Xtreme (3 page)

Something had come over her that day. Each lash of the cane had been intense, focused, unlike a blow from his hand. The pain had been exquisite, almost unbearable, and yet each time he questioned if she'd had enough, she'd taunted him by telling him it didn't hurt. She'd wanted more. She'd
needed
more. “I…” She licked her lips, remembering the crisscrossing lashes that sped up as they came harder.

It was after that that he had finally taken her, entered her, fucked her until he came inside her. He had waited, he told her later, until he was sure. Until he knew they could not be without each other. It had taken many nights of dizzying pleasure for him to finally give in, and when he did, there was no doubt of the meaning of the act.

“
What we have done cannot be undone
,” he had said, when it was over.

The memory drove her wild with need. “I provoked you,” she said. “Yes. I was…bad.”

“You were a bad girl?”

He wasn't touching her at all, using only his voice to tease her, to arouse her.

“I was,” she whimpered.

“A little slut? My own little, needy whore?”

“I was,” she gasped. “I'm yours.”

“Yes, you are.” He touched a button on the camera and the screen came to life.

There was an image of her from that night, the ropes binding her wrists to the headboard, red marks on her flesh where she had strained against her bindings. The ropes around her legs were visible, the intricate knotting digging into the smooth skin of her thighs.

And on her ass were two red crossed lines. Evidence of the first two blows with the cane, the shock of the new sensation.

“You remember?”

“I didn't know you were taking pictures,” she said. “Not then. Earlier…”

“Earlier, when you were flat on your back, begging for it like the pretty little
putita
that you are? Begging you to ram my cock inside you, to fill you up, to breed you like a cat in heat?”

“Oh yes, yes,” she managed to choke out, as he continued to press the button. More images, each with another stripe or two, the flesh swelling around the angry welts.

Then he pushed the button one more time and her image on the tiny screen began to move. He'd taken a video, and Chelsea listened to herself cry out every time the can came down, watched herself beg for more.

“Oh God, oh God,” she chanted, shivering, her need too much. Her hand slid off the cool marble and down to her pussy, only to be savagely grabbed and slammed back down on the sink.

“No,” Ricardo said calmly. “Just watch.”

He made her watch the entire thing. It was only a minute, maybe less, and by the end her ass on the little screen was covered with deep red welts, every inch of it pink with
blood flowing to the area under the skin. She was trembling, crying, begging. Mostly begging.

The video ended.

“How wet are you for me now, little one?”

Ricardo didn't wait for an answer. He dipped a finger down between her legs, just far enough to graze her clit, to slide down to the opening of her pussy. She was drenched; she felt herself drip onto him. She tried to rub against his hand, but he pulled it away.

“How badly to you need to be used? To have your holes filled and fucked?”

“Badly,” she begged. “Please.
Please
.” Just like in the video he'd shown her, but even more needful.

It was like this with Ricardo, ever escalating, ever mounting higher and higher. She ground her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut, and focused all her effort on staying still for him while he moved around the small bathroom.

Something smooth and cold touched the small of her back. Her eyes flew open and she looked into the mirror to see that Ricardo had the shower nozzle in his hand, a sleek white plastic object with dozens of tiny holes. He had disconnected it but not turned it on, and while she watched he rubbed the back of it against her skin, sliding it lower, down the crack of her ass until it rubbed against her pussy. Back and forth, slick with her juices, as she ground against it.

Then he turned it on.

At first it was only the vibration of the object as water sprayed between her legs to land on the floor. The bathroom had been fitted with a curbless shower, and the water drained toward the enclosure, but not before it sprayed her thighs and the wall behind her, and Ricardo's clothes as well. He didn't seem to mind.

She writhed against the plastic, imagining taking the vibrating head inside her, though it was far too big. Ricardo turned it over so that the spray was directed at her skin, and teased her with it, allowing only a few droplets to reach her clit. Chelsea heard the sounds she was making but couldn't stop herself: “More, more, more.”

Abruptly he turned the spray off, and tossed the nozzle into the shower. Then he slid his hands between her legs and dipped a finger inside her.

“So hot,” he said. “So slick. Can you handle more?”

Chelsea could only moan in response, but the question had been rhetorical, as Ricardo forced two fingers inside her and worked them slowly in and out. Chelsea felt the outline of her orgasm taking shape. She could come right now. She could come in a great, shuddering gush of ecstasy right onto his hand.

But she wanted to wait. Wanted to see what he would do next.

After a moment Ricardo withdrew his fingers and reached for the toothpaste.

It was a new tube, the foiled surface barely dented. He rubbed the plastic cap along the outer edges of her pussy, and then slid it slowly inside her. She could feel the edge of the cap abrading her intimate flesh, then the wider shoulders of the tub entering her. He pushed the tube in and out, exquisitely slowly, her slick fluids making it slide effortlessly.

“Is this what you want, little slut? To be filled like this?...Or do you need more?”

“More,” she begged.

He tossed the tube onto the counter.

He reached for a slim bottle of hand lotion. Its diameter was only about an inch and a half, not even as big around as his cock, but it felt marvelous when he slid it into her. She found his rhythm and moved her hips, fucking the bottle, taking it deeper so that his knuckle brushed against her clit. The orgasm was a hazy presence, looming in her consciousness, ready to burst through at any moment that she allowed it, but she fought it. She didn't want to come yet, didn't want to come with the inanimate object inside her, no matter how good it felt.

“Good girl,” Ricardo murmured. “That's it.”

Then he set the lotion on the counter, close enough to Chelsea that she could see the dewy moisture along its surface. That was
her
—her damp cunt, her greedy juices.

“More?” he asked quietly, his hand hovering over the collection of toiletries arrayed on a porcelain tray.

She moaned. She wanted his cock. She wanted to get up—her back was beginning to ache from the position she was in, and her face hurt from being pressed against the hard marble—but she wanted to find out how far he would take this. On the tray were cosmetics, brushes, a silver compact.

And a drinking glass, which his hand settled on.

Chelsea gasped. The glass was small—for such a vessel. But it was still more than two inches across the base, larger than any cock she had ever seen, larger than anything that had ever been inside Chelsea. It was finely pebbled, crafted by some artisan somewhere, someone who would undoubtedly be very surprised to know what was about to become of his work.

“No,” she whispered. “It's too much.”

Ricardo ignored her and pressed the bottom of the glass against her opening. He massaged and rubbed, using her own slippery juices to ease his way, but it was just too large. He angled the glass so that it rubbed against her clit, and the sensation of the cool glass with its bumpy texture drover her higher, and she ground her hips, bucking and humping. He returned to trying to ease the object inside her, twisting and pushing ever more firmly.

Suddenly, with a fleeting sharp sensation, it breached her opening.

Chelsea gulped, the pain at first discomfiting—and then Ricardo twisted some more. The glass went deeper, the little nubs stroking inside her, pressed tightly against her pussy walls. Pleasure zigged and zagged, and Chelsea's hands grappled at nothing, her toes curling in response to the sensation.

“Steady, now,” Ricardo said, and Chelsea gave in and let him guide her. He alternated twisting with pushing in further, stretching her from within, and the sensation of being filled so completely nearly pushed her over the edge.

“I don't think I can wait,” she pleaded. “I'm going to come.”

“No, you're not.” Ricardo slipped the thumb of his free hand into her mouth, and she lapped it eagerly, gratefully, hungrily.

But the distraction didn't last long. When he'd managed to insert the glass all the way, he immediately began stroking it in and out. Slowly at first, and then increasing his speed, the textured surface massaging and stimulating while she was fucked by its entire massive girth.

Chelsea's breath came in audible grunts until she couldn't bear it any more, and pushed his thumb from her mouth. “I need you now,” she begged. “Please, please!”

She needed his hot, very alive cock inside her, not this inanimate thing; she needed his hands on her, their bodies joined. Without thinking she reached around and pushed his hand away. The glass slipped free, and Ricardo slammed it down on the counter so hard she thought it would break.

Then she was in the air.

He picked her up like a load of laundry and strode out of the bathroom. Then he tossed her on the bed.

“On your back,” he ordered her, stripping off his wet clothes. His cock sprang free, and Chelsea couldn't take her eyes off it; she wanted to taste it, touch it. She wanted it jammed down her throat, she wanted to suck his balls into her mouth, she wanted his hand on her throat. She wanted everything he had ever done to her, all at once.

But before she could do anything but lie back, he'd seized her ankles and pulled her to the edge of the bed. Then, before she could catch her breath, he rammed inside her, lifting her hips in the air by her ankles.

He wasn't gentle. He wasn't considerate of her needs, her pace, her rhythm. He plunged to the hilt with a stifled roar, his teeth gritted and his face contorted with raw need, and then he pulled partway out only to plunge in again. He hooked her ankles over his shoulders and seized her ass so he could fuck her harder. She felt his balls slapping against her ass with every stroke and watched the muscles of his arms and torso rippling and straining. He filled her as completely as any toy could; she felt him grow even harder and more engorged inside her. Her juices flowed around him as she met each thrust with her own, wanting him deeper, wanting him so far inside her that it would be impossible to know where one of them stopped and the other began.

The orgasm that had been building inside her since she was bent over the sink was now unstoppable. As the first waves began to well up inside her, she threw her head back and gave herself over to Ricardo, focusing only the pounding she was taking, on the ferocious claim he was making on her. A cry escaped her lips and Ricardo reached for her hair and yanked it triumphantly in his fist as she came, splashing her juices all over his cock, spreading herself as wide as she could to receive him, wave after wave shaking her to her core.

Before she was finished coming he pulled out of her and used her hair to drag her body around so her head was over the edge of the bed. Her hands scrabbled frantically for her clit, slapping it, as he plunged his cock into her mouth. She took him all the way, and then she took him even further down her throat as he rammed himself home with a cry of his own. She felt the hot, salty semen flood her throat, gagging her, and still she couldn't get enough.

Her hand on her pussy, his cock in her mouth, his hands in her hair—she was suspended in the moment for an eternity, time stopped by the sheer force of their passion. Finally, though, his cock slid slowly from her mouth, the last of his semen dampening her lips, her chin. Her body thrummed with the aftereffects of her orgasm, every nerve ending at the height of its sensitivity. Gently, Ricardo lifted her shoulders and shifted her on the bed so she lay diagonally on the mattress. Then he lay down next to her, twining only his fingers with hers, and they lay together as their breathing slowed and their bodies cooled.

Chelsea wished they could stay like that forever, in the delicious fugue of sensual satiety. But finally, Ricardo rolled over so he could look at her, tracing his fingertip down her cheek, across her lips, her chin.

“My love.”

She wrapped her hand around his. He was about to leave her, as he always left her. “Please—just promise me that you will return alive.”

Ricardo went very still. He traced a circle on her bare shoulder, his touch so light it was more of a suggestion than a caress. “I will return to you only if you truly want me,
mi querida
.”

They both knew that was not the hopeful plea of a besotted man. It was as much a threat, and reminder, of the conditions of their bond.

She was in deep with him; this might be one of the last times she would be given a chance to walk away. Already she had given up her privacy; she knew Ricardo would not let her return to her old life without providing for her protection. If she left him now, someone would shadow her, ready to protect her from the threats on her life.

But that promise of safety felt like the bitterest trade. “I want you,” she whispered, knowing that she doomed herself with her choice.

“I will be back as soon as I can,” Ricardo said. “That is all you need to know.”

Then he rolled away from her and left their bed.

#

He was gone within fifteen minutes, showering and dressing efficiently and brushing a kiss on her cheek, saying nothing as he walked to the door.

Chelsea had no sooner finished showering a second time and dressing in the clothes she had worn here—she found them cleaned and folded on an upholstered bench in the bedroom—than there was a knock at the door. The first time she'd woken up alone after a night with Ricardo, such a knock would have terrified her. But now, she was pretty sure she knew who was on the other side of the door.