He watched as Annette dressed, filament fine stockings drawn on with protective gloves as the roughness of bare fingers would ladder the knit instantly, clipped to the garters of the girdle, beige tinted elastic panels containing and lifting her, smoothing the child worn belly, hoisting her breasts and pushing her ribs down. Like a woman of his class letting herself be seen with a bare face, as an unmarried man it was another mystery Annette had initiated him into, the hooks and straps that held the daughters, mothers and wives of great men ridged backed and tight around the abdomen, each point of restraint giving just enough that the body could move, but collaborating together to hold the woman up so no muscle could let itself rest untightened or sigh and shrug could excuse a slouch.
I’ve got a fetish, and it’s not for men who are super polite in the bedroom. I like it when they swear. There’s something particularly thrilling about a foul mouth when it hurts.
Don’t get me wrong, the whole suppressed grunts and whimpering and carrying on has a special place in my heart too… but give me a man who curses like a sailor when the cruelty starts and you’ll have me following him around glassy eyed, in a lemming like fashion.
It’s even hot when you’re not even doing anything that nasty. It feels like you’ve impressed him. Shocked him out of coherence.
“Oh fuck, Miss!” feels so good the instant it escapes his mouth.
Check this out by Ferns:
I move down your chest to your left nipple. I lick it, suck it into my mouth, nibbling at it, then lapping gently with the flat of my tongue. I close my teeth around your flesh and pull at it, applying some pressure. It’s hard. I grab the peg and pull the skin of your nipple forward, closing the peg on it.
I watch your face register the pain, my stomach flipping over as you bite your lip. You are trying to be stoic. I wait for you to swear.
“…Fucking fuck fuck…”
I grab your head and pull your mouth to mine, wanting to swallow your words, I kiss you aggressively and your angry mouth returns the kiss hard, taking my breath. So fucking hot, I’m making soft inarticulate noises into your mouth.
Pure bloody joy (and the rest of her writing is pretty hot too!).
There’s also a certain delight in bedroom trash talk. The protests of a man defeated: “Oh, you evil bitch.” “You’re fucking cruel, Miss!”
I eat it up like candy and it’s a hundred times better than “Goddess!” or any permutation of the worshiping script. Don’t you dare wax lyrical about my sacred cunt. I’m the bitch, the scourge, and your damnation. I hurt, and scratch and bite. I slap and I strike. I know I’m at my happiest when my sadism is bearing down on you. I want it to be awful and evil and I want your curses because they feel real.
On the other side of the new year, when the short, sharp winter ran frost traces in the gaps of the brick sidewalks of the capital, and everyone who could afford it wore their furs pulled tight against the cold, Phillip found himself deferentially following after Annette through the fashionable shopping district. He wore the uniform coat of a member of the Harrington household, and found himself as over looked and ignored by people who knew Annette, just as they ignored her bodyguards and other attendants.
Change had come a piece at a time, starting with a bookcase that had appeared in his little room the day after the house party, and followed by access to paper and pencils, and then a regular supply of necessities and amusements. The gift of an under bed trunk meant had choice in his clothes, instead of garments appearing in the arms of a servant according to Annette’s immediate whim, and his unoccupied time had a small measure of freedom to choose his own pursuits. There was even limited freedom to leave his room and walk in selected parts of the house.
Annette came back early, more tired than the shortness of her ride justified. After the tedious business of side saddle mounting, a horse with a lame foot and some worry about the possibility of rain, the women had only been able to follow the trail to the point that it crossed the road, and there they’d been met by a soldiers’ checkpoint. They had no issues with the matter of identification or the acceptance of their papers, but the soldiers had turned them away anyway, citing danger to life and limb.
The ongoing insurrection had been particularly loud that week, derailing a train, blowing up police stations, and recently, leaving an informer crucified in the middle of the little village about eight miles away. A little gathering of respectable ladies, no matter how well chaperoned by their guards, were far too tempting a target for the soldiers to be willing to risk and the armed and armoured men made grovelling apologies, especially in light of who Annette’s father had been. She could have pressed the point, if she’d wished, but she saw the wisdom in the soldier’s caution and agreed with their decision. And so the pre-dinner entertainment was a write off and each woman retired to her own pursuits: Agatha into a fashion video downloaded straight from the runways of the capital, and Patricia went for a walk around the grounds with Pitor as an escort.
Vitaly was braced against the heavy wooden table, buttocks separated by the intrusion of Maria’s mercifully slim arm. He was making deep, guttural noises , repetitive grunts that came out “..ut!…ut!…ut!”
Each wrist was clamped into a cuff and fixed to the opposite legs of the table, keeping Vitaly’s chest flat with the plastic covered wood. Maria’s shoulder drove her arm back and forth in a straight line, with the steady rhythm of a rock breaker.
The tawdry underpants were abandoned in a small heap on the floor, but Vitaly makeup had been refreshed, more pink and red with the subtlety and detail of a four year old’s colouring book. Phillip knew, from observation, that Maria’s hand was clenched into a fist and that minimal amounts of lubrication had allowed her to wiggle first two fingers, then her pointed hand up to her knuckles, and finally her clenched grip.
The ropes were a dirty dun colour, thin, but wound several times around his body in rippled bands so that the bite of one cord was negated by its sisters. Such comforts gave him the full ability to concentrate on the hanging weights and the cross linked cords that made each of the four men intimately connected and gave them one contact point with the ground.
Annette sat just above his groin, her bodice in disarray and her skirt in crumpled folds to that her lace covered legs were fully exposed. She was pinching, all over his skin, where there weren’t freshly sealed cuts from his last misadventure. Her hands would grab a patch of skin and yank hard until he groaned and this would make her twist on top of him, pushing her pelvis hard and scrubbing back and forth.
Phillip remained inert under her grinding, letting her use his body like dough, pummelling and kneading it. She pulled his ears, put her fingernail into the delicate skin just inside his ear canal and bit his lip when she kissed him. Cruelty begat cruelty, her nails raked his neck and shoulders and she slapped his face.
Slapping carried its own sort of pain, so close to the eyes that it picked tears out of their ducts, despite his acceptance. He’d let his whole body go flaccid, surrendering to whatever she was intending until her barrage of hurt ended, but every time she slapped he had to scrunch up his face and move his jaw.
“Adam, darling?” Annette had her hand around his neck, but she’d stopped hitting him.
“Please, my Lady, is this my punishment for losing tonight?”
“No, I gave you a choice. You are mine and I simply draw satisfaction from seeing you suffer. I am very happy with you.” She gave him a slow, tender kiss.
“Yes, my Lady,” Phillip closed his eyes. His body was tired and he stung all over.
“But Adam, really…” She was wistful.
“I’m sorry, my Lady?”
“Kiss me back. You are my lover and companion. So act like it.”
“I didn’t know I was allowed to, my Lady.”
“This was the whole point. I own you to enjoy.”
Phillip craned his head up, not daring to put his hand on her. Their mouths met.
“Undress me like the lover you are supposed to be.”
It took him a moment to figure out the closures on her dress, undoing the hook capped zipper that peeled down to let the stiffly cut dress fall away from her body. The fabric was the most muted shade of red possible, more brown than scarlet and heavy, but still the loudest thing he’d ever seen her wear. Her slip was white and soft, covering the brassier that kept her breasts in the fashionable level and the fastenings on her lace stockings.
“You wore another colour, today, my Lady” Phillip left the dress laid out beside them, pulling the net and pins out of her long hair.
“I was feeling less confined,” Annette drew him against her breasts. “Blue is for work and quiet, at home. Adam, I will use you some more.”
His arousal was reticent, not from lack of want for her body but from the previous and lingering pain. Annette seemed unperturbed, taking her time to get him ready. She brought his hand to her groin and he felt she was saturated, and showed him how to crook two fingers inside her the way she liked and circle her clitoris around until she was breathing in and out, with the same ferocious lust that rose up when she hurt him. When he mustered a passable erection, she took it, awkwardly finding the right position by first mounting and rocking her hips and then switching to a squat.
This time she did the work, vigorous and rapid. Her hands were back on his throat. “Tell me how it feels?”
“Good, my Lady, good.”
Phillip saw her flushed face, loose hair tangling and falling in the way. She brushed it aside. “Don’t reassure me, tell me when it feels good and when it hurts.”
The hand on his neck was just enough to make him aware that she could cut off his air, but not enough to strangle. She took her time, patient with his timorous libido, coaxing out his lust until he was able to muster an orgasm.
Feeling the sperm wash into her, she let herself stay lodged firmly down on his cock until he finished his spasms. Under her tutoring he had begun to touch her, tentatively stroking what he could reach as they fucked. Still aroused, she levered herself up and off and knee walked the length of his body.
Phillip felt her hover over him, before he felt the release of their mixed coupling land on his neck and chin.
“Prettier on you than on the bed sheets,” Annette said by way of explanation.
She made him take a hot shower with her in the guest bathroom; a smaller room than her lavish bathroom in the Harrington country house, but still large and almost excessively decorated, with green flecked marble surfaces and gold worked into the surface of the pipes and taps. Annette was gentle as she soaped down his body and worked a lather into his hair, but the least little motion of his head was still restricted by her hands.
He could feel the pads of her fingers pressing into her scalp, finger combing and focusing on the sensitive edge of his hairline and behind his ears. Annette stood behind him so the majority of the hot water hit his skin, letting him relax against her body.
“You’re going to sleep beside me, tonight. I can’t have you all sweaty and tacky to touch.”
He looked down to undo the buttons on his vest, and loosen his tie, before buttons on his shirt. If he didn’t look anywhere but his hands, it made it less humiliating, though every woman in the room was watching as he revealed more of his naked skin. He followed Annette’s usual preference and folded the silk vest after he’d taken it off, and then the starched linen shirt, leaving the silver cufflinks atop the pile. Maria stopped her pulling, leaving Vitaly a moment’s respite.
Clamps bit into the little bumps of his nipples and everywhere on his chest that she pinched and clipped off, choosing a more random distribution than the neat stripes of pain Maria had inflicted on her fiancé.
Phillip looked at Annette’s hands as she worked, accepting the discomfort but trying to keep his vocalizations to a minimum. He was quickly decorated with as many clamps as Vitaly, and then Annette made a spider’s web with more ribbon, starting on his belly and looping everything together.
Annette stroked his face. “Good boy, Adam, I was sure we’d have to restrain you.”
“Thank you,” Phillip knew what was coming next.
She started by tugging just on the individual toothed mouths, giving little shots of pain as the stretched and bit into his skin, and then pulling more than one pinch, using the ribbons. When they’d been on his skin for a while, she grabbed the skin next to the clamp and released it for a second, fluttering on the spot so it gnawed.
Hissing and grunting became yelping. Annette was in front of him, biting her lip and breathing slowly. “Were it not for propriety, I could kiss you now,” she whispered. “You’re so handsome in this little bit of pain. Oh Adam, are you going to scream? ”
“Thank you,” Phillip repeated, tightening the muscles in his core and kneeling straight upright like a pillar. “No, I think I can bear it.”
“Oh please,” Maria’s wheedle broke in. “Let me do something?”
“What is it, dear?” Annette put her hand on Maria’s arm, swallowing back some of her lust. “Don’t neglect Mr. Yardley.”
“Let’s have a tug of war! Until one cries off!”
He and Vitaly faced off, each little metal spot of pain tied to a corresponding clamp on the other male. Maria was behind her fiancé, hands on his shoulders and looking across at him, while he could feel Annette’s hands on his forehead and throat, tilting his head back.
“So, what do you think, Adam, do you want to win this?” Annette whispered in his ear. “Mr. Yardley is going to have to pay some sort of forfeit if he loses and I know you are tougher and outweigh him.”
“Win this, Vitya, or there’s going to be more time on the bench!” Maria’s unrestrained zeal made her shout in her fiancé’s ear, “though maybe a slut like you would see that as a reward. More time stretching?”
“What do you want?” The metal teeth were starting to tear his skin. “My Lady?”
“Your comfort, darling. Maria doesn’t care as long as she sees someone humiliated, though personally I see you as private property. But it wouldn’t bother me to see you lose; I just wondered if you wanted the responsibility for Vitaly getting gang raped.”
“Come on, Miss Maria, be fair. Let your fiancé be a man!” Patricia spoke from her comfortable chair. “Make him pull!”
Annette’s hands relaxed, stroking his shoulders. “This is not a mind game, this is pain.”
Phillip felt the lack of Annette’s presence as she stood up and joined Maria off to the side. Without the two women tugging on them, the two men locked eyes. Vitaly was scared, his makeup smeared past recognition and his hands clenched into fists.
“Mr. Yardley, pull” Phillip said quietly.
“I am!” Vitaly said through clenched teeth, so quietly that it was almost inaudible.
Phillip knew he was putting on a good show. They both leaned backwards, edging away to the limits their flesh would let them. Further trickles of blood came from the stretching bite of the pin sharp metal teeth. The women were leaning in, as was Patricia’s Pitor.
The first clip pulled off his flesh, opening up a channel in the skin where the heavy sprung jaws dragged through. Phillip screamed, but not before Vitaly, both men putting red droplets on the emerald green rug.
Annette was panting. She could take or leave Vitaly, but her man was gorgeous, arms swung behind his back for better balance and pain writ in large font, from his spare muscular chest and belly, to the hard cords of his neck. The alligator mouths were fastened all about, pulling and tearing and putting little amounts of fresh red blood on his pale skin and amongst the feather light, dark hair on his body.
In the end, after they’d both lost several clips and Phillip guessed Vitaly was near his tolerance, Phillip asked for mercy.
She was behind him again in a whirl of heavy skirts, arms on his and chin on his left shoulder. “I believe your Mr. Yardley is the winner!”
Maria squealed in competitive triumph, taking scissors from Patricia and cutting the ribbons to separate the two men. Annette was deftly and gently taking the clips off him, not minding the small amounts of blood she got on her sleeves. Phillip let himself slump against her.
“Lucky I broke with my usual habit and wore red,” she whispered. “You are coming to bed with me tonight.”
Agatha seemed unperturbed at the state of her rug. “Well, then, that was delightful!”
“Awww, but you lost! Vitya, maybe you should give him your panties.”
Phillip looked at the filmy piece of fabric being proffered. “You are too kind,” he said, from the vicinity of Annette’s lap. “My lady?”
“No Maria, I have a different forfeit in mind. I think Adam would be rewarded, not punished with those.”
“Like Puppy? What a pervert!”
Riding the next morning made the perfect excuse to retire early. Without even retrieving his shirt, Annette steered him in the direction of the guest rooms, and a brief conference with a servant was the only pause before she shoved him through the door and backwards onto the guest bed and straddled him.
“Mine!” She grabbed his jaw and forced a kiss on him. “I want you, now.”
Phillip recoiled back into the bed, feeling her nails dig into his neck. Arousal might be driving Annette but he was tired, tense and stinging from about a dozen and a half little bites. She was struggling with the button on his pants when the knock on the door interrupted them.
A servant bought a bottle of alcohol and a folded cloth. “Ah, right.”
It woke up all the pain again when she lightly dabbed his best and belly with the disinfectant, but she was gentle and careful and cleaned him up. “Adam…”
“Yes, my Lady?”
“I love your flesh,” her second kiss had more gentleness, but she didn’t lose her urgency when she undressed him, and very quickly the last of his clothes were on the floor and he was on his back on the bed, head cradled by the pillows. “I am going to hurt you some more, shall I tie you down?”
“No, my Lady.”
His vision returned after some blinking, helped by the filtered nature of the light from the big stained glass panels along the hall. There was thick carpets and heavy bunches of flowers in blue vases, a citrus heavy scent saturating the air, another fancy home with a wife taking care of the decoration, though not as quietly opulant as the Harrington country house.
The trip had been an hour by car, with the hood on, sitting on the floor of the car with Anette’s hand on the top of his head. She’d had him dressed in new clothes, fashionable but a bit more foppish than he’d have personally chosen, and locked the hood in place, pulling tight straps on the back of his head so it pressed against his face and made it hard to move his eyes of blink.
Walks without Annette turned into jogging sessions, followed by running broken with intervals of hard exercise: push ups, stretches and crunches to keep him limber, made harder by the dark hood. Every time he adjusted to the new routine, he would hear Annette order something new to the guard that only spoke to give him an order. First there were weights on his ankles and wrists, and then one day she joined him for his daily walk with an enormous wooden yoke, with swinging buckets attached by metal chains.
One length of rope looped around his arms and wrists bound him to the yoke firmly, and held his arms out in cruciform position. Even before he saw the rocks piled up in the buckets he knew it was heavy. Two servants had brought it to Annette and dipped their heads politely before gratefully grunting the yoke to the ground and taking their leave.
Standing, Adam could walk forward at a snail’s pace, the buckets swaying slightly. Annette had the picana in her hand, its orange plastic bright, but not out of place among the countless, vibrant layers of gaudy flowers that were in bloom for late summer.