Unbenown Desires 03 - a Devil in Me

Even an unfamiliar library felt familiar to me, as I wandered the shelves swaddled in a comfortable warm hush. Outside the street lights blinked on as evening descended, bringing with her grey clouds. The gathering darkness turned the windows into a faded mirror, reflecting the interior. Sat at the table, I regarded myself, my reflection appearing as if outside. I thought of Pepper's Ghost, the old Victorian stage trick that used mirrors to create the illusion of a ghostly apparition. My reflection waved at me, and I was almost entirely certain that I also waved at it.

I smelt him before I saw him, that clean fragrance that made me think of freshly unwrapped soap, the high-end kind from a boutique hotel. As his hands rested on my shoulders I didn't jump, and he gave me a light squeeze.

"They're closing soon," he said by way of greeting, "and it's starting to rain."

His hands crept forward, snaking under my jacket. Hidden from view, his fingers wandered until they found my nipples. At the first brush, I sighed heavily and closed my eyes.

"Good book?" he asked playfully, as his fingers moved in small orbits. I merely nodded, pressing my thighs tightly together under the table.

"I was thinking of Korean food. Maybe take out." His voice was melodic with amusement as he leaned in closer. He gently pinched both my nipples at once, and I let out a quiet gasp.

"Was that a yes?"

I gripped the edge of the table with both hands, and leaned back into him. His touch was triggering that familiar descent; a vertiginous sensation of rational thought and propriety receding, to be replaced by desire unfurling itself within me. There would be no careful considerations here, no forethought. Instinct seized the reins: I would have him inside me.

I reached over my shoulder, clumsily grabbing it his crotch. He moved his hips away slightly but would not relinquish his hold on me just yet. I persisted, managing to unzip him and slip my hand inside to squeeze him.

"Not here," he hissed softly.

I stood then, suddenly, surprising both myself and him, stood close until my nose touched his chin.

"Sit down," I said to him; instruction, not a request. It felt as if someone else had spoken the words, but they had escaped my lips.

Incredibly, he nodded and sat in the chair. I glanced around. The library was near empty, only three people still browsing the shelves that I could see. I casually knocked my phone of the desk, and knelt down to retrieve it, before scurrying underneath. Hidden beneath the desk, I shuffled over towards him, kneeling between his legs. The space was cramped, but I teased him out of his underwear and tilted my head at an awkward angle to put him in my mouth. With my head pressed against the underside of the table, I could only suck the first one or two inches of him, but I did so eagerly, and was rewarded as I felt him quickly swelling. My tongue lapped at the underside of him as his fingers moved through my hair.

"The library will be closing in five minutes."

The automated announcement startled me, and I bumped my head against the desk. He roughly placed his hand on my forehead and pushed me away. Meekly I emerged from under the desk as he straightened himself out and stood.

He gently took me by the elbow and steered me through the library, out the doors and onto the street, the cold air sudden and biting compared to the cozy warmth of the library. We crossed the street and entered an underground carpark sandwiched between a mobile phone store and a nail salon. We exchanged no words as we descended the concrete ramp, stepping from one pool of light to the next. He lead me to his car, parked alone in one corner, and the peeping sound if it unlocking echoed against the grey walls. Once sat inside, he turned off the cabin light, and we sat in the darkness, our breath steaming slightly in the cold.

He unzipped his pants and there, in the chill of his car, he fucked my face until he came in my mouth.

Afterwards, I wiped myself clean and sat up. Condensation was forming on the interior windows, like we were in a cloud. I drew a smiling face on the passenger side window using my finger. This drew a small chuckle from him, and I looked over. His eyes flicked about, the expression of someone mulling over options, weighing them up carefully. Then he looked into my eyes.

He decided.

He reached across me and pulled my seat belt out, looping it around each of my wrists as he pulled it across my lap and clipped it in, so that my arms were pinned down by my sides. It would have been simple to slip my hands free, but that would defy the point. The suggestion of restraint was enough, the resistance pulling against me as I moved; that alone sent a spark of anticipation through me.

He reclined my seat as far back as it would go, and I looked up at the sunroof, and the ceiling of the carpark beyond it. I kept my gaze affixed to the pitted concrete, content to not watch him as he went about his tasks as if they were mundane. I heard him step out of the car, open the boot, slamming it shut and getting back into the driver's seat. I resisted the urge to glance at whatever was in his hands, so I instead closed my eyes and listened to the sound of my excited breathing. Wordlessly he leaned over, slipped his hands under my skirt and tugged my panties down and removed them. I heard the sound of a long zipper being pulled, the sound of rummaging against synthetic fabric.

A bag, I deduced, and items being removed and placed upon the dashboard. Inside the car the sounds of the outside world seemed muffled and distant, and with my eyes closed everything within the car seemed intimate and urgent. His hands touched my legs, behind my knees, lifting them and spreading them slightly. I did not resist. Some more subtle movements, unfamiliar sounds and then something cool and slick pressed against my ass. I made a curious cooing noise as it pressed against me and slowly teased me open before slipping inside me. It was a buttplug, glass or steel judging by how cold it was, having been kept in the boot of the car in autumn. I closed around it, tensed slightly, feeling satisfaction at the size of it, and sighed contentedly. He then pushed something against it slightly, pressing against the base, before lowering my legs and pressing my knees together.

Something was between my legs, perhaps half the length of my thigh, but before I could give it much thought he was in motion again, wrapping something around my knees to bind them together tightly. Latex tape most likely, as there was none of the sharp noise of adhesive tape being pulled. He politely tugged my skirt back down and patted it smooth, as if he were straightening out a tablecloth. My breathing was rapid, excitement dancing on the edge of anxiety, as all the possibilities spun out before me. He leaned over me, his breath warm against my skin compared to the cool car, and I opened my eyes to see his face.

"You remember the safe word? The sound?" he asked, a subtle look of concern in his voice. I nodded.

"You have to say it to me," he said, seriously. "What's the sound?"

"Three sharp yelps, then two." I nodded slowly, a confirmation of consent thus far.

He nodded in response, and lifted a ball gag to my face. I opened my mouth and lifted my head, allowing him to fasten it. I nodded once more to confirm it was comfortable, or at least as comfortable as a ball gag can be. He then slipped a face mask over it, a clever little disguise against any passing glances.

He started the car, and moments later warm air began to flow into the interior. He clipped in his seat belt.

"Ready?" He asked, as if I could really answer.

And then he turned the wand on.

The sudden wave of vibrations flowed through the butt plug and into me, and I arched my back sharply, biting down on the gag as I let out a surprised but muffled moan. As we pulled out of the carpark my back was still arched like a bow, and It wasn't until we turned two corners before I relaxed enough to lay back down on the seat completely, surrendering to the pulsating feelings coursing through me. Traffic was light, and the car cut across town as I writhed. The wand hummed between my legs, and he switched it to a setting that rose and fell in waves, a soft, low purring that slowly climbed in intensity until it crested in a higher pitched buzz that made pull against the seatbelts tight around my arms, before descending again.

We thundered down the autobahn, the overhead lights were streaks of sodium yellow through the sunroof, and outside the world was a rainstreaked smear of shadows that shrank away. Reclined in the seat I felt as if I were floating, borne upon on the vibrations of the wand and the vibrations of the road beneath me, and the sound of the music and my own breathing were swallowed up by the hissing sound of rain upon glass, of air rushing over metal, of tires upon asphalt, of the thrum of the wand between my legs. A choir of white noise, a drone that swept aside all other sound, and I felt another sound rising up to meet it in harmony, like a piano string resonating of its own accord, and it took me the longest time to realise the vibration was eminating from within me, from deep within my lungs, nestled in the warmth of my throat. The sound was my own voice, somehow alien to me, and I moaned long and free, keening at the night sky and the slashes of yellow light that cut across her firmament.

By the time we reach his house, I was soaked, sat in a small puddle of my own making.

We sat in the garage with the engine off. He turned in his seat to look at me as I lay there, panting rapidly. Lifting his hand, he showed me the small remote control as he slowely reduced the intensity of the wand until it eventually fell silent. I lay still, my heart still hammering in my chest. My limbs felt leaden, like my body had briefly dissolved into nothing but throbbing pleasure and now had to remember how to be corporeal again. Untangling me from the seatbelt, he lifted me out of the car and carried me through the garage and into his kitchen.

"You had the devil in you earlier in the library," he cooed in my ear. "We can't have you telling me what to do."

He sat me on the edge of a narrow breakfast bar that extended from the kitchen island. He took my chin in his hand, his fingers pressed into my cheeks, so that I looked him in the eyes. He tugged the mask and the ball gag free and discarded them on the counter.

"Remember who is whose."

He yanked his belt free of his trousers with a swift practised motion and then shoved me on my back. Gripping my hips he flipped me over, the bar so narrow that I almost rolled off completely, but he kept his grip firm and tugged me back towards him so that my legs dangled off the edge towards the floor, my toes just brushing the tile. I braced myself for the lash of the belt, my inevitable punishment for being so wanton, so brazen as to give him demands, yet it never fell. Instead, he pulled my arms out in front of me so that I was resting on my elbows, and wrapped the belt around the bar top itself, binding my forearms to the counter and cinching it tight until the leather pressed into my skin. Like the seatbelt in the car, it was not entirely impossible to wriggle free, but I was not about to try.

I was bent forwards over the bar, my feet barely touching the floor, my arms strapped to the bar so that I could not stand up. I was neither laying nor standing, pinned in place. And I was at his mercy.

I heard the sound of his trousers falling to the floor. I felt his fingers fumbling to get a grip on the slippery butt plug, then the sudden feeling of discomfort and emptiness as he tugged it free. I kept my eyes affixed forwards, at the kitchen island and the chrome faucet, the plain white cabinets on the wall beyond. I felt him press against me, circling around to get himself wet with the remaining lube. Then I felt his fingers slowly wrap around my hips, his thumbs pressed in the small of my back.

He pushed his entirely length into me in one slow, singular motion, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out too loud; not for fear of being heard by neighbors, but so as to not reveal too much too soon. Once he was as deep as he could go - considerably, uncomfortably deep - he paused, gripping my hips firmly, his hips pushed up against mine. He waited, whether it was to give me an opportunity to call out the safe word, or simple to revel in the feeling of being within me, filling me, taking me. I could feel him twitching inside me, little spasms that pulsated throughout me. He let out a long breath, not a sigh but rather the drawn out exhalation of preparation, like a sprinter awaiting the starting pistol.

And then he fucked me. A persistent, metronomic rhythm, each thrust driving deep into me and forcing out a cry from me. His fingers dug into my hips as he pistoned in and out of me, his thighs slapping into mine, pushing into me with such intensity that I would find bruises the next morning on the top of my thighs where the counter top pressed into them. He uttered no words, just the heavy breathing of exertion and neither sped up nor slowed down, maintaining an even pace throughout. He had already had one orgasm that evening, so he would not be quick to climax again, and his determined and even tempo was not one of sensual pleasures. There would be no ebb and flow, no rising crescendos nor tantalising pauses.

This was to be a raw, primal fucking, bereft of niceties and explorations. We were reduced to animals, distilled down to just lust and urges. I looked up at the kitchen counter, and saw my reflection in a chrome toaster, carnival mirror distorted, my hair sticking to my forehead. My reflection grinned at me, or perhaps bared her teeth in some territorial gesture. With each grunt and thrust I felt myself detaching from my personhood, slowly shedding my identity like a snake. Thoughts of work, thoughts of other people, of material concerns, of anxieties and memories. One by one they fell away, unneeded and unwanted. With each shuddering slap of his hips against mine I was being chiselled away, to be made anew, into something simpler, purer. Beneath the artifice and complexities lay something hewn from pure drives and urges, unfettered by any norms or codes set by the world at large.

He came deep in me, fingers clawing into my hip bones, spasming wildly, as if he were desperately emptying himself into me. When he finally finished, he pulled out of me and left me dangling from the counter as he went to the bathroom. This was to be his final lesson, to leave me bound and exposed as he tended to himself, taking no great rush. The evening air was cool on my skin, raising goosebumps, as his semen trickled down the inside of thighs. Aching pains crept into my elbows and knees.

Next to the toaster there were a row of high end chef knives on a magnetic strip affixed to the wall. They hung there like gleaming metal teeth, the surface a pattern of Damascus steel that shimmered like daylight on rippling water. I recalled him explaining them to me - as if a knife needed explaining - how the metal would be artfully and laboriously hammered and folded to drive out the impurities in the steel. Bound to the counter, I had been transformed incrementally, with each thrust, each bead of sweat, each ache and bruise. As I stared at those knives, I thought of being honed to a edge, keen and sharp and of singular, bright purpose.

I listened to the hiss of the shower, and counted the minutes - five, as revealed by the clock on the microwave - before he emerged from the bathroom again. He loosened the belt around my arms, and carefully pulled me upright. Fresh aches awakened in me as blood moved through my limbs, and he scooped me up and carried me to the bathroom, where he had left a bath running. Slowly he removed the last few articles of clothing I was wearing, then guided me into the warm water. I winced as I kneeled down, the water lapping over my thighs and buttocks, more aches being revealed in the wake of retreating pleasure. I knelt there in silence as he bathed me carefully, his touch light and tender, and I surrendered to his gentle cosseting just as I had surrendered to his merciless fucking. He removed my cock cage, cleaned all of me and even washed my hair.

Afterwards we ate takeout just as he had suggested, and he spoke to me at length about his day, while I chewed on Korean food and thought about knives and teeth.

As I slept alongside him that night, I dreamt I was stalked by a wolf as black as night, running through a dense forest only to be cornered in thicket of thorny brambles. A silent scream lodged in my throat as the wolf's jaws clamped down on me, and even when I felt bones cracking and flesh tearing, no sound left my lips. And as those teeth flashed in the dark and sank into the soft flesh of my throat, I became the wolf, muzzle deep in my prey. I feasted on the meat, gnawed on the bones and loped away, belly full but still hungry, still eager to hunt and run. I was the night and the night was me. I was a knife honed to a bright edge, singular in purpose at last. I was wild and glorious and free.

I awoke in pitch darkness, my breath ragged, my heart racing and my underwear soaked.