on-again, off-again rhythm of electricity began to build into a perverse heat, not quite pain anymore. The whipsnap of buzzing current began to have a certain sweetness. And she began to anticipate each delicious raking torment of her clit by lifting her hips to better receive it.

“Yes. Now you see.” He pedaled the energy off, and in the silence she heard her own muffled protest.

He laughed again. “Truly, you astonish me. You fight my tortures, you scream and plead so convincingly—I am convinced!—and then, you turn toward the pain. You transmute it. This”—he slicked one finger down between her legs, pushing it into her with only minimal difficulty—“is proof.” He held his finger up, coated in her juice. He inhaled with relish.

She recognized truth in his words, not to mention on his hands.

Maybe it wasn’t the whole truth. True, she enjoyed his tortures. But there was something she’d enjoy more, something Mage wasn’t quite qualified to give her.

The ache of frustrated need made her moan through her gag. She let him see her gaze drop to his cock, then back to his face, pleading.

“Of course,” he answered, smug. “But not just yet, my dear.”

His smugness blunted her desire, but only enough to bring her senses back under her own control. She stilled her hips, becoming aware she was grinding against the bed. Her nipples felt tight and achy. Hell, her whole body burned, and she needed relief.

“Ungag me,” she said, or tried to. The gag turned her words into meaningless grunts. The sight of his stiff cock bobbing as he moved from the suitcase with yet another tool tore from her another sound, a moan. Would he never tire of playing with her, and just ravish her the way she craved?

But even as she thought it, she knew he couldn’t satisfy her that way, not like Sylvester could.

Still, she was willing to test the theory. As he approached, she shifted her ankles to let her knees fall farther open. He’d have to untie her ankles to do her properly, but at least now he could see what she offered.

Mage laughed. “Very nice. I will make you as slutty as Kitten, in time.”

She blinked. Kitten. She’d forgotten about his service submissive. He wanted to add her to his collection of submissives? She wasn’t submissive. She wasn’t his. Her legs closed slightly.

One warm hand on her knee stopped her movement. “No.”

His other held what looked like a metal spatula with a thick, flexible rubber-covered wire. He plugged the end of the wire into the violet wand’s handle.

When he nudged the floor button, she heard the buzz, but nothing else happened. Mage smiled at her and waved his fingers—hocus-pocus—over the flat surface. Unlike with the rake and the globe, no yellow current leapt out to zap his flesh.

It was dead.

Then Mage let his hand slowly leave her knee. The fire leapt from his fingertips! With a familiar angry buzz, the current zapped her skin.

He saw her expression, and his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “Magical, yes?” He seared her all around her kneecap, tracing fire down to where ropes encircled her ankles, then up the other leg. She shuddered at the prickly, hurtful-but-not-really sensation as she marveled at the wizardly appearance of electricity shooting from his fingertips.

The current emerged from his palm as he tilted his hand. He caressed her thighs with current. So, it could come from anywhere on his body?

He’d placed her body halfway up the bed. When he knelt over her crossed ankles to kiss her thigh where his palm had just zapped, she expected a soothing relief. Instead, the current leapt from his lips to her flesh.

She yelped in surprise. His lips?

He kissed her higher on the thigh, then laved the seared flesh with his hot tongue…which then also zapped her when he moved back an inch. The spark jumped the gap, whipping the tender inner flesh of her thigh unmercifully. Mage had an electrified tongue.

The idea made her helplessly wet, even as she laughed in disbelief.

Mage murmured to her in between whip-kisses. “This body contact pad turns the entire body into an electrical conductor.” He let it slip from his fingers to the bed, then placed his forearm onto it. He levered himself into position, his hot breath teasing her wetness. Apprehension, then sweet anticipation swirled in her head.

Her body suddenly ravenous, she made a small wanting noise around the gag.

And then he was there, his tongue in turn sliding over, and electrically zapping, the most sensitive spot on her body. Fully primed for it, the pain of the electricity now transmuted immediately to pleasure, a deep pleasure that took her into realms she’d never known before.

The sensation galvanized. Her hips bucked, her thighs trembled, and if she still had the use of her arms she’d be using them to keep his face planted right there for as long as it took.

Which wouldn’t be long at all, she realized suddenly. The long slow buildup of the past hours, the teasing and then stopping, the binding and the torture that didn’t quite result in an explosive orgasm, gathered in her gut. The unbearable tension built, incredibly, still further as his lips and tongue and the buzzing electrical whips connecting him to her worked their diabolical magic.

She cried out around her gag, alarmed. She was going to fly to pieces. She might hurt him.

Then she laughed, a quick gasp as the tension spasmed throughout her body. Mage would like that.

She screamed around her gag as it hit. Mage lapped her up, electrifying her into unbearable bliss that went on and on.

The aftermath shudders continued long beyond what she expected, and she fell back, only then realizing her body had jackknifed. The steel plate now lay under her left hip.

Mage held her, gentle with her as her orgasm subsided. “I am going to fuck you,” he said. His voice held lust long restrained. His cock nudged his own stomach as he shifted, bent to untie her ankles.

But after the hours and hours of buildup, the torture, and then the glorious release, all Nora wanted was to crawl away to her room and sleep for twelve hours. Couldn’t he see she’d gone boneless? Limp as a noodle, grateful and happy. She wasn’t his submissive, to be used if she didn’t feel like it.

She moved slightly, made a distressed sound.

He gave her a smile of pleasure, unraveling the ropes with more urgency.

Exasperation gripped her. Would she have to use her safe word? She hated to do it. She didn’t want to recognize any limits on her adventures, not yet. She felt using it declared herself fearful and predictable. Things she no longer wanted to be. Though she was still unclear on what other things would take their place.

And yet, Mage had been so attentive, she almost felt inclined to give him a mercy fuck. He’d given her amazing sensations, unlike Ryan.

Which reminded her of all the times she’d let Ryan use her, when all the mercy in the world wouldn’t have made them right for each other.

It was a revelation. But the situation called for immediate response.

Her gag meant she had to give the hand signal instead. Her hands fisted, then she let her fingers curl away from her body as far as the forearm ropes allowed. A few inches of give. Enough to get his attention.

She felt the cool metal plate under her hip.

She thought. Then smiled.

His cock, as he drew the ankle ropes from her and tossed them to a far corner, was positioned perfectly.

She tilted her body toward him, grabbed with one hand and electrically stroked with the other.

Mage went very still.

So odd, to hear the buzzing and know her body conducted current into another person. She let her gaze flick up to him, checking his reaction. He looked stunned, but uncomplaining.

The velvet heft of his large cock seemed to delight in the combination of sensual hand job and electrical whipping. When she cupped around the thick helmet tip, not quite touching him, he flinched at the lightning’s kiss. How well she remembered what that felt like. She tormented him a bit longer, then stroked him again, faster. Her awkward position made her movements inventive, experimental, rough…ah, success.

He throbbed in her hand. When he would have pulled away, she gripped him tighter, menacing his testicles with her cupped hand. Threatening. Cowed, Mage remained still, breathing hard and looking at her with an expression suggesting he’d never been more surprised.

It didn’t take long.

Cursing in a language she didn’t understand, he suddenly thrust hard against her gripping hand. With the slickness of his ejaculate, he moved fast enough to heat her palm with friction.

Nora laughed, a muffled snorting sound, when he collapsed next to her. The room smelled of sex and ozone.

She laughed again at his rueful glance down at his now-flaccid cock.

“This is funny to you?” He looked fierce for a moment, but couldn’t sustain the expression. He grinned. “It is funny.” He laughed, sitting up on one elbow long enough to unbuckle her gag, fling it away. He untied her forearms with quick, straightforward movements rather than the sensual tugs and sliding pulls he’d applied earlier. Her arms felt itchy from confinement, and strained from her recent awkward hand activity.

Mage cocked his head, listening. He sighed. He sat up, scooted to the edge of the bed.

Nudged the violet wand off. The buzzing ended. He remained at the edge of the bed. Glanced at her.

They regarded each other.

He shook his head, rueful. He no longer looked magical in the slightest as he eyed her crotch. “That was not the ending I intended. Would you be interested in playing again while you are here at Twisted Wood? We can finish properly. I promise you would be glad to have me fuck you.”

She considered possible replies, rubbing her forearms against each other to soothe them. “Maybe later,” she told him.

I
t was the third day, Nora thought. Her last day at Twisted Wood.

She walked alone down the center of the gravel road, enjoying the late-morning warmth and the press of nature on either side.

Tonight was the Chase and Capture fantasy rape event.

And tomorrow morning she’d drive back down this road with Ryan, leaving behind the erotic bed-and-breakfast. Maybe forever.

Her ass cheeks felt less sore today, at least. Her nipples, however, were distractingly raw and sensitive after the electrical play, even encased in a tight sports bra.

The confusing thoughts she’d awakened with rose up again, clamoring and insistent.

She broke into a jog, her running shoes making poor traction on gravel, then better traction on dirt as she turned off onto a narrow trail. Trusting her sense of direction to not get her lost, and her natural stamina and speed to outdistance any forest nasties, Nora ran, her ponytail slapping the bare skin of her back above and below the green bra top. She ran, trying not to think at all.

The path grew steep, curving first away, then gently back toward the main house. She breathed steadily, climbing, feeling a new chill on her skin as perspiration began to cool her. Ignoring other branchings from the path, Nora made for a clearing she could see through the woods.

By the time she burst into it, she felt the paradoxical energy and clarity running always gave to her. Bouncing on her heels, stretching, she let the peaceful beauty of her immediate environment wash over her like a balm.

Near the entry to the clearing, a beautiful huge Oregon maple erupted from the dark soil like a giant moss-encrusted hand. Ferns and blackberry bushes ringed it and continued all the way around the cleared patch of sun-dappled ground, which was covered only in sparse clover in a few spots. Vines wove through the ferns, climbed a grove of young cedar trees. The spot was as pristine and perfect as a framed painting, and smelled of packed dirt, oxygen-rich air, and mystery.

Nora just breathed deeply, appreciating it. How wonderful it must be to own twenty-one acres of such land, with a jewel like Twisted Wood at its center. Maybe if she worked enough years as vice president, she could eventually earn enough to buy something similar. Ten or fifteen years, tops. If the long hours without a life and little hope of vacation didn’t kill her.

Her mood soured and she started stretching more vigorously. Time to run again.

She stopped. Frowned at something she could just see through the trees. A building? But Twisted Wood wasn’t in that direction, she was sure of it.

Curious, she stood on a large root, trying to see better. A tiny house, maybe a shed? But it had a window, and a steeply pitched roof, and a small porch.

She squinted. Was that a bell hanging on a cupola?

What could it possibly be? A church?

Even as she pondered it, she was walking, making her own path past the maple and through the low ferns and grass. Vines clutched at her ankles, and once she was pretty sure she broke a spider web, but she only brushed at the web and walked more forcefully through the vines. It looked like a really old building.

As she approached it, she smiled. It wasn’t a really old building. The single-room schoolhouse didn’t have enough of a rundown appearance to quite pull it off: artfully peeling paint and roughened wood shingles didn’t make up for the way the three front steps failed to sag with age, and the windows didn’t have any cracks or pits.

If she was correct, Twisted Wood sat only half a mile downhill from this structure. Which meant Sylvester owned it.

Which meant it probably had some kinky purpose.

Compelled, she let her feet lead her up the stairs and to the front door, which opened easily.

Enough light filtered through the windows to allow her to see the teacher’s desk front and center, behind which a large chalkboard dominated the single room. Filling the rest of the small room’s space, short benches created neat rows and a stool was placed in one corner.

She walked over to the desk. On it sat a dictionary.

The loud clanging of the school bell made her jump. She whirled.

Sylvester stood in the doorway, backlit. She could see the shadow of his extended arm, and knew him instantly from outline alone. He’d dominated enough of her fantasies to recognize his silhouette.

He let his arm fall to his side. The bell stopped. “The only wiring in the place.” He walked to the teacher’s desk, reached under it, and pulled out one kerosene lantern, then a second. He quickly lit them. A warm yellow glow bathed both of them, banishing the room’s remaining shadows.

He stood behind the desk. Spread his arms. “Welcome to Twisted Wood Academy.” Lowered his arms. “Where naughty girls and boys learn interesting lessons.”

She grinned, saw the answering small smile on his face. “You’re the instructor, I presume?”

“Of course.” He bent, brought out a long synthetic rod, and placed it next to the dictionary. “I’m quite the disciplinarian. Spare the rod, and all that.”

She laughed. The sight of him standing there with his hand resting lightly on the rod sent an unexpected jolt of lust though her. They were in the middle of wilderness, nobody nearby to hear her scream…. He could do whatever he liked to her and there wasn’t anything she’d be able to do about it.

He fondled the rod, looking at her appraisingly.

Her knees became weak.

“Would you like a lesson? Something simple. Complexity might discourage you.”

She looked at him. Had he just insulted her?

“Something…elementary.” He picked up the dictionary. “Sit, please.” He didn’t even look at her.

She thought about disobeying, just standing there with her arms folded. Or leaving. But what would be the fun in that? She sat. Then she folded her arms across her chest. Then unfolded them, feeling like an awkward grade-schooler.

She couldn’t deny part of her thrilled to the game. Especially the part where they were totally alone, far from anyone who could come to her rescue if Sylvester chose to take advantage of her, if he decided to throw her down to the bare wood plank flooring and rip her clothes from her body….

Nora made a small sound.

Sylvester marked his place in the dictionary with one finger. “Are you feeling well?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, Professor Vincent,” he corrected.

“Your last name is Vincent?”

He waited.

“Yes, Professor Vincent.” She locked eyes with him, feeling her control over the situation slip away. She felt like a child before him. How did he shatter her poise so easily?

“Nora.” He said her name, then waited.

When she didn’t reply, he picked up the rod, strode to her. “Hold out your palms!”

She hesitated, then extended them.

“When a teacher calls your name, you stand. One stroke.” The rod flashed down, raising a line of fire in the middle of her left palm. She cried out.

He didn’t wait for her to compose herself. “There will be discipline in my schoolroom. Nora.”

She stood quickly.

“Spell ‘mischievous.’”

“Okay. M-i-s-c-h-i-v-i-e-o-u-s.” She looked at him, half in hope, half in dread.

“Wrong. Hold out your hands.”

“But—”

“Did you say something?”

She held out her hands. Received one whack. Then another. “For unruliness.” Sylvester gazed at her. “Why are you still standing?”

She sat.

“Nora.”

She sighed, then stood.

“Hold out your hands.”

“What for?”

“For being a filthy-minded little slut.”

Her body tensed. A bright flare of lust shook her, and she felt herself yielding to the searing desire he always inspired. She craved him. Craved more than his rough words and toys. She held out her hands slowly, defiant. He liked spirit, he’d said. “Do you feel manly, holding a long stick in your hand? Overcompensate much?”

Their eyes locked again.

“Hold out your hands.”

“Here they are, big fella. Ouch!” She pulled her smarting hands back. Sat down.

“Nora.”

“Go to hell.”

She barely saw him move. One moment he stood before her, the next she dangled over his shoulder.

“Hey!” Fear made her tense up. Where was he taking her? What was he going to do?

He slid her off his shoulder, sat on the stool in the corner, and put her over his knee, facedown.

“Hey!” She struggled, but he just pushed her face back down until she enjoyed a scenic view of the wood planks and his black leather boot.

He yanked down her pants.

She struggled, enjoying the struggle even as her face suffused with mortification. Her body was all sweaty, dirty, and she wasn’t wearing panties under the running pants. She squirmed, lunging away, but he simply pulled her back.

When he placed his large, warm hand on her bared ass, she stilled. “I’ll have to pound the defiance out of you, won’t I?” The velvet menace of his voice made her instantly wet.

Instinctively, she responded the way they both needed. “Don’t hurt me.”

She felt the tremor pass through his body. If anything his voice grew even more chill, more cruel. “You deserve it. You’ve earned it. You need it.” He punctuated each sentence with a hard spank. Each time, the force of it made her lunge forward under the stroke.

Then he picked up the cane. “For your appalling lack of decorum in not wearing panties.” He striped her fanny three times with the cane, pausing torturously in between each strike. The compressing of the skin with his hits faded to deeper pain. Tears stood in her eyes by the time he pushed her off his lap.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He averted his gaze from her, as if she were not worthy even of his attention. “Place the hat on your head, and seat yourself. No!” he said when she went to pull up her pants. “Sit just as you are, to remind yourself just what a slutty little thing you really are.”

Her hands trembled, putting on the tall, conical dunce cap. She collapsed more than sat on the stool, feeling the roughness of the wood against her assaulted bottom. She looked down. Her expensive running pants pooled around her ankles.

She wanted Sylvester driving inside her so badly she saw the thick stool limbs and her mind’s eye imagined them penetrating her body. Didn’t he know what he did to her? The dormant sexuality of her body had been awakened, here at Twisted Wood. Her fantasy no longer existed only in the privacy of her own mind. She ached for Sylvester’s touch to make her fondest fantasy come true. She felt her mouth tremble, and knew she was on the verge of begging him. But that wouldn’t work.

He didn’t want her begging, unless it was for him to stop.

“Stay seated. You will give me correct answers to the following questions. If you hesitate—or worse, if you lie—you will be one sorry girl.”

Her mind whirled. What would push him over the edge, make him seize her and force her? Should she defy him further? Or continue to play the chastised dunce, the helpless victim? She’d grown a little tired of the spelling challenges and palm canings. Time to ratchet it up!

But as it turned out, his next words altered the game yet again. “Your checklist. I want to revisit it.” Sylvester stood at the front corner of the broad teacher’s desk, staring at her. “You gave a number of items a score of ‘three’ or higher. Spanking was a ‘four.’ Did you experience this activity? Yes or no.”

“Yes.” She wanted to remind him he’d been there, but seeing the look in his eyes she didn’t quite dare.

“Would you want to repeat the experience?”

“Yes.” Now would be fine. His large, warm hands on her ass, on her body, touching her expertly and tormenting her mercilessly…and then thrusting up between her legs with enough power to split her in half. That’d be okay.

His voice brought her back. “Tickling. A ‘three,’ I believe. Did you experience this activity?”

“Sort of.”

Three strides and he was beside her, his hands wrapping in her hair, grasping a thick wad at the back of her head and pulling it to a craned-back position to meet his gaze. “
Yes or no
.”

Her eyes were pulled into slits. The pain in her scalp made her gasp. “Yes.” Mage had half-mockingly tickled her under her arms after tying her. It hadn’t done much for her. Unlike Sylvester’s possession of her hair and scalp. Sylvester’s grasp felt more like pressure than pain, now that she got used to it. A seizing of control that went to the heart of her psyche. She let her eyes broadcast her wants and desires to him.

He remained impassive. “Would you repeat the experience?”

“No.”

He released the handful of her hair, but remained standing over her. “Electrical play.”

“Yes.”

“Would you want to repeat the experience?”

“Yes.”

“Feathers, fur, food.”

“No.”

“You didn’t experience those? Do you still want to?” His silken voice caressed her even as his hands touched her hair, stroking it until his fingers found her ear. He rubbed it between two fingers, making her want to purr.

Until he pinched the top of her ear once, just hard enough to remind her.

“Yes. Maybe a little.”

Seemingly oblivious, he continued. “Role playing.”

She caught her breath. Looked up at him. “No.”

Surprise flickered in his eyes. “No? You haven’t done that?” He raised one eyebrow and tapped his palm lightly with the cane.

“That’s not the kind of role playing I want.”

He stared down at her. The air between them grew electric.

His voice became soft, almost a whisper. “Don’t you think you’re in a dangerous position right now? A vulnerable one? Look at yourself.”

She didn’t have to. Flushed face, parted lips, traces of recent tears, bruised hands, sore ass-cheeks, pants around her ankles. She knew what she looked like.

She trembled with desire. She was aware the trembling looked like fear to Sylvester. She knew what the image of her like that did to him.

She brought her legs more tightly together. Made a small sound of anguish.

He dropped the cane.

Pulled her to her feet by her hair.

Sealed her lips to his, once, a bruising dry kiss. “Bitch,” he said. “Get those pants off.”