The Ties That Bind Trilogy
Killing Heartache, A Novelette
Killing Me Softly (January, 2013)
Killing Heartache, A Novelette
Killing Me Softly (January, 2013)
All Romance (On sale for $3.99)
Barnes & Noble
The Clock ticks life away…
Fans of the 50 Shades Trilogy, Bared to You by Sylvia Day and If I Were You by Lisa Renee Jones will be left breathless by The Ties That Bind Trilogy!
Despite the getaway to Paris to bury the ghosts from the past, specifically Trésor DeMarche, Aurélie and Rory are continually haunted by secrets neither of them care to share and people who are desperate to influence their life. A trip to Rory’s parents’ for the holidays turns into a disaster when another face from the past makes an appearance as Severin’s beloved fiancée…
Aurélie and Rory have no choice but to keep their friends close but their enemies closer. When it is decided by a man of immense power all plans of investigating both Trésor’s death and writing Kaysa’s memoir will be forfeited for something much more promising and a book that could earn Aurélie a Pulitzer nomination, she realizes she’s gone past the point of no return. Whether she likes it or not, her knowledge of the Krieger family is enough to cost her a life she cherishes most should she refuse to comply: her own….
Once Aurélie settles into her new role as investigative reporter once again, but for a story with unimaginable consequences, both personal and political, someone from her past comes back and brings a conspiracy so explosive, it could not only destroy the relationship she has with Rory but the whole Krieger family entire…
Enter a world where nothing is as it seems, everyone has something to hide and dangerous night of forbidden passion can lead to a chain of events that will not only destroy a myriad of relationships but cost someone their life and in return, threaten another person’s freedom when they are charged with murder.
THE FUNERAL FOR MY SISTER, Trésor, was just as sad and depressing as I thought it would be. Rory was nice enough to rent out rooms for everyone who’d decided to stay overnight in Colmar at the Hostellerie Le Marechal, a grand hotel that looked like a large restored estate in some quaint German town though we were in France.
The whole feel of the Alsatian region was a cool blend of French ambiance and German efficiency that I didn’t mind at all. As I knew Alsatian, it was nice to speak the language with the locals and Rory surprised the hell out of me when he began chatting with a few of the locals in the dialect I spoke so well.
It certainly took my mind off the funeral which was held in Herrlisheim-près-Colmar located on Rue de la Gare where a new cemetery had replaced the old one which had closed in the mid-nineteenth century.
Trésor’s body was laid to rest and afterwards the guests had hors d’œuvres and cocktails at the hotel. Many of the guests I had never seen before and could only assume they were friends of Trésor’s and Rory’s while we did have a smattering of family from my father’s side who attended as well. They still lived in the area and were happy to make it though of course sad it was the death of a relative which had brought us all together again.
I found the whole situation a bit awkward, especially after Severin showed up with his new “girl-toy”, Ingrid as she was known. She was his slave-in-training so she could still use her name to introduce herself to people but he was doing quite the job breaking her down as quickly as possible.
A tiny young woman, she couldn’t have been more than five feet and perhaps eighty-five pounds soaking wet. Her long flaxen blonde hair, clear skin and bright sky blue eyes spoke of youth in its prime. I flagged her easily as being no more than twenty-two if a day.
After what Rory disclosed in the car that day we’d arrived in France, I didn’t know if I could view the man the same ever again. How could he have gotten my sister pregnant when she was supposed to be on birth control? How could she have allowed something like that to happen?
The arrangements for the funeral had happened so fast under the direction of Rory, I still hadn’t the time to look through her journals again. It’d taken us about a week and half before we’d comfortably settled in Vaucresson, an ultra-posh western suburb of Paris, and the next we were boarding a plane for Alsace to formally say goodbye to my sister once and for all. I hated funerals with a passion yet the timing was practical for another reason. No one wanted the maudlin occasion to affect their Christmas plans therefore the funeral had taken place the weekend of the sixteenth of December.
The flower arrangements were beautiful, the food delicious and the alcohol exquisite but I smelled and tasted none of it. Again, I was numb and it had nothing to do with the icy cold weather.
I wore a tasteful black, long-sleeved, fluted-hem sweater-dress by Yves Saint Laurent with a pair of thick tights and a pair of Alexander McQueen suede shoe boots which were perfect for the occasion though the five-inch heel did make me ponder why I had chosen them seeing as the whole valley was covered in snow.
It was pretty depressing as everyone wore mostly black and the somber mood never dissipated. Both my parents seemed a bit shell-shocked by the whole experience but neither cried, at least not in public as that wouldn’t have appeared dignified and above all, they had their pride if nothing else.
Half-way through the reception, I walked up to the room I shared with Rory and sat on the bed. I’d snuck away as quietly as I could because I didn’t want to see the looks of pity from anyone, let alone my best friend or Rory who always glanced at me as if any moment, I was bound to fall apart.
They would have never known how right they were about that assessment because it had finally hit me. It had taken a trip half-way around the world to allow the whole ugly incident to sink in and on that bed, I collapsed and sobbed quietly. I dabbed at my eyes repeatedly with tissue, pulling away makeup and mascara with every wipe.
I buried my face in a wad of tissue and screamed as loud as I could for all the mistakes I’d made, all the opportunities I’d allowed to pass me by and a relationship that would never have proper closure. Then I beat my thighs repeatedly with the balls of my fist, if only to feel the physical pain as much as the mental anguish tortured and pulled at my psyché day after fucking day.
No one had to explain it wasn’t my fault and I had nothing to feel guilty about but I did and it was literally eating me alive from the inside out. The feeling of knowing perhaps her murderer walked around downstairs, ever so cool, calm, and collective knowing they had gotten away with their heinous crime. They would never understand or empathize with how their crime had torn a fragile family apart nor would they care. I didn’t know if that was the worse part of all but it felt as if my whole life teetered on the edge of a goddamn precipice and I hated it…wanted it all—the pain and the feelings of guilt and shame to be over and done with me.
So self-absorbed was my self-pity, I barely heard the door open and close. I knew it was Rory by his stealth movements and he immediately knelt in front of me.
“Liebling, what have you done?” he inquired softly.
His gorgeous aquamarine eyes—a mixture of ice blue and pale green—were mesmerizing as usual. He’d shaved for the occasion therefore his perfect features including a strong, masculine chin, perfect cheekbones, a lovely patrician nose, lips meant to be devoured and exquisite forehead crowned by dark brown hair with black cherry highlights. Not only was he an extremely handsome man but his looks were combined with an irresistible sexual magnetism that made women weak in the knees, myself included.
The body that went with the face was no less than stunning. Tall and lean with hidden muscles and the purposeful stride of the ultra-wealthy, he was indeed a perfect package. Unfortunately, I’d inherited him by default. My sister had been his lover before me and she was a devoted slave to her master though their relationship was in fact more of a dominant and submissive. He’d explained to me my sister didn’t do well with half-measures hence the terms he used for them to her but she wouldn’t know the first thing about what it felt like to be a slave.
I sniffled as he slipped my hands into his own and held them tightly. “The pain…it became all too much and I just had to have a good cry and I’m fine, really.”
His gaze upon me never wavered and it made me feel nervous as if he knew I had something to hide. “Lay down, rest. No one is going to fault you for having a weak moment, Aurélie. Your sister is dead and you are allowed to grieve. I don’t know how I would act if anything happened to Severin…” he trailed off.
I took his advice and lay back on the bed. He slid my boots off and reached under my dress to take off my tights. I knew his actions weren’t the least bit sexual as he would have made his intentions a lot more obvious but neither he nor I were all that interested in sexual intercourse at the moment.
Rory’s deep intake of breath gave me pause and I sat up partially, using my elbows to lift my upper body as I glared at him, annoyed. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that question?” he inquired.
I looked down at my soft olive-skinned thighs and saw the purplish bruises as they began to form. He touched the largest one which drew a whimper from me. Funny how they didn’t hurt nearly as much when I’d self-inflicted them only minutes ago but now I felt an intense fire and throbbing pain every time he touched one.
“I didn’t realize…I was just in so much pain, I began to pound my fists against my thighs and I couldn’t have known…”
“You do realize you can’t wear anything slightly revealing until these bruises heal? You’ll have people thinking I am beating you and I have never been a big-time sadist who has ever wanted to leave these kinds of marks. You look like a domestic violence victim, sweetheart.”
I reached out for his face and smoothed his hair out of his eyes. “Yes, I know I do but you have nothing to worry about because you didn’t do anything to me. I promise to keep my legs covered until they heal, okay?”
“Aurélie, chérie, I have been looking everywhere for you!” Nicole exclaimed as she burst into the room though she drew in a breath and covered her mouth in horror when she saw my thighs.
Her large cerulean eyes drifted towards Rory in accusation “Fils de pute—what the hell have you done to her?”
Rory stood and backed away from the bed slowly. “It wasn’t me.”
“Liar! How could you…I thought you were better than Severin, Rory, but you aren’t! You two are so much the same it is ridiculous. How could you even think about sex when we laid your girlfriend and your unborn child into the ground today?”
My lover stared at me with an odd mixture of surprise and regret before he met Nicole’s gaze again. “It is true, I laid my lover in the ground but the child didn’t belong to me, Nikki. It isn’t your business whose baby it was but I will tell you once more: I didn’t touch Aurélie—not like that. There was nothing sexual about the way I touched her in any way, shape or form. I was merely undressing her so she could get some rest and that is when I saw the bruises.”
“It’s true,” I finally responded though my eyes began to close on me involuntarily. “I did it to myself and he was just as dismayed and disconcerted to see the bruises as you are now.”
My best friend walked toward me with her arms tucked against her small bosom and her long blonde hair flowing around elegant, slim shoulders. “What is wrong with you? How could you do that knowing how much self-harm Tresor was involved with? Have you lost your mind?”
“I sometimes think that is a strong possibility,” I replied before my eyes closed yet again and no matter how hard I tried, they refused to open again at that point.
Somewhere in a dark recess of my mind, I heard their conversation continue in a quiet manner but they’d both slipped into high German and the words blended together. I no longer understood what they were discussing and if I was honest with myself, I didn’t want to know what they were saying either.
My body succumbed to sleep and it was the best feeling in the world at that very moment.
THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON, EVERYONE WHO hadn’t left began to leave and it was only a handful of us guests who decided to stay an extra day including Rory and I, Severin and his new slave and of course my best friend Nicole and her husband, Renaud.
Renaud and I had a complicated relationship to say the least. Before he’d been my best friend’s husband, he’d been my lover, best friend and soul mate. He was the first man I’d fallen in love with and he was also the only one I allowed to inexplicably break my heart into a million pieces. I’d never thought I would feel anything remotely close to the feelings I felt for him until Rory had come along.
I would have been lying if I implied everything was copacetic between us because it wasn’t. I didn’t want to be his friend and merely tolerated him because he was married to Nicole. Other than that, I would have been perfectly happy if we’d never crossed paths ever again.
Although the weather was freezing, all the men decided we should have lunch on a shaded terrace which overlooked a flowing river that ran through town. It was easier to focus on the river than the political discussion Nicole, Renaud, Rory and Severin had decided to start in rapid French. Ingrid looked bored and uncomfortable, both wearing layers of clothing and sitting at the table. I suppose it wouldn’t have been kosher for Severin to have her naked next to the table in temperatures not too high above freezing.
I suddenly wished we had gone back to Paris, back to Rory’s opulent home in Vaucresson because I wouldn’t feel as naked as I did at that moment. I could feel Renaud’s eyes rake over me every now and then and coupled with Severin’s weathering glances, it all became too much. I felt an anxiety attack coming on, a major one and the last mistake I wanted to make was embarrassing myself at the worst possible time.
Rory never made me feel strange or not normal for having them, not like Renaud. Severin, on the other hand, seemed to revel in them. He enjoyed pain especially my own and I wouldn’t give him that, not now, not ever. Without thinking, I stood and strode back inside the warmth of the hotel just as it reached its pinnacle.
My heart raced with a burning intensity and I felt a cool sheen of sweat coat my skin as my breathing became frantic and erratic. I continued towards the stairs knowing that if I took the elevator, it would make the feeling worse than it already was and I couldn’t handle that. This one was a tough enough panic attack on its own.
Halfway up the second flight of stairs, I felt a warm hand brace my arm and I turned to face the first love of my life: Renaud. He looked different, somewhat older and his looks held less sway and charm over me but his presence didn’t ease my anxiety.
“What are you doing here?” I exclaimed in angry French. “Go back to your wife before she suspects something is going on between us.”
His eyes, so incredibly clear and a glorious shade of crystal blue pleaded with me for understanding. Though his hair was sandy brown, it’d always suited him and once he’d married Nicole, they became known as more or less the “golden couple”. His skin was clear as always, a natural peaches and cream complexion which complimented classic Gallic features, a toned body that went perfectly with his height of 5’11”. Although I wore four-inch heels, I still had to look up slightly to him and this didn’t make my heart slow down the least bit.
“Aurélie, don’t do this to me. Please don’t act like there is nothing between us.”
I laughed out loud. “My God, you’re delusional. There is nothing between us, Renaud. You’re married to my best friend and I am in a relationship. What makes you possibly think I am interested in sloppy seconds? Go. Back. To. Your. Wife.”
“Goddamn it, I refuse to believe you are happy with that…that fils de pute!” he exclaimed in anger.
“Does it feel better now that you have said it? It’s the second day in a row someone has called Rory a ‘son of a whore’ when he’s done nothing wrong. Whether you choose to believe it or not, I am very happy with him and I won’t break up a marriage between you and Nicole. My God, what has gotten into that brain of yours? Are you on drugs?”
Renaud let go of my arm as if I’d burned him and held his own at his side. “Listen, I am not trying to make you angry and I never said anything about leaving my wife. I’m worried about you. Your eyes have this hard-edged look to them and you seem so angry at the world—”
“Perhaps it’s because I am,” I responded flippantly and began to walk up the staircase again.
He followed me at a relatively safe distance until we reached the floor where our suites were located. “I don’t want to fight with you and I know you don’t have to treat me with any kindness but…I only wish for you to be happy. I don’t see how that could ever be possible with Rory Krieger. The man is a…well, his sexual practices are quite unique. Surely you don’t like being tied up and having pain inflicted upon you. I know what they are into and it’s a world you don’t want to know.”
I turned toward him finally and we faced off, merely several feet away from one another. Our fight had made my anxiety attack retreat rather quickly and I felt calm and less shaken than I had earlier.
“Listen, you don’t know anything about me. We had a relationship with one another almost a decade ago and I’m not the same person I was. I haven’t been that naïve young woman in a very long time, Renaud. All the sudden, you approach me and wish to know I am safe and secure but to be honest, it truly is none of your concern.”
He cursed softly under his breath in French before he said, “How could you go there when you know he was with your sister before you? Don’t you feel the least bit shameful by your outright wanton behavior? How do you know he isn’t using you as a place holder because he doesn’t have Trésor anymore?
“You’re a beautiful, vibrant and vivacious woman but do you really think you could hold a candle to your sister if she were still alive? Trésor oozed sex appeal and she was gorgeous and seductive. She had everything you will never possess because she had a genuine love and fascination with life. It truly is a pity she’s now dead.”
Renaud’s words shocked me as if I had been slapped in the face. He always could bring me back down to size with his cruelty. It was something he excelled at and I was not ashamed to say it but he was best at belittling a person. It was what kept me tethered to him for so long even after I knew he no longer was in love with me.
I wasn’t going to pretend I knew how he felt about my sister. Perhaps at one time he was attracted to her or maybe they’d had an affair. It no longer mattered as we weren’t a couple and what he did with her was inconsequential. She was dead but his words still stung and I couldn’t help if my eyes watered a bit.
“Sweetheart, is everything okay?” a male voice inquired.
I looked past Renaud to see Rory approaching and the breath I’d held on to for dear life slowly escaped my lungs. “Yes, everything is fine. I just need to lay down. I don’t feel very well.”
My lover walked past my ex-boyfriend as if he weren’t standing there and turned me around in his arms so I faced him and he faced Renaud. “I have a migraine from hell and I came up to take my medication. We should both lay down.” He looked up and murmured, “See you at dinner, Renaud.”
With that, he swept me into our suite after he unlocked the door with the card key and we both walked inside.
I leaned against his firm chest and melted in the heat and scent of his embrace. “Thank you.”
“Saving me back there…it was very sweet of you. My ex was just about to wax poetic about all the different ways my sister was much better than I was and I just knew I would have probably vomited all over the carpet. He’s always been such an asshole but sadly, I never realized that until now.”
Rory grabbed my face by the chin with warm fingers and tilted my face towards his. Every time I looked into those hypnotic aquamarine eyes, I fell that much more in love with him.
“He can’t tell you anything about Trésor because he didn’t know her. No one did except me…and Severin.” He added his brother’s name with a particular bitterness and it was then and there I knew he would never forgive his twin for what he’d done.
There was no way my sister should have gotten pregnant in the first place. She was on birth control so what happened? Had she been skipping days or was it something Severin had carefully planned while pretending to be Rory?
My poor sister could never tell the difference between the two brothers as they were identical twins and classic manipulators. I knew only because for me, it was in their eyes. Identical in every way but there was a soulless quality in Severin’s that Rory lacked entirely. He had life and love in those beautiful eyes and he hadn’t lost his humanity the same way his brother had.
Whether he’d freely given it up or it had been taken from him was anyone’s guess but he didn’t have the same heart and soul as Rory and to me, Severin could never have fooled me into believing he was Rory.
However my sister wasn’t quite as good with subtleties and would have never noticed. I had read enough of her journals to know she thought Rory might have been a sociopath because of his night-day mood swings but what she didn’t know was there wasn’t anything remotely wrong with Rory, psychologically speaking. The difference in attitude strictly came from the difference between the brothers’ personalities and nothing else.
Rory hadn’t even been in the country when she was murdered because he’d never administered her punishment in the first place, Severin had and all the while, she’d been ignorant enough to think it was Rory she’d greeted that fateful night she’d gotten home from the modeling job and not Severin.
Their relationship intrigued me and frightened me. I didn’t really like nor would I ever understand why they remained so close they were inter-dependent on one another. There wasn’t much they didn’t share, including bed partners, and although it was against my better judgment, I had slept with the both of them not just once but twice.
Under ordinary circumstances, I would have been the first to admit what I had done had been the behavior of a tramp and someone who suffered from low self-esteem. However, Rory had slowly taught me some of the most basic rules of the BDSM community and one of the first rules one learned was there were no rules in terms of sharing if that is what the submissive wished to happen.
The second night I shared my body with both Rory and Severin, I had not been under any duress and there wasn’t a shred of dubious consent involved. I’d done it because I had been in control and they’d bottomed out to me so for that one night, I was the dominant one and they were my two submissives. I didn’t spank them, tie them up or order them what to do but they voluntarily gave their power to me and allowed me to make the rules.
I hadn’t found the experience degrading at all but rather liberating and although I had no wish to share my body with Severin in the near future, I would never rule it out from happening again. Already, the life sucked me in and what was so strange and unusual to people from the outside looking in slowly started to become all the more normal to me.
It reminded me of an old saying from the film, Eight Millimeter: When you dance with the devil, the devil doesn’t change—the devil changes you; the sentiment couldn’t have been more appropriate in regards to my particular situation. Rory hadn’t molded his lifestyle to fit me, I was slowly molding my life to fit his lifestyle and what frightened me most of all was I had begun to like it.
We have all the time in the world...until none exists at all...
Fans of the 50 Shades Trilogy, Bared to You by Sylvia Day and If I Were You by Lisa Renee Jones will be left breathless by The Ties That Bind Trilogy!
Eighteen months have passed since Aurélie Segler-DeMarche and her sister, runway model Trésor DeMarche, have spoken to one another. A posh event held at Tavern on the Green changes everything for the hot and happening investigative journalist. Cable News World, Aurélie's own employer and network, reports the famous model has died under mysterious circumstances, locked in a cage in the dungeon of a penthouse on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.
Aurélie suspects foul play but when the police department is less forthcoming, she is forced to turn to the one person who might in fact have had something to do with her sister's death, Rory Krieger. Not only is the man sex on a stick but he is also a wealthy, elusive Dom in his early thirties who has kept Trésor as his submissive for the past two years.
As Aurélie digs deeper into the world of sadomasochism -- including the community, Club X-Tasy, and the eccentric members she meets -- she finds it harder to control the feelings she has for Rory. Though her first priority is to find out what truly happened to her sister, she loses herself in a world of secrecy, seduction and a path of dark desires she might not be able to resist.
Soon, she is wondering how deep is she willing to go to find out the truth and how easy will it be for a woman who prides self-control to give in to another's demands when it goes against the very grain of her personality? Some questions are best left unanswered but Aurélie soon learns the hard way she will have to lose herself to find herself...and the truth.
IT HAD BEEN FIVE LONG days since she’d been in the cage, down in the dungeon. Her eyes were covered with a leather blindfold and there was no way to see through the thick yet soft material. This wasn’t the first time she’d gone through one of these sensory deprivation exercises but they always freaked her the fuck out.
She sat in the dungeon and although it was contained enough and the door at the top of the stairs was locked, she’d been placed in a cage. Her hands were free but she was deprived of even the smallest amount of pleasure as she wore an uncomfortable chastity belt with two metal dildos attached inside. One was planted firmly up her anus while the other one surged in her wet, aching sex.
Her clitoris could not be touched in any way as it was covered by a metal plate. Her master told her these punishments were to teach her how to behave in their relationship. She believed him but sometimes, she pissed him off purposely just to be sent down to the dungeon and locked in the tight, confined space of the cage too.
Many in the vanilla world would never truly understand real BDSM thanks to crappy mommy porn books which explored a fairy tale version of a world which simply did not exist for those who were truly part of the community. They weren’t all sick, twisted sadists and masochists with parent and background issues.
She considered herself perfectly normal as she had a very fulfilling job where she spent most of her time half naked anyway therefore modesty was not an issue. Once she left that job and came home, she was in a complete and utterly fulfilling relationship which consisted of total power exchange or TPE as it was known to those in the community.
At home, she was merely a slave and the receptacle of her master’s pleasure. Nothing he craved or desired was taboo and she would grant him any wish he wanted. Although, technically, a slave, she wasn’t really treated like one and that pleased her very deeply. He liked the sound of slave and master though in fact they had more of a dominant-submissive relationship.
She did not have to eat on the floor beside her master as he preferred them to take their meals together. She also did not do any housework and although they spent way too much time at one of the many locations of Club X-Tasy, her master didn’t believe in participating in orgies, at least not any where she would be forced to participate. He did go to them as was his right and something he put together at least twice per month to keep his customers happy but she was never on the menu.
She almost laughed at the absurdity of it all when she thought about the dungeon and how she’d gotten herself sent there in the first place. She’d just arrived home from a photo shoot on location and she was bone tired. Her master greeted her at the front door after his manservant, Albert, answered the door. His staff was completely aware of what went on between them but they acted as if it was perfectly normal and in a way, it was—they were two consenting adults after all.
He wanted her to undress as soon as Albert shut the door and kneel before him naked. She’d wanted to comply but something inside her rebelled and she quickly figured it out. She didn’t want to submit on her own that night; she’d wanted him to beat her into submission and that is exactly what happened. He’d grabbed her by the arm and frog-marched her through the grand foyer with all of its pale marble floorings and straight to the dungeon.
The place where he beat her was completely soundproof and looked very much like an ancient dungeon except it was manmade and the place wasn’t the least bit dark or damp. The lights were painfully bright and the whole place had mirrors instead of walls. There was an inbuilt closet which opened with the touch of one of the mirrors and inside was a sadist’s wet dream.
There were different lubes of all flavors, colors and varieties. Some to enhance pleasure while others brought pain; condoms though they no longer used them very often unless he decided to take her in her anus and she had not undergone a proper fast or colon cleansing. Those could get messy and everything was there to prevent the space from ever becoming unhygienic.
There were dildos and butt plugs, all made of high-end metals and glass which were easy to clean and easier to use. The dungeon had its own mini-kitchen with a fridge and dishwasher for cleaning the toys they used without degrading the material. Where her master had bought the cleansing solution which was one hundred percent safe and would not cause any skin infections or irritate her most intimate parts was beyond her.
He grabbed all the necessary equipment he would need: fur-lined ankle cuffs, supercuffs for her wrists, the blindfold and a glass ball gag, that although seemed dangerous, was the best money could buy. He didn’t expect her to run and knew she wouldn’t.
“Undress,” he commanded in a voice a mixture dark chocolate and velvety sweetness.
She slipped her tight ivory cashmere sweater off and undid her expensive jeans before rolling them down her legs to her ankles. She slipped off the five-inch high-heel Christian Louboutin booties she’d been wearing and then slid her jeans off the rest of the way.
“That’s enough. I’ll take over from there.”
Something about his voice wasn’t right but she couldn’t place what was different really. She would never understand him, not really because he truly did have the personality of a borderline sociopath.
Sometimes, he was the sweetest lover in the world and although he was a firm master, he never failed to please her. Other times, a completely sadistic part of his personality would take over and he seemed to do things to hurt her just because he could.
“Turn around,” he commanded.
She acquiesced and did as she was told. The fumbling of his own clothes being removed told her she would be punished indeed and although she was quite tired, the juices between her sex began to flow and she felt herself turned on to the point where her body no longer was an object under her control.
He walked up behind her and pressed his engorged manhood against the small of her back. She was quite tall, almost 5’9”, but he was over 6’3” so the intimidation factor was there now that she’d removed her shoes which had put them almost on equal footing.
He cuffed her arms behind her back and next did her ankles. Then he slipped the blindfold over her eyes and the ball gag in her mouth.
The taste of it felt cold against her tongue and she realized only too late he had applied some sort of anesthetic which made her throat go numb. He walked her over to a padded leather mat, similar to those used at gyms but a lot more comfortable, and she knelt at his command. He pushed her against the punishment bench as she could not brace herself due to her arms being cuffed behind her back.
“I don’t want you to say anything—well, actually you can’t so let me clarify myself. I don’t want a word out of you. No grunts, cries or tears of pain. I want to you to take your punishment without a word. For every time you do not comply, I will add another ten lashes, do you understand?”
She nodded her head and steeled herself to be quiet. They had only been together for two years but sometimes, it felt like a lifetime. In that time he had trained her well and she decided she was quite the pain whore. She loved the feel of the whip on her ass and she loved the scarlet impressions it made.
They had a safe word, one she never used because it was pointless. He allowed her the freedom she needed to be herself and to do a career she loved but at home, she was his. Even when they weren’t around one another, she never forgot who she belonged to and when he called her sometimes when she was gone and he asked her to talk dirty to him, she knew she wasn’t allowed to touch herself unless he told her she could.
The thwack of the paddle jolted her from happier memories and she realized with dread he was using a studded paddle. It was meant to hurt, meant to harm, meant to cause pain and meant to draw blood.
The tears began to rain down her face and her throat felt numb as she tried to swallow the excess phlegm but nothing relieved her. She allowed her mind to wander to a time before she did not have this discipline in her life and realized how completely helpless and hopeless she’d been.
Her life, once which had been so controlled and carefully planned out turned into a host of auditions and rejections, partying too hard and not getting enough rest or taking care of herself.
Coffee and cigarettes were her food groups of choice and when ever she binged, her favorites were heroin and cocaine instead of food.
Food and alcohol were the enemies. Too many calories and she could never gain weight, not if she ever wanted to make it in her chosen profession where the commodity she sold was her body.
Then she’d met him and he’d introduced her to his powerful friends, some who had connections in her chosen field of business. In the early days, he wasn’t as careful with her as he was now and she’d been to an orgy where her only position was to service the men and women in attendance.
He’d seen something intelligent in her eyes and knew she wasn’t what she appeared to be to the world. All she needed was discipline and the right master.
The blood began to ooze from the marks and slowly made its way down her ass cheeks and legs. She knew they would hurt like a bitch but eventually, they would heal.
Perhaps she should have just done what he’d wanted her to do. The pain was fun but not being allowed to sit down comfortably after a week was not.
“Oh, God, please let this be over soon,” she thought though she didn’t believe in God or the Devil; Heaven or Hell. Her life was her own and she would live it however she damn well pleased.
She bit down on the slippery glass ball prevent herself from crying out as it had to end sooner rather than later. Afterwards, she congratulated herself for the steel resolve she’d shown successfully completing the task. He set the paddle down though he’d barely broken into a sweat; his breath was steady and soft as she heard the rustle of a condom wrapper opening.
He leaned behind her and opened the soft orbs of her ass before he rimmed her anus with his tongue deliberately and with angry strokes. He tried to probe her insides with his tongue before he withdrew his mouth, and his fingers, covered in lube, eased in and out.
It was the tingly and burning kind of lube which would make it impossible for her to enjoy anal sex with him but that was the precise reason he’d used it in the first place.
He placed the head of his cock at her opening and pushed through. She was well practiced in anal intercourse and relaxed her muscles to allow him full access.
“That’s right you little slut, I know you love it in your shit hole, don’t you?”
She nodded silently with fervor as her whole body shook with an intense pleasure.
“Don’t you dare fucking come on me, bitch.”
She allowed him to control the sex as he slipped his cock in and out, slowly at first before he began to fuck her long, hard and mechanically. He wanted her to derive as little pleasure as possible out of their tryst and she understood this better than anyone.
He continued to thrust into her over and over again until he pressed, balls deep in her asshole and came with a loud spasm of pleasure.
He withdrew from her sore hole, stood and tossed the condom in a nearby wastebasket before he walked over to her again and applied antibiotic ointment on the cuts and bruises liberally decorating her ass cheeks.
His touch wasn’t gentle but rough and that along with the stinging from the lubricant he used caused her great discomfort but she wouldn’t dare show it. If she hinted at how uncomfortable she was, he would give her another ten spanks with that paddle just because he could and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.
He finished the task and breathed deeply behind her. As satisfying as he found the whole act of humiliating her, she knew he couldn’t possibly be done. Not yet. He was a master of pain, a complete sadist when in the right mood and it was definitely the state of mind he held that night. Sometimes he wore it like a badge of honor and perhaps in a way, he did consider it to be one.
She knew his childhood had been terribly ordinary. He had never been abused, his parents’ had nothing but money and they doted on their sons. His parents’ were still happily married after thirty-four years of togetherness, and he had a devoted cousin who came by and they spent much time together. In fact, she was also in the scene and although she bottomed out regularly she could be a real domineering and sadistic bitch herself. A bi-sexual, she preferred to bottom out for men and dominate women. He would never let her do that at the club but they’d had a few play sessions and she’d been at the receiving end of his cousin’s dominant personality. Eating another’s woman pussy and rimming her was not exactly her idea of a good time but what could she do if her master commanded her to do it?
“Lay the fuck down and spread your legs,” he commanded.
She did as she was told and spread her legs outward like a highly trained dancer. She couldn’t physically part her legs as her ankles were cuffed but she could definitely open them wide enough.
She noticed he held a fairly large metal butt plug and he inserted it into her ass without much effort. She wasn’t loose back there in any way but she also knew how to relax her muscles to ease the pain of large objects being inserted in there. The more frightened she became, the harder it was for her physically so she stopped seeing those large objects as something to fear and instead something to be embraced because if she could conquer her fear then pain would be easy.
Physical pain was so much easier to take than psychological pain and for years, she’d found herself in a place she couldn’t really name. She’d never experienced psychological trauma as a child or teenager so she could only deduce it’d manifested itself from the one episode of rape by a photographer. The incident happened earlier in her career and she’d told her master about it because she felt he needed to know that although she’d been damaged at one time, she wasn’t damaged goods or a pain junkie due to a dysfunctional childhood.
That photographer had met a certain death a week after she revealed what he’d done to her to her master. The papers mentioned something about a drug overdose. She knew the photographer was bisexual and as her master could and would top both male and females, deduced he’d helped him along with his “overdose” though he would never disclose that to her and she’d never asked either.
His fingers parted the lips of her sex before an elegant index finger circled over her clit in smooth movement. She tried to gasp but all the ball gag would allow her was a small stifled moan.
He slid two fingers into her soaking sex and began to finger fuck her gently while his thumb continued to trace her clit. She lifted her hips toward his fingers and he slammed her torso down to the mat.
“Bad girl. Remember, I control this. I can make you come or I can take you to the brink and deny your orgasm. What do you think? Should I make you wait, my little oversexed slut.”
She nodded her head because that is what he wanted her to do and she instinctively knew it.
“Good girl. Now, I am going to fuck you and if you come, you’ll be very sorry. Do you understand?”
She nodded again with much vigor.
He slipped himself between her long slender parted legs and pressed his cock into her with force. She moaned at the touch and feel of that long, thick muscle of pure pleasure and remembered she couldn’t even attempt to come so it would be best to drift away to a fantasy world where no one could touch her, not even him, and the feel of his flesh inside hers was just a dream.
She awoke and realized she’d been dreaming again of that last night where he had used her before placing her in the cage. The fifth day of her punishment regime. She spent her days, evenings and nights in the cage except for scheduled breaks when his stern housekeeper, Helga, would come to fetch her. She would be allowed to use the toilet, shower and then placed her back in the cage with her chastity belt and a small meal for sustenance. No one ever spoke to her and she was not allowed to speak as the ball gag was only taken out when she washed and then quickly put back into its rightful place.
This would be her last day as he’d never punished her for more than five days in a row. He would fetch her first thing the next morning and she would promise to be on her best behavior before he would fuck her long and leisurely. He would allow her to come after five days of orgasm denial and it would be the best fucking feeling on earth.
The chastity belt was starting to get on her nerves as it had a device which had two objects inserted into each hole and she derived absolutely no pleasure from them. It was a mechanism surely designed by that bastard, Marquis de Sade himself, if there ever was one.
She grabbed her iPod, the one small pleasure he did allow her to have in the cage with her, and placed the earbuds inside her ears. She found the music of Thirty Seconds to Mars thrilling—they were her favorite band and Jared Leto was so fucking hot. Her master reminded her of him with his dark hair and crystal blue eyes. They could be siblings as he bore a true resemblance to the sexy rock star. Plus, it seemed like Mr. Leto also wasn’t adverse to a bit of bondage and domination if the uncut video, “Hurricane”, revealed anything about his true personality.
She allowed herself to drift through This is War but by the time A Beautiful Lie began playing, she awoke again and felt the presence of someone at the cage door. She loved the album; it was her favorite and although her heart began to thump against her chest, she went back and forth between thinking about the album and what this person wanted to do to her.
The leather mask was ripped violently from her eyes and she stared at the blurred tall figure in black leather. She didn’t know if the person was a man or a woman as he or she was completely androgynous with their features covered by one of those hideous full-head leather masks. She instinctively knew it wasn’t her master or his brother but other than that, it could have been anyone.
The mystery person reached out and swiped at her neck. Her eyesight was blurry and no matter how hard she rubbed at her eyes, it wouldn’t clear up, however at the swipe, she’d instantly tried to avoid it and banged her head against the cage. Her head hurt but not as much as her neck and what was that warm, sticky wet stuff pouring down to decorate her naked breasts like a layer of scarlet paint?
She glanced down to see blood, her blood, and she tried to scream but it wasn’t the ball gag that stopped her this time. Her throat was sliced open, her jugular had been nicked and the blood continued to pour though she tried to hold both hands to her neck in an attempt to stop the flow of the precious life fluid from her body.
Time seemed to slow down and she eventually lay down on the floor while she listened to “Was it a Dream?” as the blood continued to flow from the wound.
There wasn’t a bright light or angels beckoning her to Heaven; she felt extremely lethargic instead and closed her eyes while the fatal slice in her neck burned into her skin with an all consuming fire. It took her less than ten minutes to die and she felt every agonizing moment of that time period. “Savior” was the final song she heard as the last dying breath escaped from her body before her eyes glazed, open and inert forever.