In Control (12 page)

How did she always manage to get caught up in these type of situations? Maybe it was her mouth. Annabel pondered that as she twisted and struggled against the handcuffs chaining her to the bed. Maybe she'd learn how to filter her thoughts and better manage what she said so she didn't end up like this

Right. She'd get right on that. Later.

"Damn it, Zach, stop doing that!" she snarled. "I can't take any more. I need to come.
Fuck.
"

Zach gave a snort of half-amused annoyance and mocked, "Like your whining matters to me."

He dialed up the vibration intensity of the love egg he'd inserted into her rectum. The sudden tide of sensation onto already stimulated nerves crashed into her like a tidal wave. She screeched and twisted, her body shuddering beneath the onslaught of delight, her mind wrenched away from herself. The orgasm he'd yanked away from her more than once tonight reappeared on the horizon.

"Yes, yes...please...oh, God... Don't stop. Don't stop!"

She'd poked at Zach's control throughout this evening, determined to conquer that bastion of calm. Twice he'd held the upper ground in their dominance games--she, helpless beneath the maelstrom of his sex play, powerless to resist her orgasm; he, calmly riding the storm, stoic in his conquest.

No more. Tonight would be different. She'd promised herself that. And she'd worked hard to frustrate him sexually and drive him from his composure. She'd succeeded to some extent. He'd finally given a snarl, one that raised the hair along her arms, and hauled her into his arms.

He'd heaved her over one shoulder, stormed down the hallway, and dumped her onto the bed. Her triumphant laughter had ended on a startled yelp when he'd yanked a pair of handcuffs from the wardrobe.

She'd scrambled for freedom.

He'd been too fast.

She'd ended up cuffed facedown on the bed with an anal toy up her ass. But that fucker hadn't let her climax. He'd pulled her back four times now by coldly dialing down the vibrating intensity when she'd gotten close. She'd howled. He'd laughed.

And he'd did it again!

"No, don't," she screamed. "God, please! Please!"

* * * *

Zach smiled.

Quite the anal whore, he concluded, which was a good thing because he liked riding that dark road. As he watched, Annabel writhed and twisted, powerless in the grip of the vibrating toy and the cuffs. The sliver glint of the egg pushed into her ass winked at him.

That got him hot as hell.

One day that will be me tunneling into her depths, he promised himself as she begged, pleaded, and humped the bed, hungry for the promised anal orgasm. His ongoing refusal brought her to tears.

That only made him harder.

Wet heat from her pussy glazed the insides of her thighs. He watched a pearl trace a silvery trail down one leg. Her back arched; her ass muscles rippled; her voice rose in a wail. He knew that sound. Orgasm loomed.

He slapped her ass, interrupting the orgasmic wave with a splintering shock of counter-productive stimulation. He did so for no other reason than to be an ass. She howled and filled the air with insults that would make a soldier blush--those pussies.

It only jacked up his pulse and made the hunger in his guts go molten. A Marine knew what to do with a girl like this.
Ooh-rah!
He reached up and over and gave her hair a firm yank, not enough to torment, but enough to get her attention. "Watch your mouth, woman."

"Fuck me!"

"Not tonight."

"Ah, God, you bastard!"

He growled and pinned her in place with a hard hand on her neck. She struggled against his hold and whined, a sound of impatient demand.

"Mind your manners, girl. Last warning."

She capitulated with a shiver. All venom bled from her voice. "Please, let me come," she begged. "Please, please, please, please..."

"Good girl."

Only one more word to say and he would fuck the hell out of her: Master. It wouldn't be an easy victory. Annabel wasn't a compliant slave, especially now that her trust had been fractured. Almost slave, he corrected himself.

What the fuck had gone wrong between her and Jeremy? Shit, all she needed, like many slaves, was a firm hand, consistent rules, achievable goals, and boundaries that didn't break when she tested them.

Of course, she tested them. That's what slaves did. They needed to know the walls would hold. Strong boundaries were their comfort, the way to a successful sexual dynamic, and the key allowing them to unlock the chains of misandry and feminism teaching so they could kneel, secure in their unchanging world and confident in their master.

Jeremy should have been able to handle Annabel without doing damage. After all, Jeremy had been Zach's introduction into the lifestyle all those years ago. But something had gone tragically wrong between Jeremy and Annabel. That much was glaringly obvious.

Then he'd come along and made things worse.

He didn't deserve the do-over she'd given him. He deserved to roast in hell. Well, after he beat the hell out of his brother and got some goddamned answers.

Zach stepped away from her, leaving her with only the vibrating seed in her ass as he reached into the wardrobe. She let out a screech that nearly peeled the paint from the walls.

"I'm not going anywhere."

He dropped one hand onto her back, giving tactile assurance to his words, and pulled out a recent purchase. Neon-pink, the vibrator sported an interesting tilt of its front section. The shape was engineered to stimulate her G-spot. He'd also purchased a small bottle of body heat-activated lube. Cinnamon.

Oh, yeah, the pushy little slut would blaze for his entertainment, and in more ways than one.

"The when, where, and how of our sex play is my choice. Not yours."

He returned to his previous position at her rear and tore open the packages. He made sure to lean on her as he did so since he was out of her line of sight. She needed to know where he was. A girl needed to have confidence in her submission. Abandonment offered no confidence.

He clamped a hard hand around the tube of lube. A jet of clear liquid leapt from the tube to the hot pink vibrator. He stroked the sex toy, running one hand across every bit of the latex. The lube heated against his skin. The ridges along the shaft of the model nipped his hand in fascinating ways. The tilt of its front section was a curiosity.

Interesting.

He placed it on the bed where she could see it and leaned over her. He let his weight settle onto her and allowed the strength of him, the primal dominance of a man in control of her body and her mind, seep into her flesh, bone, and soul.

"Did you think you could control me?" he rumbled. "I'm the one in control here, not you. Never you."

* * * *

She nearly came from the whispered threat. The dark promise tipped her universe on its axis. He claimed the dominant status. He would enforce it, fight for it, and lay her bare in submission. She felt this truth in her soul.

And she wasn't afraid.

He removed the vibrator from the bed. A second low hum filled her hearing as the tiny motor activated. The caress of the device's first pass across her pussy lips felt like butterfly wings.

She shivered. A whimper escaped her. The length of it lay against her cleft. She reveled in the glorious waves that battered her foundations. Her hips twitched, muscles making tiny forays against a regular, breathtaking rhythm.

The tool slipped into the cleft, probed between her pussy lips, and eased into her body. He worked it, penetrating and withdrawing, going deeper with each forward thrust. She bore down on the sensations, clenching hard around the toy with a determined effort to pull from it every flicker of pleasure possible.

The strokes of the vibrator against her sensitized nerves lengthened as he delved into her depths. The juicy welcome of her cunt sang in her hearing, a perfect accompaniment to the gasping pants pulled from her throat.

He slid the vibrator out of her, a heart-stopping slide of ecstasy, then teased her clit with the trembling tip.

"Like that?" He rumbled the question.

"God...yes...yes..."

"You'll like it better."

With that promise, the vibrations in her ass increased with ferocious intensity. She cried out, equal parts plea and prayer. He pushed the vibrator sharply inside her. She felt the slap of his wrist against her vulva, heard the wet kiss of as her body welcomed the invasion, and was rocked forward an inch from its force. She spread her legs wider, wider, so wide she felt the pinch in her hips.

He reached one hand around and pushed the palm of his hand low onto her pelvic area. The vibrator found the sweet spot. And stayed, sending waves of a spectacular impression that had no name, no frame of reference.

"Now, girl, deny me my dominance. If you can."

Pleasure, long denied, raged down her spine and swept into her pussy with the force of a tornado. Fire blazed across her nerves. Her world shattered into a million multi-colored lights. Somewhere close, a woman screamed.

"Oh, sweet Jesus, yes!"

She recognized the voice as her own, but didn't realize anything else for long, delicious minutes. Zach dropped a pattern of tiny kisses from one hip to the other, while she rode the diminishing tempest of the most intense orgasm she remembered ever having.

When she came off the comet ride of rapture and remembered where she was, Zach switched off the love egg, pulled it from her body, then withdrew the vibrator.

"How're you, gorgeous?" he asked.

Annabel tried to summon the energy to smile, but, frankly, didn't have it. Responsible dominant partner, of course, Zach would check on her. She didn't know what to say. How to describe that soul-changing experience? How to thank him for being the jackass he was, who'd brought her such pleasure?

"Oh my God," she managed.

He chuckled and straightened. This time he did leave her, but she could hear him in the bathroom handling the clean up of the sex toys. In time, he returned and used a warm, soapy washrag across the needful areas of her body.

Clean, pleasured, and content, she did nothing but smile when he released her from the cuffs and turned her over onto her back. He contemplated her without speaking, and she returned the favor.

She couldn't ignore the reality that the steel cage of his control remained locked in place. Other than the storm clouds darkening his gray eyes, he appeared as relaxed and cheerful as the moment she'd come though the door this evening.

Had he felt a moment of lust?
Fuck it. If he hadn't, it was his loss.

A smile curved one side of his mouth. Was he laughing at her? If she had the energy, she'd throw a pillow at him.

He broke the silence between them. "Let's talk about the dinner you brought tonight. You're broke. How did you pay for it?"

"I borrowed twenty bucks from JoBeth."

"You'll have a twenty in your hand when you leave. Pay her back with it. Now, let's talk about the lamb."

"You don't like the food?"

"I've had enough of it. Years of it, in fact. I'll accept the gift, but I going forward, know I prefer not to be reminded of Afghanistan when I sit down to a stateside dinner."

Only her fourth date with Zach and she was already singing. Okay...well, humming.

She'd been forced to make the change since putting on makeup wasn't easy while singing. She'd twice had to start over. Once she'd drawn a zigzag streak across one eye with her liquid eyeliner. The other incident had involved her lipstick and her cheek.

Yeah, she got into her singing. One of her childhood dreams had been to be a singer. But, you know, that horrid childhood had happened and-- "Oh, jeez."

Dear Lord, her hair was a mess. She'd washed it during her recent shower. Now it was drying, her root growth was morbidly apparent. More of the black had washed out, leaving behind a muddy gray color.

She stared into the mirror and thought she looked like some weird species of coral thing-a-muh-jig. Sponge? Slug? She lived in a port town. She should know this.
Oh, yeah, sea anemones.
That's what she looked like, she concluded. One of those sea anemone things, her head a base of copper, like those spongy bodies, and a mass of gray-black threads winding around her head as though touched by an ocean current.

"Yeah, baby," she crowed, then blew herself a kiss in the mirror. "Medusa's got nothing on me, man." She totally needed to do her hair. Time to go begging again--except, "He likes my hair."

He'd said that--right?--about the copper color, not the lengths of fading black. It shouldn't matter, but it did, she admitted to herself. Okay, she'd hold off begging for spare change and a bottle of dye. Maybe cut her hair, too, to remove the black. It had been a metaphorical choice, after all. A physical display of her inner desolation she'd felt for years: one of the walking dead.

And speaking of that, maybe she could ease up on the white makeup as a nod to the renaissance happening in her spirit, the lightening of herself. Which might be a good thing, since the bottle was nearly empty. Begging was always available as a fallback if she was wrong, or to ask JoBeth for a twenty-dollar bill in the worst-case scenario.

But what if she was right? What if she was blooming?

What if it was another lie? What if she was falling for yet another impossible dream?

That thought cut through her happiness like a razor blade to the wrist. She cried out and heard her own anguish echo through the apartment. She'd heard that sound before and for too many years to count.
Haven't I learned my lesson yet?

"Bel? I've got the munchies you asked for. Smells great."

JoBeth's voice from the other side of apartment pulled Annabel from her thoughts. She'd been so caught up in the backwash of them and now she hadn't heard JoBeth come home. She felt her cheeks warm and hoped her stupid emo-sounds hadn't been overheard.

Paper rattled. The door closed. The lock clicked.

Annabel swiveled on the kitchen chair she'd dragged inside to face the open bathroom door, and caught sight of herself as she turned her head, the flush on her cheeks giving her pause. She hadn't seen color on her cheeks for years.
Has it really been that long
?