The Runaway Bride - A Captive Flame Book One (13 page)

Krystopher stopped,
and for a moment I sagged against the table, hoping against hope
that this was all I would have to endure. “I didn’t give you
permission to relax,” Krystopher told me firmly, his voice like a
fist wrapped in a velvet glove to my ears. “Back into the
position.” I whimpered softly as I arched my back, pushing my hips
out behind me, pressing my forehead against the leather of the
table. My arms were straining at the rope that bound them tightly,
but I could barely feel the biting of the rough material into my
skin, barely sense the fatigue building up in my shoulders from the
awkward, uncomfortable position. Krystopher’s hands moved over my
hot skin, caressing and making me twitch from an overload of
sensation.

I tried to swallow
against the tightness in my throat, starting to relax in spite of
myself as Krystopher’s fingers slipped down between my legs,
brushing against my slick labia. He stroked me slowly and steadily,
and my whimpers transformed into moans, my hips shifting as I
writhed and twisted against his touch. “This is just a brief
interlude, little slave.” He found my clit with his fingertips and
I cried out in pleasure, pressing my face against the table more
firmly and struggling to get better contact. Abruptly, his fingers
withdrew, and I shook with need, gasping and panting as I
shuddered.

Something brushed
against my skin. I was too aroused to be able to think—to be able
to even start to try and guess what it was. The material felt
stiffer than Krystopher’s clothes, and after a few moments of
lingering caresses, I realized suddenly that it was leather—strips
of leather. It had started to dawn on me, when the strands stopped,
left my skin. There was a whistling, stiff rustle behind me, and
the strips landed against my skin in a burst, sending a shock of
hot pain through my body that seemed to travel directly to my
pussy. I cried out, almost screaming in my surprise and alarm. The
flogger—it was a flogger, I realized, panting and moaning. “Resume
your position.” I arched my back once more and the leather strips
of the flogger came down again and again, raining hot, electric
fire against every inch of my ass. I started squirming to get away,
and then somehow I was moving into the blows, pushing my hips back,
thrusting my ass to greet them.

I lost count of the
number of times that Krystopher’s whip landed against my ass,
landing on top of previous blows, wrapping around my hip just
slightly, trailing down to the backs of my thighs. Fire rocked
through me, crackling along my nerves, and I was nothing more than
a live wire, almost an animal, helpless and struggling against my
bonds. I felt the blindfold across my face going wet and realized
that I was crying—even as I moaned, even as I twisted and arched
into the attacks on my skin.

The blows stopped,
and once more Krystopher was caressing me, his fingertips trailing
over the hot stripes and crisscrossed lines that had formed on my
skin. I could feel each of the lashes; my nerves were exquisitely
awake and alive, letting me almost form a mental image of what it
must look like—my skin reddened, my body flushed all over but
brightly and clearly on fire where the straps of the flogger had
come down on me. “Now,” Krystopher’s low voice filled my ears,
shutting out the sound of my own pounding heart. “Do you understand
that you must always be punctual?” I nodded, for the moment unable
to speak, locked into a kind of hypnosis I didn’t want to break out
of. “Aloud please.”

“I will not… I will
always be punctual,” I said between gasps, trembling as he touched
me more firmly, cupping and squeezing the abused skin of my ass. I
could sense Krystopher nodding his approval, even though I couldn’t
see him.

“You aren’t quite
finished yet, my little slave,” he said, almost a purr. “But this
part of your punishment is over. Would you like to thank me?” I
nodded again.

“Thank you, Sir,” I
murmured. My voice sounded drugged to my own ears—curiously
separate from the words in my own brain.

Krystopher lifted me
up carefully, giving me just a moment to steady myself before he
led me shuffling across the floor again. My ass was on fire, my
thighs trembling as he brought me to a stop. In the brief lull, I
could feel the pain in my feet; it was a dull echo of the burning
tingle across my ass, along the backs of my thighs, where the
flogger had danced across my skin. I heard a metallic clatter, and
felt tugging at the bindings on my arms. As something pulled up, I
realized that Krystopher had attached me to the chain in the middle
of the room, that I was once more trapped; the chain tightened and
my arms were held firmly, inexorably in place—I couldn’t move even
if I had wanted to.

Krystopher’s touch
danced all over me, lingering at my breasts and my hips, dipping
down along my inner thighs. “Oh-ho, the little slave did enjoy her
punishment,” he said, his voice teasing, and I blushed as I
realized my fluids had leaked down onto my legs in my arousal.
“I’ll have you thank me more thoroughly later—once you’re done
being punished.” I whimpered, thinking that I couldn’t possibly
take any more punishment than I already had.

Krystopher’s fingers
closed around my nipples and I cried out at the sharp, sudden pain,
gasping and arching into his touch. The chain barely held me up—but
it trapped me in place all at once. Krystopher rolled and twisted
my nipples, sending little electric jolts of pain and pleasure
through my body while I groaned and whimpered helplessly. He
tortured me like that for moments that seemed like an eternity,
backing off only to start again, leaving me in a perpetual state of
anticipation and need. When his fingers finally left me for good, I
shivered as if I had been plunged into icy water, turning my head
ineffectually to try and see something—anything.

There was the sound
of rustling, a loud, resounding smack, and I yelped as I felt the
straps of the flogger landing across my breasts, singeing me with
their fiery touch. “Please!” I cried out. “Please, Sir, please.” I
didn’t even know what I was begging for—for more of the pain, or
for him to stop. But Krystopher landed several more blows against
my skin regardless of what I wanted, the strips of leather wrapping
around my nipples in a tingling, fiery caress, tracing across the
sensitive undersides of my breasts, bringing sensations that I
could never have imagined before I had met Krystopher Danes. I was
making sounds I couldn’t even recognize, a mixture of moans and
cries, yelps and whimpers, trapped inexorably and unable to even
think of defending myself against the onslaught.

“There now,”
Krystopher said, and I heard the tension of his voice. “I think you
may actually finally understand your place. That’s really what is
at issue, Rhonda—I need to know that you will obey me, instantly
and immediately, when I give you a command.” I nodded, willing to
agree to anything; it was like the previous session. In the state
of mind I was in, Krystopher could do anything to me, anything at
all, and I knew I would somehow only become more and more aroused,
that I would accept and submit and allow it to happen without
protest. The depths of my submission scared me even as I reveled in
the sensation of utter surrender. “Say it.”

“I will obey you
immediately, no matter what you command, Sir,” I replied quickly,
the words springing to my lips without even being fully formed in
my brain. How was it possible for him to transform me so
completely?

“Very, very good,
Rhonda.” Krystopher’s fingers played against my slick labia and I
struggled to get better contact, craving the release I knew he
could give me. “Now for the discipline aspect of your session.” I
bit my bottom lip hard. This was more intense than anything we had
done previously; always punishment and discipline had been
separated by at least a few moments of relief. The chain holding me
up loosened, and I started to fall forward, making a noise of
dismay—I would fall flat on my face, with my arms behind me and my
legs stuck spread wide. Krystopher caught me by the shoulder and
brought me down onto my knees awkwardly, my legs straddling nothing
at all, my aching, throbbing, soaking wet pussy bereft of contact.
“You’re going to thank me for giving you your punishment first.” I
heard the sound of his zipper, the clinking of his belt buckle.
There was a rustle of fabric and then I felt the tip of
Krystopher’s hard, hot cock pressed to my lips. I knew immediately
what he wanted me to do.

I opened my mouth,
taking him in, and wishing—as I had the first time I had served
him—that I had my hands free to assist myself. But that did no
good; instead I focused on giving him as much pleasure as I
possibly could, sucking and licking, running my tongue against all
of the sensitive spots I knew were there. I wanted to make him
come—not for my own personal power, but to demonstrate that I
wanted to please him, that I was eager and attentive, that I was a
good little slave. Krystopher groaned and threaded his fingers in
my hair, pulling and tugging slightly as I slurped and sucked on
his cock. His precum was flowing freely, and I felt the start of
twitching in the muscle; he was just as aroused as I was. I closed
my eyes—a silly move, since they were already covered completely,
but it helped me to focus as I took more and more of him into my
mouth, backing up to focus on the tip and then moving down the
shaft, taking him until I almost gagged from the sensation of him
brushing against the top of my throat.

It seemed like only a
matter of moments; but it was impossible for me to gauge time
passing as I worked my Master with my mouth, desperate to get him
off. I heard Krystopher’s low groan of pleasure, felt his hands
tighten in my hair, and then his cock was twitching in my mouth, a
gush of come spraying across my tongue. I choked slightly but
forced myself to recover as he sent wave after wave of salty-sharp
heat into my mouth; I swallowed steadily, continuing to work him
with my lips and tongue as he thrust into me, his whole body
tensing as his orgasm reached its peak and then began to fade. I
had never been shy of performing oral—but there was something about
doing it in this vulnerable, controlled position that was even more
satisfying, even more exciting than any other time I had ever
pleasured a man with my mouth in my life. As Krystopher pulled out,
letting his come and my saliva smear across my lips, I was
smiling.

The chain wrenched up
and Krystopher was pulling me onto my feet. My arms were numb from
my confinement, my legs aching from the position they were held in,
but in an instant I forgot all about it as I heard the hum of a
vibrator—and the next moment, felt the low, throbbing buzz of it
against me. I gasped and writhed, whimpering and crying out as
Krystopher brought the vibrator to bear against my clit. “Do not
come, little slave—you are not allowed. You will take this and keep
control of yourself.” I screamed with impatience, with the
desperation of my need. I was so turned on, my body burning from
the punishment, from the vulnerability and everything that had
happened to me in such a short time. Words tumbled out of my lips:
pleas, invocations, shameless begging for relief as Krystopher
teased me relentlessly, bringing the vibrator up against my
pleasure center until I was on the very edge of orgasm and then
withdrawing it to leave me there shaking and trembling.

I was reduced to a
shivering, needy wreck, not even moving; Krystopher plunged two
fingers inside of me all at once, pushing them past the tight
resistance of my pussy, deep along my inner walls. I screamed, my
head thrown back as the vibrator and my Master’s fingers working me
drove me to the point where I thought if I couldn’t give in to
orgasm I would quite literally die—or at the very least lose what
fragile hold of sanity I still had.

Just as abruptly as
the torture started, it stopped—all at once, Krystopher’s fingers
withdrawing and the vibrator leaving my clit, the humming dying
down in the span of a few heartbeats as Krystopher turned it off.
Tears soaked through the blindfold as I keened, bereft of contact
and desperate for relief. I thought I heard myself begging, but the
words were nearly incomprehensible as they left my lips. I started
when I felt the tugging at the blindfold; light flooded into my
deprived eyes, momentarily blinding me before my pupils adjusted.
Krystopher pulled my head back into position, holding me by the
nape of my neck. “You have been very good, little slave,” he told
me, kissing me on the lips hungrily as I trembled. “This will be
the most difficult thing I have asked of you yet.” He pulled back
and licked his lips, staring at me with undisguised hunger in his
dark eyes. “You will now stay here, and think about what discipline
and obedience really means. I have a meeting I must get to—but you
must trust me that I will absolutely give you satisfaction when I
return.” I started to cry—to sob.

“Please, Sir, please
no—please just let me get myself off, anything, please.” Krystopher
straightened his clothes while I watched. He kissed me again.

“Discipline, Rhonda.
You control yourself well—but you are not yet completely obedient
to my desires. You know I will reward you.” His hands danced over
my tingling skin, his voice softening. “I will make you come so
many times that you’ll be begging me to stop. Remember: who do you
belong to?” I took a deep, shuddering breath.

“You, Sir.”
Krystopher smiled and gave me one last, lingering kiss.

“Your waiting will be
over before you know it.” I knew it for a lie even as he walked
away from me, closing and locking the door, leaving me to shake
with uncontrollable longing.