Binding Agreement Page 4

  “Yes. A special kind of tempered glass that’s safe. It’s not going to break if that concerns you.” He stroked her bottom. “It’s brand-new—I just bought it. Thought the shape made it look kind of festive. Are you feeling festive yet?”

  Did he really expect an answer to that taunt? If so, he was to be disappointed.

  “This dildo is yours now,” he said. “It will be waiting for you the next time you visit.”

  How could she think about a “next time” when she didn’t know if she’d make it through this time? “Are you going to take it out now? Sir?”

  “No. It stays.”

  Kay released a groan of dismay. The beating of her heart produced a pulse right there, where the evil thing skewered her. She dared another question. “How—how long will my punishment last?”

  She could hear the smile in his voice as he said, “This isn’t your punishment, Kay. That will come soon enough. Your asshole’s too tight—it needs to be stretched by the dildo before I fuck it. I’m going to ride you hard, and making you bleed isn’t my idea of a good time.”

  His words triggered a lightning streak of alarm. What had she gotten herself into? Meanwhile, how long would he make her wear this thing? Her body was becoming accustomed to the pressure, but it was huge and weighty inside her. When her muscles down there tensed, it felt almost too enormous to bear.

  John seemed to read her mind. “It will stay in until I decide to remove it. You’re new to this, Kay, so I’m going easy on you—at its widest point that dildo’s not as thick as the real thing. But if you complain or try to push it out, I’ll replace it with one twice as big and use a locking harness to keep it in place.”

  “Yes Sir.” Kay barely heard her own voice.

  “I know you’re trying hard to obey, but you must learn silence. It’s not your place to ask questions.”

  Kay dipped her head in mute apology.

  John said, “Now, fold your arms behind your back. Like this. Grasp your elbows.”

  Kay did as he instructed. The position was as uncomfortable psychologically as it was physically—it bowed her back and made her breasts jut forward as if in offering. She felt him move away, heard him remove something from the briefcase. He moved behind her and looped some kind of thin strap several times around her right wrist and left elbow, securing them together with a firm knot. The strap felt like leather.

  She emitted a whimper as he wound the leather down the entire length of her forearms, over and under, lashing them tightly together. Panic surged through her. If she weren’t blindfolded, she could at least look her tormentor in the eye, gauge his mood, anticipate his intentions. If she had use of her arms, she could yank off the blindfold and pull that wretched device out of her bottom. Yes, he’d punish her for it, but just knowing she could do it was a comfort. Now he’d rendered her entirely helpless. Her heart slammed. Her breasts, so flagrantly displayed, trembled with every ragged breath.

  “I’m doing this for your benefit,” John said as he tied her left wrist to her right elbow. He stepped away and she pictured him admiring his handiwork. “If I left your hands free, you might be tempted to struggle against your punishment—in fact, I know you would. This way you’ll have no choice but to yield.”

  He moved in front of her. She flinched when his fingertips trailed over her cheek. “You must thank me for helping you to remain obedient.”

  She forced the words out of a throat gone dry with dread. “Thank you, Sir.”

  After a moment he murmured, “Your nipples are a beautiful shade of pink.” Kay sucked in a breath as he captured both erect peaks and gently kneaded them between fingers and thumbs. She sensed him removing something from his pocket, then heard the tinkle of metal and felt his big hand lift one breast. She cried out as a biting pain shot through the tip. “No!” She tried to pull back only to emit a shriller cry as the thing clamping her nipple jerked in the opposite direction.

  “John—Sir,” she half sobbed. “This is—I can’t—”

  “Be still. And don’t speak.” He lifted the other breast and she stiffened in anticipation. Another hard little jaw latched on to that nipple and she whimpered.

  “Please, it’s too—Ah!” Her breasts danced under the force of a hard spank. She heard the metallic jangle again and knew a chain connected the two clamps.

  “Do you want more?” His voice was maddeningly calm.

  “No Sir.”

  “Will you be silent?”

  “Yes Sir.”

  Her clamped nipples still hurt, but as the initial shock subsided, she became aware of an altogether different sensation—a kind of sensual heaviness between her legs, somehow telegraphed by the mean little devices. She shifted her weight, uneasy with the way her body seemed to warm to this latest assault, as well as to the awful thing he’d shoved in her ass. The dildo was uncomfortable. She hated it—at least she’d started out hating it. Was it possible to hate something that made you so wet and horny?

  Kay’s experience with sex was strictly of the vanilla variety. Sure, she knew “adult toys” existed. She knew there were such things as butt plugs and nipple clamps. But she’d always assumed they were for people too jaded—or too deviant—to enjoy normal sex. Now here she was, plugged, clamped, blindfolded and bound—and by a complete stranger! Was she insane?

  Perhaps, but she was also insanely aroused. If she stopped him now, if she blurted the safe word and slunk home to her safe little house and her safe little bed where nothing scary had ever or would ever occur, she’d spend the rest of her life wondering.

  And that wasn’t the kind of life the brave new Kay had in mind.

  Chapter Three

  She jumped at the sound of a metallic click close to her breasts—and bit her lip as the nipple chain sagged with added weight. Then a sharp tugging she felt in her core.

  “Walk,” John said. His voice was several feet away, though the tension on the chain never slackened. Her mind filled in the ugly blanks.

  A leash! He was leading her by a leash connected via the chain and clamps to her aching nipples.

  “Now!” He snapped the leash. She gasped and took a tentative step toward him, wishing he’d remove the blindfold but not daring to ask. No questions. He’d made that clear.

  John moved and she moved with him, trying to keep pace, trying to keep the leash loose. He warned her not to stub her toes as they entered the house, the rough boards of the deck giving way to polished hardwood and plush area rugs in the living room.

  He steered her around obstacles and she followed as quickly as she could, the clamps a potent incentive to keep up with the man holding the leash. She gave a cry of panic as she tripped on the edge of a rug and started to go down, helpless to break her fall with her arms bound behind her back.

  With catlike reflexes, John closed the distance between them and caught her as if she weighed no more than the briefcase he’d just dropped. His impressive physical strength took her by surprise, perhaps because up until now he’d manipulated her solely through the force of his personality—the strength of his determination to dominate.

  He righted her and she sensed him looking her over, assuring himself she was unharmed. He cupped one breast and closed his hot mouth over the tip, clamp and all. She moaned as he suckled and licked, astonished by the contrast of textures, the competing sensations, the delicious, dizzying strangeness of it. Sparks flared in her other nipple as his thumb flicked it.

  Finally he raised his head. He squeezed both breasts. “How are they doing?”

  It took her a moment to find her voice. “F-fine, Sir.”

  “Only fine?” She pictured him smiling as he dragged a long finger between her drenched labia. “A willful understatement, but I’ll let it pass.”

  A yank of the leash got her moving once more. They turned a corner and the echo of their footfalls told her they were in a hallway. Then the sound of a door opening. She knew they’d entered a bathroom by the feel of cold tile underfoot.

  “Yo
u’ve forgotten the rules.” His deep, even voice sent a shiver through her. “Either that or you’re deliberately defying me. Which is it?”

  Kay racked her brain. “I-I don’t—ah!” she cried as he snapped the leash again, like a whip.

  “Perhaps a spreader bar will help you remember.”

  Hurriedly she opened her legs. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

  “Your only thought should be how to please me,” he said. “Put everything else from your mind.”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “Open your mouth,” he said. Kay’s throat tightened as she obeyed. He placed a strip of leather between her teeth. “Tilt your head back. Hold it. Don’t let it fall.” The steady tug on her nipples told her she was being forced to hold the detested leash, pulled taut. Every exhalation stirred an unholy brew of pleasure and pain. She imagined how her jutting breasts must appear to him, tilted up by the tension on the chain and leash, the pinched tips cruelly stretched.

  John ran water in the sink. She heard a medicine cabinet opening, the clatter of items being set out. Oh God, Kay wondered. What now?

  The water stopped. She failed to restrain a sigh of pleasure as he pressed his warm hand to her pussy. “I do like this bush.” He stroked his fingers through her pubic hair. “Nicely shaped—the color of dark honey. Very sexy the way it frames your cunt. Lift your right leg.” He guided her foot onto cold porcelain—the edge of a tub by the feel of it—and positioned her body so she was fully open to him. He draped the end of the leash over her shoulder.

  His hand briefly left her and returned with a wet washcloth almost too hot for comfort, which he pressed to her mons. Reflexively she jerked her hips back, only to snap them forward as he delivered a sharp smack to the dildo, an explosion of sensation she felt deep within. Throughout it all, she struggled to maintain her balance without the use of her arms.

  “Tell me,” he said. “Have you ever gone bare? I’m talking full Brazilian.”

  She started to shake her head until her nipples screamed at her to stop. She mumbled, “Uh-uh,” around the leash.

  “Well then.” Amusement tinged his voice. “Another first for our Kay.”

  She sucked in a breath. Did he mean…?

  She had her answer in the next instant as he lathered her pubes and told her to be still. “For your own safety.”

  He wielded the razor with deft efficiency, altering her position a couple of times for the sake of thoroughness. Kay was a mass of helpless, gnawing hunger even before he began shaving her. In her fevered imagination, the leather thong straitjacketing her arms became his hands imprisoning her. The cruel little clamps squeezing her nipples became his teeth, biting. The solid glass dildo stretching her ass became his rigid cock. Her internal muscles pumped it as the juices seeped from her famished pussy.

  The cold scrape of the blade only magnified her arousal, if that was possible. John’s breathing was calm and measured as he worked, each exhalation a scalding caress to her turgid clitoris. She bit her lip hard to keep from coming right then and there as he shaved her.

  At last he was done. He wiped off the residual foam and patted her dry with a towel. He removed the leash from her mouth, easing the pressure on her nipples, then lifted her foot off the tub and removed her blindfold. She blinked at her well-lit surroundings, a bathroom that was smaller but no less elegant than the one off his bedroom upstairs. Standing behind her, he turned her toward a full-length mirror.

  Her eyes widened as she took in her reflection. The sight of her nipples compressed by the clamps was shocking enough, but her pussy! If her arms had been free, she would have covered her pink, exposed slit. She averted her gaze, but John turned her head sharply forward. He kicked her legs apart.

  “You might be wondering why I shaved you bare after telling you what a sexy bush you had.” He reached for a small bottle on the counter and tipped out a couple of drops of a clear liquid. He rubbed it onto his fingertips and reached around with both hands to smooth the light oil onto her freshly shaved skin.

  Kay shuddered as his long fingers glided over her intimate contours, unprepared for how sensitive she now was there. He watched her in the mirror, his gaze unwavering, his erection nudging her bottom through his jeans.

  “With no hair in the way,” he said, “I have a clear view of your cunt at all times. I can see how wet you are.” He spread the drenched lips of her pussy. “How swollen your clit is. But mostly I did it for the enhanced sensations. I want you to feel everything as keenly as possible, both pleasure and punishment.”

  Kay’s heart turned a somersault as her mind scrambled to process that last part. He studied her in the mirror and she knew he saw it all—her fear, her curiosity, the obvious, irrefutable arousal that kept her from ending her torment with one simple word.

  “You are to shave yourself every day,” he said. “Whenever I summon you to me, I expect to see your cunt as smooth and hairless as it is now.”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “It’s time.” He took hold of the leash, lifted the briefcase and led her out of the bathroom and down the hall. He opened another door and ushered her inside, flipping a light switch. She found herself in what appeared to be an office, as ultramodern as the rest of the house and dominated by a massive desk—a thick, kidney-shaped slab of glass perched on a brushed-steel frame. The desk faced floor-to-ceiling windows and the inky night sky beyond. A laptop computer sat on it, along with a stack of stuffed folders and some writing implements.

  “Stand here.” John positioned her under the dangling light fixture, a work of modern art in glass and steel that cast a soft, warm glow over the room. This time she remembered to spread her legs. He reached up to tie the end of the leash around the base of the light fixture, leaving no slack whatsoever. Honey-tipped arrows streaked from her stretched nipples directly to her pussy, mercilessly exposed and grasping at empty air.

  He set the briefcase on a credenza. Her heart squeezed into her throat when she saw what he retrieved from it—an evil-looking whip with a leather-wrapped handle and a moplike cluster of suede strips about a foot long. He ordered her to widen her stance and she struggled to obey. “Thrust your hips forward.” She did, feeling her face burn, mortified by the obscene spectacle she presented.

  “I’m going to whip your cunt,” he said, drawing the suede tails through his fist. “This is your punishment for disobeying me. You need to prepare yourself, because I will not tolerate your changing position or trying in any way to evade the flogger. Do you understand?”

  She let out a whimper of alarm. Time to call a halt to this demented game. Felicia. The word sat poised on the tip of her tongue, just waiting to leap out and keep him from administering his perverted brand of punishment. So what was stopping her?

  John stared at her with such searing intensity, she thought he must indeed be reading her mind. He stepped close to her, holding her gaze as he slowly dragged the tails of the whip over her tingling pussy. She trembled, imagining how those soft suede ribbons would feel when he put some force behind them.

  John turned the flogger around. He parted her defenseless pussy lips with the end of the rough, leather-wrapped handle and slowly pushed about an inch of it into her. To her shame she reached for it with her entire body—she couldn’t help herself. “Answer me, Kay.” Another raspy inch ground into her. She squirmed against it, around it, sobbing in frustration. She needed more. She needed his hard, thick cock. She needed to feel his hot come gushing deep inside. She needed it like she needed her next breath.

  He slid the handle almost all the way out and slowly drove it back in, the same maddening two inches. He spoke slowly, each word carefully enunciated. “Do. You. Understand?”

  Kay felt lightheaded as she croaked, “I understand, Sir.”

  “When it’s over you are to thank me for correcting your behavior.”

  “Y-yes Sir.”

  “Don’t move a muscle. Keep your hips pushed out like this—offering your cunt to the whip.” He withdrew the handle f
rom her grasping pussy, then stepped back and adjusted his stance. “I didn’t give you permission to close your eyes.”

  Only then did she realize she’d squeezed them shut. She forced herself to look at him, to watch as he pulled the suede strips through his fist again and lightly grasped the ends, his gaze fixed on his target. She’d just started to draw a calming breath when the flogger arced toward her in a blur of movement, an underhand swing that stung like a swarm of killer bees. She shrieked.

  “John! Wait!” Automatically she tried to twist away, but her clamped and leashed nipples proved an effective deterrent to movement. Her arms strained against their leather bindings.

  “Be still!” he barked, and swung again, reigniting the fiery pain before it had a chance to fade. She shrieked again.

  “Please!” she cried. “Stop!”

  He paused a moment, and now she read his mind, knew what he was waiting to hear, what he’d no doubt been waiting all evening to hear. Her safe word.

  A battle raged inside her, between the ordinary Kay and her ordinary life on the one hand, and a wealth of darkly thrilling possibilities on the other. She swallowed hard and looked John in the eye. She corrected her stance, spreading her legs and thrusting her hips in invitation.

  His dark-blue eyes widened fractionally. He tilted his head in acknowledgment, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. She’d surprised him. Good.

  Whatever smug contentment she felt evaporated in the next instant when the flogger found its mark again. She greeted it with a strangled cry. Another sharp thwack followed, and another. He didn’t put much power into the strokes—they were all about technique, each lash of the whip distinct from the one before, making them impossible to anticipate and prepare for. A broad swipe that stunned the entire area was followed by a snapping cobra strike directly on her clitoris. The next one caught her inner lips and the tender flesh beneath. Thanks to John’s razor, she lacked even the minimal buffer of pubic hair between her most sensitive flesh and the bite of the whip.

  With the first swat, all she’d felt was the startling sting of the tails. By the third, a blooming, buzzing heat began to edge out the pain. By the fifth lash of the whip, that intoxicating burn took over and she found herself arching into the whip-cracks, reaching for them, wondering distractedly if her delicate tissues looked as scalded and swollen as they felt.