Downstairs

"I'm too old for you, Faith."

"Oh really? Your time on the Grind is better than mine, Kenner."

"I'll be impotent when you hit your sexual prime in 20 years."

"I'm not in my sexual prime now? I thought I was the sexy solution to your mid-life crisis, not the one making it happen. Besides, old man, they've got a bot for that... don't you read? We may all be dead in a couple years if the cyberwars keep escalating. Did you see the blurb about escalating China-US battles in the cloud? They say both sides may be doing illegal AI, setting up to take out the entire life support infrastructure. We should get all the sex we can while we're still alive."

"I don't buy it. We'll live for centuries, but I'm not sure I can take care of you as... as fully and long and deeply as you need."

"You took out a gang of muggers and maybe saved my life. Can any girl be better cared for? I think you're more worried about your mortality than you are about my needs. What's going on with you?"

"I'm too sadistic for you."

"Ha. Bring it, bad boy. You haven't even begun to test my limits. Hey, is that what you're really worried about? Are you in shock about what you did yesterday? Honey, I'm serious now. Yesterday was awesome. I'm glad it happened. I learned... so many wonderful things about you, after a year when I thought I'd learned all the important stuff already. What's wrong? Do you still wish I didn't know about that capability in you?"

"No, it's not really secret, just not something I put out there for everyone, not something I care to project in my public persona. No, the problem is that I liked it so much. You know I choose to be gentle..."

"Gentle? You spanked me hard enough last week I had to pretend I like stand-up meetings all day at work. I couldn't sit down for 24 hours."

Half-smile. "That's just a little play. We have our safe word, I keep myself under strict control with you, I don't want to hurt you. But yesterday, with those... stupid young men, it slipped out a bit. I went into a zone, and I was calm all the way through it, even with the adrenaline rush, but... my emotions, Faith, my God... if I hadn't entered that zone, I would have been smiling when I broke them. I loved it. And it reminded me of my darker fantasies."

"And you have fantasies you don't think I'll fulfill for you?"

"It's not... hmm... it's that I haven't really gone to my own limits with anyone, that I feel they're too extreme, too dark, too deep. I'm not afraid I'll lose control; I know I... I care about you too much to miss the signs, or slide past the safe word. What I'm afraid of is you seeing how dark I can get, and hating it. That's why I said I'm too sadistic for you. You see me as this nice guy, who takes care of you, who is gentle except for a little light BDSM once in a while. I don't want to destroy that, but yesterday reminded me of the risk."

"Do I get a say in this? Have you even asked me how far I'd go? Or what I like? I've never safed out, have I? Kenner, I've been patiently waiting for this conversation. You have no idea how turned on I am by this. Come on, let's do it! Right now. Drag me down to the basement. No negotiation. No script. Just my body, your imagination, and our safe word. Interested? Oooooh... your eyes are sparkling. OK, honey, I'm not just offering, I'm daring you. Make me safe out. I bet you can't. You think your sweet sweet caring for me will interfere with your fantasies? You worry your fantasies can wreck us? Stop treating me like a child. I'm 22 not 12. I swear, Kenner, I won't leave you for going so far I have to use the word. I want to use it... no, I want to find out... I want to explore it with you. I want to see if you have the guts to throw everything into it. Use me, abuse me, hurt me. Only one of two things can happen. Either I safe out, and we know for today that you're even deeper than me, and I'll be happy I did my best, and I'll know you better than I even do now. Or way more likely, you'll do what you can, and you'll come to realize you can have ANYTHING you want from me, and I can do it and ask for more. You can act out your sickest, most perverted and dangerous fantasy, and I will have orgasms at the joy of sucking it all in. I bet you a month of cooking duties that you'll quit before me - and don't you dare stop for MY sake."

"You might regret this, Faith."

"I won't regret it. It doesn't have to be right now, if you don't feel like it. You can just fuck me over the kitchen table and spank my naked butt for a while, if you want. But I saw you look at the basement door. I think you want to seriously fuck me up. Do it. Yeah? I promise: it's a scene. When it's over, we watch Netflix and cuddle and argue about how to do laundry and life goes on."

"OK, but listen. You walk through that door, and I'll come after you. Once we're both across that threshold, I become a completely different man, one you haven't seen before, even yesterday. I will say and do things unlike anything you have met. It will not be fun."

"Speak for yourself, smart boy."

"There will be only one way back upstairs and back to sanity: you say the word. If you can't speak, you know the movements to make. I will stop then, but until then, I would become your worst nightmare. Maybe we should talk about it first."

"You're being afraid again. I said no negotiation. We've lived together for six months. I trust you. The problem is going to be you trusting me, trusting me to stop when I want to. Trust me. I will stop whenever I want to. And it will be after you've done it all. Watch me. I'm stepping through the door. Follow me or not, but it might not be every day you get this offer. Are you coming?"

She stood on the landing, beyond the open basement door, looking at him. He paused, considering. He stepped slowly toward the door. She gazed steadily back. He stood in the door frame, eyes on hers, one foot away, breathing deeply. He stepped through the door and pulled it closed behind him.

Slap. A hard right hand slap across her cheek, while staring into her eyes. She cried out a little, flinching her hands, then put them down by her side, looked up at him, tilted her chin up, leaned toward him a little. Slap. Again the right hand. "Unh!"

"Alright bitch, clothes off." Slap. "You have 10 seconds."

She quickly unbuttoned her blouse, shrugged it off, reached back to unhook her bra. He grabbed her hair and yanked her head up for a kiss, biting her lips.

"Ow! How can I get my clothes off if you're grabbing me?"

"Your problem, bitch. 5 seconds." She pulled her bra down, and struggled to undo her jeans, pushing them down her hips while he kept his hands wrapped in her hair, biting down again on her lips. Abruptly letting go, he stepped back and watched as she quickly pushed her jeans down. Sitting on the floor she yanked at her shoes.

"Time's up, you lose." Reaching down he grabbed a handful of hair, and started walking down the stairs, dragging her behind him. She yelped as her heels banged the first step down, her jeans still tangled round her ankles. Giving up, she collapsed limply. He reached the bottom of the stairs, still holding her by one hand in her hair. She screamed as he threw her on the concrete floor. He kneeled down on her legs, back turned to her face, and untied her shoes, pulling them off and throwing them aside. He pulled hard on her sockettes, threw them after the shoes, and wrenched off her jeans.

"Take off your panties, shove them in your mouth." She looked up at him, deliberately peeled them down from her knees, and used her right hand to push them into her mouth. She pursed her lips and tilted her chin up. "Now shut up. No talking. Scream all you like, but I don't want to hear any words. Got it?" A nod. Eyes clear, looking up at him.

He pulled her up to standing, held his arms out in front of him, palms up, to show how he wanted her. She moved her arms, eyes locked on his. Walking to a shelf, he rustled through tools, found a rope. Wrapped it round her wrists twenty times in loose loops, deftly twisted the ends together one time, threaded them between her arms and twisted them again, tying a simple knot with a loop, and a series of knots to spread the tension along her forearms. He pulled another rope from a box and threaded it through the loop. She looked at him quietly, he looked intently at the ropes, focused. Both were breathing raggedly from exertion and excitement. He looped the second rope over a girder in the exposed ceiling, put it through the loop again, and slowly pulled it up. Her arms rose, he kept pulling. Her breasts rose as her arms stretched above her. Her feet began to arch, and then dangle, toes barely touching the floor. Satisfied, he tied off the rope with deft strokes, the remaining length wrapped artfully round her elbows.

Frowning in thought, he slowly walked around her, staring at her body as if for the first time, drinking the stretched nudity. From behind her he suddenly lunged toward her, felt her flinch, stopped inches away and curled a hand in front of her... caressed her right breast with a feather's touch, whispered in her left ear "I'm going to hurt you." He turned and walked away, up the stairs.

Several minutes later, he came down the stairs again, carrying a box of items she couldn't quite see. Her arms were aching and her legs shaking with adrenaline and fear and desire. He set the box aside and stepped in front of her, with a handful of clothespins. He slowly held a small one up to her face, and clipped it to her nose, pushed in a little squeezing her left nostril. He pushed another one into her right nostril, making her breathe more raggedly, through her opening mouth. He attached three to her lower lip, dangling.

More clothespins, plastic and wooden, small and large, colored and plain, clipped here and there all over her body. Two very pinched ones on her pussy lips, first pulled taut before pinned, pulled a grunt from her. He glanced up, rose to stare into her eyes. She stared back. "Are you ok?" She just breathed, looking at him, a little spit dripping from her pinned mouth, her expression haunting, daring, insolent, heated, falling into sub space already. His lips curled and his fingers did the same, an animal lust washing through him. His bag of clothespins was exhausted, covering her body. He returned to the box, pulled out a drugstore box of lances, little surgically sterile needles for drawing blood. Her eyes widened when she saw it; he smiled. The first one was intensely painful. He pulled it from the box, held it inches from her eyes as he slowly twisted off the cover, gently waved one-inch lance across her frightened eyes. He lifted her right breast, gripping the clothespin on her nipple, and with obscenely slow motion pushed the lance into the softest flesh, an inch below the nipple, through the top couple layers of skin, and out again like sewing thread through a thicker cloth.

It took him over thirty seconds to push it through, and she screamed hoarsely through it all. He stepped back to admire her, feet kicking slightly in agony and lust, stomach clenched and heaving, breathing rough, eyes dancing wildly, screaming dying down to little moans timed with the breath, finally calming to even breathing, eyes locked again on him. He pulled another pin from the box, repeated the whole process on her left breast, and she obliged him by screaming the same way throughout. He didn't stop at two pins. He scattered them round her body, from the hollow of her neck to the delicious curves of her calves, but not symmetrically. Randomly, so she never knew where the next lancing pain would blossom. Her screams became grunts as her voice gave out. Sometimes he paused to look in her eyes, which closed now and then, but came back triumphant, staring. He caressed her cheek, before slapping it hard and returning to the needles. Some dug deep enough to call out some blood, most were shallow, scratching at nerves not blood vessels.

The last one from the box went through her clitoris. He told her where it was going, in a low measured voice, showing her the merciless metal, before crouching down to push it in. Again this one he did slowly, and stepped back to enjoy her sobbing and twitches and the sway of her intense beauty hanging submissively from the rope. He sat on a chair a few feet in front of her, and just watched calmly, expressionless, as her tears quieted to sniffled breathing.

From the box, he pulled a leather flogger. She had never seen it before. It had a long black wooden handle, and a half dozen black leather flails, a couple feet long. Rough leather, heavy, meant to hurt. Holding the handle to her mouth, inserting the fingers of his other hand to pull out the panties, he said "Kiss it, pretty toy, and beg me to whip you. Tell me how long a whipping you think you can stand. Maybe I'll stop after that many strokes or minutes. Speak."

She took a few panting shallow breaths, closed her eyes and reached forward to kiss the handle lovingly, long and sensually. A deep breath, then in a quiet voice: "Master, please whip me. Please don't stop whipping me. Please whip me until ever pin is torn from my body, until my blood covers your whip. Then please keep whipping me. I will scream for you, my body will try to kick and stop you but ignore it. Even if you hear the safe word, please keep whipping me. Never never stop." Then she moaned and cried out in sudden fear, her eyes wild, her stomach clenching in agony and lust. He stared at her.

He stood in front of her, walked around her once, twice, flogger swaying loosely in his right hand, swishing through the air in practice swings. Behind her on the second tour, her tired face turned away, he reached with a long backswing and flogged her bottom at full force and follow-through. Her back arched and her jaw constricted, a scream caught in her throat with clenched breath that could not come out, and he started an onslaught. Arm swinging hard, back and forth, he repeated blows on her bottom, down her back thighs, up her back, one per second at a hard heavy weight. Finally her breath caught up and her screams came out again, wrenched higher when he hit the medical lances or smashed clothespins into her skin.

He started aiming methodically at the pins and lances, swiping horizontally to knock them off. Her screams became grunts and a nonstop keening moan. Her skin became a mottled red of tortured skin and bloody streaks. Some of the pins wouldn't come out. He whipped at them harder and again. One of the lances on her calf finally tore out, caught on the end of a flail, skin ripping and blood dripping. Her leg convulsed and kicked and she screamed, but it wasn't very loud as her throat was hoarse. He reached in and started yanking the lances out by hand. He stood in front of her, face to face. "Lift your legs around me, pull me in." Gone in subspace, eyes unseeing, legs shaking, she complied, clumsily lifting her ankles around his thighs and weakly pulling him. He reached down and grasped her pussy lips with his left hand, the lance on her clitoris with his right, and staring into her eyes, slowly pulled it out. Strange sounds came from her mouth, breathing with vocal chords in chaotic tired agony.

He stepped back, tossing the bloody lance aside, eyes not leaving hers. His breath as rough as hers. He reached for the garden shears, reached up and thrust through the rope, cutting just above her fingers, so she dropped suddenly to the floor, moaning. Rushing with manic hunger, he pushed off his jeans, fell down on her curled body, thrust her onto her stomach, pinned her with all his weight, knees digging painfully here, forearms crushing into her back, positioning himself, lunging forward. Inside her, hot and pulsing, inchoate grunts, vicious pushing, back and in again, starting to pound. He imagined the pooling blood and sweat and every other human liquid. He roared a cry of lust and adrenaline. He felt his groin clenching electric bolts of heat, he felt it rise and come too soon. Impatiently, animal roar of rage and hunger, he squeezed everything, his hands wrapped around her throat, his whole body racked in spasm. And collapsed.

Moments passed. She cried, quivering. He breathed slower and slower, weight still fully pressing down all over her. He began to gently rise. Kneeled beside her. Caressed her back, fingers trailing within a hair of her skin, from calves to temples. Gently rolled her over, cupped her face, reached in to kiss her lips. "Are you ok?"

She looked up with half-lidded eyes, voice catching, tear stained face, drew a breath. "More."

He cocked his ears, wondering if he'd heard. "What do you mean?"

"More" she said. "Hurt me more. Do me."

He stared down at her, heart burning, pounding. Shook his head. "I... can't." Lowered his head, gently kissed her lips again, brushing along her cheek, nuzzling down to her neck. Sitting up, he began a feather massage, fingers slowly streaming over every inch of her body, hovering so close to her skin she could feel them, although they barely touched. Stroked her up and down, top to bottom. Sighing, she sank into shavasana.

Minutes later, he gathered her into his arms, and carried her up the stairs. She clung to him, whimpering; he gently avoided the door jambs, brought her another flight to the bedroom. Flicking the cover aside with his foot, he lay her on the sheets. Walked to the bathroom and returned instantly with lotion. He warmed it in his hands, and began gently rubbing it into her skin, massaging again, every surface, every cut, every stripe. She moaned, winced, but didn't move. She absorbed the ministrations, eyes closed. When he finished, she continued to lie still. He touched his cheek to her cheek, whispered in her ear: "I love you, too much for words, too much to ever prove. I love you." She didn't move.

Kenner rose, turned off the lights, left the room. The hint of a smile passed through Faith's face, and she drifted to sleep.