Author's Note: This one is heavier on the BDSM Master side with light reluctance again. I hope you have fun again and, as always, feedback is welcome :)! And sorry for the terrible part separation on this one.
Jezebel
After he used my name, I thought it was all over with, and it left me so frazzled that I spoke without thinking, asking him questions like that about his past because it felt like something had definitely happened there. The more I learned about him, the more it seemed clear that he was capable extreme violence. Strangely, I couldn't say that I had any fear of that violence. Whatever it was, I knew that he wouldn't ever truly hurt me. He was too steady, too calm. Even when his crop felt like it was too much, it never was. He was perfect like that and he looked at me with possession, not murderous intent. I had played with some shady people before, too, when I needed to satisfy my dom compass somehow and didn't want real control, so I knew dangerous violence and he wasn't it. I knew that without even thinking about it.
But I was still curious. What kind of lines had he crossed? What kind of violence had he done, and why? What would drive him to it? I wasn't sure what made me think that he had been driven to do something terrible, except to say that he had this air of confidence when talking about it that seemed to speak of experience.
But he left after the movie we watched and I sank against the door, breathing a kind of strangely disappointed relief. He had replaced all thoughts of my drugs lately, fueling me with a kind of continual fear and adrenaline. Each time I toyed with him and teased him felt like another time when he might just decide he tired of waiting for me to give in. It made me flinch to remember calling myself his slave to his face.
And yet, I had lain in bed after the night with Deirdre and Lily, and thought that it was wrong for me to have gotten pleasure. That had felt like the most strangely perverse bit of everything that had happened. I had dreams that night of his watching the two of them until they left, and then using my mouth for his release while I was left horny at his knees, eager for more, and pleased to have his approval and the taste of his cum.
God, what was happening to me? I was in a constant state of arousal and even though I was masturbating more than ever, I felt less satisfaction from doing it, too. My whole body felt like it itched for his dominance, for just one aggressive curl of his fingers around my throat, for one more flick of his crop to command me to be still and stand straight for his viewing pleasure. But he wasn't giving me any of that at all now. He was letting me tease him while taking my own release from his touch, and that was driving me even crazier.
I thought about the night he held me and forced me to look at his dungeon door in silence. He hadn't said a word, and there was nothing but pure menace and threat in his hold. I had merely trembled with my ass up, my face held low, looking at that door and knowing what it was. He hadn't even needed to clarify. I knew with every fiber of my being what lay behind that door.
Why wasn't I going to him now? He was right. What did I have to lose by giving him just a month? I was bored as all bloody fuck when I wasn't flirting or playing with him. He was my only friend and I was even running out of books to read. So why not just kneel and say okay to that one month? I wouldn't be bored anymore and I could lose myself to him.
But I needed it to be a struggle. I didn't know why that was the case, only knew that it was probably fucked up, and that I definitely didn't care. His force would be something to make me feel all the safer. On some basic level it felt like proof he could take care of me, that if he had the strength to subdue me, then that meant he was capable in some way. I knew animals acted that way, specifically predators. They instinctively had to be forced because force was indicative of better hunters. It didn't make sense for humans though, unless Norman was onto something with some of his theologies, with the thought that some instincts came from hunter-and-gatherer days, and that humans were the most basically violent of any other predator.
I turned all of those thoughts over in my head while I went to the bathroom, going through the mental possibilities, thinking of him and buried instincts. The only thing that mildly kept the arousal at bay anymore was taking a bath, and these weird mental logical trails, but even they were turning purely sexual in nature. Even so, I tried because I was kind of going insane, kind of dreaming about him every night now.
I got my toothbrush and lifted my head to the mirror, only to try to scream.
The creature behind me cut me off before I could, clasping one hand over my mouth, while the other arm wrapped around me with a wiry strength that I knew well. And then I got even more terrified than before, when I realized what was happening.
God, it was him but he was wearing a demon mask, a terrifying fitted skull shape with curling horns above his head. And what was more, he wasn't in a cock cage anymore. No, he was hard as hell against my ass, and I bucked back against that length with a groan behind his hand, even when every instinct told me that this was my last chance to run. If I didn't want to end up on my knees in that dungeon, if I didn't want to lose the entirety of my freedom by the end of the night, then this was it. But I only started to fight after I arched back to his length and felt how large he was.
And then I struggled, horny and frantic and needy in his arms. I wasn't thinking at all, which was amazing to me. God, no, I was all need, all feeling, even when I rammed my elbow back against him. But that only resulted in his grabbing my arm and pulling it across my chest in punishment. If I managed to even hurt him at all, he didn't show a thing or make a sound, but of course he wouldn't. His control was so perfect that he had worn a cock cage for weeks now, without letting me see a bit of his denial pain, until he wished to let me know. Everything was always, perfectly, on his terms and this was no different.
He chuckled in my ear and grappled with me, cooing with little shushing sounds, as if trying to ease the fear of a small animal that didn't know what was happening was for its own good. "That's enough, lovely girl. Was this your Hannibal Lecter fantasy all along? Was this how you needed to feel your V for Vendetta desire come alive, your Phantom of the Opera romanticizing made real?" I moaned when all of my secret daydreams came back at me, but of course, they had never been so secret had they? I had teasingly shown or referenced all of them to him. I couldn't look away from that mask in the mirror, from how he looked at me with such possessive violence in his gaze. God, my pussy was drenched, hotter and wetter than it had ever been. "Fuck, I can smell you, kotik."
He laughed when I struggled all the harder, a dark sound, and I whimpered behind his palm, which he took from my mouth. "Going to scream out?"
But he already knew the answer that. No, I never was. I had only been about to scream out of a jump scare, and I would never scream for help now that I knew it was him. That sense of endangerment grew even more terrible and I grappled against his touch, while he lightly forced me to my small college apartment bedroom. He tore at my yoga shorts, shoving me back so that I fell on the bed, and he tugged them down. He got one leg free before I recovered and tried to kick him, but he caught that easily, laughing, and all he'd needed was one leg free anyway. He was so slight, but his strength was pure anyway, and he was so exact, composed, while my struggles were panicked flailing.
But I did find one opening. He reached for my hand to turn me on my stomach on the bed, and I shoved, hard enough to break his grip on my waist. I ran for the door, kicking off the yoga shorts, and reached it right as he reached me. And that time, he locked one hand around my throat and used the other to shove two fingers into my pussy, letting me have my hands free.
I didn't do a thing with them. We moaned together, his a deep growl and mine an animalistic gasp of sex. I fell to my knees on the floor and he followed, shoving me forward and thrusting those fingers so that I obeyed his touch with a soft cry. "That's it. That's enough fighting. I was going to use this hot little pussy, lovely, but now that you made me work so hard for our first time, I think I'm going to make it a nice, hard anal raping instead." He undid his jeans just enough to free his cock, and I had to bite my wrist to keep from screaming with the pleasure when he pressed inside of my pussy. Just as quickly he was gone, only using it to lubricate himself with the cum I poured for him.
I clawed at the scratchy carpet when he pressed into my asshole instead, burying my face into it when cold sweat broke over my body from the sweetest pain. But he wasn't having it. He hissed and pulled me up with a fist in my hair instead. "No, you watch in the mirror when I have you. Watch yourself when you submit." Obediently, I did, staring into the mirror on the back of the door, whimpering at the sight of him in the theatrical mask. He looked down at me, watching his cock press inside of me centimeter by centimeter, watching my pain at the pure debasement of it. His lips parted with a heated pleasure at how it must have looked, and I...
I crouched low, arching so that he could have me better, lifting so that he could use me harder and feel me in more pain for him. The sight of his desire, of his pleasure made me mentally soar and that sweet, searing pressure only threw me higher, as if I had been tethered to a wire. He had left my shirt on and I scrabbled suddenly, because that was wrong and I knew it. He was the Master who could wear clothes when he wanted, while I was supposed to be naked in front of him.
"Good girl," he whispered in approval when I yanked the rest of my clothes off, and freed my breasts for him to see. His gaze went to them in the mirror, momentarily distracted from the image of my asshole being stretched around him. He was hurting me and it was the most wonderful thing I'd ever felt. I pulsed around his dick, quivering around him in such a way that even I was aware it was happening. "Cup your tits and punish your nipples for me. When you feel pain, your asshole squeezes on me and you want to give me more pleasure, don't you?"
I wanted that more than I'd ever wanted anything. His patient teacher's voice made me love him even now, even if it meant my pain. And I was happy to obey that because somehow the more pain it caused me to please him, the more satisfying it felt to do so, too. So I cinched my nipples, crying out with how hard I hurt myself, and his eyes lit with a dark light. "What do you say for the chance to please me?"
