Wild Licks (24 page)

Her head rested on my shoulder and I rocked her gently to imagined music. “You know which pain is my favorite,” she said.

“Do I? Oh, yes, sudden penetration.” She had called it the
best pain ever
that day she'd arrived in Montreal. “Very well. And second favorite?”

She hesitated before saying, “Y-your belt.”

I tipped her face upward to look at me. Her cheeks were scarlet. “This admission embarrasses you?”

She nodded.

“Why?”

“I don't know. It just feels…” She pressed herself against me as she bit her lip. “Raw. Dirty. Intense.”

“More so than other things?”

“Yes. Because…it's not like a fancy flogger that was made to be a chic upscale marital aid. Not that those are bad, of course, but there's something real and edgy about you using your actual belt.”

I don't know which aroused me more, the breathless intensity of her admission or the fact that I agreed with her. This wasn't a costume, wasn't a role out of a book, wasn't even some typical punishment fantasy. This was…real. “Take my belt off now and I'll give you ten strokes with it.”

She dropped to her knees immediately and worked the buckle open, then slid the belt free of the loops, looking up at me. I stroked her hair.

“Make me hard while you're down there.”

She freed my cock and mouthed it enthusiastically. I was already half hard just from our discussion, so no real effort was required on her part to bring me to full stiffness.

“I'm going to use your mouth often for the next several days,” I said, “while we deprive your cunny of any interior stretching. So when I do take you, you'll be at your tightest.”

She moaned in agreement around the flesh in her mouth. I pulled her off of me with a fist in her hair and took a kiss before pushing her toward the bed. “Bend over. Legs spread.”

I delivered the first three blows of the doubled belt directly across her ass cheeks and then massaged her clit gently with two fingers.

“You find being beaten arousing even without me doing this, don't you?”

“Yes, very much,” she said.

“I think you're the only lover I've had who would literally get wet from being struck.” I slipped a finger into her. I could not resist. “It makes me want to fuck you all the time.”

She laughed. “You already want to fuck me all the time.”

I joined her laughter. “True. But even more. It's going to be a trial for me to resist while training you.”

“There's always my ass, too,” she pointed out.

“Also true. Yes, I predict your ass will be getting a regular workout as well.” I pulled my finger free and teased at her pucker, then stepped back to deliver three more hard strikes with the belt.

Her quivering turned to quaking as I ran my bare hand over the welts. “The first time I beat you with my belt, I didn't know it was you until after I turned you over,” I said. “But I had been thinking to myself, what a strange coincidence that there are two women, at the same time, both of whom I'm suddenly obsessed with seeing again. Normally I wouldn't even be interested in one, and now there are two? What a wild coincidence. But of course it wasn't a coincidence: you were actually the same person.”

I struck her again and then ran my hand over the welt that came up. “I think deep down I knew it was you.”

Her spine arched and she ground herself against my touch with a delighted noise.

I stepped back again. “Three more to go.”

She nodded against the duvet.

I put the full force of my arm into these, no gentle or playful slaps now, fierce savagery in every motion. She bit the duvet, trying to keep from screaming but instead giving out only a high-pitched whine and then going limp after the final blow.

I pulled her upright against me, then pushed her against the wall. “Hold yourself up, ankles together, hands against the wall. That's it.”

She was bent over partway now, and I spread my feet to lower my hips to hers, working my cock between her legs.

“That's it. Keep your thighs together tightly.” I fucked the intercrural grip made by her thighs and cunny, gripping onto the sore, hot flesh of her ass. “This is how most of the so-called sex took place when I was in boarding school,” I said.

“I thought you went to an all-boys school.”

“There was an all-girls school down the road. Some of the girls claimed to come from this. Some liked it better from the front.”

“Well, you do rub against…some very…ungh.” She grunted as I thrust harder. “I never would have thought of doing this.”

“I never thought I would do it again, but I confess your pose is fetching and the sensation is a satisfactory replacement for me—for tonight at least.” I planted my hands on her ass cheeks and rocked her back and forth on my cock until I was close. “Now, on your knees, finish me with your mouth.”

She chose a good time to swallow, as I'd already come earlier that night so the volume was not copious. She kept her eyes open, locked on mine, looking up as she swallowed everything I produced and then licked the head and shaft clean once the last dribbles had ceased. Any man who does not feel an intensity of emotions at such an upward gaze from the woman he owns has no heart at all. My Gwen.

One almost wonders if part of the allure of all the pain and brutality is how it heightened such moments of tenderness. I ran a finger gently over her cheek, over the spot where the burn mark had completely disappeared, and thanked my lucky stars once again.

After that we got ready for bed like any domestic couple might—brushing our teeth, et cetera—except for the fact she was completely naked. We got into bed together and I cuddled her close.

“You still haven't come,” I remarked.

“No, I haven't.”

“I'm going to wake you at some point during the night and let you come then,” I told her. “But you have to sleep first.”

“Why?”

“Because you're my plaything to do with as I wish.”

“Oh right.” She blushed deeply and snuggled close. “I'll try.”

We both did fall asleep but after about two hours I woke again. She was deeply asleep, one of her nostrils whistling quietly. It was not difficult to very gradually, very slowly, work one finger of mine between her pussy lips and gently massage her clit until I felt her pulse begin to respond. She grew damp, then slippery wet as I carefully fingered her, her clit becoming more and more swollen with each passing minute.

I changed the motion of my finger to a quick flicking, spreading her with my other fingers and tweaking her clit with my index finger until the stimulation grew hard enough to wake her.

And wake she did, with a sudden gasp of “Mal!” and all her muscles freezing up as she reached the bare edge of her climax. Had I truly wished to make her suffer, I would have pulled back at that point, but my own body was suffused with sweet warmth as I kept up the motion, releasing her from the taut edge where she was held, pushing her right through a shuddering climax and denouement.

“Oh, Mal,” she said as I tucked her against my body, and sleep reclaimed her.

No, I could not explain to myself why I did what I did, nor why I felt what I did for her. I knew it wouldn't last forever, that this magical equilibrium between us would fade once we had to rejoin the real world, once we had to face who we truly were.

But here, in this world of two that we created, the Need was sated.

The next day I got an e-mail from Ricki saying there was a half page of photos of me in the latest
Entertainment Weekly
and wanting to know if I'd seen it, which made me laugh a little. I guess she hadn't taken it literally when I'd told her I was going to be Mal's sex slave for two weeks. I had been e-mailing her regularly while in Montreal to let her know everything was okay but I hadn't given her many details. I was sure she was hearing from Axel, too, but I wanted to reassure her somehow in case she was worried I was bored or tired of it or being coerced to going along with it for the sake of Mal's band. I was none of those things. On the contrary, I was indulged and stimulated and a little sad as the time went by that we were going to have to leave. I read the books of Ariadne Wood and watched BBC shows and did yoga in the room to keep myself limber.

And with Mal I needed to be limber. I don't think there was a single piece of furniture or surface we didn't have sex on or use as a prop for a scene. How strange that when he wasn't there I was absorbed in the fantasy worlds of books and shows but the moment he arrived we were Gwen and Mal, no role-playing, no contrived scenarios.

Which didn't mean we didn't have some intense scenes, of course. For one, a few times he quizzed me on my “BBC English” and caned me for each mistake, but that still felt like us being ourselves. It wasn't like playing the part of an Ariadne Wood character. The orgasms were plentiful for both of us—though once he began to train me to come from pain they never came without an equal dose of agony, and my poor vagina was restricted to penetration from one of his long fingers.

One night while we were lying in bed, ready to sleep but not quite sleeping yet, talking about art and life and all the things we usually did, he said, “Johns said something today about bands that fail, self-sabotaging because they have fear of success. I find myself coming back to that thought again and again because I don't understand it at all.”

“Fear of success?”

“Yes. Who's afraid of success?”

I thought about it a moment. “I don't really get it either, but I know it's a thing. Maybe it's just part of fear of the unknown, fear of change. People get used to things being the way they are even if they don't like them. Maybe they subconsciously fight to keep them from changing even though they'd be happier if things changed?”

“Hmm. All the more reason to be aware of what one wants.”

I snuggled close to him, basking in the scent of his skin. “I know what I want.”

“Mmm, do you, now? Not sated yet, my pet?”

“Besides physically,” I said, nudging him. “I want us to last. That's my dream.”

“I thought your dream was to become a critically acclaimed actress.”

“That's my other dream, silly,” I said. I planted my hands and my chin on his chest so I could look directly into his face. “Tell me honestly, do you think I'm sabotaging myself from reaching that dream by being with you?”

He reached up to caress my hair. “No,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine. “No, because I am not actually going to lock you in a cage twenty-four-seven.”

“I don't have to be in a cage to know I belong to you.”

His eyes softened for a moment and I wondered if he was going to kiss me. But then he went on. “You do belong to me, but think about the challenges it presents, Gwen. Going to auditions with visible marks, for example, or how speculation about the nature of our relationship might affect people's opinions of you.”

I took it as a good sign that he replied so calmly, so rationally, and so positively. “The nature of our relationship,” I heard myself say, as if tasting the words, trying on the way they sounded, felt.
Our relationship.
I couldn't help but smile. I felt warm all over.

Mal's thoughts had already leaped ahead, though. “There are those who would condemn the relationship for being consensually kinky and those who would wrongly assume it's abuse and condemn it for that.”

“The only way to win the reputation game is not to play,” I said. “I don't care.”

“I do, though,” he said seriously. “I care that your career could be much more negatively impacted than mine by the exposure of what we do.” He sank his fingers into my hair. “Not that that keeps me from taking my due from you, so long as you're mine.”

“I don't mind that the stakes are high.” Relaxing into his grip instead of struggling had become a reflex over the past ten days. “It makes me appreciate being with you even more.”

“This isn't a game,” he said, pulling me onto my back by my hair and burying his mouth against my neck.

“I think if it was, I would've gotten tired of it by now,” I said. “Instead, I still can't get enough of you, Mal.” I gasped as he slid his hand between my legs as if to test what I said, two fingers working their way into me and finding me wet. It was the most penetration I'd had in days and I groaned with need.

“You're sure you're not tired of being treated like this?” he murmured against my skin, biting me for emphasis.

“I promise to tell you when I am.” I spread my legs and angled my hips helplessly. “I need you, Mal.”

“Because I have been depriving you,” he said.

“No, that's not why,” I said, then gasped as he moved his slick fingers into my ass, one at a time. I loosened quickly as he used my natural lube to prepare the way. “I've never felt so complete in my life.”

He pushed himself atop me and his eyes looked like they were full of questions, his mouth moving as if trying to find the words. But then he mounted my rear hole, his cock filling me and filling the gulf between us, and in that moment all questions were silenced.

A glorious week passed, filled with sex and music and letting myself utterly drown in the world of Gwen. It was an indulgence I could not have imagined before. Knowing that Gwen was waiting for me put me on a completely separate mental plane from the rest of the band, but somehow that worked, that let me play and listen and flow through the sessions without constant strife.

Of course it helped that Larkin Johns had finally ceased making ridiculous suggestions. Or perhaps when we were playing so well together he no longer felt the need to constantly tinker or change. Chicken or egg, it mattered not to me, only that it was working.

And so was my regular torturing of Gwen. Favored though my belt was by us both, some variety was necessary. I had acquired an entirely new collection of toys and implements and plied her with them as each day we progressed toward the stated goal, the pinnacle of masochism, orgasm from pain itself. Concentrating on how well the recording work was going and on this delicious goal for Gwen's captivity allowed me to push aside all other questions. I thought not of the future but just of the days we had remaining.

The second to last day in the studio we'd pushed hard, working late, trying to nail down as much as we could while the mojo was flowing. But when midnight had come we declared a stop, leaving only a little for our final day, and I hurried back to the hotel with my other “project” burning in my mind. Gwen.

I stepped into the room and found her as I'd trained her to greet me, on the floor with her knees apart, her fingers splaying her pussy for my view. The pose was all the more fetching knowing that she had reached a stage of desperation over the previous week, deprived of vaginal penetration except for my fingers from time to time. She had tightened deliciously, her muscles contracted by repeated orgasms and relentless teasing, and each time I'd checked her with a finger I'd found her grip strengthened.

I stripped out of my clothes in front of her, leaving them in a pile at the door until I stood as naked as she, not a stitch on me. She watched, silent, her eyes as hungry as the rest of her, her breath betraying her anticipation and excitement.

My own hand hardened me, stroking myself until a glistening drop beaded at the tip. “Tomorrow is our last day in the studio,” I said, trying to sound as casual as possible, as if need were not crackling between us like electromagnetism.

“I…Is it?” she said, as if she did not know.

“Yes. Which means tonight is your ultimate test. I'm going to hurt you tonight, Gwen.”

“Yes, Mal.”

“There will be no pleasure except what you derive from the pain itself,” I said. “And perhaps this.” I seized her, pulling her into a kiss, crushing her body against mine and ravishing her mouth before I pushed her onto the bed. “Facedown.”

She flattened herself with her arms and legs spread, and I spanked her until my hand felt sore, knowing that every blow reverberating through her was as good as a caress along her clit. I left a series of bite marks across the tops of her shoulders and took another kiss, gauging her level of arousal by how supple her mouth was.

Then I brought the cane down on her buttocks, making her yelp. Unlike a formal punishment scene, where she'd be bent over and take the blows one at a time and ask for the next one between strokes, this time I laid the strokes on whenever I felt like it, playing her screams like an instrument and noting the way she ground her mound against the bed as I did it. What did I do to deserve such a gorgeous woman for my own? The vision of the red stripes appearing on her skin and the way she writhed against the duvet seared itself into my memory. “How do you feel?”

Her voice was light, giddy. “Like I love you.”

That made me smile and rub my hand over the stripes. Sweet, wonderful woman.

“Now put your ass in the air,” I commanded, knowing this would remove her ability to hump the bed. I had other plans for her stimulation. I forced her knees apart and splayed her feet, then began flogging her with the suede flogger first, then switching to a leather one, allowing the tails to not only strike her buttocks but also to liberally make contact with her labia and clit.

When I switched to the cruel rubber flogger, at first I worried that it would be too much for her. Her cries took on a note of distress, but I did not let up, and before long she had pushed through to the next level of arousal and endorphins.

Time for the finale. “Get me my belt.”

She crawled off the bed, not from submission but because her legs wouldn't carry her, I think. She freed the belt from my trousers and then presented it to me on her knees, holding it up with both hands, her head bowed.

“Kiss it,” I said. “Show me you love it, make love to me through it.” My cock throbbed and leaked freely as I hungrily watched her press her trembling lips against the leather, doubling it over and rubbing her cheek against it before kissing along its length. Gorgeous creature, I could barely believe she was mine.

“Lie back. Run the edge along your clit,” I said.

She did as I bade her, hissing in pain as she sawed the hard edge of the leather against her most tender place. Her teeth were gritted but there was never a moment of hesitation to obey me.

At last I deemed she'd had enough. “Bend over the edge of the bed and spread your legs.”

I ran my hand over the tracks the cane had left and then began a new round of spanking, swatting her cunny as often as her thighs, pausing only to flick her clit hard with a fingernail, until I could hear she had reached a plateau of arousal, but remaining there was itself becoming a torture. I swiped a finger around her clit in a quick circle and was greeted with another needy wail. So close, so close, but she could not go over the edge without me giving her more.

I slicked myself with the ring of my fingers wet with her juices and positioned myself behind her, one hand on each buttock. I scraped my fingernail across her welts again and then spanked her, once, twice, thrice. I insinuated the head of my cock between her cunny lips but held her still so she could not drive herself back onto me and then alternated striking her with one hand, then the other, driving the desperate note in her cries up the scale, up and up, until the moment was right.

And then I drove into her and loosed her cry of sweet release.

She came, screaming, clawing at the bed, fucking herself on my staff and crying out my name. Angels and devils, it was all I could do not to explode into orgasm myself at that moment, but I felt the promise between us—pleasure for pain, that I would never leave her unsatisfied—was sacred. I turned her over to face me and let her come twice more on my cock before I allowed my own release.

And then it was over. I covered her face with kisses and was rewarded with her triumphal laughter as she lay spent beneath me, unable to move a muscle after all she had been through.

My own feeling of triumph was short-lived, though. As my flesh softened and slipped from her, it was as if the walls I'd erected in my mind to keep me from thinking of anything outside this room, outside this city, also began to wither away. My goals had been reached, and everything I had been burying began to stir with unrest.

I tried to ignore it at first, cuddling with her, praising her, trying to enjoy the moment. She was so beautiful, so perfect, and had surpassed my every expectation. But my thoughts grew stormy. She had fulfilled every promise and yet a gnawing feeling ate at me from inside. A demon, maybe.

“I'm hungry,” I declared. Would she drop her role now that she had reached that state of perfection? “Let's go out looking for something to eat.”

“Should I wear your duster again?” she asked, looking somehow shy and sly at the same time. So much for the idea that she might be ready to leave her role on a high note.

I remembered the unease I'd felt on our last trip to the outside world. Had that been a reminder to me of all the issues I'd buried for the sake of these two weeks? “Yes, it's in the closet,” I said. “Let's go back to the poutine and smoked meats place.” Perhaps if I returned there I could meet my demons head-on.