The Dangerous Hero (14 page)

He resumed massaging and caressing her back. He stroked with a force that pressed her deep into the mattress, then moved back up along her spine. His hands danced delicately over her upper back. He gathered up her thick skein of hair and spread it up over her head to expose the sensitive nape of her neck to his tantalizing fingers. His head came down, and his tongue explored her ear and the side of her throat. His fingers trailed along her sides as the heels of his hands applied the pressure, and when they reached her rib cage, she could feel his fingertips teasing the sides of her breasts.

"You have a beautiful back. I'm looking forward to marking it with my whips."

Whoa. She wasn't sure whether to moan with lust or beg him not to. The moan won. He had her breasts in his hands now and he plucked on both of her nipples. She had learned last weekend that he loved to be rough with her breasts...and that she liked it when he tortured her that way. He pinched both nipples, doing it hard enough to hurt, but what she felt was good pain. He was quite the expert at dishing out good pain. She could tell from the jerks of his cock against her ass that every time he pinched or twisted her nipples and felt her react, his own excitement surged.

"Nipple clamps, I think," he mused. "I would love to strike your breasts with a riding crop, but that's a little too intense for a beginner. But I think you can handle a pair of nipple clamps with a slender chain between them for me to tug on."

She could hear herself panting as she imagined this. That would certainly hurt. Why did she hope he would do it?

He withdrew his hands and gripped her hips from behind. He raised her slightly and slid a pillow underneath her hips, moving her body with his usual authority.

He's going to take me from behind, she thought, wishing he'd take her somehow because her sex was aching with need. She usually didn't like the rear entry much, since she couldn't see her partner. She'd always thought it was a bit demeaning. But there was something deliciously wicked about this. He was totally in control. There was little she could do unless she moved her arms, which he had forbidden. She could hear her own rapid breathing, and the thump thump of her heart.

Stephen continued to torment her by circling instead of touching her sex. She arched her spine, trying to find him, and he laughed softly.
"Spread your legs. No, wider." When that still wasn't wide enough to suit him, he slapped her ass and pressed her thighs even farther apart. He bent over her, in a curl, to breathe again into her ear, "When I give you an order, you will obey me instantly, love, or it'll be heavy discipline for you."

Heavy discipline? Whips and paddles? God, why didn't this scare the shit out of her? Why was her pussy weeping with twisted desire?

H
is fingers found her, probed her, and retreated. She cried out softly in protest. It was getting harder to keep her arms and hands still. She ached to touch him, and she was beginning to feel the strain of holding the position. His fingers returned, slipping between her folds while she arched and twisted beneath him. He placed the flat of his other hand between her shoulder blades and pressed her breasts harder against the mattress, while her hips remained raised against the pillow. "Spread your legs a little more, and then hold your body still."

"Oh my god, I don't think I can."

"You will," he said in that hard tone he acquired at a certain point in his arousal cycle. Bad Boy was in control, she thought, laughing a little. One finger parted her and plunged inside, and her laugh turned into a moan. "
Lift your hips a bit, but don't move them otherwise.…."

"Stephen…" Her voice rose in a plea as he continued to tease her.

When he relented and reached a little farther, probing her clit with his damp finger, she disregarded his instructions and ground her hips against his hand. He gave her another swat on the behind, harder this time. "I told you not to move."

"I can't help it, Master."

"I enjoy making it difficult for you." He rubbed her ass where he had swatted her and kissed the spot. "But I want your obedience anyway. It's all about endurance and control."

"I endure, you control?"

"Yep." He gave her another slap on the ass, a lot harder. She felt a hard edge of pain, and then a burning. But it was not exactly a bad feeling. "Does it bother you when I strike you like that?"

"No, it's okay." she said, thankful that it really was okay. "I kinda like it."

He was kneading her ass now, which felt wonderful. His body was smooth and hard, and she knew from the slight movements he was making against her that he was very turned on. When was he was going to enter her? Had he put on a condom yet? She didn't think so. She wished he'd hurry up….her belly was churning with lust.

"Have you read anything about predicament bondage?"

"Um, no?"

"When you go home, look it up. Interesting exploration of control and endurance. Here's an example—turn over on your back."

She flipped over a little awkwardly. He was looming over her, not giving her much room to maneuver. When she saw his hard-boned face, his eyes intent, his mouth a slash in his dark face, she felt another surge of desire, liquid and hot. She reached up to caress him, wanting to touch him and return some of the pleasure he had been giving her. She cupped his cheek, feeling the rough slide of his stubble against her palm and fingertips. He hadn't shaved, and it looked good on him.

He smiled and captured her hand, bringing her palm to his lips. He licked her, then bit down, just a little.
His dick looked enormous, and he was stroking it absently, seeming to be less concerned with his own feelings than with hers.

"I want you inside me, Stephen."

"Not yet. Stretch your arms up over your head. Now try lifting your heels up, off the mattress, and hold your legs about a foot in the air."

She did it, and immediately felt the strain. "Are you implying that I need to work my stomach muscles?"

He chuckled. "No." His caressed her belly with a gentle hand. "I love your stomach muscles. How long can you keep your legs in that position, do you think?"

"Not that long."

"You can let them down. Now imagine this: there's a hook in the ceiling with a rope going through it. Right about there." He pointed upward to a spot that would be over her belly if there were a hook in the ceiling. There wasn't. He began playing with her breasts again. "You're wearing clamps on your nipples." He pinched one, and then the other. "The clamps are attached to thin chains, which are themselves attached to one end of the rope that drops down from the ceiling. When I pull on the other end of the rope, which feeds into the ring, the tension on your nipples is increased."

"Okay," she said, envisioning this.

"Now the second part: you have leather cuffs on your ankles." One of his hands slipped between her legs and began stroking her labia as he spoke. "They are bound together and attached to the other end of the rope that comes down from the ceiling. That rope can slide through the ring, one way or the other. Your legs can be jerked upward or let down by means of that rope." His thumb rubbed her clit, making her moan as her excitement mounted to an almost unbearable level.

"I have you lift your legs about a foot off the mattress and then I tighten the rope so you are forced to keep your legs in the air. You can lower them when they get tired, but if you do, the rope slides through the ceiling ring and the slack vanishes from the other end. The other end, you'll remember, is attached to your nipple clamps." As he said this, his other hand pinched and pulled on her nipple, making her squirm. "Keeping your legs elevated will soon make your muscles tremble and ache. But lowering your legs to rest those tired muscles puts agonizing tension on your breasts. So you have to choose your discomfort, both of which are cruel. Thus, predicament bondage."

During this explanation, he had continued to stimulate her clit, and she was now desperate for release. The bizarre predicament he had described had made the problem that much worse. She wasn't sure why the idea of this sensual torture thrilled her, but there was no denying that it did. "Stephen," she whimpered. "I need you to fuck me."

He grinned, delighted at the way she was responding to him. "You are so kinky, Professor."

She rolled her eyes at him. Arching her spine, she ground her pelvis into his hand, and then reached down to find his cock. She brushed her thumb lightly over the tip. "I'm sure there are predicaments I could use on you, too."

"So disrespectful," he chided. "Didn't I tell you to keep your arms over your head? It's a good thing I'm going easy on you tonight."

"You only ordered me to put my arms up. You didn't say I had to keep them there."

Stephen chuckled, but soon he heard himself echoing her groans as she grasped him hard and started to stroke. He
leapt at her touch. God, it felt so good, and so far everything was very promising. He'd pushed her a bit, but she hadn't freaked.

"You’re beautiful," she said. "I mean, most men aren’t beautiful exactly, but you—your face, your body, your muscles, your cock—" she explored up and down the shaft. "You’re perfect. Really."

"Hardly."

"Yes. For me, you're perfect." She stroked him with more confidence, shot him an uncertain glance, then slid down in the bed to take him in her mouth. He wanted to thrust in deep, but he sensed that she wanted to worship. She obviously liked giving head, as she'd proven last weekend. He'd had many a lovely fantasy in the intervening days, remembering her hot, dark mouth, her agile tongue.

The pleasure was building now, grabbing him in the vitals and sending heat radiating up his spine and out to his extremities. He fisted a hunk of her hair and lifted her away from his cock. He stretched out beside her and kissed her, finding her breasts with his fingers so he could play. Her arousal made her flesh richer, softer, damper. She felt warm to him, hot. He stroked her ass with one hand while teasing a nipple with the other. His cock was rubbing against her belly, hungry, twitchy, but he needed to drag the moment out.

Then she was trying to straddle him. He didn't permit it. Instead, he flipped her over onto her belly again, made her kneel, and pressed her head down into the pillows with the heel of one hand. Exploring her upraised ass, he ordered her to spread her thighs for him. She did it, moaning. He slapped her ass, edging into the rough play he loved, but taking it easy, slow. She was breathing frantically, so he knew she was into it. When he drove a finger into her, she gasped and writhed against his hand. She was so ready, but he liked making her wait. Loved seeing her vulnerable. Loved the raw, uncontained power of sex.

He wondered if she'd ever been fucked in her ass. He edged a finger against the rosebud and pressed. She squirmed and made a surprised sound. "Um...I don't....I've never—"

"Good," he said, delighted that she still had something else he could teach her. "I'm going to take everything you have. Everything you think is private." He wet his finger in her juices and thrust it inside her. "I'm going to own you, babe."

She made a frantic sound and thrust her hips back toward him, driving his finger deeper. And then he couldn't wait any longer. He grabbed for his condoms and slapped one on. He covered her, spread her and guided his cock to her pussy from behind. He pushed in, slow and sure. She cried out softly. He felt himself shifting to his harsher self, as he almost always did when he was inside a woman, becoming even more hard and rough and inexorable as metal. Viola relaxed with him, easy, receptive, accommodating. Willing to go where he wanted to take her. She was a good partner. She always had been.

Once he had a rhythm going, his hands sought out her breasts while his mouth found her shoulder and nuzzled. Since he knew now that she liked a little nipple torture, he pinched and squeezed. He tried to remember not to let it get too rough. Not yet. Not while she was learning. Melanie liked to be hurt during sex—really hurt. Bruised. The rougher he was, the better she liked it. But Viola was so new to this. He didn't know yet how far she'd want to go.

He reached around in front to find her clit and circle it with a fingertip. Brushed his thumb over the hood. Retreated. Enjoyed her pleas for a moment, massaged the bud directly while driving his cock as deep as he could go.

She started to come almost immediately, crying out with the force of it. He loved the way the spasms made her muscles clamp down on him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he focused on this moment, the heat, the friction, the need, the wanting, the swelling, pooling pleasure. Images flooded his brain—from long ago on that sunny beach and in that dark boathouse. Viola. The summer storm of his love, their wild, joyous passion.

He was with her still as the pleasure ebbed and he fell back to earth. They separated, shifted and looked at each other, poised together on his bed. And he was with her, his forbidden teenage lover, reliving those lovely moments on a sunny beach—sweet, golden pleasures drawn out, one by one, with seabirds circling, waves breaking on rocks. No words. It came back, all of it, alive again as they'd gazed into one another's eyes and shared something powerful, something honest. Her heart, her spirit naked for him to cherish. A brief, precious glimpse before the shutters slammed down and her walls went up again.

She glanced away, curling up on the mattress beside him. And it was then that Stephen realized how much she had changed. Perhaps not in essentials, but something was different. What had happened to her in the past decade? Was it him…his fault for loving her and abandoning her? Will she never going to forgive him for that? Or was it something else? Her marriage? Her divorce? Just life?