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  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing. It’s just…” But she couldn’t continue. Her body was too happy to have his hands on her, and her tongue joined the rebellion.

  “Show me,” he suggested gently, concern in his voice. The command was too inviting, and she unbuttoned and dropped her shorts before thinking.

  She could feel the intentness of his gaze on her bare skin, almost more pressing than the light touch of his finger as he traced the still-red marks. The truth of why she had not worn underwear was as exposed as her backside.

  She didn’t really want his sympathy. She prayed for strength and discipline, not soft compassion, but without hope. Only a brute would strike her now, while she was still sore and aching from the last time. He was far too gentle for that, she was certain.

  Thus the gravel in his chuckle pierced her to the bone. “A little hair of the dog that bit you,” he said, and she heard the belt slide free again, escaping its restraining loops.

  She grew wet at the sound and knew that he knew her better than she knew herself. She had arranged this moment, hoping only that he would have the courage to take advantage of it. She had put herself at his mercy, dreaming for desire instead.

  When the first blow came, it was a relief, because it was light and playful compared to the day before. But it still stung, and the threat of it turning savage hung in the air, so after three slow strokes she was fully lubricated and eager to please him.

  “How long shall I beat you?” he asked playfully, and hit her again.

  “Until I beg you to fuck me.” But it was the wrong answer, and the belt struck.

  “Until I come,” she tried, but this time the lash was hard, and she had to bite back a shriek. Stumbling forward to escape the pain, she fell face-first onto the bed. Now rendered unable to even flee, her helplessness washed over her.

  “Until you come,” she guessed desperately. In the brief pause she rushed to give in more deeply. “In my mouth.”

  This time the stroke had no speed behind it, and only licked, like the rough tongue of a cat playing with its prey. She must be getting closer. What else could he want from her? But of course she already knew, had probably known when she pulled on the shorts that morning.

  “Until I beg you to fuck me in back,” she whispered, ashamed of herself for wanting this unnatural and brutal treatment. To be so violated here, in her own room, in her inner sanctum, was unthinkable.

  But the belt only caressed her this time, its smoothness soft and pleasurable against her flesh. She heard his pants unbutton and drop, but was afraid to look.

  “Do you want me to start off slow?”

  “Yes, please,” she pleaded. Even before she felt him draw back, even before she heard the leather sliding through the air, even before she felt the belt slam into her bottom, she knew it was the wrong answer. Part of her knew that was why she had given it.

  “Then you’re not really ready.” She could do nothing but wait for the beating to stop, biting at the covers to silence her cries. Mercifully, he sensed her surrender after only a few blows, and asked her again. “What do you want?”

  “Fuck my ass,” she groveled, truly eager now. “Use it like a pussy.”

  He took her in front. The unexpectedness of it hurt a little, but after one stroke she was soaking and limp. He fucked her for a few dozen more, just long enough for her to form the hope that he would come there. Then he pulled out and re-entered in the other hole, pushing in gently but irresistibly. The sensation made her grunt even as her body opened to him, and the sound made him frenzied. Grabbing her hips with both hands, he pounded into her.

  There was nothing she could do but yield to him. There was nothing she wanted to do but yield. Instinctively, she put a hand between her legs and began to touch herself, trying to make herself come so he would be happy with her. Only after she had two fingers inside did she tremble, thinking about what he might do to her for acting without permission. The frisson of fear hurried her, and the stretching of tight muscles with the strange sensation of fullness pushed her into a too-early climax. Then she had to lie there, defenseless, grunting with each stroke while he took his pleasure in her. But not without pleasure of her own.

  To be rendered into an object of lust, forced to serve at his prodding, unable to resist him anything, even while she lay in the bed that had been her fortress of isolation, tore her loose from her moorings and she drifted on a sea of bliss. To have retreated as far as she could go, and yet still be caught and violated, made her feel, for the first time, truly valued.

  When he was done with her, she kissed his hand with her tears, grateful that she had been worth pursuing.

  Chapter Six

  That night, he slept in her bed, his alien presence filling a void she had not known existed. Waking to find a warm body next to her, she turned into it sleepily, snuggling instead of retreating in fear or confusion. Brewing coffee while waiting her turn for the shower, wearing only a towel, was comfortable and easy. Pulling on a light summer dress while he watched out of the corner of his eye and paused in the middle of buckling his jeans was flattering and made her smile.

  And yet, all day, she marveled at her reserve, that she could let a man violate her naked body but could not bring herself to bare her soul. Their sex was not the contained and delimited engagements she was used to, but sex alone was not enough in the warm light of day. And his kindness outside the bedroom was a weapon she had long ago learned to parry, with little coldnesses of her own.

  But he did not seem to notice. Like a sailor, he took the choppy seas with the same equanimity that he sailed on smooth glass. When she grew still and unresponsive, he waited it out with the patience of one who knows the trade winds must blow again in their own time.

  It was she who grew nervous as the day drew to a close. In the grocery store, she dithered over brands of coffee for an unconscionably long time, putting off the moment of reckoning, but he refused to help her choose, laughing that he had had too many flavors in too many ports and it all tasted the same to him now. It was the end of the weekend, and tonight he would return to his apartment, where his friends would find him at whatever ungodly hour of the morning they started work. She could not bear the thought of letting him leave unsated, but neither could she think of letting him below her waist again. Two consecutive nights of beatings and anal sex were enough.

  No, they aren’t, said a small tingle between her thighs. All through the drive home, through dinner and coffee, she tried to stifle that voice through sheer force of will. And failed. By the third cup of coffee they had drifted back into her bedroom, making small talk about anything and everything except sex.

  “I should go soon,” he said, and in response, she threw herself on the bed huffily. But from the opposite side, where she had retreated so he wouldn’t get any ideas. So now she was facing him, lying on her stomach, and true to her contrariness, offered him some very obvious ideas by turning her pouting mouth into an open and inviting “o”.

  He took a step towards her, and now his groin was at the level of her face. He might not have gone any further with it, but her eyes stared at the buckle of his belt, enraptured. The closeness of the monster to her face was breathtaking, like suddenly finding a rattlesnake on your pillow. Reflexively, she closed her eyes and opened her mouth a little more, as if this posture of submission would appease the belt.

  She heard the rustle of cloth, but was so focused on her fantasies about the belt that she didn’t comprehend what the sounds signified until she felt something warm and close to her face. She opened her eyes just in time to see him press his cock into her mouth.

  Lying on the bed, propped up on her elbows, there wasn’t much room for her to retreat. Still, she instinctively tried to pull her head away, and he, equally instinctively, reached down to stop her. Somehow he had the belt loose in his hands—when had it snuck free?—and he dropped it behind her head, grabbing it with his other hand.

  Now she was trapped
, like a lassoed calf, the belt a gentle restraining strap across the back of her head, his cock filling her mouth. If it had only been his hands, she could have slapped them away, freed herself, perhaps even let his cock feel her bare teeth. But it was the belt, and she found herself paralyzed, unable to do anything but clench the bedcovers in her fists while he slowly rocked back and forth.

  Feeling his cock grow long and hard in her mouth gave her a sense of power. The way it eagerly sought out her tongue, responded to her suction, reveled in her wetness, made her think that she might wield some control this time. She would suck him dry, drain him of his strength and juice, and swallow his power. Then the belt would go limp, like his cock, and she would win this battle, bring him to moaning climax while she remained cool and collected. The vision of outwitting the belt that restrained her head made her warm inside, and she serviced his cock with a will. Soon it was fully erect, and she could stop trying, while he did all the work of thrusting. All she had to do now was be soft and wet and wait for him to come.

  Except he was too long to fit all the way in. As he became excited, he began to thrust into the back of her mouth, trying to bury himself fully in her warmth and wetness. She pulled her head back, but the gentle pressure of the belt was enough to lock her into place. Though it was soft on her scalp, in her mind it felt like a bar of iron. Suddenly she was struck by what seemed like a brilliant idea.

  Rotating around his cock like a spindle, she rolled over on her back. This left her head hanging off the edge of the bed. Now he had a more natural angle, and she had escaped the confines of the belt. She relaxed in triumph while he began to slowly fuck her mouth.

  But he was still too long, and soon he poked up against her gag reflex. Automatically, he retreated, returning to short strokes. She made herself pliant and inviting, even reached up with both hands to his buttocks to pull him deeper in, but it was like pulling on an iron bar. The depth and speed of his strokes did not change, and she whimpered in frustration.

  He leaned forward, reaching over her. This moved his cock deeper into her mouth, and she struggled to suppress her throat’s automatic rejection. She was so focused on his cock that she did not even wonder what he was doing until she felt the tug on her dress. A shudder of fear and anticipation ran through her, but she arched her body anyway, making clearance for the dress. It slid all the way up to her shoulders, leaving the rest of her naked and exposed. She could not see anything, she did not know where his hands or the belt were, and his cock was as stiff as steel in her mouth. Helplessly, she fixed herself to the bed by clenching the covers in her fists and fighting against her reflexes. She knew she must make herself submit, or he would.

  He tested her, but she could not yet let him all the way in, could not force her rebellious throat to yield, and he retreated. In his place came the belt, falling down on her exposed belly. The sound of leather on flesh sung in her ears, almost disconnected from the burning stripe, but still she resisted him. She knew she would lose, but she could not—did not want to—surrender yet. He reached down and grabbed a breast firmly in his left hand to hold her body in place, and the belt struck her belly again.

  All of the muscles in her body contracted, trapped between the innate desire to gag or bite. She could not suppress the former, and dared not do the latter. He entered her mouth again, but still her throat clenched and held him out.

  It came to her that he would have to beat her body into obedience of his demands.

  The realization made her wet, everywhere, her exposed and naked flesh perspiring in the sudden heat of the idea. The concept that he could compel her body to do what she could not will it to do made her dizzy. She did not want to surrender this much, to give him so great a power over her. But he already had, it seemed, for her hands remained anchored to the bedcovers, even while the belt struck her again.

  She could not cry out, his cock a muffler that silenced her. She could not think of anything but not biting him, all of her strength thrown into suppressing the urge to clamp down with every blow. The belt fell where it willed, as high as her breasts, as low as her thighs, stinging kisses ranging up and down her unprotected flesh. The fear that he might strike her directly on her clitoris began to grow, flowing down like ice from her head, but burning up like fire from her groin.

  “Stop fighting me,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, and then he struck the bed with full strength. The belt sung in the air and the mattress cracked like a bullet. The mere force of the sound terrified her, the threatening power dangerously close, and her entire body quivered.

  “Relax,” he grunted, struggling against himself to retreat a little from her mouth. Dangling the belt over her body so she could not forget it, he gently probed again.

  Dragging the belt gently up her belly, he let it slide off her breasts, and then lobbed it out again for another pass. It landed between her legs, and even though it had no more force than its own weight, the contact with her clitoris made her hips arch up into it. Laughing, he did it again, this time dragging the full length of it across her labia. The arch of her hips projected her body out, and her throat now accepted this slight increase in her impalement. One more time he flung out his leather line, jiggling it as it rubbed across her swollen mound, and in her climax she finally yielded to him completely, his cock going in the last inch without difficulty.

  In the throes of orgasm, she molded her mouth to his cock, the deep invasion of her body now seeming natural and easy. Only a few short strokes, and he had his own orgasm so deep inside her that she could not taste it.

  After she swallowed, he knelt and kissed her, holding her head tenderly in his hands. He did not speak, but he did not have to. The deep satisfaction of his smile, the possessive stroke of his fingers in her hair, spoke for him.

  Chapter Seven

  All that week, she avoided him. No phone calls, no nights at Jackie’s. She told herself that she could not afford to be involved with a man so willing to use force, so perverse and domineering. During the day, this lie served her well, but at night, with her hand between her thighs, the memory of things he had done to her drove her into brittle climaxes that left her aching with emptiness.

  On Thursday, he came to her, on neutral ground. Just as she was about to leave for the day, he came to her counter, armed with a single rose and a puppy-dog smile.

  “I’ve missed you.”

  His simplicity disarmed her, and automatically she retreated into lies.

  “I’ve been busy.”

  But he was not there to argue. “Okay.” He laid the rose on her counter. Then he walked away, like it was easy, like everything was normal. She could call him or not, find him at Jackie’s or never return. It was her choice, her decision. There would be no games, no politics, no guilt laid, no duty claimed. He had said what he wanted, given away all his leverage without negotiating, surrendered his power to honesty. In doing so, he had robbed her of any other response than her own honesty.

  The feeling was unbearable, and in frustration she snatched at the rose. A thorn bit into her, drawing a bead of blood. Instinctively, she put the finger in her mouth, cursing silently. But as she stood there, the tang of iron, the smell of blood, the red bloom of the rose all rushed at her, and she had a blinding vision of the stem of the flower dragging across her inner thighs, the thorns tearing at her and blood springing out in their tracks. The soft blossom crushed in her hand as she flayed herself and he watched approvingly, accepting her sacrificial offering. The smell of rose and musk.

  She had to put a hand out to steady herself, her knees almost buckling with sudden weakness. Mumbling excuses to an uninterested colleague, she retreated to the bathroom, and in the privacy of the stall, brought herself to two separate orgasms, the first one barely ending before she had to start again.

  I’m sick, she thought. He has infected me with his darkness.

  That got her home, and through the evening. But in her bed, on the edge of sleep, the echoes of truth could finally be heard,
and she remembered how he had sought out knowledge of the darkness only after meeting her.

  In the morning, she resolved to end it with him, finally and completely. She would go to Jackie’s tonight, return his rose on his own ground, and free herself from this strange snare he had cast. Or she had laid. The blame wasn’t as important as escaping while she still could.

  When it came time to go, however, she left the rose in its vase on her dresser. She did not dare to have it with her, the nightmare erotic visions it induced too dangerous to risk.

  And again, all her plans were wrecked by his simple honesty, this time in the huge smile that beamed from his face when she came to his table. She fell into the conversation of the group as if she had never left, her brief absence hardly even remarked on. The easy familiarity carried her through the night, all the way into his room and out of her clothes.

  Only when she was standing naked next to his bed, watching him drop his trousers, did she remember her resolve. Defensively, she stepped away.

  He hesitated, almost as if he was confused, but the belt buckle was still in his hand. The pants slid off it, curling at his feet, the belt remaining with him instead of joining his clothes on the floor, and his mouth made a sly grin from confidence and lust.

  “Still playing hard to get?” He winked and unconsciously slapped the doubled-over belt against the palm of his other hand.

  “Maybe.” She was too paralyzed by the sight and sound of the leather to think straight. When he came for her, she stepped away again.

  “Hey.” He flicked the belt out at her, extending his reach to touch her on the belly.

  She made a tiny squeal at the contact, and hopped onto the bed.

  “That’s better,” he growled, but when he tried to join her, she scooted across the bed to the other side. Leaning forward, he lashed out with the belt again, and it slapped against her retreating backside.