Yield (43 page)

The third made me arch a miniscule amount before I caught myself, squirming to relieve the building tension. My clit seemed ready to electrify the table. If it swelled more, if there was more pressure. I gasped and put my forehead to the cool table.

Three in me.
God. Why was I getting off on this?

“Last one.”

Fuck.
The metal was inside me already. I keened as it penetrated further, arching up my back despite him leaning on me. Then the hook popped out the other side, and I was coming before I could stop myself. Full-on shuddering and gasping.

Controlling the aftershocks was harder to do, not panting, even more so.

I found him before me, once more at eye level. “Did you just climax?”

I blushed hot, wanting to hide.

“Wren, answer me.”

“Maybe. I guess...yes?”

“Ahh. Good. I was right.”

“Arrogance was always your best feature,” I mumbled from where I lay, recovering, trembling, as I felt again that multiple presence in my back of something foreign.

He chuckled. “Now I just have to tie your legs and hoist you into the air over my pit.”

I managed to think that through. “Above the pit?” That thing was deep.

“Don’t worry. I filled it with water.”

So now I only had to worry about drowning if I fell in as well as my body hanging from hooks.

I squeezed shut my eyes.

“Wren. Look at me.”

I snapped them open.
Looking. I was looking. Yes, Sir.

He tied my legs with rope, as he’d promised, doubling them over, and attached the rope above, then linked more red rope to the eyelets on the hooks. He hoisted me up from the table. I was still in that stomach-down position, with my body taking the strain where the hooks entered my back and the rope bound my legs.

Doubts rushed in. Had he done it properly? Would the hooks bend or tear out? If I fell...

My fears died away.

The pull translated into a stretching in my shoulder blades that changed as the seconds passed, pumping me full of a soft, buzzing energy.

Then he swung me over, so that I was just able to see into the pit. Yes, there was water up to a few feet from the top. A full story deep.

Why?

My hands were still tied. He’d said he’d free them.

Pain? There was none. I was floating. Surfing on air. Happy. Though I knew that the darkness waited for me, it could wait...

“My hands?” I croaked out, while tugging at where they were held by the leather.

I swung slightly, focusing on that feeling of being fastened to something and pulled on, stretched out until I was full and scattered, expanding beyond where my body ended.

My thoughts obliterated.

“Yes. I’m doing it. I’m freeing you.”

He showed me a big, shiny knife with a blade that curved forever.

The cuffs had a metal link.

“You’re wondering? There is this.” He placed it at my neck, near where I’d cut him. “Look at me.”

I did, but I curved back my neck, though my muscles there were waning in strength. Holding my head up forever wasn’t happening.

“You like knives, Wren. I’m just showing you their dangers.”

Then he snaked the knife about my neck three times. I counted, still in my haze and I wasn’t afraid. He trailed the blade over me, drawing complex curves and lines, encircling my nipples before ducking under me and sucking on them while the knife wandered elsewhere. I wondered how he knew how hard it pressed, when to stop so it didn’t cut.

With him licking at me and mouthing me, and holding my nipple in his teeth, arousal was impossible to deny.

I whimpered as the tip of the knife tapped my clit and pricked me. When I squirmed, he tsked.

“If you move too much, I might cut you.”

But he’d already sunk his metal claws into me.

The hooks declared their presence. They curved into my back, claiming me, taking up more room in my skin than they should.

If moving wasn’t good, staying still was exquisite. The knife was going around my clit, tapping, prodding lightly, pressing. The flat of the blade or the tip? I couldn’t
tell
, only knew that my pussy was slicker than moments ago and now, he inserted the knife between those lower lips.

I wriggled, such a small wriggle, because the haze was dissipating and being replaced by lust and a need to be fucked.
If that went in me. Oh god.
I sucked my lip in, focused on all the places of me that were under his control.

The knife slid in a fraction more, parting my lips.

I hung my head and groaned, straining at the cuffs.

“Very pretty, Wren, with this in you. If only you could see the blade in your cunt. Are you going to come for me again? All strung up and hooked. All mine. I’m going to fuck you with this knife and you’re going to come beautifully because I know you’re my slave. You’re mine like it says here.” He wiped wet fingers across my back then my inner thighs. “That’s you. Wet. Wanting this. I could fuck you with a baseball bat and you’d suck it in. Open this pussy wide and let me fuck you.”

Then it sank deeper into me. The blade, the hilt? I barely stifled another groan. Didn’t matter. As the knife forged deeper, he put his mouth over my clit and tongued me well. Sloppy wet, slippery kisses on my clit. Deep fucking with the knife, so deep it hurt, then out, then in again.

“Your cunt can take this all the way in.”

It was so hard though. Not like a dick or a dildo. The hilt, for sure. Wide, hard plastic, made for a man’s fist to hold, not for inside me.

“Open up. You can take it. Open that cunt.” He pushed it in some more.

I was moaning loudly, swaying on the hooks, my pussy clenching onto this strange object, my body striving to push my pussy at his mouth and the knife all at once.

He kept fucking me with it, going ever deeper, messier, wetter, sliding it in like he was some machine made only to fuck me. Then he jammed it inside me even higher and left it in there while he licked me in one long slippery line that ended with him putting his whole mouth over my clit, then biting it, toggling that swollen button.

There. Oh fuck yes, there.
I writhed on the knife, on his mouth, on his tongue, and on the hooks.

The ropes creaked as I came and arched higher. I floated on evanescent lust, my thighs parting as if I were about to split in two from the knife inside me, coming and crying out and shaking. Slowly I came down, the orgasm waning, and I collapsed, my every muscle limp, my mind shattered.

I heard the shuffle of his feet. Then he came to my head and shoved his cock in until I gagged. For the first few seconds, I could barely comprehend what was happening. The slop, slop, slop of his dick entering, thrusting, and withdrawing over and over, his hands on either side of my head, and the bump on the hooks from my body jarring – it added up to a surreal mind-blowing experience.

Facefucked while hanging from hooks. It turned me on and made me feel like a disgraceful whore, which turned me on even more.

When he was done, drool and cum dripped from my mouth.

The hooks, the ropes, they cradled me, sweetly.

He crouched before me, smiling and watching for a while, as if the sight of me red-faced and messed up pleased him... Of course he liked seeing me like this. The man always had. I tried to stare back but my neck muscles were done and I slowly slumped until all I could see was the floor through the tangled locks of my hair.

He took a firm hold of my hair and levered back my head.

Though words rose up that I might speak, none went to my tongue and I stared back wearily.

“Nothing to say? You look so adorable like this, my girl. You look fucking destroyed. Don’t forget this.” He slapped my face lightly. “Don’t forget you’re mine.”

Then he straightened and walked back around me, leaving me stunned.

He released my wrists and I did nothing more than lick my lips and twine my fingers together. He swung me out, further over the water.

Below was coolness. My parched throat could taste it from here.

The knife spun past, beneath my gaze, to plop into the water and spiral down into the pool, finally coming to rest at the very bottom. Lying there, smiling at me in its silvery dominance.

“For you, Wren. Fetch it if you want to. The ropes will come loose if you pull the dangling strand. The hooks will hold you until I return in an hour or so. There is bleeding but barely a trickle. Hooks, if they tear out, do little permanent damage. Four will hold your weight. One will not.

“Decide. I’ll be at the pool.”

I heard all his words but had trouble deciphering them. Thinking wasn’t my best thing, right then. Nothing, I was best at nothing. My brain was fried. I licked my lips again. Thirsty.

What did he mean? I could get loose?

The knife, down there, beckoned me, like a dodgy car salesman with oily words, or a demon with promises of Hell.

Wren

How long did I hang there? I wasn’t sure. The effortless existence had consumed me.

When I had my feet on solid ground again I might bounce into space with each step.

The knife, which was it? Demon, I guessed.

My arms hung down before me, where they’d ended up after I grew tired of clasping my hands together. I squinted, as if by doing so I could see the knife more clearly there, at the bottom of fathoms of water. Could I swim that far?

What did he expect me to do?

Escape?

He didn’t want me to, but I had the choice. Why though? Why now?

He’d never wanted me to escape before.

A knife said killing. It said blood. I didn’t need a knife to escape him did I? The answer came instantly.
Yes.
Because if I could somehow get loose and walk out of this house, if that were possible, I’d still have him to contend with. He’d haul me back here. I knew that, even if the thought of killing him came with a whole other burden of guilt. His death didn’t call to me as it had. My hate had dwindled, somehow. He wasn’t an enemy anymore. He was a force of nature.

He was also between me and Glass. Me and my life. My child’s life. I knew that, saddened as I was.

I doubted he really thought I would kill him. Perhaps it was a test then? Or a trap.

What did it matter when I was yards above, spun out and tired, with hooks in my back?

All this was pointless...

I was never one for giving up. I suppose he knew that too.

The ropes on my legs were well tied and based around the cuffs, the pressure distributed so evenly that all that remained, when I undid the knot and they fell away, was the indent from the twirl of the coils on my skin. The jerk, when my weight fell only on the hooks, made me scream.

Owie.
Lightheaded, I waited for the new pains to settle.

A moment later, blood dripped onto the water from my back.
Drip, drop, drip
.

I should’ve let myself down gently. My legs seemed heavier than a tombstone, filled with cement.

Halfway there. How could I possibly remove a hook in my back? Though I could stretch my arm and touch them, the extreme weight of my body made pulling them out impossible. Unless...

He had me hanging lower than the metal railings that surrounded the water-filled pit. There was a sectional ladder I’d need, if I fell in the water. I could swing, now that my legs weren’t attached above. After five or ten attempts, I managed to hook my legs over the railing and sit. For ages, I remained there, breathing through the reawakened burn in my back. I tried to quell the shaking in my legs. I might’ve torn my skin more.

The baby. God.
I cupped my stomach. Was this right?

Logic said yes. Besides, I
had
to.

I carried on. I released the ladder and it slid down into the water, rattling only a little, its lower end seeming to quiver with the rippling of the water. If I was at the bottom, I could use it to climb out. How long could I hold my breath, in this condition? I was tired, losing blood, my limbs shaking.

By twisting, by gritting my teeth and whining and trying over and over, I extracted the hooks. The slippery thickness in my fingers combined with the slide of the hook as I pulled, almost had me fainting. Funny, really, considering what I’d endured. I plucked them out, I shook, and more blood ran down my back, but I wasn’t stopping, not now.

At the final hook, of course, I fainted.

Blank.

When I woke, I was swinging backward, headfirst. The hook was gone, I thought, ripped out, because the rope was up there, dangling. I’d not felt it tear. My legs, my far, faraway legs, slid off the railing and I fell into the water, upside down.

Coolness. Confusion. Bubbles and blood spiraled away.

By throwing my arms about, I found the surface and sucked in a lungful of air. When I next had a thought, my fists were wrapped around the ladder. My knuckles were white. Letting go meant drowning.
Remember that.

Upwards? I craned back my head, dizzy. There was light and air and maybe freedom up there.

Down? I looked down, careful not to slip my feet off the rung. My legs, all blurry, a yard deep in the water and there:
the knife.
Blood spread around me, tinting the water with little swirls of red. I was blacking out already, here and there, swimming down was stupid.