The Runaway Bride - A Captive Flame Book One (6 page)

Krystopher’s hands
wandered all over my naked body; he cupped my breasts and gave them
a careful squeeze, and the pain I had forgotten about—from the
flogger as well as from the clips he’d applied to my nipples—flared
up, sending a jolt of sensation through my body. I gasped as his
fingertips closed around my nipples, slowly rolling and twisting
them, sensing flashes of agony through my body that were somehow
pleasurable at the same time. Krystopher’s hands moved down to my
hips next, then along my inner thighs, kneading and caressing,
reminding me all over of my punishment in devastating touches that
made me moan and squirm. “A good slave knows when to hold herself
absolutely still. Until I give you permission to move, Rhonda, you
will sit there and accept my touches without even fidgeting.” I bit
my lip.

“Am I—am I allowed to
make noise?” Krystopher chuckled.

“We’ll work on
silence in another lesson. For right now, you will hold absolutely
still.” I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, trying to suppress
the rising lust that was making me want to fidget even when
Krystopher didn’t touch me. Finally, when I thought I might
possibly be able to obey the command, I opened my eyes.

“Okay.” Krystopher
shook his head.

“You will say ‘Yes,
Sir.’” I nodded.

“Yes, Sir.”
Krystopher smiled slowly and his hands began to move over me once
more. I held myself rigidly tense, clenching my teeth even as
Krystopher teased my breasts—with gentle, tickling caresses and
firmer, rougher attentions from his fingertips, making me gasp when
he tweaked one of my nipples painfully. It was all I could do not
to arch into his grip in the hope of getting some kind of relief
from the pulling, but somehow I managed to hold still, even when he
switched to my other nipple.

“Very good,”
Krystopher murmured, nodding with approval, a faint little smile
curving his lips, softening the seriousness of his face slightly. I
was panting quietly, trying to keep myself absolutely still,
telling myself that I could deal with anything he could dish out; I
had taken his punishment, hadn’t I? How much worse could discipline
possibly be?

Krystopher’s hands
glided down over my body, tickling at my ribs. I whimpered, closing
my eyes and trying to breathe slowly and steadily to keep from
shaking, to keep from squirming—the impulse was almost
irresistible. Just when I was certain I wouldn’t be able to
maintain my composure, when the ticklish sensation was starting to
make me tremble, Krystopher stopped, his hands moving down to my
hips. He reached down between our bodies and his fingertips slipped
and slid against the soaking wet folds of my pussy. The sensation
of his touch sent a jolt through me, and I gasped—but managed,
somehow, through a kind of self-control I had never exercised
before in my life, to hold still. Krystopher was nodding as his
fingers began to work their way inward, stroking and caressing
along my labia. He found my clit with his fingertips and I
whimpered again, clenching my teeth as every muscle in my body went
rigid with tension, trying not to move even the slightest bit. I
swallowed against the dry feeling in my throat while Krystopher
stroked and rubbed me, slowly and steadily, applying pressure
against my clit constantly. My hips tried to stir, tried to get
even better contact, but I bit my lip instead—swiftly, the pain of
the sharp nip making it possible for me to concentrate, even as he
began to slip one finger deep inside of me.

Krystopher lifted me
up and settled me on my back, twisting me around so that my head
was on the seat, my legs splayed out, spread wide, my bottom on his
lap. He began to work me with his fingers, slipping first one and
then two deep inside of me even as his thumb kept up the steady,
torturous pressure on my clit. I was gasping and panting,
whimpering and moaning, but holding myself perfectly, absolutely
still—trying everything in my power not to succumb to my body’s
instinct to squirm and writhe under the impetus of his touch. It
was impossible. I wouldn’t be able to hold myself back for much
longer. Krystopher’s fingers pushed deeper and deeper inside of me.
“Hmm, you’re so tight, and so wet, Rhonda,” he murmured, his thumb
rubbing me faster. The friction sent electric, tingling jolts of
pleasure through my body, working away at my brain, making it more
and more difficult for me to focus on stillness.

“Please,” I cried
out, clenching my hands in tight fists, struggling to continue to
obey even as Krystopher’s touches were making it all but
impossible. “Please, please, please.” I wasn’t even entirely sure
what I was asking for—what I was outright begging for. Krystopher
withdrew his fingers abruptly, and left me sagging against the
seat, against his lap, panting and gasping for breath. I heard him
chuckle lowly.

“I think I know
exactly what your problem is,” he told me lightly. I opened my
eyes, looking up at him in concern. “Remember, I haven’t given you
permission yet.” I made the barest of nods with my head, unable to
speak—but he didn’t seem to be counting that as ‘moving.’
Krystopher’s hands danced over my body, tickling and caressing, and
I tried to hold myself together in spite of feeling on edge. “Your
problem is that you’ve always given into your impulses. I’m sure
you can work very hard at something—when you want to. Do you want
to work hard to be an obedient little slave for me, Rhonda?” He
tweaked my nipple and I cried out, barely catching myself before I
arched up off of the seat, holding my trembling body as still as I
possibly could.

“Y-yes. Yes, Sir.”
Krystopher made an approving sound, and his fingers dipped down
between my legs once more. He caressed my slick outer labia slowly,
his touch feather-light against me. Krystopher’s fingers worked
their way inward once more, not plunging inside of me, but barely
brushing against my clit, teasing me until I could feel my inner
muscles twitching, until I felt like if he didn’t rub me, didn’t
give me better contact, I’d lose all of my composure and grab at
his hand, or scream. Instead, I was whimpering in a constant, low
drone, my fingernails digging into the skin of my palms as I
struggled with the need to do something—anything—other than just
lie there and accept his teasing torture. I had no idea how long it
had been going on, but it seemed as though it had been hours—and I
wondered, irrelevantly, just how long the car ride was going to
be.

My skin was crawling
and tingling, my nerves on fire with the constant sensation, my
muscles starting to ache from just lying there as rigidly still as
possible. This was so much worse than the punishment I had
received; the punishment had been pain tinged with pleasure, while
this was absolute torture. Not to be able to move, not to squirm,
to hold my entire body back while Krystopher teased me was the most
difficult thing I could imagine, especially as he started to
finally rub me, pressing firmly against my clit. His free hand
reached up to tickle at my ribs, sending conflicting impulses
through my body—it was so much more difficult to lie still and let
it happen to me than I would ever have imagined. I was moaning,
crying out, whimpering, and begging him in a low voice, words
falling out of my mouth without an ounce of discretion behind them.
I had no idea what I was even saying as he reached up and gave one
of my breasts a firm squeeze, sending a jolt of renewed pain
through my body. It was overwhelming.

Finally, when I had
reached the very last reserves of my self-control, Krystopher
withdrew his hands completely. I panted, pressing my lips together,
trying to slow down my breathing, trying to bring my racing heart
back to its normal speed. “You’ve done very well, Rhonda. I would
never have thought you could last that long.” He leaned forward and
pressed a light kiss to the crest of my hip. “Would you like a
small reward now?” I nodded eagerly—not even caring what the reward
was. Krystopher chuckled. “You can move all you want starting…” he
reached out into a side compartment and withdrew a plastic,
egg-shaped implement. He pressed a button and it came to life,
humming and buzzing in his hands. “Now.” He pressed it up against
my clit and I nearly shrieked with pleasure, arching up, twisting
my hips down into the pulsing, humming vibrations that pressed
right up against my pleasure center.

Krystopher continued
teasing me, dropping the vibrator down to the well of my pussy for
a few aching moments, pressing against me until the resistance of
my body started to wane and the egg slipped just inside of me; he
withdrew it and brought it to bear against my clit again, making me
shake and squirm with pleasure, desperate for release. “Keep in
mind, my dear, you don’t have permission to come—you haven’t earned
that yet.” I nodded mindlessly, hearing the words but not quite
comprehending them. I was so far gone that I could only react,
moving and writhing, throwing my head back against the seat,
reaching out and grabbing at Krystopher’s arms and legs, anywhere I
could find with my hands, in sheer desperation.

When I thought I
would tumble into my climax—rules or no rules—Krystopher withdrew
the vibrator, leaving me keening in frustration as intense as
agony. He leaned in close to me, his face only inches from mine.
“Would you like to earn the right to come for me, little slave?” I
took a deep breath, trying to force my brain to work, to understand
what he was asking. The words filtered through my mind, penetrating
the haze of intense arousal that he had created.

“Yes, yes, please,
Sir, I’d love to.” Krystopher lifted up my legs and tumbled me onto
the floor of the limo. I yelped, more surprised than hurt, and
looked up at him, confused and disappointed in some way I couldn’t
quite make out. Krystopher’s hands moved to his waist; he unbuckled
his belt, and a moment later he was opening his fly. He shifted on
the seat and pulled his pants down slightly, bringing his underwear
down over his hips along with his trousers. His hard cock sprung to
life, freed of the confines of his clothes, standing proudly erect.
It tilted slightly to the left, and as I looked up at him in my
startlement and confusion my gaze lingered at the sight of it. He
was thicker than Johnny, maybe half an inch longer, the tip of his
cock almost purple from the intensity of his arousal; a thin sheen
of precum was leaking from him, dripping down along the shaft as he
looked down at me, one eyebrow raised.

“Up on your knees,
Rhonda, and crawl to me.” I gathered myself up and got onto my
knees, feeling humiliated as I crawled the short distance from
where I had fallen to the seat where he sat. I knelt in front of
him, watching him avidly, waiting for his next instructions. “I
think you know exactly what I’d like you to do to earn your right
to an orgasm.” I looked at his hard cock and licked my lips. It was
more than I was used to taking—but that was the theme of the day,
it seemed. I took a deep breath and bent my head, bringing my mouth
down to his cock slowly. I wrapped my lips around the tip, my
tongue flicking out to taste him. He was burning hot and rock-hard
in my mouth, and I felt him twitch as I started to lap at the
sharp-salty fluid dripping from him. Suddenly, without
understanding how or why, I was hungry to taste more of him, to
have him as fully in my mouth as humanly possible, and to give him
such pleasure that he couldn’t help but give me the right to
come.

I took him into my
mouth gradually, working my lips down along his shaft, sucking and
licking constantly. I wrapped my fingers around the base of his
cock, rubbing slowly, bringing my fingers up to meet my lips as I
began to bob my head. Krystopher moaned, his fingers slipping into
my hair, rubbing against my scalp. I closed my eyes and focused
every shred of my mind on giving the man between my lips pleasure,
showing him that I could, in fact, be a very obedient slave. I
began to move faster, fluttering my tongue against all of the
sensitive areas I knew on a man’s cock—the tip, along the
underside, right at the nerve cluster just above where the shaft
ended and the head began. Krystopher was murmuring praise that I
barely heard, his thighs tensing underneath me, his hand tightening
in my hair as I worked him with my mouth as thoroughly as I knew
how. His moans came sharper and faster—and I was determined that I
would get him off in a matter of moments, that I would taste him
flooding into my mouth, hear him crying out, moaning for me; it
would be a kind of reclaiming of what little power I had.

Instead, Krystopher
pushed me off of him, reaching out while I was still startled and
wrenching my arms up as he tugged me off of my knees. “Good slave,”
he said, panting slightly. “But you were about to take liberties
you hadn’t earned.” He pressed his lips against my temple and
settled me on top of him, straddling his lap. “I want you to ride
me as hard and as fast as you can; if you can reach orgasm in the
next ten minutes, you are allowed to come for me—if not, you’ll
have to wait.” I felt my heart pounding with a mixture of anxiety
and arousal; the thought of losing, of not being allowed to come,
was somehow suddenly terrifying. But I sank down onto his hard
cock, letting him fill me up quickly and moaning at the heat and
hardness of him inside of me.

Krystopher’s hands
wandered over my body, teasing and caressing me as I began to move
immediately. I was so tightly wound that I wondered if I had gotten
beyond the point of even being able to climax—but I was determined
to get the reward I had earned. My hips moved with a mind of their
own, twisting and pivoting as I rode him. We were both panting,
moaning out as my muscles flexed around him, and Krystopher started
thrusting up into me in counterpoint to my rocking hips, pounding
up against me, increasing the friction between our bodies. He
reached down and began to stroke my clit with every thrust. “Come
for me, Rhonda,” he murmured, his voice tight with desire, “Come
for me right now.” As frightened as I had been that I wouldn’t be
able to reach orgasm at all, the sound of his words sent a final
jolt through me, and without being able to control myself I was
crying out, moaning his name, as wave after wave of pleasure
thundered through my body. I shook and trembled, the sensations so
keen that between the waves of orgasm I wasn’t sure if I was
experiencing the keenest of pleasures or the sharpest of
agonies.