Ruby

 

 

 

I'm a trembling mess when he gathers me from the stretching bank. I don't move my arms or my legs when he finally frees them from the cuffs, my limbs just drop onto the wood, lifeless and void of mobility. I'm sobbing heavily, but I don't know why. There's no more pain, and if I'm honest, I can barely remember it, even though I can still hear the screams. I can still sense the echo of my cries as he tortured me, forcing one climax after another out of my sore body, even when I felt I had long reached - and surpassed - my limit.

I can't see him through all the tears blurring my vision, and I can't hear him, either, but I know he's talking to me. His voice is muffled by my own howling, and he sounds as if he's very far away. But he's not. He's right here in this room. I'm the one who moved on, I'm the one who's as far away as one can be, without the shell that is my body actually leaving the room.

A stinging pain that soon evolves into soothing throbs of relief bursts through my tits when he removes the clamps. I gasp in surprise, and then feel shame washing over me when he pulls out the plug that's been stretching my ass for so long. And I never stop sobbing through any of it.

I can feel his strong arms wrapping around me, and I feel my body being lifted from the hard wood and his heartbeat next to my ear when I lean against his strong chest. He's carrying me through the room as if I weighed nothing, and then he stops, still holding me as I continue to sob, my tears drenching his shirt.

I'm too far away to wonder about his decision to carry me upstairs. I'm blinded by bright light as we reach another room, a room I've never seen before, a room I'm not able to see now because my eyes close as quickly as I've opened them. I bury my face against the wall of muscles that is his chest, inhaling his scent as he continues to carry me up another flight of stairs.

It's just my body that sighs in relief when he lowers me onto something soft, a mattress, or a bed maybe. There's a moment of emptiness, just a few seconds during which I can no longer feel his presence next to me, but it doesn't last long. He lies down next to me, offering comfort. I curl up in his arms, naked and with my core still throbbing from his abuse, seeking comfort from the very same hands that inflicted this on me.

He's no longer speaking, just quietly stroking my hair, while he holds me in a tight embrace. Body and mind are slowly but surely reuniting as I recover from the assault on me. The most delicious assault I've ever endured. How many times did I come? I don't know. I just know that I felt like I was drowning in a sea of delight, riding on waves that took me from the highest of highs to the absolute worst anguish I've ever experienced. They came hand in hand, and now that my mind is finally clearing, I come to realize that one cannot exist without the other.

"Thank you," I whisper, my hand clumsily reaching up to him.

The words just slipped out, but I mean them. I never knew I was capable of feeling anything like this. No one ever challenged me to overcome this amount of pain, this agony that felt like too much to bear, more than once. I've heard of multiple orgasms before, but I've never experienced it, and I've never lived through anything like it. I've never had to.

"That was...," my voice breaks, and it's probably for the best, because I lack the words to describe what just happened.

Insane? Excruciating? Wonderful? Horrifying? Elevating?

Each one of these words fit, but they only capture a fraction of what this experience meant to me.

"Who do you belong to?"

His voice is dark and cold, a stark contrast to his soft touch.

"You," I breathe. "I belong to you, master."

I know that my brain is addled by hormones, or endorphins, or whatever else holds the power to kill reason, but I don't care right now. I don't care for anything but being his.

"Good girl," he whispers, and this time his tone matches his embrace. Caring, warm, almost loving.

I sigh, relishing the feeling, because I know it won't last. Whatever cloud I'm floating on right now, it will slowly but surely approach ground until my feet are met with the floor and I'm right back where I was before, just a girl, selling herself for pleasure, her own and her client‘s.

Or her kidnapper‘s.

I open my eyes and tilt my head back, searching for his gaze.

"You lied to me, didn't you?" I ask in a low voice, scared to hear his reply.

His expression darkens and he scrunches his eyebrows.

"When?"

"When you said you weren't my client."

There's a flicker in his black eyes, as if he just remembered something. For a moment, it makes me believe that my assumption was right and he did lie to me. But then he objects.

"I didn't lie to you, toy," he says, and his grip around me tightens, as if he's afraid that I might jump up and try to run away from him. "I didn't pay for any of this, I didn't order you, and I'm not the one you dolled yourself up for."

My poor heart speeds up again, dealing with another scare after it had just calmed down. He's sticking to his story. Is it a story, though?

"You don't want to believe me."

It's a statement, not a question. He fixates on me with his black eyes, while his hand lazily travels along my upper arm, the tips of his fingers barely meeting my skin and causing the little hairs on my arm to stand on end.

"I don't believe you," I correct him. "I think you're just saying this because I'm not acting the way you want me to."

I shouldn't be saying any of this, but he's the one who started it. He's the one who started talking about a contract that we had both agreed to never mention. I signed the most extensive and exclusive contract I've ever signed with a client before, and I distinctly remember the passage about discretion and silence. The client signed the contract before I did, and I remember the illegible strokes above his printed initials. His first name starts with a J, and that is all I know about him.

"Well, you're right about one thing," he says. "You didn't behave the way I expected you to."

"See?"

"But that doesn't mean I'm not telling the truth," he continues, narrowing his eyes as he looks down at me. "I'm probably a fool for ever telling you. I should have taken advantage of the fact that you were unaware and so fucking willing."

I jerk in surprise when he pinches one of my sore nipples.

"So fucking willing and so fucking delicious," he goes on. "I shouldn't have told you. I should have let you believe that you're safe, that all of this is just a game, just an elaborate form of role play."

He pulls me closer then, and my breathing hikes up when he moves his hand between my legs, calmly placing his palm on top of my sore clit. The motion is so intimate that it feels as if I'm being undressed all over again, despite the fact that I'm already as naked as a person can be.

"But you know what?" he breathes, leaning in close to my ear, so that I can feel the warmth of his breath sizzling across the back of my neck. "That's not what I signed up for."

I hold my breath, unsure what to think, how to feel.

"I took you because I wanted something real," he piles on. "I took you because I'm tired of paying someone to act as if they're scared of me. I'm so fucking tired of it. I wanted something real, someone who's genuinely afraid for her life, because she has every reason to be."

"No," I object, shaking my head. "You're lying."

"Am I?" he asks, and I shiver when he places a kiss behind my ear.

He squeezes the sensitive flesh around my core, reviving the subtle throbs that continue to hold me in a state of exhausted vertigo.

"Well, I'm sure I can think of ways to prove it to you, my toy."

His words are laced with a dark undertone, and the threat it conveys feels so real that I'm inclined to believe him.

"Thirty-nine days," I whisper. "You have thirty-nine days with me."

I'm saying those words like a mantra, as if repeating the terms of my contract will make this real, prove that he's lying, and prove that I haven‘t fallen into the hands of a real kidnapper. He can't be lying. He's too good of a person to be a criminal.

"I have as many days with you as I please, toy," he breathes, as he begins rubbing my sore nub. My legs part on instinct, and I'm appalled at myself when I realize that I'm dripping wet again.

"No face hitting, no blood, no lasting damage to my body," I continue. "No names, full discretion, no safe word."

He growls into my ear.

"Keep going, my little toy," he growls. "I want to hear all about your little contract."

I moan when he parts my lips with his fingertips, still massaging my swollen clit with his thumb.

"There was a window, a time frame of five days," I continue, gasping for air when he stretches me with two fingers, then three. "I had to look pretty, I was told to wear stockings, heels, and a dress that barely covers my ass. You like dolls, you like fake. I had my nails done, my lashes enhanced, and my fake tits on display every time I stepped outside, parading down the street, just for you, waiting for you, not knowing when you'd grab me, but knowing that you would eventually."

His pressure on my most sensitive spot intensifies, and I squirm in his embrace when a rush of bliss spreads throughout my core. How can I still be this responsive to his touch? When he unfastened my restraints on the stretching bench, I felt like I'd never be able to come again, like I'd never let anyone touch me there again. And now, he's doing just that, only minutes after I recovered from his previous treatment.

And I'm enjoying it. My pleasure is fueled by his threats, by the possibility of him speaking the truth, by the sheer prospect of being in actual danger. I loathe myself for being this fucked-up, but I can't help it.

"Wrong," he hisses, his lips close to my ear. "You're wrong, my toy. I don't like fake. I like you just like this, bare and natural. If your face was painted like it was yesterday, I'd never be able to see the blush on your cheeks when you're aroused like this. And the fake lashes only cast a shadow on the vibrant sparks in your eyes when you climax. I don't care for any of that."

Despite my lustful agitation, I can't help but chuckle at his words.

"You're such a charmer," I breathe, parting my legs farther to give his skillful hand more leeway to toy with me as he pleases.

"Not at all," he objects. "I'm just honest, in everything I do and say to you."

I tilt my head back and our eyes lock onto each other, mine searching his for the truth behind his words, but the deep black of his remains full of secrets. My heart is hammering against my ribcage, my mind ready to spawn into another rapture while my body tries to catch up.

"Want to hear something else that is nothing but the truth, but not at all charming?" he asks. The smile that graces his handsome face is dark and ominous, almost devilish.

"Always," I utter, my reply almost choked by another hiking upsurge of bliss as his finger finds just the right spot.

He shifts on the mattress, almost burying my body under his without ever retreating from my core. I'm sprawled out below him, parting my legs as far as I can. I can feel his hardness through the fabric of his jeans, caressing the soft skin on my belly.

"You're scared, aren't you?" he says under heavy breaths.

"Yes," I breathe.

My heart jumps when he retreats from my center, quickly unbuckling his belt and unzipping those damn jeans. Finally.

He frees his hard cock within seconds, and I pant for breath when he rams his thick, full length inside me in one brute motion. I figured that he was ample size, but the way he's stretching my channel now feels like so much more than I ever imagined.

"My fucking little toy," he pants, as he begins fucking me with violent thrusts. "Such a tight little cunt, and so wet for me."

I cast him a smug smile. "I thought you were going to share an uncharming truth with me?"

He reciprocates my smile, still plunging his massive cock inside of me when he reveals the words that will unleash true terror on the naive little girl he's fucking.

"Your hair," he utters between thrusts. "I hate that fucking bleach, I hate blonde, and I especially hate it on you, because it's not who you are, my toy."

I tense up in horror, my widening eyes clearly telltale that his words finally got through to my very core. I didn't think there was anything he could say that would convince me of the truth behind his earlier words, but these are it.

"I. Fucking. Hate. It!"

He underlines every word with an extra deep shove, stretching my insides and blowing my mind apart.

My climax comes with the realization that I truly am his captive.

This is no game.

I'm coming, clenching around the cock of a real kidnapper.