A secret that was not a secret.
Sadness was coming, abysmal sadness, but now was now. A mermaid was made for the present and not the future. She made no diaries, no photographs, no true memories for him. That she did not appear in his images shook him. Though she’d never seen a photograph made as he made them with his cellphone, she understood.
For something to be a solid part of his world, an absolute fact, and yet fail to work, it would be a shock. It was a little bit like being thrown into the sea because people thought you bad luck? How callous, and how complete a denial of her very existence that had been.
The shock had never left her.
Anyway, she could do nothing.
And so, she shoved her forebodings aside.
The fucking was fun. The things he made her do…
Even the aches, the bruises, the pains.
Today – she looked down at her breasts – was a day for clamping things to her nipples.
The first shiny clamp was already biting at one of them. The chain joining it to another clamp swung as he leaned in from his kneeling position to ready her for the second.
“Such a good mermaid.”
Her mouth was an O, as she absorbed the throb and spike of pain and the susurration of pleasure from where he sucked at her other nipple. To make it perky, Wolfgang had said. She thought it was already perfectly perky and upstanding.
He raised his head and pulled his mouth off her, sucking as he did so.
She hissed, inhaled, eyes shuttering.
Now it was wet and perky.
His large finger and thumb slipped on the nipple as he pinched at it… as the opened clamp approached.
“Owie,” she whispered, pushing her chest forward because he’d tugged at her. He opened the clamp wider.
It bit down and she squealed, then smiled at the look of the silver-toned decorations. They hurt but also emphasized a very sexual part of her.
“Siren,” she added, softly, correcting him.
“What was that?” He edged up onto the sofa that was behind him, then hooked her collar with one finger, urging her to join him on his lap. There, his cock awaited her. It was even perkier than her tits.
“Siren is a better word. Don’t you think?”
He pulled her over him, adjusted her spread-eagled position, and made her sit while he squeezed his cock slowly inside her.
“Why?” His smile was strained as he did the first small thrust then pumped out and in again, found the chain connecting the clamps and put downward pressure on them.
She watched, open mouthed, fascinated, as always, by the feel of the man entering her, by the look of herself impaled. She felt for where his cock disappeared into her entrance and her fingers slipped along her lips to either side of his member. He halted. Seconds passed, agonizing seconds. Then he grabbed at her to hold her still with rigid fingers, tilted his hips abruptly, and she gasped, enraptured, as he slid higher inside her.
“Oh. God.” That stretch… his evil chuckle.
“Why siren?”
“Oh. Oh. Ummm. Because. You’re addicted to me, can’t stop. Can you?” She let her head rock back, blissfully absorbed in what he was doing, what his cock was doing, while his hands moved up to hold her tits and haul on the chain. She was enslaved to the bite of that metal, to the push of his cock.
Wolfgang grunted. “I need to fucking gag you.”
“Truth. What I said.” She glared.
Which only prompted him to stick much of his hand into her mouth to stop her talking, as much as he could fit while he fucked her on his lap, then he turned her to plow her over the end of the sofa, with the clamps doing horribly bad, and nice, and painful things, all at once. It messed with her head, made her come with such delicious intensity.
She had gnawed his fingers, when they’d arrived in her mouth, slobbered on them, had gained a modicum of revenge.
Though that did result in him whipping her ass later, then fucking it hard.
That, in her opinion, only underlined the truth in her statement.
All part of the game. The sadistic, orgasmic mind game.
Except she had riled him a little. The gleam in his eyes when she’d said that truth – it betrayed a certain realization.
He knew.
He was addicted and had no clue as to how to extricate himself.
Neither did she.
Weeks passed.
Weeks of them madly screwing with his sadism running slightly amok. He teased her, flogged her, spanked her, and yet he held back some part of himself.
The number of times he said, “You’re different, so different from the others,” was only surpassed by her telling him to feed himself. He had been remembering to eat more than those first days, but it worried her. Killing men with sex was in her nature during the Ravening. Apparently, watching a man starve himself triggered some maternal instinct she never knew she owned.
How could she not be different from his human girlfriends was more to the point. What did he mean by that?”
However, the snuggling, the cuddles that happened more and more were a surprise.
Both of them liked it. Since he instigated them, he must like it.
He even told her about Merrick. Initially, he’d employed the man as a full-time gardener of the house and property, and they had become friends then lovers. Merrick had moved into the house. Telling her about the man she had taken from him seemed the ultimate in trust and forgiveness.
Snuggling though.
Snuggling was more than pleasant or a matter of
