Surrender's Dance Read online

  His look made her suspect he’d never been asked that. Not bothering to answer, he attached the first weight. Her breast sagged, sensitive tissues pulled down. She felt the drag throughout her upper body. The message was clear. Contained. Controlled. “Your body is waiting for my every move, not sure what I intend to do to it next. And your mind is giving up ownership of your body. Turning it over to me.”

  You’re right. Oh god, you’re right.

  He fastened the other weight in place so both breasts felt as if gravity had increased. She sensed the change in her groin and knew her juices were soaking the hook. Manmade objects claimed her wrists, breasts, and cunt. How much more of her would he take over before he was done?

  Keep going. Please, take me all the way! She wanted to fight, for the sake of her mind, but her body, her nature, wouldn’t let her.

  “Sexual stimulation comes in endless forms.” He stepped back and studied his handwork. “I’m only introducing you to a few of them. Each master has his preferred techniques.”

  “How -- how many masters are there?”

  He shrugged, muscles flexing, chest expanding. “The numbers continue to grow as word of what we have to offer spreads and the ability to identify satisfactory slaves is perfected. In fact, a fast-track system has been implemented, thus the pace I’m putting you through.”

  Although his admission alarmed her, in some respects she felt as if they were sharing in this process. She’d agreed to a cram course to avoid overcrowding. As a result, her education might be incomplete, but she’d understand the basic concepts and be ready for the upper division courses.

  But what would those later courses consist of? Beyond the possibility of a pierced labia and rings and maybe jewelry permanently skewered to her breasts, what did her future hold?

  She didn’t want that! She wanted, what? Surely not more of Zemar.

  Please keep going. Take me all the way.

  “Pain is a powerful component. Many on both sides of the BDSM lifestyle consider it necessary.”

  Don’t I get a say in this? But she said nothing because he’d do what he wanted. She was the next thing to a deeply-hooked fish struggling against an experienced and powerful fisherman’s determination to bring her ashore.

  This time he didn’t go to the hell-cupboard but sauntered over to a wall where a collection of whips hung. He lingered over his selection, holding up several and studying her imprisoned body. He was deliberately drawing out the process probably because the technique had proven to be effective in unhinging the intended recipient. It was working. She didn’t know how she could possibly keep him from knowing. If he tested conditions between her legs, he’d find her flooded. Maybe he could smell her.

  But she couldn’t help it! Being the chosen and helpless recipient of his expertise had turned her on! His mastery turned her on!

  Do it to me. Everything you want to. Whatever it is, I’ll receive, accept, rejoice. And if you’d let me, I’d demonstrate my gratitude on you.

  He returned with a long, slender whip sporting a half dozen thin leather strands. He drew the strands over her belly. They felt like silk, almost. She sucked in a breath as her flesh responded to the gentle caress. “Deceptive, isn’t it,” he said. “If we both didn’t know different, we’d think I was going to give you a massage.”

  “What will you prove by wounding me?”

  “There’ll be no wounds and scarring. That’s something I’ll never do.”

  Her mind caught on the cold tension in his last words. Maybe he was making comparisons between what he was about to do to her and what had been done to him. She filled her lungs.

  “You know what it’s like to be whipped, don’t you? I saw your back.” She hurried her words. “How can you possibly believe there’s anything stimulating about it? I’d never --”

  The stinging slap to her hip landed before her mind registered that his hand had moved. Even as she struggled to turn that side away from him, she understood he was determined to silence her. The second lash landed on the opposite hip.

  He worked her methodically, arm moving smoothly back and forth, the whip landing alternatively on her right and then left side. Over and over again he struck her, moving up and down, expertly missing the nipple weights that bounced and dragged during her unthinking attempts to escape. Her breast tissue was being pulled down. Instead of being cradled in her sports bra as they were when she ran, they were held in place as surely as her bound arms. At her nipples, the drawing sensation became a sharp sting. He managed to avoid tangling the leather strands around the hook or the rope holding it in place. Held deeply, securely by the device, she could move only a few precious inches in any direction. Her flesh became fair game. The whip slapped, stung, felt like electric charges.

  Again, again, again.

  Although it was useless, she kept pulling on the cuffs. It didn’t matter that the whip left only the thinnest of marks and never once broke her flesh. She was being subjected to something she’d considered only during the most erotic of fantasies.

  She hated the way her muscles jumped and trembled, hated her rapid-fire breathing, hated the way she marched in place and kept trying to swivel her hips away. If only she could remain still, surely he’d give up. But he made her dance.

  Made her want.

  “Concentrate,” he said, his arm working, working, working.

  “On what!”

  Instead of answering, he focused on her thighs, strip after strip rudely kissing her. When she tried to close her legs to protect herself there, it felt as if she was trying to fuck the hook. The possibility intrigued her. She could clamp her inner muscles against the intrusion and distract herself from what he was subjecting her to. She’d show him, get off on hard steel!

  Building on the possibilities, she imagined that the hook had become his cock. She’d imprisoned him, pulled him to her, and demanded he service her. Because she held the keys to his chains, he obeyed. They were both experts in the sexual arts, he in doing everything within his power to make the experience memorable for her, she in keeping him going.

  She’d direct him to repeatedly bring her to the brink of climax, then insist he back off before again presenting his hungry and unsatisfied cock to her so she could draw out the fuck. In her mind his enjoyment meant nothing. She’d insist he be brought to her so he could service her. If he displeased her, she’d keep him awake and trying all night.

  Again, she’d demand. Take me from behind this time. Now flat on your back with me straddling you. No, you’re not done; I’m not done. Hands behind you. Now, suck me. Lick me.

  And if he so much as breathed a word of protest, she’d order him strung up so she could beat him.

  No! She could never add to his scars!

  Unexpected compassion for the prisoner of her fantasy pulled her back into the world he’d created. The whip was now marching down her legs, nearing her calves. She could handle this! Even if he smacked the thin layer of skin over her ankles, at least so far he was sparing her body’s most sensual areas. The fire in her belly burned lower, the coals still hot but not being fed anew. She studied the flesh he’d finished with. The marks were already fading. He’d told her the truth. He had no intention of scarring her as he’d been.

  “Getting complacent?” The whip began journeying up again, licking at her thighs. He paused to run a hand over her shoulder blades, and she tried to rest her head on his hand to draw out the disconcerting, almost loving touch.

  He withdrew before she could. His eyes darkened. He clenched his jaw. “No. I’m not giving us that. Think of this as foreplay.” Higher and higher the whip marched, closing in on her cunt. “And another lesson in your body’s pliability and mind’s betrayal.”

  He was right! No matter how much she struggled or tried to take her mind away from what was happening, she remained a slave to his manipulation. This time she kept her legs spread, head back and breasts displayed. She’d gone from constant movement to immobile, shivering anticipation, wait
ing, waiting.

  Why won’t you be tender? Don’t you know how much I need it?

  Her cunt was occupied. But if he heard her silent plea, he’d replace the hook with himself. She hadn’t had a cock in her for too long. This time, please, her pussy would house him and not the powerful substitutes he’d subjected her to. She’d feel his flesh on and in hers, their mouths fusing, strong, warm arms holding her, whispered encouragement, sensing his tension in his hard, quick thrusts, climaxing together instead of yet another lonely explosion.

  When he stopped striking her, she stared at him in confusion and frustration. Although she hated her weakness, she did what little she could to thrust her pelvis at him, but the hook’s rope stopped her.

  Don’t leave me like this! Please, help me!

  He reached for her pussy, causing her to jerk back in an insane effort to keep certain realities from him, but of course he easily ran his fingers over her weeping flesh. “Turned on. No control over your reaction.”

  “No!”

  “Don’t lie to me. I know your body better than you do.”

  Although she couldn’t deny the truth of the juices he was removing from her cunt and spreading over her breasts, he didn’t know her mind, her thoughts. No matter how completely he transformed her body into what he intended it to become, she wouldn’t let him dominate her emotions. Hadn’t she learned how to protect her heart from the two men who’d nearly stripped everything from her?

  Make me a sub. Give me that dream. Just leave my heart alone. It isn’t yours. It’ll never be.

  She didn’t ask what he had in mind when he released the tension on the hook and removed it. She certainly didn’t thank him. Although she would have given almost anything to feel him inside her, she refused to beg. Frowning, he studied her for several moments. “What do you want, slave? Say it! You need to be fucked.”

  “Leave me alone.” Please.

  “Not yet.” He slid the whip handle over her slick cunt. She jerked and shuddered. Her whimpers remained buried and safe deep in her throat.

  “Think you can win this round, do you?” He sounded, what, uncertain? “Not going to happen, Asia, not going to happen.”

  He’d been calling her slave. Should she read something into his use of her name? She was still contemplating the possibilities when he returned from the cupboard with a spreader bar. He easily cuffed one ankle, forced her to spread her legs, and then cuffed the other ankle. The attached bar kept her legs wide apart. Her pussy waited for his manipulations.

  His. No longer hers.

  Another trip had him carrying a large vibrator with a tip contoured so it settled over and cupped the clitoris. Like the previous one, this toy lacked an electrical cord. “Damn you.”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t want this.” Although she struggled to distance herself from him, he easily pressed it against her. “Don’t lie to me, Asia. You’re thoroughly warmed up and primed for a climax. In fact --” He started the tool moving. “If you were free, you’d stay right here. Beg if need be.”

  “I don’t beg.”

  Rearing back, he studied her. “I wondered when you’d admit that. Why not?”

  “I don’t. I don’t!”

  “What is it, pride?”

  “Go to hell.”

  “Already been there.”

  Movement kicked up a notch. Her clit responded, and her concentration tunneled down. The skin he’d so expertly sensitized felt unbelievably alive, and the pain and unnatural weighted sensation in her breasts became something else -- wonderful. Her head tossed from side to side. Another notch and she pressed against the vibrator. A sharp stab to her right breast brought her attention there. He showed her the clamp he’d just removed. He left the other in place while he massaged circulation back into the newly released nipple.

  She hated being at his mercy, and at her body’s demands, so she fought both by wrenching her mind off what was taking place. Even as her pussy wept and her ragged breaths echoed off the stone walls, she remembered the two times in her life she’d groveled before men. The first time, she’d been so young, innocent, loving without reservation. His abandonment had nearly destroyed her. Night after night she’d cried herself to sleep, and her grades had suffered. She’d stopped hanging out with her friends and hadn’t wanted to do anything with them. She’d avoided looking at herself in the mirror because she’d seen an unworthy, unloved, unlovable child.

  And yet, with time, maturity, and her mother’s support, she’d slowly rebuilt her shattered sense of self-worth and as a young woman she’d given her heart to another man. This time she’d given her body as well. The manner and memories of that other abandonment had been different. Only the shameful way she’d reacted had been the same. Once again her heart had been torn apart, her life shattered, ego destroyed. At least she’d refused to give into nighttime tears, and she could study her reflection long enough to put on her makeup and ask herself how she could have been so naïve and why her lover had betrayed her the way he had.

  Today’s reality slammed back at her. Zemar was removing the second nipple clamp. The rush of blood there burned and ignited, and she silently thanked him while he massaged her throbbing nub. He kept the vibrator against her and increased the movement speed a little as he ministered to her reddened nipple.

  He released her breast. “Pay attention. Concentrate.”

  Vibrations suddenly rocketed throughout her body. The most intense sensation centered around her helpless and hungry clit, but no inch of flesh remained untouched. Everything burned. She felt as if she was being shaken. Because of the wrist restraints and spreader bar, she could barely move. Couldn’t make him stop.

  “Don’t, don’t, don’t! No, don’t! Damn it.” She struggled to turn away.

  “Feel it, Asia. Experience. Accept. Embrace.”

  Helpless. Used. “No!”

  “Fighting won’t do any good. It’ll only delay the inevitable, maybe.” He pressed, expertly anticipating her jerks and shudders. She tried to back up. The unwieldy bar and strain in her arms stopped her. The vibrator started pulsing. There was no rhythm, only strength and dominance.

  “Can’t, can’t -- Stop! Damn you, stop!”

  He gripped her chin and forced her to look at him. “You want this. Need it.”

  “No!”

  “Stop lying to yourself.”

  He released her chin but only to flatten his splayed fingers over her buttocks and shove her toward him. He trapped her against the vibrator.

  Pressure. So much pressure. Flaming heat.

  “I’m coming, coming!”

  “I know it. I feel you.”

  “Coming.” Her clit was on fire. The vibrator clutched her tissues, held her, shook.

  No escape. No ending. “Can’t! Can’t take any more.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  Throwing back her head, she wailed. Explosion after explosion hit her. “Enough. No more!”

  “This is what you’ve dreamed of for years.”

  True, but wave upon wave was too much! She was so incredibly sensitive, nerves overloaded, cunt exhausted but not being allowed rest. “Please, please, please. No more.”

  “You want me to stop?”

  “Yes!”

  “What will you do for me?”

  “Anything. Anything.”

  “Wear my brand?”

  “Yes!”

  “Suck me?”

  “Yes.” She jerked, then stopped when it felt as if she might dislocate her arms. “Please, please.”

  Her world had been red-hot flames. Now, suddenly, she could see other colors, gray walls, his dark features and obsidian eyes. She sobbed more than breathed. Drank in as much air as her lungs could hold.

  “Coming down?” he asked.

  She was because he’d silenced the vibrator, thus handing her pussy relief. “Thank you.”

  “Gratitude, Asia? Because I was hurting you a moment ago or because you’ve never gone this far before?”

 
Air brushed against her drenched labia. Looking down, she watched him remove the vibrator although he held it only a few inches from her cunt. She tried to back-step only to be stopped by her restraints.

  “You’re not going anywhere so we might as well talk. Reality is damn different from fantasy, isn’t it?”

  “You think -- you think I wanted to be manhandled like that?”

  Grabbing her jaw again, he stared into her eyes. “I know you did.”

  “Damn you to hell.”

  “I told you, I’ve already been there. I’m not going back.”

  You’re talking about your scars, aren’t you?

  “Are you listening, Asia? I want you to admit I just made your fantasy come true.”

  “How can you say that? You don’t --”

  “Don’t lie and don’t play games with either of us. I know your nature maybe better than you do. I’m tapping you into the real you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  She’d watched bondage videos, listening intently to the women’s loud and urgent climaxes while men teased them with all manner of sexual devices. Pressing a battery-run bullet against her clit or trying to find a comfortable position with a rabbit vibrator claiming her both inside and out, she’d worked to imagine she was the one who’d been chained to a wall, the floor, on a bed, in a cage. Many times she’d been able to masturbate herself to climax, but she’d never sounded the way those bondage-loving women did, the way she just had. When she used cuffs or ropes, she was careful to secure them so she could free herself. And when her fantasy was over, she rewound the video, cleaned and put away her toys, took a shower, put on a nightgown, and turned down the furnace.

  Zemar had changed everything.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “For you to be honest with yourself.”

  She broke eye contact. “I can’t.”

  “Not yet maybe, but it’s going to happen. There’s a lesson in this. One I believe you’ll never forget.”