Текст книги "Bend"
Автор книги: Alessandra Torre
Соавторы: Ella James,K. Bromberg
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 41 страниц)
I begin to squirm again as everything increases and draws me toward what feels like the never-ending precipice of ecstasy. My fingers grip the sheets, my toes curl, and breath falters as the sparks of pleasure turn into a full-blown wildfire I can’t escape. Burned and bruised by the flames of desire, I have no option but to succumb to the heat pulsing within me. I whimper incoherently and shake my head back and forth as my body begins to collapse under the weight of release. My arms give and my face welcomes the cool sheet pressing against my cheek as he keeps my hips positioned to his liking.
His hips piston continuously for a few more moments, and then I hear the man who seems to always be in control groan out a guttural sound as his cock spasms inside of me. My shoulders push forward into the mattress while he draws out the last of his release. My eyes close, exhaustion overtaking me so that my only comprehension other than the lowering of my hips, is the kiss he presses to the space just above the swell of my ass. An oddly intimate action that normally I’d question, but my body sags and I succumb to the fatigue in my limbs.
I welcome the darkness the blindfold provides and allow myself to block out what his confusing display of tenderness says.
Chapter Five
I can hear him shuffling around the room. My head is groggy and my stomach is unsettled but my body is boneless, completely and utterly spent. I wait for him to tell me to get up or snap to, but he leaves me be. My back still burns subtly from the punishment he doled out, and the length of my sex is swollen and tender from his continuous usage. My hands are sore from clenching and gripping the sheets, my mind exhausted from trying to rationalize everything in my head. The contrast of feelings, the forced betrayal of my fidelity—everything—has me well beyond emotional overload.
I let the tears flow now, allow the guilt to pull me under as I try and figure out how I’m going to go back to being me when this is done. Because without a doubt, I know he’s going to let me go. I know he is going to get his fill and discard me. I don’t fear that he’ll brutalize me and leave me dead on the roadside somewhere, because even though he just put my body through the sexual wringer, he also did so with a misconstrued respect. Never going too far or stepping over what seems to be a predetermined boundary.
And he kissed me gently.
My head spins.
The merry-go-round of confusion is endless.
Since when does a guy abduct a woman, fuck her senseless, and then let her go? If I’m crazy for liking this, then he surpassed my lack of sanity miles ago.
Or orgasms.
The laughter comes now. Hysterical bouts of it that don’t belong in this room where consensual is not an option. It bubbles up and over. My mind and body succumb to the desperate sound in its tone, just needing a disruption from the exhaustive, unanswered questions.
And therein lies the problem. Yes he is holding me against my will—fucking me, pleasuring me, punishing me—but my God, I got off on it. What in the hell does that say about me?
I try to turn my mind off, try to allow myself a reprieve because I have no clue how long this is going to last and I’m spent. I just want to sleep, shut down the thoughts and questions I don’t want answers to right now. The answers that just might tell me I’m not the person I thought I was. The answers that might unravel the truths I don’t want to face.
Time lapses. I lose myself in trying not to think. And then I drift off.
I’m not sure for how long when I’m jolted from my slumbered state. A warm wash cloth runs over my inner thighs and then parts me gently, cautiously, cleaning me up. When he finishes, I’m chilled from the room’s air hitting my wet skin, but my attention is easily diverted to the dip of the bed and the feel of one of his hands whispering over my bare backside. I hold my breath immediately, the soft caress unexpected but welcome. A simple gesture of tenderness amidst his never-ending dominance. His hand trails languorously over my hip and then crosses over my back. My skin is still tender to the touch so I try not to flinch when he connects with the welts.
He murmurs something softly under his breath that I don’t understand. I tell myself to relax, to just accept his bewildering tenderness, but it’s hard to not anticipate another whip of leathered roses against my skin. I withdraw from my thoughts when his lips press against the indent between my shoulder blades, yet another show of affection. I work a swallow over the lump of confusion in my throat as the ache in my core flickers to life.
I try to fight it this time, tell myself that I don’t want this, want him or the burn that’s beginning to intensify as he laces contradictory kisses to the base of my neck. But my body has other thoughts. It betrays me when goose bumps chase in the wake of his tongue as it slowly slides down the length of my spine. I exhale audibly when he reaches the dimples of my lower back and keeps going.
His hands are suddenly on the curve of my ass, pushing me up to my knees so my shoulders press into the mattress and my hips are in the air. He unabashedly grabs the rounded globes and pulls them apart so that his tongue can descend with ease. I suck in a breath, my sex clenching tighter with every inch he covers. We both groan as his tongue licks around the rim. My muscles tense and my breath hitches as my nerve endings set ablaze from the potent combination of his touch and the forbidden notion of it.
I can feel myself becoming wet, can feel the ache intensifying as his tongue skims downward, his fingers firmly kneading my ass. I involuntarily press my hips backwards, a silent plea for more of what I’ve been told for a lifetime is dirty and wrong. A notion that I don’t care about in this moment because the hub of nerve endings he’s rimming begs for more—to be experimented and manipulated.
A chair scrapes across the floor on the other side of the room.
What in the hell? I’m jolted from the euphoric edge I can sense my body is climbing toward. My heart races and stops. His hands remain on me, possessive, but his face withdraws from the curve of my body.
“Ahhh, so you want to get a better view Marco, no?”
What? My pulse races, pounding a frantic tattoo as it roars through my ears. I want to tell it to shut the hell up so I can hear, so I can figure out who in the fuck is watching me?
Be forced.
Become pleasured.
“No!” I cry the word trying to process why my nipples harden and pussy throbs at the thought of being watched. Of having someone sitting there observing me be taken against my will. Why am I aroused beyond belief at the thought?
My captor chuckles low and mocking, and my every nerve stands on end. His hand fists in my hair, his voice an immediate growl in my ear. He pulls my head back so my neck is exposed and the heat of his body blankets across my back, seeps into any part of me that is chilled from the thought of an onlooker.
“No questions. No denials. Remember the rules?” His tongue traces around the shell of my ear—my surefire erogenous zone—and I fight the urge to shift my hips and relieve the pleasurable pain he’s relit. “Behave, mia bella.” The heat of his breath hits my ears, the brush of his lips such a stark contrast to the warning he delivers. “I’m going to fuck you. By the time I’m done, you’ll beg me to keep going. Then you’ll beg me to stop. Regardless, you’ll take what I give you—all of it—and you’ll enjoy every single fucking moment of it. And Marco is going to watch. Understood?”
The dominance of his words excites me. The notion that someone is going to watch evokes a potent mixture of uncertainty and provocation. I’m so lost in the idea of being taken, being fucked without preamble, along with the feeling of his hardening dick pressed against the crack of my ass that I don’t even realize I haven’t answered him. His hand closes over my exposed neckline and presses there, forcing my head back and snapping me from my thoughts.
I give an incoherent sound of consent just as I hear Marco move about the room. My ears strain and body attunes to the raw physicality of two men—one I can physically feel, the other I cannot—but both dominating nonetheless. My nipples tighten and skin chills under the scrutiny of eyes I can’t see but know are studying my body.
“Brava, ragazza,” he says to me, hand tightening ever so subtly. “This man handles your fate. He decides what happens next. I told you I won’t hurt you, that I’ll let you go when I’ve had my way with you … but if you disappoint him?” He makes a soft tsking sound. I try to swallow at this new development, but the angle of my neck makes it difficult.
A sliver of fear snakes through me.
The hand on my throat slowly slides down over my collarbone as my thoughts race faster than my heart. His hand finds my breasts and palms one of them pressing its weight up against my chest and squeezes.
“If you don’t make it worth his while,” he chuckles, low and deep. His hand retraces its path back up so that he can insert two fingers into my mouth, forcing me to taste my arousal from earlier. “Well then all bets are off.”
I cry out as his free hand slaps my ass hard. The sting reverberates through my body and into my sex with a resonating effect. My hands grip the sheets as his fingers press down against my tongue and hold it still. I feel him move, the bed shifts, the heat of his body leaves mine—skin sliding over skin—and then the mattress moves again as he brings his face close enough so that his nose bumps against mine.
If I thought I felt vulnerable before, it’s tenfold now. At least I know the man in front of me doesn’t really want to hurt me, but the man at my back? Now he scares me.
His hold on my mouth tightens as he tilts my head up some to what I can assume is the same angle as his. “I’m going to kiss you now. I’m going to see if this mouth of yours tastes just as sweet as your pussy does. You will not bite me. You will kiss me back.” He leans forward and presses a pseudo kiss to my lips, slightly hindered by the placement of his fingers. His breath feathers over my lips as he pulls back. “And then I’m going to prepare you for what you want but refuse to admit.” He removes his fingers ever so slowly, drawing them down so my bottom lip pulls down with their descent. When my mouth is unhindered, his mouth meets mine, firm lips with a soft tongue pressing between. I hesitate allowing him access, giving him something that for some reason seems so much more intimate than everything else he’s done to me.
I feel myself weaken, allow myself to kiss him back and welcome his tongue dancing intimately with mine. I suddenly crave this connection, need to feel like there is something more, need to feel like there is a justification for all of these unexpected emotions and unequivocal acceptance of the situation I’m in. I turn myself over to it—to him—because it’s easier to focus on him and the tenderness he’s showing me than to focus on my captivity or the voyeur watching us, waiting to stake his claim someway, somehow.
He loosens his grip from my chin, his rough fingertips rasping across the line of my jaw. I moan softly into the kiss, tears welling in my closed eyes at the irony in the reverence of his touch for just a moment before the guilt starts to eat at me. I begin to question how I can turn myself over so easily to another man—regardless of circumstances, regardless of the bindings holding me hostage—when Anderson has been it for me for over fifteen years. I start to drown in the thought when I feel a finger trace the swollen flesh between my thighs.
I yelp, startled and unnerved that this person who I’m told likes to watch, now appears to like to touch too. And my head is so messed up with everything that I don’t think properly, his unexpected touch pulls my thoughts and my mouth from our kiss. I try to scoot closer to the man in front of me. It’s almost as if I’m looking toward the man who brought me here to protect me from the threat I feel of Marco at my back. A hand lands sharply on my ass in reprimand. This time the force is much harder than before and the sting is sharp and distinct beneath his resting palm.
Hands suddenly frame my face as my captor kisses me again, but this time with a commanding desperation. His tongue delves, teeth nip, and mouth takes more from me. All the while Marco slides his hands back and forth over my backside. I try and concentrate on the movement over my still singing flesh, but my mind is overwhelmed from the claim being staked on my mouth.
Marco’s fingertips move—two fingers paralleling each other—sliding down the curve of my ass to the tops of my thighs. They stop and slide inward until I can feel them trace over the moisture at my entrance. My body tenses, my mind having trouble which sensation to focus on.
My captor relents his possession of my mouth, and I suck in a breath of air trying to gain some semblance of balance. And the few seconds I have to do just that are stolen when I feel the head of his dick press between my parted lips the same time as Marco slides his fingers into me. I gasp out at the feeling and his dick slips farther into my mouth predicated by his carnal groan from above me.
My mind flashes to the thoughts I had previously of biting him if he tried this. How he taunted me, told me I’d beg for this. His taste fills my mouth as he presses deeper into me, hitting the back of my throat before pulling slowly back out.
My captor’s hand fists my hair, holding my head still as he fucks my mouth while Marco’s hand grips the flesh on my hips and fingers me in a matching rhythm. My body rides this libidinous high as I’m worked into a frenzy, the sound of pleasure emanating from both men filling the room along with the slick sounds of my sex being worked.
I’m breathless, overwhelmed, and underequipped to process the onslaught of sensations wracking through my body. My thighs tremble above where my knees are pressed into the bed, and my hands are desperate for the freedom to grip his shaft. The men continue their ministrations, pleasure increasing and my body falling under the spell of unwanted desire. I feel him swell and harden to steel in my mouth, and he suddenly withdraws, the bed dipping as he drops down in front of me. His mouth on mine again momentarily as Marco’s fingers stop moving but remain idly inside of me.
My captor pulls back from my lips again as I adjust my hips to try and ease the need anchoring me. I can feel his breath on my face as if he’s staring at me, and I can’t shake the feeling that he’s trying to tell me something even though I can’t see his eyes. He shifts, the bed sways, and his finger trails from my shoulder and down my spine in that way he has as he maneuvers himself behind me.
I suck in a breath, my conflicting emotions raging inside of me, and I can’t help but tuck my hips forward as anticipation suffocates the air around me. His fingertip stops and presses at the top of my tailbone, and a low hum of approval sounds in the back of his throat. Feet shuffle, Marco’s fingers withdraw from my wetness, and words are spoken softly between the two men that I wouldn’t understand even if I could hear them.
Two hands grip either side of my hips, my breath quickening and possibilities flickering through my mind. He spreads me apart and cool air comingles with the pooling moisture. “You want this don’t you, bella Lilly? Look at your pussy quiver and ass pucker in anticipation. Fuck that’s sexy. Makes me want to claim every single part of you,” he says as one hand releases my hip and his finger trails back down over every inch of skin to my clit and then back up.
I hear the click of a bottle and startle as I feel the cool liquid pour over me. My body vibrates with arousal and fear—of another thing that I’ve always wanted to try—and I bow my head and wait. I feel fingers spread the lubricant up and down the seam of my core and then stop. My breath shudders and my nipples tighten instantly when I feel the tip of his finger press against my tight rim and into me. My muscles fight to reject him and the slight discomfort his entrance brings, but he just holds still, allowing me to adjust.
“Ahhh,” he sighs as I feel like my breath has been robbed. After a moment he starts to move his finger slowly in and out, soft noises of appreciation emanating from behind me as I talk myself into relaxing. “I need to prepare you, bella. Open you up. And then you’re going to get fucked. Have you ever been filled? Have you ever felt two cocks moving inside of you? Rubbing against one another as they make you come?”
I moan out at the dark promise of his words and at the slight sting as he pulls out and pushes two fingers into me to stretch me farther. I’m just about used to the feeling when the head of his dick rests against the entrance to my sex, taunting me with possibilities of what’s to come. He leaves it resting there—a tantalizing torture for me to crave—before he begins to move his fingers again at a faster pace.
My head hangs down, my hair tickling my cheeks as it falls over the blindfold, and I absorb everything that’s being awakened within me. I’m not sure what I expected, but I don’t feel much, and then when he thrusts his cock into my pussy and his fingers begin to move again, two worlds of sensations crash together. His forward movements push his fingers in farther and the hum in the back of my throat involuntarily comes out as my muscles begin to loosen and accept.
He rides me in a slow and steady cadence that allows me to feel every ridge of his crest as he slides in and back against my slick walls. I lose myself—my thoughts, my guilt, my resistance—in the calming rhythm of his body owning mine. My breasts jostle forward each time his hips connect with the backs of my thighs and urges the ache to burn a little stronger, a little deeper.
His other hand smooths across my ass, but it’s the feel of a pointed tip of an object firm yet soft that pulls my mind from the haze of mounting pleasure. He runs the object slowly over one side of my buttocks and then rolls it across my lower back so I can feel the unmistakable shape of the plug before he continues down the other side. He then glides the point slowly up between my legs and around his cock and fingers buried within me, a taunting foreplay of what comes next.
My captor continues to trace imaginary lines with the plug over and over, my mind becoming so used to the feeling, the heightened awareness of its course that I begin to fall back under the rhythm of my building orgasm. And it’s when I do this, when I allow myself to succumb to the barrage of sensation within caused by his skillful cock, that he pulls his fingers out and pushes the plug inside of me. Because it’s a little larger, a little harder, it causes the abundance of nerves there to sing in resistance for a moment.
My body tenses at the lasting burn, earning me a tsk from him. “Relax. Don’t fight it, bella.” He stills his hips and presses the plug in even farther until it fits within my rim and my muscles flex around it. My eyes sting from the quick sear of pain, but before I can wriggle my hips away from him, his hands dig into the curves of my ass and squeeze possessively as he slams into me, the slap of skin on skin a mix with his guttural groan. I forget that there is someone else in the room, forget the threat to find pleasure and enjoy, because that option was a forgone conclusion the minute he thrust inside of me.
And this time as he works my pussy over and over, my muscles begin to clench around him and the overabundance of nerves stretched around the plug light everything on fire a little stronger, a lot more intense. The warmth begins to surge through my body, thoughts, desires, and pleasure—all colliding in a perfect storm of sensation that I’ve lost the fight to resist. My shoulders sag, my elbows give way, and my chest and shoulders press into the mattress beneath me, giving him one hundred percent control to manipulate my sex.
And even though I’d felt the buildup of my orgasm, when it hits me, when my body seizes with the catastrophic depths of pleasure that pulse through my core and reverberate through my every fiber, I’m stunned speechless at the unfettered intensity of it. My body writhes uncontrollably, my lips part with a moan, and goose bumps blanket my body despite the heat holding me hostage.
“So beautiful, so responsive,” he murmurs as he stills within me and caresses the curve of my ass. I slowly reawaken from my post-orgasmic coma and recognize the unmistakable sounds of Marco stroking himself beside me. I’m immediately on alert, my synapses firing despite still being drugged from the orgasm’s intoxication. The awareness of his presence, of the knowledge that he is here getting off watching us, leaves me feeling vulnerable, ashamed.
“Are you ready?”
My head jolts up at my captor’s voice, unsure which of us he’s speaking to. I exhale slowly, waiting in silent impatience as my captor withdraws from me. The sudden emptiness is unwelcome and unexpected, but I bite back the groan of disapproval because I have a feeling he is no longer the one in control, Marco is.
“What is your choice? Entrambi sono la perfezione.” His hands leave my skin, the plug still remaining, and I hear the floorboards creak as he steps back. His chuckle resonates in the room in a response I can’t see. “As you wish,” he says and I work a swallow down my throat as I wait to learn the ramifications of that statement.
I cry as my hips are grabbed roughly and jerked up in the air. I instinctively angle my head back to try and see what’s happening—my mind so occupied on what’s next, I forget the blindfold covering my eyes. I feel someone move between my parted legs, and my sight isn’t needed to understand what happens next. I’m forced up on my elbows as a body slides beneath me and up the mattress, bare flesh grazing just barely against my hypersensitive skin. I suck in a breath as he shudders one out when my nipples slide over his chest as he positions himself. I feel tugging at my ankle restraints and then feel the tension ease the strain on my legs. I pull my legs in closer, relieved to have more freedom and find them framing the torso beneath me. I flex my hips, the plug slightly uncomfortable as it remains within me.
Who is beneath me and who is behind me?
My mind works furiously trying to calm myself as nerves hum and anxiety ratchets to new heights. I know what is going to happen next, have always wondered what it would be like, but now that I’m here in the moment, I’m nervous. I never figured I’d actually talk Anderson into trying this, and obviously, I never expected if I did get the chance that I’d be bound and blindfolded.
Chills dance up my spine as my breasts brush against the chest beneath me, and I still as hands frame my jaw. “Are you ready?” my captor murmurs into my ear. I sag in relief, thankful again that he is the one beneath me, the one near my face, because Marco unnerves me. I’ve formed a misconstrued trust with my captor, but in this situation filled with unknowns, I know he may have started all of this, but he has also kept his word to me thus far.
I exhale a shaky breath and nod subtly as I feel Marco brush against me from behind. “Bella, do you have any idea how gorgeous you look right now? How jealous your husband should be that I get to fuck you when you look like this? Nipples tight, pussy dripping, wax hardened, and my marks on your back? Does he know you need this? Need to be tested? Dominated? Filled? Used? Fucked within an inch of exhaustion?”
A strangled sound comes from my throat—part sob, part desperation—when he refers to Anderson. I don’t want him mentioned, don’t want to be reminded of the kindhearted man I am betraying. No, that I’m being forced to betray. My body vibrates for more, but my head begins to win the battle, the guilt returning full force. The tears well and my limbs tremble as his hands run down the sides of my torso, rough calluses against my smooth skin.
He slides his hands down to my hips and guides them forward before releasing one hand. I immediately feel the crest of his cock swipe over my clit, separating the flesh there, and positioning himself at my entrance. Marco’s hands grab hold of my hips from behind, and slowly pushes me down so that my captor’s cock fills me at an agonizingly slow pace. My body shudders at the sensation, nerves raked over, and swollen muscles unable to resist the re-ignition of desire. Fingers reach down and apply lubricant gently around where we are joined and then back up to where the plug still remains.
“Are you ready?” he whispers beneath me as his hands guide my shoulders forward, my breasts now pressed against his chest to give Marco better access.
The wings of panic begin to flutter anew, fear fanning it as I feel his fingers grip onto the base of the plug and begin to remove it. The mewling sound I make is involuntary, my heart thudding—that potent mixture of the unknown and the wanting to know messing with my head more than it already is.
The plug slips out and my whole body tenses when I feel a generous amount of lubricant applied. I suck in my breath, emotions warring, body anticipating, and ache intensifying while I sit in that suspended state of time between fingers leaving my skin and waiting for the next contact.
The head of his cock presses against my forbidden entrance, and Anderson flashes through my mind causing a sob to tear through my throat. This isn’t how I want this. I mean, I want this—to try this—but with Anderson, my husband … not forced and …
My body tremors and the tears fall. I start to struggle away, start to try and fight against this, against him. My shout fills the room. Hands grip my shoulders and pull me tightly against my captor’s chest. His arms hold me there, my hips wriggling—pleasure I don’t want presenting itself as my clit moves against the length of his cock still within me.
“Don’t fight us.” His voice is a demand in my ear. “You want this. We want this.” I resist again as Marco presses against my unrelenting muscles. “We’re going to claim that virgin ass of yours. Going to fuck you, one hole for each of us. Going to make you realize just how good it feels to be that dirty little whore you want to be … you fight to deny.”
I begin to shift again but this time it’s because no matter how overwhelming the situation is—how much I don’t want to be at the mercy of two men I can’t even see—I’m dripping in moisture. My desire to continue more than evident as it slides out of me and over our connection.
I hold onto the inexplicable and misguided sense of trust that I feel with the man who began this whole bizarre situation. I grasp onto the now and not the why as Marco’s dick pushes into me. The searing pain assaults me when he forces his head through the tight ring of unforgiving muscles.
My eyes water and I shout out at the indescribable pain. My body bucks in resistance as both men use their hands to hold me still.
“Hold on. Once his head’s in, we’ll let you adjust,” he almost croons to me against the riot of noise filling my head. “Don’t make me gag you,” he warns when I don’t stop.
I bite my lip to turn the shouts to whimpers, and I’m so focused on the threat of the gag that it takes me a moment to realize that the sting is dissipating. I even out my breathing as the rest of the pain fades and I feel fingers applying more lube. And then Marco ever so slowly starts to move. He pushes farther into me and the breath I’ve just evened out gets stolen.
The orgasm rips through me at a lightning fast pace. I don’t have time to wonder if it’s the million nerve endings hidden within the ring Marco just pulled on, or the idea of doing something others had always called taboo, or if it actually feels good because the intensity with which my release hits rivals no other climax I’ve ever experienced.
I couldn’t fight the pleasure that violently rips through me even if I wanted to. My legs clench into the hips they frame, my feet curl, my mouth falls open, but I’m so overwhelmed with the overabundance of different sensations I can’t utter a sound. My breath is held hostage by the pleasure edged with pain, and I don’t even realize it, don’t even attempt to find it, as my pussy clamps down and muscles pulse rhythmically around both cocks filling me. And I don’t know if it’s being stretched—filled so incredibly full—but my orgasm rages on, my body tremoring and head lost to the orgasmic haze.
And then they start to move.
My breath comes back. The twinge of pain is still there, but my adrenaline is on such a high, the ache that should be sated is already ratcheting upwards. I think I moan, I don’t even know because all I smell is peppermint, all I feel is pleasure, all I want is more.
The push and pull of one dick moving in while the other moves out. The feel of them rubbing together through the thin interior wall between them. One pair of hands on my hips, the other holding me down. The pants of exertion and slick sound of lubed flesh being worked. Every single thing assaults my senses, drags me under yet has me on edge, waiting, wanting, willing to come again.
To take what I want for the first time in so very long.
Anderson flickers through my mind, and I push him away. I can’t have him here right now, can’t think of him while feeling all of this, because then I’d have to admit that this is what I want.
This is what I need.
That this is that little bit more …
