Dominating Jess: A Fantasy Fulfilled Novella (8 page)

“No,” I said, my voice
scratchy from the earlier screams.

“No, what? You don’t
want to eat crepes?”

“Fuck crepes. Take me
further.”

Jake smiled and slid
the nipple clamps on, affixing them with tiny carabiners to the smaller chains
so that when he tugged the main chain which was connected to my leash, I was
led not only by the searing pain in my nipples, but also from the steel hook in
my ass.

“That’s my girl,” he
said. Using a handkerchief he pulled from his back pocket, he wiped my face
clean, using long, gentle strokes. He blew on my nipples, and the coolness
helped for a split second. Then, to my utmost surprise, he kissed me. Full on the
mouth, he kissed me. His tongue was sweet, and none of the times I’d ever
imagined kissing him came close to how good it was in reality. As we kissed,
mouths meeting each other and raising each other in our own form of gambling, I
felt myself get even wetter.

Jesus, I wasn’t going
to be able to keep a poker face now. I’d fallen for him a long time ago. But
now it was real.

Chapter Three - Fucked in
Public

The crimson-haired
woman came with us. I found her face fascinating—thin, with a pointed nose,
she should have been unattractive, but her wide set blue eyes made her look
like a beautiful goth pixie. Her name was Olya, Jake said, and she was
apprenticing for employment at Fantasy Fulfilled.

“Like an intern?” I
asked. As we walked through the streets to Jake’s car, I’d been told I could
speak freely, and my curiosity was sharp now. “Do you get pain? Oh, God, I
meant paid. Do you get paid?”

Olya shook her head
and took the keys Jake offered her. She hit the button that unlocked the doors
on the Mercedes SUV. “No money.”

“Someday she’ll be
paid,” said Jake. “For now, she’s learning.”

“So, like college?” I
asked.

Jake helped me into
the back seat, careful not to pull the leash too hard. “Sit to one side, it’ll
be easier on you.” He was being so nice to me, acting as if I weren’t stark
raving naked except for my heels, as if I didn’t have a chain running from my
ass to my neck, from my neck to my aching, tortured nipples. It felt odd. And
good. I noticed Olya watching him carefully. Curiously. She seemed mildly
amused by him, and I wasn’t sure why.

Sitting didn’t feel so
great. Even sitting on one cheek, the butt plug was deep, and bending my knees
seemed to drive it further in. At least they’d removed the leg shackles, and I
could spread my legs out a little bit to ease the pressure.

“Yes. Like that. I
went to college,” said Olya.

“You did?” I was
surprised. She looked so young, as if she would be just starting to think about
higher education, if anything. I would have pegged her to be no more than
nineteen.

“I don’t hire anyone
who doesn’t have a college degree,” said Jake. “Or anyone under twenty-one.”

“How many people work
for you?”

He sat next to me in
the back seat, and Olya got in the driver’s seat and started the engine.

“About forty? Forty-two, I think.”

“Jesus.” I’d thought
he had a secretary or something and did the rest on his own.

“I have helpers in
each country I frequent. And each operator has at least one assistant.”

“Operator?”

Jake gave a slight tug
on the chain, and I felt the ache travel from my nipples down to my groin. “I’m
the operator here. Olya is my assistant today. Zee is one of my operators.”

“And I’m the...”

He gave a half-smile.
“We call you the target.”

Olya said over her
shoulder, “He never thought you’d come here with him.”

Surprise warmed me.
“Really?”

Jake said, “Ignore
her.”

Olya continued, “With
someone he’s attracted to, he’s never—“

“That’s enough.” His
voice was stern, and Olya’s back immediately straightened. She drove carefully,
keeping her eyes on the road and didn’t speak again.

Jake was attracted to
me. I glowed, and it wasn’t with pain. It tasted delicious, this knowledge. I’d
always known it was there, that undercurrent that charged our conversations
with so much more, but he’d never acknowledged it.

It felt like a tiny
bit of power. I felt more comfortable in my skin, knowing that I had that, that
I owned it. Still naked, I felt as if Olya had put a blanket around me. I was
grateful to her.

And I was still so
turned on I ached.

We drove through the
countryside until we reached the edge of a lake. A small dirt parking lot was
surprisingly full of cars, most of them old and rusted. Jake’s Mercedes didn’t
fit in with the rest.

“What’s here?” I dared
to ask, knowing my time for speaking might be almost over.

“Just a popular spot,”
said Jake.

“For...”

“Fishing,” he said.
“What else? Now, my little slut. You’re done talking for a while.”

“But...” I knew I was
chancing it, but I’d just realized something very important, something I had to
tell him.

He raised his
eyebrows. “One more sentence. As a gift.”

“I have to pee.” I was
ashamed to admit it.

“Out,” was all he
said.

Olya handed him the
ball gag from her heavy-looking backpack as I carefully stepped from the
vehicle. Moving made my ass ache again almost as intensely as my nipples did.
My stiletto heels digging into the dirt, I stood as still as I could as he
wrapped the leather around the back of my head. The rubber tasted familiar now,
and I dug my teeth in as he tightened the strap. My lips were cracked at the
edges from being open so long earlier. And my bladder ached. They’d given me
water when we’d been driving and had encouraged me to drink as much as I
wanted. I’d greedily gulped it down, not thinking what it would mean to me
later. It had been a long drive.

Olya jerked one arm
back behind me and then grabbed the other one. Instead of the red silk Jake had
used earlier or the ropes, this time she put me in handcuffs. The metal was
cold and uncomfortable, and my arms protested being pulled backward again.

“Walk.”

I tried to signal with
my eyes that the need to urinate was real and getting more urgent, but Jake
strode ahead down the trail away from the lake. Elms and poplars soared above
us, and within a few minutes we were deep in the woods. Birdsong floated above
us, and shafts of sunlight filtered through the boughs, hitting the dark green
moss covering the slate-gray rocks. For a moment, looking at the orange and
umber of the turning leaves, I could almost talk myself into thinking I was in
upstate New York, two hours north of the city. Jake and I and a friend were
going...on a picnic, that was it. We’d open a bottle of wine and spend the
afternoon laughing and telling stories.

And I’d be naked and
bound. I stumbled over a rock and almost fell to the ground. When I righted
myself, breathing heavily around the gag, I realized I’d broken the heel of my
right shoe. I made a noise in the back of my throat, and Olya said, “Jake, may
we stop? She’s broken her shoe.”

He froze, and then,
barely sparing me a glance, said, “Take them off her. She’ll walk barefoot.”

I eyed the dirt path
with apprehension. I was barefoot most of the time at the gym, but for all the
hard-ass I projected, I actually had very sensitive, non-calloused feet. This
was going to hurt.

“And she needs to be
punished,” Jake continued. “Obviously.”

I hung my head as Olya
knelt to unstrap my feet from the traitorous shoes. While she did, Jake
withdrew from the backpack a thin whip. A riding crop? I took a deep breath and
stood straighter, settling my feet into the dirt. I could do this.

More than that, I
wanted
this. I’d never in my life craved pain before, and now, I wanted to see how
much the crop would hurt.

Facing me, Jake tapped
me with the whip. It was just a short tap on the outside of my hip, but it was
enough pain to make my eyes instantly well. I jerked, and as my breasts
bounced, the nipple clamps bit more, but at least the clamps were still on. I
knew enough about them from the last time to know it would hurt more to have
them removed than to leave them on now.

Apparently the first
touch had been a warm up.

Jake’s face was
impassive, almost bored-looking, as he whipped my torso. My hips, thighs,
stomach, even the sides of my breasts. I could feel the weals rising on my
skin, and wanted to look down to see the angry skin, but the second I tried to,
he brought the crop so close to my face I felt the air brush my cheek. Even
though I could tell he wasn’t giving it his all, it hurt so much I saw stars.

Then he hit my pussy.
Instinctively, I pressed my legs together as if I could somehow protect my
pubic area from him.

Jake smiled and made a
signal to Olya.

I’d fallen into his
trap. I’d done exactly what I shouldn’t have. I should have taken a step apart.
I should have pressed my hips forward, as if asking for more. Instead, I’d
tried to protect myself.

Olya took out a short
metal rod and shook it. The metal snapped as she lengthened the rod until it
was about three feet long. She snapped a leather restraint onto each end and
then attached one to my right ankle.

“Spread your legs.”
She’d had such a kind tone in the car, but she was all business now. I was the
target of their ministrations. I was the whore. That was all.

I did as she asked,
stepping my left foot out, to the end of the bar. I stood, my weight on the
outer edges of my feet, unable to bring my legs together. In fact, I wouldn’t
be able to walk, I realized. Not like this. What were they doing? We weren’t
that far down the path yet. I prayed no one came by while Jake did what he
needed to do.

And God, I had to pee
so badly. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d held it like this.

Jake didn’t give me
time to try to figure it out.

He used the crop
skillfully, hitting either one lip or the other. Tears dripped down my cheeks,
running down the leather and into my mouth. I tasted salt on the rubber. Five,
six, seven. Thirteen, fourteen. Twenty-two, twenty-three. I kept a desperate
count in my mind, hoping for him to reach the magic number so that he’d stop.

Or so that he’d at
least hit my clit, which felt like it was on fire. If he just slapped it once
with the thin leather, if he just hit me once, right there, I knew I’d come.
I’d never gotten so close to coming without being directly touched, let alone
while being hurt. It didn’t make any sense in my head, but it felt better than
being eaten out, this pain.

Jake stopped. He
tapped the end against his palm, and then held the leather to his nose. “So
wet. I suppose you’ll be punished for that, too. You didn’t ask my permission
to get turned on.”

How could I? I
couldn’t ask for anything with the ball gag so far in. I couldn’t move, not
now. My arms pinned behind me, the spreader bar keeping my feet immobilized, I
was completely helpless.

I heard men’s voices behind
me. Jake looked over my shoulder, and his smile grew wider. “Oh, good. Maybe
they can help. I have to admit my arm is getting a little tired.”

No, no, no... At least
Jake knew what he was doing. He wouldn’t give the crop to just anyone, would
he? And when was he going to undo the spreader bar so that I could pee? If I’d
been anywhere else, doing anything else, I’d have crossed my legs, hard. But
right now, my legs were in the opposite position.

Jake called out a
greeting. I couldn’t see them yet, but they called something back to him. An
exchange occurred which I didn’t understand, and Jake nodded in satisfaction.

“I told them what a
whore you are and apologized for you taking up room on their path.”

Three men came into my
line of sight. All three appeared to be in their late twenties or early
thirties, wearing faded denim jackets and dirty blue jeans. Two of them were
carrying fishing poles, and the other held a plastic bag of what might have
been food. All of them had blue jungles of tattoos on their fingers and necks.

The one with the
shortest hair said clearly, in English, “Slut.”

Jake nodded
approvingly. “Exactly. She’s a slut. I’m sorry I can’t give you the crop, but
you would like to try this?” He held out what looked like a ping-pong paddle covered
in black rubber and spoke, pointing at my legs. “There you go, friend. As hard
as you like.”

I closed my eyes,
keeping them that way until I heard a
tssk
from Jake. Right. Open. Open
eyes, as open as my legs.

The man didn’t waste
time. He swatted my legs, gaining force with each tap until his taps were
slaps, and then blows, and he kept it up until I was screaming behind the gag.
I knew there must not be an inch of my legs that wasn’t bright red. Within a
few minutes (or an hour, time was so slowed for me now), he was sweating with
the exertion, and so was I. Blow after blow he rained down on my legs. I could
take it on my calves, but when he hit the backs of my thighs, I dug my nails
into my palms as hard as I could, trying to keep from making the noise that was
obviously exciting him. But when he moved up, hitting my inner thighs that were
so available to him with my feet so far apart, I screamed again. His face was
almost purple with excitement, and he grinned at his friends. The biggest guy,
more than six feet tall and almost as wide at the shoulder—was rubbing
himself through his jeans, almost as if he didn’t know he was doing it.