Accompanying Song:
Providence, Rhode Island – May 24th, 2013
Sebastian guides me through the hallways of his building, down the corridors that contain the rooms. Each room we pass makes my heart jump; wondering if that’s the one we’re going into. But he keeps walking, keeps pushing me ahead. The cuffs that hold my wrists together hurt, but I don’t let him know. I didn’t want to come here again after what happened last time, but he refused to take no for an answer. The moment I stood my ground and said ‘no’, something snapped in him. A familiar sparkle glinted in his eyes; a devious smirk appeared on his face. Before I knew it, he had me locked down between his arms, had cuffed me, and was dragging me off. I don’t fear the impending pain. In essence, I actually feel more safe with him now that he’s taken me.
When I had tried to walk to my room and he had thrown me back into my chair, I knew it was exactly what I was looking for. His anger. I was inciting it. At the time, I felt the need to defy him simply because I could. To get a rise out of him. To feel a slice of power and have it stripped away from me within seconds.
It is what I crave, to relinquish control. To not have to think about what I should do, or where I should go, or how to respond. To let go of everything.
He needs control. To claim and take what belongs to him, to exercise his will on something. It’s something he desires and can only get from me.
In that way, I am the perfect counterbalance. If I stop fighting him, he will stop controlling me, and we both lose what we desire the most. Since I’ve realized this, the choice is simple. Fight him and I get to lose control. Surrender and he gets to dominate. We both get what we want.
However, after being taken on that whirring trip where I remembered what happened to my mom, I’ve been slowly falling more and more for his charm. Resisting has become less important. But it also means I take away the opportunity for him to dominate me, which has made him listless. He hasn’t touched me in so long, hasn’t tried to fuck me in such a long time, that I have started missing it. I admit it’s so wrong. But at the same time, I want him to fuck me—to give me an ounce of love, if only through his fucking.
If fighting him is all it takes to achieve that, then I’ll gladly participate.
So, I let him take me to the rooms, to the place I fear.
I struggle in my bonds, scowl when needed, purse my lips, and blow out a hotheaded breath like I’m supposed to. When his hand comes down on my ass, I squeal but smile on the inside.
“Keep on walking,” he growls.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Doesn’t concern you.”
As I look back, I notice the camera in his hand. I wonder what he’s planning.
He stops in front of the door and pulls on my cuffs to keep me in place. “In.” His command almost tempts me to resist him just to see what would happen. I step inside the room and notice the label on the door. Dungeon.
Holy hell.
The walls are cement blocks piled up and torches hang from them. On each side is a table with various equipment, including rope, plugs, toys, scissors, leather bondage items, floggers, paddles, canes, and more cuffs in all shapes and sizes. There is a metal cage to the left and a rack to the right. Hooks hang from the ceiling.
Taking in the scenery, I step forward and shiver from the props. It’s like I’ve just walked in on a prison movie set, only one where they make people suffer through shame and humiliation.
Sebastian comes to stand in front of me. My eyes zoom in on his hand as it fishes a knife from his pocket. He holds it in front of my face. “See this?”
I nod. He moves it to my neck. I whimper from the cold metal pushed into my skin.
“This is your punishment for behaving so badly.”
“I’m sorry, Mister Brand.”
“Don’t. I didn’t say you could open your mouth, let alone speak.”
I close my mouth immediately. He then proceeds to slide the knife down my throat without it bleeding, making me achingly aware of the power it has over me.
“You’ll do as I say. Always.”
I nod, but don’t respond, as he wishes.
“I’m tired of your constant need to overthrow me. You seem to think you know what you want. I beg to differ, and I will show you today.” He smiles as he brings the knife down to the straps that keep my dress intact and cuts them both, ripping down my dress.
“Take it off,” he says.
I do as he says, peeling the dress off me until I’m in my panties.
He frowns, squinting. “Panties …”
“I wanted … to wear them,” I say.
“Miss Carrigan, just because it is your birthday doesn’t mean you can decide what happens.” He pushes the knife into my skin and cuts the material until it falls to the ground by itself. I scowl at him, angry that he’s torn apart my only way to express myself.
“Do you hate me now, Miss Carrigan?”
“I’m starting to. You ruined my only pair.”
“Good. You shouldn’t be wearing them. Ever.” He suddenly grips my pussy, cupping it with his hand. “Whose pussy is this?”
I gasp. “Yours, Mister Brand.”
He slaps my inner thigh, causing me to spread my legs, but he only does it so he can grab me tighter, deeper, delving his finger into my pussy. “Say that again.”
“My pussy is yours, Mister Brand.”
“Yes, and anything that stands between me and my pussy is not allowed.”
He walks to the table, leaving me naked and confused. He picks up a metal plug, this one bigger than all the previous ones, and lubricates it. My eyes grow big at the sight. As he comes toward me, he says, “Bend over.” Fear creeps up at me as he walks to my perched ass. “Hands on your knees.”
I do as he says. It doesn’t take him long to position the plug against my bud and push it inside. I groan, a bit of frustration and a bit of excitement, as he pushes it in completely. “Good girl.”
He slaps my ass so hard I stand straight up. I can’t even catch my breath before he’s already pinching my nipples, intense sensations flooding me. Then he decides to drag me across the floor by my breasts alone.
“Ow!” I yell as he tugs at my nipples. “That hurts!”
“It’s supposed to.” He hauls me toward the middle of the room and says, “On your knees.”
As I get down on my knees, he fetches a rope from the table. He takes off my cuffs and throws the rope over the hook hanging from the ceiling. Then he ties it to my wrists and pulls until my hands are up in the air, stretching my muscles to the limit. When it’s tight enough, he ties the rope to a metal ring attached to the floor.
It feels strange, arms stretched, on my knees, helpless and left to his whims. Sexy, even. Undeniably freeing in some way. Like a delicate flower constricted by a rope, I hang from the ceiling, ready for his merciless assault, and I’m willing. Needy. So bad, I almost feel guilty. Almost.
With a hint of admiration, he watches me for a second, circling around me with determined steps. He takes the camera he gave me from his pocket and snaps a picture of me. A hot flash courses through my body, because I’m wondering what he’ll do with the picture. He takes another one, and then another one, each from a different corner. He goes to the table again and grabs a big wand thing, which I believe is a vibrator. He places it against my pussy and turns it on, immediately making me squirm. God, I almost feel guilty for wanting this. Almost.
He places it below me and says, “Sit on it. Don’t let it slip, or else.”
“Yes, Mister Brand,” I say as he walks around me and then slaps my ass. I almost lose balance, but by tensing my muscles, I manage to keep the vibrator between my thighs. He takes another picture and tucks the camera back into his pocket. Grunting, he stands before me and pulls down his zipper, taking out his cock. It’s already hard and throbbing and he immediately pushes the tip against my mouth. “Suck.”