Page 45 of Be Careful What You Wish For

He plunged one, two, three fingers into the juices flowing from her cunt. So wet, so achingly needy. Her clit was already swollen, the pulse pumped against his hand; take me... take me... take me it sang, in words that had become their song.

Her body was speaking to him. They both knew it. He had her right there in the palm of his hand. She was his. He could do whatever he pleased. She would obey without question.

But then suddenly he withdrew. She recoiled, hurt by his rejection, stunned and confused he wasn’t going to take things further. He could read her mind so well. Her thoughts crisscrossed like balls of different coloured wools. Wasn’t she good enough? Was there something wrong... with her, not with him? Why was he pulling away? Why did he not take what she was offering, that which already belonged to him?

A silent scream trembled its way to the surface. Her body was shaking, out of control. She wanted so desperately to be held, to be special, to feel woman, to be loved, just to know she could be loved for who and what she was.

Unwilling to break the connection, believing somehow she was reading the message wrong, she again laid her head trustingly on his shoulder. She sneaked a hand down his trousers to explore the bulge, unzipping, clasping, holding firm, pumping up and down, up and down, her head moving, mouth open, tongue reaching to lick the tip of his cock, to slide it willingly into her... accepting... wanting... needing to give... to please...

He cut her off mid-flow. She tried to regain access but he zipped it away, grabbing her hair and pulling her head back to his shoulder. Again that lost look of an abandoned child needing desperately to be nurtured, shaped, moulded - to be taken in love. She deserved so much better, better than he could give, and yet...

She didn’t know. She didn’t understand. A part of her past was in her now. She’d brought it with her; the pain alongside the pleasure she craved so much. Pain was also a vital part of her need. Someone such as he offered the right combination. He could use it wisely and well. He knew her better than she did herself. He understood. He had the experience also, the same awful abusive past, and because he knew and understood and shared the experience he could take and make her rise, like a beautiful phoenix from the ashes of that past, teaching her how to let go, to be free, to become reborn. Richard couldn’t do that for her. Only he had the wisdom of years, because it was something he had to do for himself; to learn to take control. Some people called him a bastard. Others knew him as a switch. He understood it as surviving, clawing back what had been taken from him.

He left her then and her thoughts played havoc, teasing, taunting, just as he hoped they would. Sometimes the abstinence of action was far better than anything he could do himself.

He returned in the early hours of the morning and her mood was very different. Now she was a blank canvas waiting to be spread with a vibrant blend of colours to bring out the sensuous emotions caught in the tangled web of her mind.

Hands on her neck he pulled her to him, kissing her on that place which spiralled tingles down her spine. Her full red lips parted, opened, widened, gasping at the pleasure just that small act always brought. He penetrated with his tongue, clutching handfuls of hair to drag her head back, holding her against him. She was pliable, writhing, aching with need; the kind of need which went too deep for self-pleasure, needing another to coax it, drawing it from that place where it had lain hidden for too long... out of reach, out of touch... waiting on the one who knew.

He lashed her wrists behind her, not sparing the ropes or caring about the cruelty he inflicted, knowing they bit deep. Her shoulders strained, neck craned, pushing out her breasts to a position where even the shy one could not hide. He lingered, knowing she would not stop him, pinching, twisting, hurting each nipple between forefinger and thumb.

Using vac cups he tied her breasts so they became bulbous. Quickly they reddened, becoming hard as the blood was partially constricted. They didn’t look pretty any more, but hell, were they a turn on! His cock was like rock; throbbing, needing, aching to feel the warm soft willing wetness of her cunt. It added to the growing excitement, giving it an edge. It was time for something different.

Pushing her roughly to her knees in front of him, knowing she could not help herself because of the ropes that bound, he again dragged back her head, pulling by the hair, forcing her lips apart and pushing his cock directly into her mouth. He fucked her back and forth... back and forth... back and forth. He had no mercy. This was going to be hard and fast, and yet not so fast that he couldn’t pleasure himself along the way.

Predictably she gagged. Suddenly she was trying to pull away, uncertain as pictures of another place, another time, another man seared her memory with his red hot poker... hurting, jarring, clashing with the present and the man who held her now.

Her eyes closed, squeezing tears between the lids. They were silent tears. Her pain was her own, which she would not, could not share.

He knew it would come, and he was ready. They had talked and shared too often for him not to know. He knew her past as well as he knew his own. She had given herself to him in total trust for just this reason; to take and own control over the past as well as the present, and to finally let it go, to expunge what had been.

He was doing this now for her as well as for himself. This after all was the role he played in her life. She was his responsibility and it was his duty to see her right, to take care of his charge. The sub in him was working together with the sadist. They took it in turns, and right now it was the sub in him that was in tune with her sub, remembering the way it was, knowing the way it would be.

He watched the war going on inside her head as her thoughts caught between past and present, like a pendulum, ticking the years back and forth, back and forth, unable to decide where to draw breath or to finally find rest. She was clawing against him, her body held taut by the unforgiving ropes, while from her mouth came mewing noises like a kitten frightened and lost, seeking comfort and strength from a parent.

Completely ignoring her distress as the distraction it had become, he made her take the totality of his cock all the way into her throat. Her head twisted frantically this way, then that, wrestling with him, frantic to get free of the grip he had on her hair. But her attempts were futile. She should simply give it up and enjoy the experience when it came. But instead she tried another tack, using her tongue to bar passage.

For long moments she held firm while he butted and strained, trying to get his cock past the block and further down her throat. And she knew she couldn’t hold the intruder back for long. They both knew the outcome, and the punishment that had to follow.

His fist became cruel, uncaring, unresponsive, curling her hair around it, drawing her face tight against the very thing she was trying to break away from. His cock was swollen and pulsing and hard. Her face was streaked with tears. Eyes peeked up at him, begging, pleading, willing him to release her, to let her go. But then, this was what she was there for; to learn, to grow, to reach beyond, to finally let go of the past and give it all to him.

In the beginning, when she first arrived at the island, and then again more recently, they had talked about these things, and she had been so willing then to offer herself to him.

‘If I try to stop you at any point, please, don’t let me. Please, even when images from the past haunt me please, keep going. Please do this for me.’ She had begged him and he wasn’t going to let her down. She was depending on him to stay strong.

Slowly she was relaxing into him. There, now that was trust, true trust, the gi

ving of herself to him. She’d known it wouldn’t be easy. She knew he could be hard. It was the reason he’d been chosen by Richard, after all, to be the one to guide and teach her. Trust between them secured a safe passage.

Now he held her there on a whisper, the real fun could begin.

Without warning he pushed her head to the floor, grinding her face in the carpet. The familiar thrill of control surged through his veins like lifeblood. He had a driving urge which filled him, of being able to do what he wanted with her. He was a sadist. That part of him had kicked in. She was but a pawn in his game. Her feelings mattered little, if at all. She was there to serve. That was her Calling, her sole mission in life. She had been taught well. She understood the outcome. They were but opposite ends of the spectrum working as one. He needed her every bit as she needed him. It was the way Master/slave, Dom/sub, submissive/sadist worked. One could not be without the other. This was the symbiotic relationship they shared.

Still with handfuls of hair clumped in his fist he straddled her arse, feeling her buttocks rise high. With hands roped tight behind her back the ropes tightened and bit while her knuckles became white as he fucked her doggy style, for no other reason than he could.

The feeling of power was incredible. He felt Master; strong... invincible. There was nothing like it in the world, having a slave beneath him, riding her for all he was worth, feeling her arse grip around his cock, good and tight. He let go her head and took hold of her buttocks as they writhed in a frenzy, caught up in the heat of the moment. She was enjoying it too. That was only right. Just as long as she remembered he was in control, and it was his decision to take the action where it needed to go, and her along with it.

In a moment of rashness he paused to untie the ropes that bound, allowing her the freedom to move unrestricted. Her gasps of relief were audible, but there was an ulterior motive.

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