Surrender's Dance Page 4

  “So lonely,” he whispered. “So hungry.”

  She didn’t care. Nothing mattered except being locked in a sightless, wholly tactile world. His fingers laid claim to every inch of her breasts, the touches telling her that he now owned them but promised to be a kind if demanding master. She moaned into her gag.

  “Not fighting me, are you, slave. That’s the last thing you’re thinking of right now, isn’t it?”

  Incapable of lying, she shook her head.

  “There are two sides to every human,” he went on in a low and seductive tone. He closed his fingers over a nipple but with none of his earlier punishing grip. “Yin and yang. Push and pull. I have you on my hook. Sometimes I’ll let you play with the line. I’ll insist you fight and give you all the line you crave. Just when you think you can’t take any more, I’ll let you rest and regroup so you almost believe you’re free.” He rolled her nub from side to side. Heat wrapped around her, and she tried to thrust her ass at him. “You’ll forget there’s a hook in you. Then I’ll reel you in, I’ll net you and haul you into my boat. You’ll feel my hands all over you as I remove the hook, but you won’t know whether I’ll keep you or throw you back.”

  She couldn’t concentrate. How could she with her nipple between his fingers and her back pressed against his naked chest? His toy. His possession. His everything. A moan fought for freedom, and the heat between her legs became a flame. She felt fresh moisture gather around her labia.

  “I’m not throwing you back. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll beg me to keep you. Use you. Work and reward you. Sometimes punish you. No matter what I do to you -- and it’ll be more than you can imagine -- you’ll embrace it because it’s your nature.”

  My nature? To beg? No!

  But before she could protest, he shifted his hold and began a slow journey down over her belly that nearly had her screaming. She opened her legs further and tilted her pelvis toward him. He repositioned his restraining arm so it flattened her breasts and turned her toward him a little, increasing his access to her pussy. Panting into the gag, she widened her stance. If only he’d let her see! And yet blindness forced her deep into herself where sensation simmered and grew.

  “Hunger and feeding. Sometimes I’ll starve you.” He demonstrated by first lightly slapping and then removing his hand from her mons. Leaving her untouched where she needed it the most. “Then when you believe you’ll die if you have to wait another second, I’ll feed you.” He closed his palm around her offered cunt. “But you’ll never know what is going to happen when. What buttons I’ll push and when, or how.” A finger flicked her clit, and her legs shook. “That’s the beauty of what’s ahead for you. And the hell.”

  Still, she thrust her sex to him. Her hips moved from side to side. His thumb and forefinger close around her labia. Hit with an almost-electric jolt, she jumped. Instead of releasing her, he pressed the hot and sensitive flesh together, sealing her opening. “Don’t like this, do you,” he muttered when she fought to shake him off. “You want to be full, not empty.”

  Trembling, panting, hating him and fearing herself, she waited. When he loosened his hold on her, she prayed he’d plunge his cock into her weeping opening. No. She didn’t want him, damn it! He had no right, no right! But if he cast her off, she’d go insane.

  Perhaps he’d read her splintered mind because a long, thick finger slide into her. Pressed against her. So good. Not being able to anticipate what he was going to do next heightened her reaction, that and the bold, demanding intimacy. The dark and dangerous stranger of countless fantasies had become reality. He existed, had substance, understood so much about her.

  “Wet. Drenched and hot. You’re a hungry little piece, aren’t you?”

  Beyond caring, she nodded and tried to close herself around him so she could hold him inside her. His finger fed some of her hunger. It was better than nothing but not enough. With the heel of his hand, he pressed against her inner thighs -- a wordless order to remain open and accessible to him. Willing to do whatever she had to for the climax she needed more than she needed breath, she remained as still as she could. But soon, please! Quick and hard! Before she lost her mind.

  His finger explored and retreated, circled her inner recesses, branded her there and made her core his. Her leg muscles felt like jelly, and she could barely keep her feet under her. Couldn’t find the boundaries between them.

  He slipped another finger in to join the first.

  Don’t! I can’t handle --

  “Experience. Don’t think. Feel.”

  Don’t want! Don’t dare.

  “Stop fighting yourself, slave. Your cunt is speaking to you. Let yourself hear it.”

  Hear. Feel. With terrible clarity, she now understood why he’d robbed her of sight and speech. The senses he’d left her with took over, and despite the terrible danger, she gave herself up to sensation. His fingers filled her, invaded, possessed, owned. With her other senses, she’d have been able to tell herself that she was a modern professional and embrace everything she’d spent her adulthood becoming. But now, the firm pressure and movement throughout her pussy took her beyond those petty concerns.

  She was a slave, not just to him, but to her own sexuality.

  “You don’t yet fully understand what I’m doing and what you want to happen. You just know you need what I have or rather what you pray I’ll give you.” The dance of retreat and advance increased, fingers fucking, teasing, taunting, owning, promising but not yet delivering. “This is what will turn you into what you’re destined to become. Not ropes or chains and leather although that’s going to be part of it. Not even whips. But your own body. Your nature.”

  He rammed his fingers in as far as they would go. She gasped, struggled to breathe, couldn’t. Her teeth clenched down on the gag. She fought her blindness. Can’t take! Can’t take --

  The pressure held, impaling her. She felt him in her belly. Her entire awareness centered on his hand, on the relentless gift. He lifted her by her cunt, stood her on her toes and still he pressed harder, deeper, dared her to expel him. Challenged her to try.

  Climax waited. Her muscles clenched, and she sucked in air. Raced toward the edge.

  “No.” He pulled out of her. “No. No. No.”

  Her pussy muscles clenched again, this time in frustration. She thrashed her head about and cursed into the gag. Compelled by her inner heat, she thrust out her pelvis and blindly searched for him.

  “Not going to happen, not yet,” he said from somewhere to her right.

  Please, please, please!

  “You’re calling me a bastard, aren’t you?”

  Yes!

  “I am. I’m also your salvation. But before that happens, I need to prepare you for your next lesson in relinquishing ownership of your body, and soul.”

  Body? Soul? Sanity was starting to return along with the feel of damp jungle air now mixing with her juices. Fluid ran down her fevered thighs.

  At least a minute passed before she felt rope around her waist. At the first touch, her muscles clenched.

  Ropes symbolized a loss of freedom, of helplessness, manipulation.

  Ownership.

  She counted three loops around her waist followed by a quick tie. A length of rope hung down her legs in front. What are you going to do with that? Please, tell me something, anything. When he pressed his palms against her breasts, she braced herself.

  “I’m not going to knock you down, at least not now. I just needed to see if you remembered what I’m capable of. You understand, don’t you? If I shove, you’ll fall, right?”

  She nodded.

  “You can’t stop me, can you?”

  She shook her head.

  “I can punish you any time and in any way I choose, right?”

  Another nod. Tears brimming. She squeezed her eyes shut, grateful for the cloth over them.

  “I’m in charge of everything. It’s my role. What and when and if you eat or sleep. Your body.” He abruptly relea
sed her breasts, snatched the loose rope, and threaded it between her legs. Although she struggled to close her stance, he easily tugged the cord against her labia. He briefly held and then wrapped it around the coil circling her waist. He knotted the crotch rope in place. “Now not even your cunt belongs to you any more.” He proved his point via a quick, hard tug that left her panting. When he released the rope she discovered that it tightly hugged her labia but wasn’t what she’d call painful -- yet. Everything centered around that part of her body.

  “What I’ve just done is pretty basic.” He lightly tugged. “Nothing sophisticated about a rope chastity belt, or trigger if that’s how I decide to use it.” A third jerk left no doubt of his intention. She stood on her toes. “From what you’ve seen and experienced so far, you probably believe the island is peopled with savages. That we live in caves.”

  He grabbed her shoulders and turned her in what felt like a circle. “I assure you we have all the amenities you’re accustomed to, and more. In time I’ll introduce you to the refinements we’ve developed for our purposes.” He gave the crotch rope another breath-stealing tug that brought her back onto her toes and ignited another unwanted heat-flash in her clit. “The refinements, the techniques are inventive and effective. You’ll beg me for demonstrations. Whatever it takes for your rewards, you’ll comply. First, you’ll have to earn them.”

  A wave of libido-fed confusion washed over her. Hot tears stained what had a short time ago had been her blouse. She who’d vowed to never cry or beg again would have done anything to regain control over her responses.

  Once again he let a full minute pass before he touched her. This time he untied her hands and briefly rubbed her wrists until circulation had been restored. Despite her gratitude, she wanted to claw out his eyes. Instead, she remained docilely in place because he’d demonstrated how easy it was for him to impose his will on her. And because sexual frustration continued to chew at her nerves. If she complied with his every command, would he grant her a climax?

  “Do you remember what I told you?” he asked.

  No. How can you expect me to think?

  “You have two seconds.”

  For what?

  He slapped one breast and then the other. Gasping, she tried to turn away. He grabbed her hair and held her in place. Another stinging slap had her struggling again. His grip tightened, pulling her head to the side. He repeatedly struck her right breast until the pain centered there became everything.

  “I’m sorry.” She prayed he could understand her. “I’m sorry. I --”

  “I can’t hear you, slave. Make yourself clear.”

  He continued to force her off balance as he gripped her newly punished nipple and squeezed. She yelped into the gag.

  “Think! One simple command. What was it?”

  “Bra!”

  “Bingo.” He released the throbbing nub. “Do it, now.”

  Her nose ran and her clumsy fingers shook, but finally she managed to unhook the back fastening.

  “Hand it to me,” he ordered before she could drop the useless garment.

  Chastised and defeated, she held out her hand. She saw herself as he doubtlessly did, a trembling captive robbed of sight and speech standing naked and defenseless and compliant before the man who’d proclaimed himself as her lord and master. Surely she wasn’t the only one who smelled her sweat and need.

  After making her wait, he took the bra from her. Then he draped it over the back of her neck next to the rope he’d placed there. When he’d arranged it to suit himself, he snagged her right wrist and tied it behind her again by securing it to the waist rope. She expected him to repeat the process with her left. Instead, he closed his own large, strong paws around it, trapping it. He applied pressure.

  “A pretty little thing. Slender fingers. Manicured nails. Unfortunately, you’ve had your last manicure.”

  Why that statement sent her over the edge she couldn’t say. All she knew was that she could no longer hold up her head. “Pleez,” she muttered against the gag. “Pleez.”

  Her cry earned her a harsh jerk on her untethered hand, which brought her head up again. Her just-uttered plea filled her with self-loathing. His breathing was harsh as he yanked her arm behind her and secured it against her ass as he’d done with the first.

  He slapped each breast in turn. “Don’t beg.”

  Awash in emotions both new and old, for a while she stood where he’d positioned her, but at length she couldn’t take the unknown. Step by tentative step she walked in a exploratory circle. Packed sand felt warm under her feet. Although being nude made her feel unbelievably vulnerable, she loved the damp warmth on her flesh. The breeze caressing her skin felt gentle and soothing. She heard birds singing. At least she assumed they were birds. She’d never heard quite that sound before. She’d always loved getting as far from exhaust fumes and skyscrapers as possible. It was why she ran in the park.

  Maybe there weren’t any spirit-crushing prisons, dungeons, or cages here.

  Wherever here was.

  When she thought she’d returned to approximately the same spot she’d been standing in when her captor deserted her, she stopped and strained to hear more. Because she couldn’t see, she relied on her other senses but didn’t learn anything she didn’t already know. Maybe one thing. Every step she took caused the crotch rope to rub against sensitive flesh and remind her of how close he’d taken her to the release and reward of a climax. Her arousal had faded but remained. Undoubtedly he knew how to re-ignite the flame.

  “On your knees.”

  Swallowing a squeak, she froze. Then, prompted by reminders of his ability to inflict pain, she did as he ordered. Kneeling tightened the rope’s grip on her pussy. She struggled ineffectively to lessen the impact.

  “Got your attention, did it?” She had no doubt he was referring to the pressure he’d imposed on her abused sex. “Get used to it. If I so decide, there’s never going to be a minute when you aren’t being stimulated -- and frustrated. Maybe I’ll let you climax. Maybe I’ll keep you on the brink.” He patted her on the head. “Studies have shown that unrelenting sexual frustration can drive a person crazy. You don’t want that. Not that you can do anything about it.”

  He continued patting her. Although she felt demeaned and diminished by the gesture, that too she couldn’t do anything about. Besides, not that she’d ever admit it, his hand on her was comforting -- and more. From the moment he’d run her down, he’d tapped into and commanded her sexuality. He dictated her responses. He knew which buttons to push, where her triggers were, and how to keep electricity flowing through her. In his hands, her most secret dreams might become reality.

  A dildo. An ass plug. Clamps on my nipples. I’ll grovel before you, lick your feet, take you any way you want.

  “Time to see your prison.”

  He untied her blindfold and yanked it off with a flourish. At first everything was a blur. Then she made out a stone-like structure a few feet away. It wasn’t as large as her condo and had no windows. Instead, bars decorated several small openings. She couldn’t see a door. The jungle grew right up to the stone and looked as if it could easily swallow the man-made structure.

  My prison.

  She had no idea what material the roof was made out of. It resembled palm fronds except that it looked more substantial. From what she could tell, there were no other buildings around. The prison seemed to be part of the vegetation, isolated and inescapable. Locked in it, she’d be as helpless as if she still wore ropes.

  At his disposal.

  His to play with and command.

  “Looks are deceiving,” he said with his hand still on the top of her head. “The interior is quite innovative. There’s a porch on the opposite side, at least porch is as good a name to give it as anything. You’ll be spending time there, too.”

  Too.

  She told herself she should have gotten a grip on her emotions by now, should have steeled herself against waves of fear, but ordering and do
ing were proving to be worlds apart. Even though she hated doing so, she wilted toward her captor’s legs. He must have anticipated her need for reassurance. Anticipated and denied because he gave her a rough shove, which sent her sprawling onto her side. The crotch rope bit into her and sealed itself around her core. She remained where he’d forced her and stared up at him.

  “I’m not your protector.”

  Chapter Six

  Her captor -- she didn’t dare think of him as her master -- forced her to remain where he’d placed her for maybe a half minute before using the crotch rope to again haul her to her feet. Being controlled by pressure against her labia made it difficult for her to think about anything else. Still, she struggled to obey his unspoken commands.

  The effort left her both spent and feeling diminished, proof she didn’t need that he more than held the upper hand and had no hesitancy in using it against her. What he didn’t understand was the depth of her resolve to retain her pride.

  He hauled her by that intimate leash around the stone building to what she suspected was the only door. She was so intent on the massive, metal door and the sensation of being led that she could only take in the basic details of the porch. It was no more than ten feet square, maybe two feet off the ground and enclosed by what looked like cyclone fencing, only thicker. It wasn’t a porch so much as a cage. He’d have no problem forcing her to live within its confines.

  “Down,” he ordered as soon as he brought her inside.

  She obeyed. This time she refused to look up at him. He released the leash and stepped back. She felt his gaze rake over her exposed body but continued to stare at the floor. Even when he circled her, his bare feet slapping on the flooring, she did everything within her power to ignore him. Encouraged by her small victory, she straightened her spine. The effort tightened the rope imprisoning her labia. The thoroughly soaked rope.

  “Up.”

  Because she had no use of her hands and he wasn’t helping, it took several awkward attempts before she got her feet under her. The labor heated her cheeks and throat, and the strands between her legs clung to her.