Only Pretend (7 page)

In the tepid air, my nipples were already firm. I saw myself, wished I didn't. "Your tits are fantastic," he murmured. Chewing my lip, I spotted the shape of his erection in his pants. The knowledge I was exciting him, it sank its fangs into my core and melted my thighs.

I guess he was right. I do get turned on seeing men react to me.
That didn't
sound
like me, though. Had I always been this way?
I'm playing pretend. It's all pretend.
Blaming my surge of arousal on the role I was playing was easier on my psyche.

Bending deep, I pushed my underwear down. Instantly, the problem was clear. "They won't come off with these cuffs," I said.

Crouching, his face far too close to my newly-shaved pussy, Leonide reached in his pocket. I would have scurried away; the knife, flashing in the light, locked me on the spot. Cloth tore like tissue paper. The remnants of my panties were scooped up, tossed aside to be forgotten. "There," he said, tucking the knife away. "Problem solved. Now stop clutching that dress like it's your safety blanket. That's the opposite of sexy."

Pushing my legs together, I tried to hide as much of myself as I could while sliding the dress over my head. It slithered along, choking where it went. As revealing as it was, I felt confined by the thing.
Because he told me to wear it.
Tugging the hem low, I studied Leonide's eyes in the reflection.
He commanded it. It's the same as the cuffs on my ankles.

Everything he did to me just trapped me further.

The blue material hung to mid thigh, the slit exposing creamy skin. There was no question that I wore no undergarments. Nothing could work with such an outfit. The ravine between my breasts, my spine exposed to the top of my ass... it was inappropriate for the public.

Leonide's stare was glued to me. "You wear it well."

My hands covered my chest, pressing the brail of my nipples. "I look like a stripper."

"Strippers are often blonde, busty American sluts."

Fuming, I wrapped my fingers in the slippery fabric. "I'm not a slut,
sir
."

"Again with that!" Strangely, he didn't look mad. A heat flooded his gaze, black becoming fiery charcoal. Pushing me against the mirror, he forced my hands away. His strength was immense, overtaking me. In one fist he pinned my wrists, the other pawing over my hard nipples. "Tell me again what you're not, my little American whore."

Grinding my molars, I jammed a knee at his balls. The cuffs gave me no leverage, the attack was telegraphed. Whipping me around, Leonide left me dizzy. I stumbled, but how lucky I was. He was there to hold me steady.

Pressed against his chest, I was facing the mirror. "Look at yourself," he said to my ear. I felt the edges of his teeth. They slid into my lungs, stole my voice. "Tell me what you see in front of you."

His arm curled around my belly, fondled my chest. He'd yanked my arms behind, crushing them in his vice like fingers. With my shoulders pulled back, breasts thrust high and lips parted as I panted... I knew exactly what I looked like.

I'm not a whore!

Through the thin dress, I felt his hard-on rubbing my thigh. My world was made from Leonide, his smell cloying and leaving me uncertain. He was magnetic, a pull that drew me in no matter how I wanted to claw up his smiling face.

"Slut," he whispered, roughly thumbing a nipple.

"No." Closing my eyes couldn't save me.

"My pretty whore." His tongue ran up the shell of my ear, and fuck it, I moaned.

I'm not,
I told myself, hips rocking against him.
It's pretend.

It's all pretend.

Moving with me, he swayed gently against the curve of my ass. "Open your eyes, Celeste."

My head moved side to side.

"Open." If my rejection to his commands excited him, it showed in how his heart beat. Through my shoulder blades, as if he were trying to shove it out and into me, his blood was doing jumping jacks.

Fluttering my lashes, I gazed fearfully into the mirror. I
knew
what I would see. It still cut me deep, left a mark on my soul that screamed 'sinner' more than a fresh tattoo ever could. My lips were spread, ready to take in oxygen or a nice, thick cock. Through the dress, my nipples threatened to cut their way out. It was the way I was rubbing my ass, grinding my hips, that was worst of all.

Brushing my blonde hair from my neck, Leonide spread his hand over my pale skin. His voice was a living cinder. "Lovely Celeste, a pretty little slut. Correct?"

Swallowing, I saw his hand—felt his hand—as it rested where it could kill me. A simple motion, he'd snap my spinal cord or strangle me just as quick. In that room of pale lights, my words were a frail butterfly wing.

"Yes, sir."

Celeste

––––––––

T
ime was funny. It was like oil on water; if you reached into the pot you'd never be able to grab the slippery bits from the rest.

Either way, whether I could make sense of it or not, it was always the same. Leonide took me from my room, made me serve him his meals every time—all but dinner. I never saw him at dinner. A woman who wouldn't look me in the eye would bring a plate to my room each evening.

The rest of the days were spent being his doll.

It was the worst of the 'training' as he called it. I felt so degraded, dressing as he decided, prancing for him while he judged my walk. He'd tell me to swing my hips more, shoulders back, show off my chest—my tits, he would declare.

Leonide was vulgar. When he called my body parts such obscene words in that heavy accent of his, I always felt a rush of excitement. I was worried for my mental health.

I'd gotten better at addressing him, being careful to not slip up. Even so, it was hard to bite my tongue. I suspected he was pushing me, prodding to test my resistance. Did he
want
me to rebel? Was that fun for the sick pervert?

It surprised me that he hadn't tried to fuck me yet. I'd seen how excited he got with me, trousers straining to contain himself... but still, nothing. He was keen to drive me wild, leave me panting and soaked and then shoving me aside.

By what I thought was the fourth—or fifth—day, my desire for release was making me antsy. It was late, hours after my dinner had arrived. In the darkened room, I tossed on my bed and felt my own sticky sweat.

Masturbation was no stranger to me. My parents hadn't started shaming me, talking to me about how to 'properly' behave with boys, until well after I'd started exploring my own body. Doing it here, though, in this place...
It feels wrong.
Deriving pleasure in this house, letting Leonide get to me, it was like giving up without a fight.

Chewing my thumb nail, I rolled on my back and stared at the ceiling I couldn't see. Without the single light on, the room was pitch black. I hadn't been allowed to keep clothes in my room, only what Leonide left me with after each 'dress up' session. Today had been a white sundress, a thing I'd pulled off an hour ago as I sweltered in my own heat.

He'd given me new lingerie, a lacy bra and matching ivory panties. Gliding my hand across my belly, I felt the dip of my muscles.
No one will know.
Lower, I flicked the hem of my underwear.
He won't know.

That was enough to justify going for it.

Stroking over the top of my pussy was an electric spark. Days of being toyed with, of no release, I was sure this wouldn't take long.

Pushing my face into my pillow to muffle any sounds, my fingers dipped under the cloth. My inner thighs were a mess, panties soaked through to being sheer. Brushing the swollen node of my clit, I purred.

It had been far too long since my last time. When had that—
No, fuck. That was Vegas. That was with... with him.
I'd promised myself not to ever think of him. Not how his beard felt on my smooth skin, especially not how agile his fingers were when he explored my body.

Squeezing my knees together sent ripples to my belly. Blood was rushing through my ears, deafening me to my own sounds. I was so close, on the verge of cumming and letting myself escape the torturous pressure building and building.

The door swung open, louder than my squeak. "I knew it," Leonide said, flicking on the light. Scrambling to cover myself with the blanket, I drew my knees to my chest. The cuffs jingled; he still hadn't removed them.

Striding in further, he cornered me on the bed. I had no where to go, my body crunching into the angle of the two walls. All around, I could smell myself. The way he inhaled, smirking sharper than new knives, said he could, too. "Celeste, Celeste." He clicked his tongue. "Whatever were you thinking?"

"I—this—I don't—"

"Shh shh shh." Reaching for me, he gripped my chin tenderly. "Don't explain. It's not strange. American girls, you just can't help yourself, right?"

I remained still. Maybe, if I said nothing—did nothing—he would go away.

He tilted his head, looking at me from a new perspective. "It's just your nature. However, it's still rule breaking."

Remaining mute wasn't happening. "What rule did I possibly break?"

Nails dug into my chin, a bear trap that made me wince. "Wives aren't allowed to cum without permission. You're being very spoiled, trying to get an orgasm on your own like this."

He spoke too comfortably about my human rights.
He's sick, that's it.

Leonide slid off the mattress, heading for the open door. "I'll be right back." It was the most ominous thing he could have said.

Shoving off the bed, I looked around for protection. I didn't know what was going to happen. I only knew I was terrified.

I slid the dress on, feeling less exposed. There was nothing else to grab a hold of.

Nothing to do but wait
.

He didn't take long. There was some relief in that, not having to sit on my bed and imagine what he had planned. The truth was hardly better, in the end.

"Celeste." My name was barbed wire to my ears. He lifted his hand, something dangling that looked crafted from belts and metal. "Come over here."

I was sure I hadn't blinked for five minutes. Shivering, I inched to the edge of the mattress and stood. "What is that?" Lowering his eyebrows, he crooked a finger for me to step closer.
Am I so weak already?
My hands balled at my sides.

Was his smile worse than his frown? I couldn't decide. "Celeste, stand in front of me right now, or this will become more dire."

I am that weak. Yes.
The chains rustled until I stood in touching distance of him.

"Good girl."

Fuck, how I hated when he called me that.

The device he held jingled as he swung it idly. "Stand very still. If you try to move, or stop me, I'll happily punish you. Got it?"

My mouth was so dry. "Yes, sir."

Kneeling at my feet, a position I so rarely saw him in, Leonide touched my knee. "Hike up your dress." Tangling my hands in it, I lifted the hem high. At the sight of my ruined panties, Leonide chortled. "Such a mess. Did you manage to get off?"

God, the embarrassment. "No, sir."

"Too bad." He peeled the underwear down, my juices leaving trails as they went. "Oh, goodness!" His laughter was terrible. I imagined kneeing him in the nose, but fear kept my limbs like stone. "Your little cunt is puffy with need." His thumb came down, an inch from my twitching clit. There was no way not to whimper. "Would you like me to do it for you, make you cum like the first time I saw you naked?"

It was a suggestion that created hair-splits along my mind. Did I
want
to cum? I needed it, not wanted! For him to mention that night—how he'd licked me, tasted and teased and and and...

"Celeste, tell me. Do you want to cum?"

Squeezing my eyes shut so hard I saw colors, I nodded my head.

Metal rattled; leather straps crossed along my thighs. Baffled, I stared down while he finished locking the device into place. Now that it was on me, I knew exactly what it was.

Leonide patted my hip, voice wistful. "It's too bad I don't care if spoiled girls get to cum or not."

I broke. Help me, I broke down. Sobbing in distress, I tore first at the chastity belt he'd locked onto me. The front and back were pure metal, thicker than a piece of bread. I could feel nothing beneath, my nethers imprisoned from even me.

The straps were strong, might as well have been steel for someone without a blade of any kind. A lock sat on each side of my inner thighs, dangling, taunting me with how they kept the device in place.

Leonide chuckled; I saw him wave the key.

The next thing I tore at was him.

Reaching out, screaming so much my throat went raw, I clawed for his hair. With how he was kneeling, I caught him unprotected. I'd actually done it. Down we went, tumbling on the floor boards. My cuffs and belt were singing, reminding us both that I was handicapped.

It was also what gave me strength.

One of my nails caught him beside his right eye. It was a tiny thing, the cut even tinier, but it saturated me with pure fucking joy.
I hurt him. I actually hurt him! I...

Oh. Oh no.

I managed to hurt him. Oh god.

He was stunned, sitting under me while I hovered with my fist by my head. The precipice of doom, it waved before me. I'd done the thing I'd wanted. Injured the man who had kidnapped me and planned to force me into some arranged marriage.

A man who had no issues hurting me back.

I am stupid after all.

Leonide moved so slowly—or was it my response? His slap threw me sideways, toppled me off of him. On my stomach, hair in my face, I didn't move. I treated Leonide like he was a wild grizzly.
Play dead, he'll leave you alone.

Rolling me over on my side, his second slap put me fully on my back. The ringing in my ears was spectacular. I expected to taste blood. Instead I tasted his lips.

What's happening?
All of his weight was on me, mouth buried, stealing what was left in my lungs. This was a man who had wished me harm. Why, then, was I feeling his tongue send trembles to my belly?