Whip

Six months later she was still pissed. No one had ever blown her off without so much as a "fuck you." What was worse, she'd trotted out most of what she'd thought was a rather impressive resume for this one. To no avail. Oh, sure, they'd gotten drunk, fucked liked minks, come all over themselves half the night. And no wonder. They'd built up enough tension it would've happened no matter how she came on. She'd played very cool, then submissive, very "Tell-me-how-you-like-it-daddy." Somehow, it was wrong. In the realm of brain-sex anyway, it hadn't stuck.

Retrospectively, she felt like a tongue-tied idiot bumpkin with a hard-on and an attitude problem.

She was going back, all or nothing, balls to the wall, for one last-ditch lurch into his life. Although not totally sure, she thought she knew what she had to do to prove herself. The idea of having to prove anything to anyone went totally against her grain, plus she didn't know if she could convincingly pull off the role. As a small modicum of salve to her bruised self-esteem, she told no one, not her poor beleagured therapist, who'd heard a ridiculous amount of speculations in the month following their little rendezvous, and only stubborn silence on the subject since. Not her best friend, her favorite sister, or the online sexual advice columnist to whom she'd been posing queries to for ten dollars a pop. The only incriminating evidence was a mold of her teeth, and her last credit card bill, which included $63.55 at The O-Zone.

She knew she wasted too goddamn much time online these days. It was so easy to dive in and just get lost out there; could have just as easily been outer space, but full of information and gossip and words, pictures, links--a million trillion different mazes to whatever. That was not even counting the chat rooms or any kind of pornography. It wasn't too surprising that she'd first tracked him down out in the digital wasteland. It had ended abruptly in an all-too-real blow-off. Her emails went unanswered. Her pride made her stop writing. There were only two things remaining as options and she wasn't forgetting one minute of it. She couldn't.

Several hundred miles removed, she showed up late one night at his work, biding her time till closing. When she walked into his line of sight, smiled thinly and said, "Well, can we at least talk? Once isn't going to hurt, is it?" he didn't look surprised in the least, simply resigned, as though this kind of thing happened all the time. Although loathe to admit it, the very idea sparked jealousy in her, which in turn blew on the hot coals of anger she was concealing. So as not to back down at the last second, her focus remained on these two concepts while he deliberated.

"OK, fine." Irritated, but trying to hide it. Still that same nicey, nicey. "Just let me finish up here..."

She had to get clear of this crowd, somehow. Though wearing the same type of attire - all black, short skirt, long baggy velvet shirt - she felt like she was glowing in the dark. Through another endless ten minutes she stood in the corner, watching the fans clear out. She toyed with the butt end of the braided leather riding crop up her sleeve, trying not to be discovered, but almost wanting to be. By now, her nerves had kicked into high gear. The buzzing in her ears turned her hearing inward, to her heart that was pounding unevenly in her ears and throat, nearly choking her.

Finally they walked out. The crowd had thinned considerably; her chances of pulling this off uninterrupted were improving. He said nothing, not giving anything away. He never did, even when he was chatty. She was going to have to bust that wide open.

Nervously, she coughed around the lump in her throat and managed, "Well, good show as always. I liked it better than--"

He ignored the small talk and cut her off, "Can I ask you something?"

He plunged on, not seeming to care if he got an answer. "Why did you come back? I was playing; it shouldn't have gone that far. I thought you realized that, after...We're worlds apart, different socialization...just too weird, etc etc...blah, blah, blah..."

She was silent, waiting for his cutting logic and rambling to die, till every last denial could be voiced. It fueled her fire of revenge, lust, and spurn. More than that, more, she waited for the dormant counterpart to awaken. He fell back to silence, apparently running out of rebuffs.

She detoured into a service corridor, remembering, pleasingly, from the the details of the map she'd memorized earlier, to turn right after the shoe store. Naturally, he held back. Opening the door, going halfway through, she was forced to touch him the first time of her own volition. 'Now or never,' she told herself, looking anywhere but into his face. She snatched the front of his shirt, yanked him into the hallway, and shoved him before her.

"Walk," she commanded.

Her resolve to get through this without making him hate her was what she reached for next. That would be the end result if she was wrong about his deep-seated tendencies. She was going to have to trust her instincts, which even now were manifesting in her stern tone and latent bitchy bossiness.

"Hey, what do you think you're..."

"Shut the hell up, you bastard."

Stiff, silent. Compliant.

The hallway stretched on forever, rubber room white walls, snot-green carpeting, sickly yellow fluorescent lighting. Hang a left. Another crossroads. Right. She remembered this particular passageway dead-ended in a backing bank of stores; doors, some alcoved, to both sides. He started to throw a backward glance, eyebrow lowered in an irked way.

"Don't you look at me!"

His head snapped to the front and his spine straightened as though affronted. She gave them to the count of three, and then pushed him face-first into one particularly deep-set doorway. He spread his hands against the door, chest-height, to stop himself from mashing his face on it. She removed the first item of arsenal from a coat pocket, a handcuff. Moving as speedily as possible, she caught his left wrist and chained it to the door-knob. He gave it a couple half-hearted tugs, probably thinking it was plastic, paused, and yanked harder. In the meantime she'd whipped out another, clicked half of it around his other wrist before he could think about what she was doing. The free end she clasped around the railing that lined all of the halls. His eyes, his head, did come around this time, flashing ire, a little fear, and as she'd expected, excitement of some sort. He took a breath but she was ready and cut in.

"All right, ___, just shut up. Nobody has ever pulled your kind of shit on me, and you're not getting away with it. I'm taking it out of your ass; you're getting what's coming to you. Tonight."

He tried again, "Let me out of these right NOW. What the fuck is this? Are you out of your mind? I'll--"

Voice lowered to barely above a whisper, she drawled, "You don't want to threaten me, boy." She was starting to get off on ordering him around. It was part payback, and part turn-on. "Shut the hell up, or I'll shut you up."

"I'm gonna yell--"

She was too quick for him again. As soon as he started to draw in his breath she dropped a specially folded length of black silk over his head, into his open mouth. Adrenaline singing in her veins, she knotted it behind his head. This was not the easiest. It caught in his hair. She could tell he was starting to panic and he fought. He even tried head-butting her backwards, which she narrowly evaded.

The moment of truth. She had to balance force with restraint, to make him want what he wanted. The direct approach seemed to have worked so far.

"OK, ___, you little punk. You are now my toy, to play with as I see fit, and I'm in the mood to hurt you. You can't get away; you can't scream. So just fucking enjoy the ride. Just like I did, and you know I did. If me letting you take the lead doesn't do it for you, then fine, I hereby take charge; but it's gonna be rough, at least this time. Surrender, ___. I am the ruler of your little world, for now. I'm gonna whip your ass either way; it may as well be pleasurable."

Inflection gave the word its its full double or triple meaning. He still looked furious, but she also noted how comparatively little he had fought, and how he was trembling just slightly.

"If you can't handle this, or any of it, give me a peace sign on your left hand and I'll stop. Otherwise..."

The terms she presented to him were just as they'd been presented to her once. She knew what it was like to wait for what came next. She wondered about the strength of his nerve; her own was sufficiently worked up now that she felt drunk on the power rush. Being intoxicated on something always helped.

When she flicked her forearm, the braided butt of her crop dropped out of her right sleeve into it's waiting opposite hand. It hissed very close to his head as she freed it entirely and took a couple practice swings. Before he could even flinch she pressed herself up against the back of him letting her free hand wander over his clenched arm, shoulder, and back muscles.

"If this is how it's gotta be, then that's how it's gotta be. It's worth it to me. You decide."

She backed up, took aim, bought the crop down smartly on his backside. And again, higher. He rose up on his toes and pulled away, body flattening on the door in front of him.

"So, you're a little wussy boy. Me-thinks I better toughen you up."

While he thought on that, she removed her coat, dropped it on the floor, and kicked it into the corner nearest his left foot. Platform shoes compensated for their difference in height. That small additional advantage dawned on her as she stepped close and leaned back into his warmth, her feet just to the outsides of his, knees nudging at the backs of his locked ones. Her whip went (carefully) temporarily between her teeth while she got busy with her hands, starting on the top button of his silky shirt and releasing it's fellows. She messed with the hair on his chest, making sure her fingers touched his skin a few times on the way down. The shirt fell halfway down his thighs, so she had to raise her hands back up to get at the button on his jeans. Matter-of-factly, even clinically, she unbuttoned, un-zipped, and pulled them down below his knees. After she shoved his shirt aside his lovely round buns were bare to the world and his cock stood straight out, glistening drops already oozing from it. She pressed it down, then jerked her hand away so that it bounced back. It hit him in the lower belly and bobbed inpertinently a few times.

She laughed quietly, like there was something funny (possibly weird) about his penis, then she took her crop in hand and slapped him on the butt with it. This time it left a red mark. He groaned.

"Oh, you like it, eh? Well, I'm gonna beat your ass for you now, so stick it out."

He went very tense and didn't move. The only sound was his fast, shallow breathing. She drew back; stopped. From his stance she could tell he was expecting her to hit the same place again. Instead, she gave him a hard blow to the shoulders. His expression reverted to anger so she stung his ass once more for good measure.

"You know, ___, I've got all night. So are you gonna give me that butt, or what? If you get it right, you might even get a little reward."

With that she reversed her weapon and jabbed the end of it between his buttocks.

"How about this? Are you a a little gay boy? Besides a little wussy boy? Maybe you'd like a little anal joy." She sing-songed that in a derisive way.

Pushing the end of her crop into his crack, she watched his hands for any sign of his safely call. Nothing, but he didn't exactly cooperate either. So she spun the whip around and struck his buttocks, harder. Then she ducked under his arm and insinuated herself between him and the door. She took his throbbing organ (dead giveaway) in her free hand and slicked his pre-come up over the shaft as lube while looking him squarely in the eyes, another first of this evening.

"You're a bottom, in some way or another. So do what you want to do and submit, dammit. You're mine. Let me give you what you need this time. We already know you can take care of me. Very well." He was rocking his pelvis into her hand, eyelids starting to droop.

She dropped his cock and slapped him upside the head. He stared to look pissed again till she smiled, widely for once, and displayed her fangs. She'd paid enough for the damn things, just to play out a fantasy she'd read about once; they'd better look real (they did). She'd had to practice for days to learn to talk with them melded to her teeth, which had taken a substance akin to superglue. They weren't going anywhere but into his neck. But not yet.

She dodged under his arm again, giving his penis another small tug as she stepped around him. She inspected his backside. There were a few pink welts, nothing serious, but she knew how much it stung. Standing close so that her breath tickled his neck when she spoke, she ran her hand around his behind, up and down, over and over, just barely touching, lighter and lighter till he impreceptively began to lean into it.

"That's right, baby, stick your ass out for me. Yeah, boy."

She gave him a pinch, which made him jump and make some incomprehensible noise behind the cloth in his mouth.

"Shut up, ___. I didn't say you could say anything."

She rubbed his butt again, tracing the red marks with a fingernail. He slowly, slowly started to present his cheeks to her.

"Enough! You're a bad, disobedient little boy. Now I'm going to have to beat you for not listening!"

At this, he seemed to make a legitimate attempt at doing what she'd asked, but of course he was all tangled up in his trousers and couldn't really take much of a step.

"Too slow, asshole!"

Slowly, centered, she began, her crop hissing and echoing back, cracking him over and over. When she got to five she sped up; at ten she varied her angle; at fifteen she went for his back and shoulders. No one strike was the same, some light as mist; a couple she poured out her rage into, nearly breaking his skin. At that point the peace sign went up and she stopped. Water ran from the corners of his eyes and now he was visibly shaking.

"Is that all you can take?" It was more than she would have expected. "Well, fine, I'll give you a break, but I'm not done with you yet, girlie man. Kneel."

His sign had remained up but now he relaxed, obeying. She stepped over his arm to get in front of him again. God, she wanted him, to have him, to drop her panties and let him pin her to the wall right then and there. But that wouldn't do; she couldn't break the game, break her control, or it would be all over, before it was over, so to speak. Instead she flashed him a view of her red satin underwear, soaked through, and let him smell her heat. She pretended she'd done no such thing.

"OK, get up. Well, what are you waiting for?"

He did as told and she fell on his neck. She evaded his attempts to kiss her mouth, gag and all. Putting her full hand over his face and forcing his head around to the side, she licked and kissed and sucked bruises onto his skin. She loved his salt taste, could've stayed there a good long time, tonguing the saline sweat from him. She had to keep reminding herself not to give in to her own pleasure, that tonight it had to be cerebral, not visceral. He was swaying drunkenly, poking his cock at her lower body in frustration. She took it in hand and sank her needle-sharp fangs. He tried to pull away but she pulled hard on his prick in the opposite direction and he went motionless. Her fangs came out and so did his blood which she lapped up till the wounds slowed to just seeping. She ran her tongue down his neck to his throat, planning to stab him on the other side too, but he shook his head and she glanced down to see his peace sign up again.

At that moment she realized she heard footsteps. They were approaching from down the cross-corridor she and ___ had walked up before their last turn. From the sound, although they weren't talking, she figured there were two, maybe three, of them. Whoever they were, they walked quickly; she had no time to release ___ and get him dressed. Her mind flashed a mental picture of a couple rent-a-cops happening upon them. She snagged ___'s eyes, realized he was thinking the same thing. She did him the favor of covering his bare behind with his shirttails. Beyond that, they froze. A fine line of dark crimson blood inched down ___'s neck, over his collarbone.

In a kind of altered amplified Doppler effect in slow-motion, the clumping footsteps approached, echoing up to their little cubby, and mercifully passed and retreated. They hadn't even slowed down. He leaned his forehead against her shoulder, eyes shut. She let him, for a minute. Soon, though, she twisted her head to the side and re-established her hold on his neck, without the teeth, and on what she was doing.

After five minutes or so of treatment from her mouth and fingers, it was like no one had ever ALMOST discovered them. "It's time for you to get off," she informed him, when he was once again writhing into her hand. "And since you're such a little gay boy, well, I guess I'm just gonna have to milk it out of you."

She ducked, sidestepped around him, and paused for the effect. Retrieving a previously-stashed latex glove, she snapped it on around her wrist, just like at the doctor's office, as only a trained professional can. His dick jumped on it's own and his expression turned sheepish. She laughed at him.

"Now bend over and give me your bunghole."

There was a tiny packet of lube hidden in her waistband which she extracted, ripped off the strip at the top which opened it with her incisors, and spat the foil and the taste on the floor. He watched over his right shoulder as she spread it over her first two fingers. She watched him watch. He watched her watch him watch.

"OK, I warned you. I'm going to fuck you, and you'd better be obedient, Da. So get your hole out here, pussy-boy!"

She threw the lube packet onto the carpet and took up her whip. It whistled through the air as it criss-crossed his other welts. He jumped, and stuck his ass in her direction.

"Hmmm. Very nice! How long since your last rectal?" She goosed him, just a little.

"A good long time, if ever. You're gonna have to loosen up a little, aren't you?

She worked one slippery finger up his butt to the first joint, then the second. The angle she was holding her wrist at was awkward. She pushed down on his back, bending him over further at the waist. Logistically it made more sense for her to kneel behind him, so she did. To let him know she was conceding nothing, she nipped him hard, right on one butt cheek, with her front teeth. He was so tense she decided to wait a bit. Reaching around the front of him, she gripped his rock-hard shaft in her other hand and began to stroke it up and down. When he began to sweat and her hand stuck to his skin, she spat in it, and got back to work. She slid the one finger slowly out, then back in, a bit further each time, tickling his prostate just a little so he'd know it was there. His hips were thrusting again, and she thought, 'This is too fast.' And said so: "I didn't give you permission to come yet."

She removed her cock-hand entirely, and pushing his shirt away, rested it on his ass while she worked in her second finger. He moaned low in his throat and tried to get away. She didn't allow it. But, once in, she kept her hand motionless, not wanting to see his fingers come up.

In half a minute, she went back to his cock with more saliva in her palm and slicked it up and down. The two digits in his ass found his prostrate gland again and started the technique she knew would draw semen out whether he wanted it to or not. Massaging it, starting at the top, she worked it, pulling down toward the duct. Reach, press, pull down, He was breathing shallowly, rapidly, trying to get his feet apart and squeezing with his gluteal muscles, wanting to pump into her hand. "Stay still," she ordered, and got to her feet. Straightening her two fingers inside, she went to a more straight-forward fucking motion. She gave him his head, so to speak, finally, as his lower body jerked forward and back into her tightened grasp. His legs shook as his balls crawled up under her fist and he pushed hard.