Elicitation (9 page)

“Now it’s your turn.” He bent, reached into the leather case sitting beside the bed, and took out a dildo. She stared at it in horror. The vibrating egg he’d used before was bad enough, but this thing…this thing was
obscene.
It was made of black rubber, heavily veined and ridged, extremely realistic-looking, and it was
big.
The realism scared her almost as much as the size; the thought of putting it inside her was almost too much to bear.

He twisted a knob at its base, and it began to buzz loudly. She shrank back and scooted away from him until her back bumped up against the foot of the bed.

He pressed the dildo into her hands. “Fuck yourself.”

She sat frozen, staring at it. When he had blindfolded her and shoved the dildo into her last night, that was bad enough, but inserting such a thing into herself, with her own hands, felt so much more disgusting.

“If you do not do as you’re told, you will be punished. I said, fuck yourself.”

She lowered the vibrating dildo gingerly between her legs, and touched herself lightly with the head.

“Now!” he barked.

She jumped, startled, and shoved the dildo into her wet, aching pussy.

“That’s better. Now fuck yourself. Hard. Don’t stop until you come.”

Her face burned with shame. She began moving the dildo in and out, tentatively at first. He glared at her disapprovingly, his eyes commanding. She increased the tempo, forcing the dildo into herself faster and harder, red with helpless, impotent shame. Her pussy clenched around it, and she could feel its texture, every ridge and vein an explosion of sensation. The powerful vibrations penetrated her, and soon she was lost in the feeling, masturbating openly in front of him.

A sharp knock came at the door. She stopped, her blood turning to ice in her veins.

“I didn’t tell you to stop. Fuck yourself!”

She whimpered and obeyed. The dildo plunged in and out.

He drew on a bathrobe and left the bedroom, closing the door almost completely behind him. Her jaw ached. The wide steel rod planted in her ass vibrated in sympathy with the dildo as she fucked herself alone and in silence. She heard Anthony’s voice in the other room, thanking the bellhop for bringing up his package so quickly.

“Hmm, now let’s see, about your tip,” he said. “Well, I don’t have my wallet on me, as you can see. So I can put your tip on the room charges, or if you prefer, I can let you watch my wife masturbate.”

She gasped and froze, the dildo buried deep.

His voice came through the door. “No, I’m quite serious. She’s in the other room, fucking herself with a big black dildo right now.”

A pause, then a chuckle. “I thought you might.” The door swung wide. Anthony and another man, dressed in a hotel uniform, looked in at her.

Her heart skipped a beat. She stared at the bellhop—a young man, in his mid-twenties, with glasses and a nametag reading “Heath”—totally paralyzed. Time seemed to slow. She became acutely, painfully aware of the weight of the come streaked in her hair, the dull ache of the silvery metal probe protruding from her ass, the slight tickle of the rivulets of wetness crawling down her wrists and over her breasts, the faint itching of dried semen on her chin, the hard ring strapped into her mouth, the steady buzzing vibration of the dildo inside her pussy, the hardness of the manacles binding her wrists together. She heard, from far away, a long, thin wail, then realized with a start that it was coming from her.

“Does she like to be watched?” the bellhop asked, his eyes not leaving her body.

Anthony laughed. “Let’s just say this is not the first time she’s fucked herself in front of an audience since we’ve been here,” he said. “So far, she has come every time. Show him, honey.”

She shook her head, very slightly, eyes wide.

“Don’t be shy. He wants to see you come. Unless you think it would be more fun to suck him off than to masturbate for him, that is. Would you rather do that?”

“She would do that?” he asked excitedly.

“Oh, yes. She’s quite good with her mouth. But it’s up to her. What would you like to do, honey?”

Slowly, hands shaking, she gripped the dildo tightly and started to move. Waves of shame washed over her as she masturbated. Her eyes locked on the bellhop’s, unable to look away, afraid of what she might see if she glanced between his legs, how she would feel if she saw a bulge growing there. The butterflies grew into a whirlwind in her belly, and she rammed herself with the dildo, ashamed of her own arousal. Tightness gripped her chest, her legs began to shake, and she knew with dismay that she was going to come, and that nothing could prevent it.

She held her gaze on the bellhop’s eyes as the orgasm seized control. She screamed in ecstasy and contracted powerfully around the thick rubber dildo. Her entire body shook with the force of her orgasm…and for just a brief instant, right at the peak, she wondered what it would feel like to have his penis in her mouth when she came.

Then it was gone, and she felt disgusted by the thought. She turned away from the men, wanting to hide her face.

“What do you think?” Anthony asked. “Was it worth it?”

“Oh, yes!”

“If we should need anything else, can I assume I can call you to take care of it?”

“Yes, sir! You can count on me.”

“Good,” Anthony said. “We’ll discuss how to handle your tip the next time I need something. Now, if you will excuse us…”

The bellhop grinned and bobbed his head, and nearly ran into the door on his way out. Anthony turned toward his bride, curled up on the floor by the bed.

“Did that feel good?”

She whimpered wordlessly.

He knelt beside her and unbuckled the strap that held the ring in her mouth. The manacles came next; then, carefully, he withdrew the probe from her stretched anus. She quivered and sighed.

“I have a present for you,” he said. “But before I show it to you, you need to get cleaned up. You’re completely drenched in come, and I can’t exactly take you out looking like a dirty, freshly-fucked slut.”

She looked up at him with questions in her eyes. He offered no explanation, but instead lifted her in his arms and carried her like a child into the bathroom.

No, not like a child, she thought…like an object, a large and delicate possession. He deposited her in the enormous tub and ran the water. She moved to sit up; he placed his hand firmly on her shoulder and pushed her back. “Stay.”

Not even like an object…even that wasn’t quite right. More like—a pet. A pet that had to be washed, even though it didn’t want to be.

He scrubbed her thoroughly with a soapy sponge, with detached precision that, as much as anything else that had been done to her so far, made her feel like a slave, something owned by him. She struggled beneath his grasp, sending water sloshing from the tub, but he held her down and continued scrubbing her. He pushed her under the water. When she came up sputtering and thrashing, he leaned over the tub and held her with one hand while he lathered her hair with the other. When he was finished, he pushed her back beneath the water again to rinse her.

After he was done, he pulled the plug to drain the water from the tub. She sat still, uncertain of what to do. His hand moved between her legs. “Are you sore?”

She shivered when his fingers touched her and nodded.

“I’m not surprised. You’ve been used very hard these past couple of days. Your body isn’t accustomed to it yet. Wait here.”

He left. When he returned, he was carrying a small, unlabeled bottle. “This will make you feel better.” He squeezed a small amount of white cream onto his fingers. “Hold still.” He reached between her legs once more, and spread the cream around and inside her tortured sex. He applied more of the cream around her anus, and worked it into her with his fingers.

It did feel better. The cream cooled and soothed the burning fire in her overworked pussy and ass, making her sigh with relief. He rubbed a small amount onto her aching nipples, and she moaned as the ache faded away. “Mmm, that feels good,” she murmured.

“Good.” He rose and helped her stand, then dried her with a large, fluffy towel. “I have a present for you. I think you’ll like it.”

On the table in the living area of the suite sat a large white cardboard box, wrapped in a red silk ribbon tied in a bow. He handed it to her and smiled. “Open it.”

She took the package gingerly from his hands as if expecting it to bite her. When it failed to do so, she drew the ribbon off and lifted the top.

Inside, nestled within layers of tissue paper, was a long red dress. Se lifted it out and held it up. “It’s beautiful!” Suddenly and acutely aware of her own nakedness, she held it tightly against her body like a shield.

“Put it on! I want to see how you look in it.”

She backed out of the room, still covering her body with the flowing red dress, and closed the bedroom door behind her.

Several minutes passed. The door opened again, and she slipped timidly through. Anthony smiled broadly and held out his hand. “Well? Let me see!”

She walked toward him demurely, eyes downcast. The dress touched the floor behind her. It was far more formal than anything she was accustomed to; the hem swept upward in a jumble of elaborate ornamentation in the front, and the neckline plunged between her breasts. She felt simultaneously overdressed and exposed, like a Hollywood starlet on Oscar night.

“You look marvelous,” he said. “Come over here.” He took her hand and drew her close. “You are absolutely beautiful. That’s what I like—a high-class sex slave.”

She blushed and looked away. He grabbed her arm and dragged her close; she whimpered in protest and pushed at him as he kissed her roughly, forcing his tongue between her lips. His hand pressed against her thighs through her dress.

She squirmed and pulled away; he released her suddenly. “Finish getting dressed. I’m going to put some clothes on and then we’re going out.”

“What—what do you mean? I am dressed!”

“No, you’re not. Go put the spikes around your thighs.”

“But—”

“Now!” he said firmly. “It’s time for you to take some responsibility for your training. You will make sure you’re wearing them whenever you leave the room for any reason. It will be your responsibility to make sure they are tight and locked. Go!” He turned away, dismissing her, and reached into the closet.

She turned back to the bedroom, unable to lift her eyes from the floor. With shaking hands, she picked up the rubber straps. She wrapped each one around her upper thigh just as he had done, and jumped slightly as she pressed each tiny padlock closed with a click. Her heart pounded and her lips trembled; a part of her could not understand why she was willing to be an accomplice to his sexually deviant “training.”

Chapter 7

When she returned to the living room, he was getting dressed; formal black suit, white shirt, tie. When he’d finished, he smiled warmly and held out his hand to her. “Shall we?”

They left the hotel and headed out into the city’s streets. She walked awkwardly. The dress hampered her efforts to walk without the cruel metal spikes raking the smooth skin of her inner thighs. He hurried her along; she gasped each time metal scraped along skin. It was not until after they’d been walking for nearly ten minutes that she finally found the rhythm that kept the points away from her, swaying her hips with an even more exaggerated motion than she had before.

The eyes of every passing stranger were a tangible weight on her as they walked. She lowered her head, feeling exposed and vulnerable, the wag of her ass an invitation to everyone who crossed her path. Anthony moved quickly, making her scurry to keep up.

Eventually, as evening fell, they made their way to the Tower of London, the magnificent, palatial monument to conquest. He led her toward one of the tower’s many gates. “Amazing sense of history here,” he said conversationally. “There’s a ceremony they hold every night here I’ve always wanted to see. The Chief Yeoman Warder locks up the tower and presents the keys for safekeeping. They’ve been doing it for five hundred years now. And look!” He reached into a pocket. “As it just so happens, I have tickets!” He pointed excitedly over the gate. “Oh, look! Is that a trebuchet?”

She remained silent as he ushered them through the gate. “True story,” he said. “Only once in modern times has this ceremony been interrupted, during World War II, when Nazi bombs fell right by the tower. What a big mess that caused! The warder was a few minutes late turning in the keys. Whole big stink about it. Letters to the king, you name it. They eventually decided not to punish the poor guy, on account of it being the Nazis’ fault and all.” He grinned boyishly. “Now that’s what I call tradition.”

His voice faded to the background of her consciousness as he spoke. Her nipples had begun to itch, and a growing, insistent tingle was spreading between her legs. The sensation grew stronger by the minute, an irresistible, stinging irritation she could not ignore. She struggled to keep her hands at her sides; she felt desperate to touch herself, to ease the maddening itch, and mortified at the thought that someone might see her. Her nipples grew hard of their own accord, and between her legs, dampness spread as the tingle took hold. She folded her arms tightly in front of her and tried to rub her nipples surreptitiously through her dress. They were far more sensitive than she was prepared for, and the brush of her arm sent a jolt through her, making her moan. She tried to squeeze her legs together against the heat and the demanding, insistent itch; metal studs bit into her thighs, and she yelped and opened her legs.

The ceremony was quite simple, and took only a few minutes. Eileen scarcely noticed; her attention was consumed by the sensory assault. Her nipples burned; her pussy and anus prickled from within. She could not stop thinking about the things she had done to herself in the hotel. A tiny part of her longed for the dildo inside her, the cool metal shaft in her ass—not for sexual pleasure, she hastened to tell herself, but just to relieve that maddening itch.

People jostled around her. Anthony took her arm. “My, my, my. You can’t keep still, can you, little whore?”

She jumped at his touch, only then becoming aware that she had been moving her hips steadily back and forth—here, in this very public place. Her face flushed and she looked down, not wanting to meet his gaze or the eyes of anyone around her. The sun had long ago set, and the pale moon glowed down, turning the tower to a dark silhouette.

“Come on,” he said. “Ceremony’s over.”

He led them through the thinning crowd away from the tower. Each step, each sway of her hips, sent urgent little flashes through her body. So absorbed was she in her own discomfort and in the task of walking without letting the spikes poke her that she didn’t even notice the direction in which they were traveling. Her clit throbbed; when he took her hand and urged her to speed up, each footstep sent sharp twinges straight to her most sensitive place.

The buildings around them changed. They seemed to be getting well away from the tourist areas, into a grimmer industrial neighborhood. The streets grew darker, and she grew more aware of her surroundings. “Anthony?” she asked nervously. “Are we going the right way?”

He said nothing, but urged her onward. Her apprehension grew and she clung tightly to his hand. “Where are we going?”

He slowed, eyes scanning both sides of the street. He spied a dark opening between two tall brick buildings. “There,” he said.

He seized her by the hair and dragged her into a narrow alleyway, hemmed in on both sides by dank, rough brickwork. She cried out in pain and surprise, struggling to break free. He tightened his grip and dragged her farther into the alley, where he slammed her roughly against the damp brick wall.

“What are you doing? Let go of me!”

“I am horny. You are my sex slave. I am using you,” he said. His fingers caught the neck of her dress. He yanked it down over her shoulder, exposing her bra.

She kicked and fought wildly against him. Her hands sought to push him away. “Let go of me!” she cried.

One hand dipped into his pocket, and came out with the knife, a long chiseled blade folded back into a black handle. He unfolded it and laid the blade flat against the sweep of her collarbone. “Hush.”

Her breath caught in her chest; her protest died stillborn on her lips. She froze, immobile as a statue.

He slid the knife slowly along her skin, as gentle as a lover’s caress. The cold steel blade slipped beneath the strap of her bra. The barest hint of motion, and it sliced effortlessly through the narrow strap. The bra slipped away with a whisper of sound; her bare skin shone in the dim light.

His hand folded around her breast. He shoved her hard against the wall; hard, uneven brick pressed into her back. His hand squeezed and twisted roughly. She cried out. “It hurts!”

Instantly, the tip of the knife came up to her lips. “Shh,” he said. The blade caressed her lips softly. His fingers tightened hard on her breast, making her shudder and moan. “You want it, little whore. Your body is begging for it. It’s not your fault; the cream I put on you is doing this to you. When the numbing agent wears off, the other ingredients take over. That’s why you can’t stay still, and that’s why you need something inside you. You need to be fucked, little whore. Just relax and let it happen.”

She looked into the dark, still pools of his eyes. “No…please…”

“There is nothing you can do to prevent it,” he said. “You are a sex slave.” The tip of the knife traced her lips. “Kiss it.”

“No, please…don’t!”

His hand squeezed her breast roughly, fingers digging in hard. She gasped.

“I won’t tell you again. Kiss it.”

She closed her eyes. Slowly, her lips parted. The tip of her tongue touched the flat of the blade. A strange, erotic thrill shot through her.
He’s making me do this,
she thought,
I have no choice, it’s not my fault…

Her lips parted wider. Her tongue caressed the blade, and soft, moist lips closed around it. She moaned, her breath fogging bright metal.

“Good.” He drew the knife point over her chin, very light, and slowly ran it down the hollow of her throat, over the curve of her breast. It left a very faint white line in her skin, describing where it had passed. Butterflies churned in her stomach; her breathing came fast and shallow.

The tip of the blade came to rest against her nipple. She shuddered as he pressed harder, creating a needle-sharp prick of pain. “Hold still.”

She nodded wordlessly.

He reached down and pulled up the hem of her dress. She let out a startled exclamation as he yanked her panties down to her knees in a violent motion, but remained unmoving. He drew the key on its silver chain from beneath his shirt, unlocked the bands around her thighs, and let them fall. She panted, frightened and aroused.

He stepped back away f and stared levelly at her as he slowly, deliberately, unfastened his slacks. He pulled them down just enough to free his erection, which strained at its confinement. She tried to shrink back against the wall as he stepped forward and pressed his body against her. He laid the knife flat against her cheek and looked at her with calm, dark eyes. “Now,” he said.

He entered her hard, and oh, God, it hurt. She screamed, and his hand came up and clamped roughly over her mouth. “Hush,” he said. “You want this. I can feel how wet you are. You’re totally drenched. This feels good, doesn’t it?”

She wanted to protest; she tried to say she didn’t want what was happening to her, tried to explain that it was only that maddening tingle that was making her wet. He thrust again, and the only sound she could make was a long, drawn-out moan, stifled by his hand.

He pressed against her, his hips pushing her hard against unyielding brick. The knife caressed her cheek gently; she shivered and moaned softly. His cock, buried deep inside her, felt overwhelmingly, achingly good, exactly what she had been craving; she could not stop herself from moving her hips against him. Her nipples, exposed to the cool evening air, itched fiercely. She cupped her hand over her breast and squeezed, and pleasure rippled through her.

He removed his hand from her mouth, smiling. “That’s what I thought.”

He took her roughly then, against the wall, pounding savagely into her as he held the knife against her cheek. She screamed in ecstasy and gave herself to him, her body yielding completely to his demands. He grew harder within her. She squeezed her breast more tightly and cried out as they came together, the sharp wet slap of his ejaculation inside her sending her over the edge herself.

She came so hard that darkness crept in from the corners of her vision. Pleasure tore through her, so overwhelming that she was only barely aware when he pulled out of her and stepped away. She slid down the wall, still twitching and gasping with the aftershocks, until she was sitting on the ground at his feet.

Many long minutes passed before her vision cleared and awareness returned.

He tucked himself back into his pants and zipped them up. “Very nice. Your body likes being used hard,” he said as he crouched beside her. “You’re a mess. I can’t take you back to the hotel this way. You look like you’ve just been fucked in an alley.”

A few quick motions of the knife had the remnants of her bra cut completely away. He dropped it to the ground and left it there. A moment later, the bands with their spikes were once again locked around her thighs.

“You are just dripping with come,” he said. “It’s almost all the way down to your knees. We can’t have you leaving puddles of come behind. Hmm.” He thought for a minute, then brought the knife up between her legs. She flinched as he sliced her panties off.

“This should do the trick.” He mopped her up with the panties. She moaned softly, nearly coming again as he wiped up the come dripping from inside her. When he finished, he raised the come-soaked cloth to her lips. “Open your mouth.”

She whimpered and turned away. He raised the knife once more to her cheek. “Open your mouth.”

That strange, erotic thrill passed through her body again, electric and intense. Her nipples hardened; between her legs, she felt a quivering.
It’s okay,
she told herself.
It’s not my fault. I don’t have any choice. He’s forcing me to do it.

Slowly, she opened her mouth, shaking in anticipation and dread. He shoved the soggy cloth deep inside, pushing it in firmly with his fingers. She mad a small coughing noise and closed her mouth around it. “Keep it there,” he said.

He stood and pulled her to her feet. He brought the neck of the dress up over her shoulder and smoothed it out. The back of her dress was damp and stained with dirt; the front, now that her bra was gone, revealed the curve of her breasts invitingly. Her nipples stood prominently against red silk, obvious to the slightest glance. The taste of sex filled her mouth.