The loud rev and roar of an accelerating motorbike reminded me of the black gloves that man wore. Bikers might network, when they weren’t killing each other.
They might.
Isak gave my butt a nudge with his bare foot, cunningly using the front of his foot to edge the dress material between my legs, before lifting me, a little, off the floor. “Go. At the top, expect punishment.”
Whatever. He didn’t want to know, and I could not talk.
I crawled slowly, growing ever more aware of how he followed, like some creature stalking behind wounded prey, and also growing ever more aroused. For once, I was unsure how much of this reaction was from the mesmer in him, and how much was simply me.
Would I have reacted like this before I met Isak?
Maybe not. Being watched and stalked, by a large, determined man who wanted to punish me should not do this, I berated my stupid self.
My body and my stupid libido were not listening.
Being more aware was beginning to feel like a glitch in the system.
At the top, he walked around me to the bedroom, then returned with a black roll of tape. “Strip.” I pulled the dress off again, still kneeling because we both knew I wasn’t allowed to rise.
The intense gleam in his eyes was riveting. His finger crooked.
I had to own up to my own perversities, my craziness, if you will. I wanted this even if it was due to habitual abuse. I reasoned through this. The many orgasms might set up an avalanche of kinks, a trained reaction of need. I crawled closer, aware of him watching the sway of my breasts and my body.
“Hands behind you.”
Then he walked around me, and I heard the tearing sound of the bondage tape being unrolled, felt it wrapped about my wrists, fastening them firmly together.
I’d shut my eyes by then. My reaction had been automatic and shameful – anticipating the rush of being trapped, my throat had closed in and my nipples ached.
This was not mesmer; it was me.
When had I begun to like this? When? How could I like this?
Pick a day, a year. I was Pavlov’s bitch. This was so fucked up.
A metal device hung in his hands when he returned to my front, and I recognized it instantly – a clothes hanger with the clips at the ends.
Isak leaned down and settled onto one knee.
Enthralled, breathing more than a little shakily, I watched the approach of his mouth. He wrapped a hand under my breast, and his head turned as he targeted my nipple.
One lick, then another.
The pleasure unfurled, slowly building. He sucked at them, one then the other, almost delicate, before he gave each a final suck, as if to be sure of the taste. That soft kissing sound as he let go of my flesh with lips and tongue… God.
I inhaled, held it. My clit had popped out, engorged.
Then… just as enraptured, I watched him open a clip, approach me, and apply it to the nipple he had caught with finger and thumb. Though I squealed, he did the same for the second nipple.
I tensed and wrapped my fingers hard against each other behind my back, twining them together. A shift of my bodyweight made my breasts feel the weight of the hanger. They throbbed with an angry, biting pain.
Mouth open, I panted through the mounting sensation. It seemed to lessen before it grabbed me again. The look of those clamped on each side… My teeth anchored in my bottom lip.
I couldn’t reach around and free myself. Which, I loved. I did.
Fuck me.
“Well now.” Isak brushed a finger across the upper curve of each breast. He straightened and stood, admiring his work.
I tilted my head to meet his gaze, and we both knew that this, this, was something he’d made me enjoy. Not so much the pain, but the being ensnared by his doing. This was mesmer and dominance rolled together, and so screwy I wasn’t sure which way was up.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “I’d forgotten. I’d lost this. This…” He rubbed his chin, and I let my eyelids flutter down a moment.
“Open those eyes. Let me see you.”
They snapped open for him. Mesmer.
He weighed each breast in a hand, holding them firmly, gently brushing the parts of my nipples he could reach between those biting clips.
I wriggled on the spot, writhing my ass and squeezing in below, aroused so direly I need to be fucked then and there. I whined, embarrassed even as I did so.
He chuckled. “Hmmm. Up.”
With one hand, he helped me rise and drew me to the sofa armrest, where he perched himself then pulled me stomach-down over his legs. With my wrists bound, I had to rely on him to stop me toppling straight to the floor.
“I should have caned you, tied to the balcony railing.
“With these tits tied to a weight, and you screaming.
“I should have made you bleed.”
He flicked at the coat hanger reminding my nipples of where they were. When I squeaked, his fingers slipped between my legs and played there awhile before he delivered a slap to my ass.
Then he probed at me, circling my clit, my entrance – toying with me.
“You’re wet, of course.”
I whimpered and tried to get those fingers inside me, which seemed to remind him of his purpose. He slapped my ass again, harder, jolting me forward and making that coat hanger swing.
“So fucking wet.” His groan was accompanied by his large hand smoothing over to my spanked ass then tracing what felt like random lines on it.
“How did I not know the miracle of your butt? How red it gets. How fucking nice it is to stick my
