The Hunting Ground (18+)
Dom!Tom Holland x sub!bratty!Reader
Summary: How else would you get adventure back into your life than to visit a speakeasy that's definitly not a kinky-cult-sex-club? Themes: EXPLICIT, BDSM and mentions of BDM, dom/sub, knife play, breath play, unprotect p in v, oral (fem rec.), orgasm denial, overstimulation w/c: 13k oops
a/n: it's late and it's 13k so I'll probs revisit another time whoops. apologies if writing gets sloppy.
MASTERLIST
âCome on. This has got to be a joke. This is the kinkiest cult shit Iâve ever seen.âÂ
âNope. Not a joke.â
âWhen I said I was looking for something exciting and adventurous, I didnât mean a sex club!â You flippantly disregard the masquerade mask onto the couch, whilst your friend Danny, holds his elegantly in his hand as if it is the beholder of all his memories.Â
âIt isnât a sex club. ItâsâŠan opportunity.â Dannyâs lips twist into a smirk that wavers between sweet and sinful. That alone shouldâve told you that his opinion on this âclubâ was simply that. An opinion. A biassed one at that. The other thing Danny doesnât account for is that opinions are subjective, interchangeable and while he sees his little kinky sex club as an opportunity, you see it more of a shameless hookup with cultic motives.Â
But youâre curious to hear how he can possibly sell this to you. âOh yeah? An opportunity for what? Enlighten me.âÂ
Your friend coyly swivels his hips playfully, that all too familiar bashful glow emanating from his olive cheeks. He leans gayly over the edge of the couch with his bottom lip snagged between his teeth, entrapped in his childlike manner and embracing his inner Princess Diaries by swinging his feet. He so desperately wants to say âto flirt with hot men and recklessly have sex with them with no strings attachedâ, but to your surprise, his answer is a little more profound and in-depth.
âTo meet like-minded people who share similar interests. To embrace a community that doesnât judge you for what you like, whoâŠtake you as you are. Itâs actually very liberating.âÂ
âPuh-lease! You threw that innuendo in there on purpose. Look. Itâs a sex club. You meet up to have sex. Thatâs the common ground.âÂ
âOh my God, you speak about it like itâs a brothel and you couldnât be more wrong. Okay, okay, Iâll admit, itâs a little provocative, but itâs not like some sex dungeon, itâs a speakeasy. Thereâs a bar, drinks, music, dancing, itâs totally chill. You donât even need to have sex, itâs not a guarantee.â
You fold your arms, staring outwardly and chewing your lips as you mull over the possibility that it might not all be what you initially think it is. But the only way to prove otherwise is to go. Dammit you wish you weren't so curious.Â
âAndâŠwhatâs this place called?â
Danny smiles contentedly. âThe Hunting Ground.â
~~~~~
âDo I really have to wear this?â The flimsy black ribbon of the mask trickles through your fingers. The shell is midnight black with a faint covering of silver lace, embellished with enough sparkle to catch your eye under the streetlights. Ahead of you is what looks like an ordinary bar under the false name of The Playground. The tinted windows and low purple LED lights inside is a clever ruse to fool anyone who is none the wiser to believe that the mystery is revealed when you step inside, leaving no other incentive to keep exploring. However, hidden behind the facade of an âordinary barâ as confirmed by Danny, is the speakeasy. Itâs quietly genius; itâs all hidden in plain sight.Â
âYes, you have to wear it; itâs like a pass for entry into the club since itâs invitation-only. Plus, anonymity is kinda a thing here. Especially for newbies if theyâre not too sure what theyâre looking for. You get all types of people here. Youâre bound to find someone who is yours.âÂ
You roll your eyes as you tie the ribbon tightly around your head with a grunt, the thick plastic mask sitting squarely on the bridge of your nose. âAnonymity, sure. These things are as good a disguise as Superman putting on his glasses and all of a sudden heâs Clark Kent and completely unrecognisable.âÂ
âTrust me. They do their job. Oh and one last thing.â Why is he smirking again? âSub or Dom?âÂ
âCome again?âÂ
âWhat are you, Sub or Dom?â
You blink. âI donât know. I donât even know what that means.âÂ
âGod, youâre so vanilla--theyâre, umâŠtypes of people.â Danny vaguely explains and purses his lips, thinking as he evaluates you. âHmm, we'll stick to sub for now. When you get inside grab a white cup.âÂ
âFuck sake.âÂ
You follow Danny down a poorly lit, narrow staircase and you get a sense of entering a restricted area, having it not as well decorated, but then you remember; itâs supposed to be secretive and unwelcoming to any wandering stranger. The staircase is quiet compared to the floors above you and below you, giving off a feeling of limbo, neither here nor there as the pounding of the bass-heavy music distorts your sense of direction. Thereâs two different songs playing and they blend into each other so well that you canât quite tell what is coming from where, but the further you descend down the staircase, the more obvious it becomes. The floor above you is phased out when you come to a stone archway, lined with plum velvet curtains hanging at either side where wisps of vapour spill from the room. A fiery red spotlight casts a shadow where the words âThe Hunting Groundâ are projected on the wall to welcome you. Danny stops you before you enter.
âAnd you told me this wasnât a sex club,â you quip, motioning to the entrance to hell.
âRemember itâs just to socialise. Nothing needs to happen, okay? After a drink or two, youâll start to loosen up and have more fun.âÂ
You huff. âIâll take your word for it.âÂ
You take one step into the stuffy haze and instantly you feel the change in aura, perhaps because you know what people are here to do. Danny patiently waits with you as you soak in the sights, the smells, the heat and the very suffocating atmosphere of the room in front of you. A fine mist hovers in the air, just enough to hinder your view of anything further than 10 metres in front of you - probably intentional to hide the erotic acts in the corner - and only the blacklights and the dancing neon laser lights shoot through. Unlike the bar above, the music is slower and less adrenaline pumping, perfect to fulfil its purpose of enticing its listeners to socialise rather than all-out partying, but in effect, it makes you more nervous; how do you socialise with people youâve never met? You bump shoulders with Danny is a quiet plea to stay close.
A few people within eyesight turn their heads as you enter in your sage green dress, making their judgements on you through the narrow slits of their masks, a symbol of membership to the club, identical to the one you wear. Under the cover of darkness, the masks do actually provide a sense of anonymity and you take back an earlier thought; what the hell are these masks going to hide? Everything apparently.Â
You decide not to linger around the entrance any longer for you feel that others can smell your hesitance a mile off. You make a B-line to the table adorning white cups, directly across the table that hold a much smaller number of black cups, and perpendicular to a table with grey cups. As soon as the rim of the cup touches your lips and alcohol sears your throat, you ease a little.
âGod, I feel like Iâve just entered the mafia. Why is this place so stiff?â
Danny laughs inwardly. âOh theyâre stiff alright.â That earns him a swift elbow to the ribcage. âOw!âÂ
âYou said this place was chill and judgement free.âÂ
âIt is--â
âThen why do I feel like Iâm being victimised?â
For a fleeting moment, you catch Dannyâs eyes flitting over to the white cup you hold in your hand, being quickly emptied by you. Thereâs obviously significance behind the white and black cups and youâre certain Danny knows why as he too picks up a white cup with conviction, but what significance they have is being purposely withheld from you.
Itâs definitely a cult thing.Â
âThey just want to get to know you. Give them a chance. Itâs all with friendly intentions, I promise.âÂ
âUh-huh.âÂ
Like Danny said, thereâs all sorts of people here; men, women, and more situated around the room whether itâs standing in small clusters around a table or sitting in smaller, more private groups in booths. Few white cups, some grey cups, but black cups hold the majority. Some are dressed more provocative than you would ever dare where some keep their secrets to themselves. Those who begin dancing are booming with confidence, sashaying their hips while others simply observe with a glass of whisky in hand. Even hours into the night, youâre still pondering over the likemindedness of such a diverse group. There must be something that ties these people together, because every hour or so you catch a glimpse of couples' escapades, hand-in-hand as they disappear through another archway with a black curtain.Â
âIâll be right back,â Danny murmurs into your ear.
âWhere are you going?âÂ
âIâm just going to catch up with a friend. I wonât be long. You can manage your own for a bit, canât you?â
âDonât think I have much of a choice.âÂ
Danny quickly disappears into the smog and across the dancefloor, and by the time he reaches the bar, heâs out of your sight and anxiety creeps in. As ever, you find solace in the very alcoholic drink, quietly sipping away in a dark corner of the room.Â
Or at least you thought you were in the corner of the roomâŠ
The solid wall behind you suddenly swings open and you lose your balance, falling backwards into the void that has just opened up. Your heart leaps to your throat and your lungs flood themselves with oxygen to prepare for what you know will be a painful fall and the loss of your dignity. Inches from disaster, a miracle happens when two hands reach out to hook underneath your arms and break your fall, leaving you hovering over the floor until the stranger finds the strength to bring you back to your feet again. Sadly, thereâs nothing to be done about your drink that puddles on the floorâŠ
With a breath of relief, you quickly compose yourself, turning around to see that indeed the wall you were standing against was actually a door, and in that doorway now stands the masked stranger that saved you from your fall. He stands just a couple of inches taller than you, dressed in a black suit (it could be navy - itâs just so damn dark in here) but replaces the standard crisp, white shirt with a baby blue one, keeping it casual with undone buttons by his collar. You want to make more guesses of his appearance but this clubâs obsession with anonymity is slowly becoming a nuisance.Â
âIâm so sorry, I really thought that was a wall.âÂ
âNo worries, itâs easily done.â His words are smooth and puckish, and you feel like he genuinely believes you when he places a gentle supporting hand against your back.Â
âRight? Especially with a place like this, I mean, would it hurt to turn up the lights even just a little bit?â An innocent laugh escapes you but the second you see his lips parting in what you can only assume is disbelief, you instantly feel like you mightâve crossed a line. His hand drops and sinks deep into his pocket. So much for no judgementâŠ
âWell, we could but most members here know thereâs a door here.âÂ
Caught.Â
He doesnât watch for your reaction as he picks up the empty white cup from the floor, long, slender fingers holding it tightly while he studies it for a moment and the corners of his lips tug a little before settling it on a nearby table. Youâre still not privy to the colour codes and their meanings, and something itches inside of you when you see this stranger turn to you with a knowing smirk on his face. Because he knows.Â
He folds his arms, muscles defined in the tight squeeze of his blazer and stands stoically before you. âYouâre looking a little lost, newbie.âÂ
âIâm just waiting on my friend Danny. Heâs the one who brought me here. I donât know why to be honest. I donât really think this is my kind of scene.â
The stranger tilts his head curiously. âHow so?âÂ
You snort. Isnât it obvious? âI mean the mask thing is a little weird. And the segregation of cups? What the hell is that all about? Like, Iâm always down for something different but the anti-religion cult vibes just isnât doing it for me. I havenât been here that long and already Iâve had so many daggers from people that I just canât tell whether they want to kill me or eat me.â
âOh my God, you really have no idea, do you? Tell me then, if this place doesnât suit your majestyâs preferences, why are you still here?â
This stranger doesnât need you to take off your mask to know that thereâs a scowl taking over your features. Affronted, you decide to mirror him, folding your arms and delivering his own stinking attitude back to him.Â
âCut the sass. You asked me a question and I answered it. If you listened, you wouldâve heard me say that my friend brought me here. Said that if I was looking for something exciting and adventurous I should come here, but Iâm not seeing either. Anyway, what does it matter to you?âÂ
âCareful, newbie. Some people here donât take too kindly towards being spoken to like that. It can get you into a lot of trouble, unless youâre searching for it, in which case, Danny was right to bring you here. And tell him he shouldâve put a straw in your drink too.âÂ
Youâre so fed up with these innuendos. âI donât even know what that means!âÂ
The stranger takes a step forwards and brushes your shoulder with his. You hold your breath as he leans down close to your ear and murmurs words that sound like a threat. A shiver descends down your spine. âAsk him to explain it. Tell him that Tom told him too.â
Your stance stays strong as the stranger sweeps past you in an obtrusive manner without a word to spare. Finally out of sight, you give in to the urge to roll your eyes and scoff with as much conviction until satisfied, having suppressed it in front of that stranger. Youâre never one to be so outwardly rude to someone, but unless itâs warranted, then by all means, give them hell.Â
The interaction has somewhat soured your mood, and considering that this place has yet to prove any of Dannyâs claims of what a âfriendly, non judgementalâ place this is, you might make the move to leave. Youâve been here long enough and you doubt that the fun has yet to come.
Not three steps towards your leave, youâre stopped by Danny emerging from the smog like a phantom. âOh hey! Youâre alive! See? I told youâd be fine.âÂ
âYeah, not fine, Danny. Donât leave me ever again.âÂ
âSuch a drama queen. Whereâs your drink?â
âSpilled it almost falling over. By the way, what do the colours on the cups mean? Some guy âTomâ said that you were to tell me what they mean.â
His smile drops and hangs ajar, eyes wide as he processes the words, the name youâve just invoked. âTom--did you just say Tom?âÂ
âYes, why? He also said that you shouldâve put a straw in my drink too. Danny, for the love of God, what the fuck does that mean?âÂ
Annoyingly, he ignores your last question. âWhat did you say to him?âÂ
Danny devotes all of his attention to you as you recount the interaction from beginning to end, sure not to leave any details out. As your friend, all of your expectations are placed on him taking your side in it all, but with each word you spill, he cringes further and further into himself.Â
âThen I told him to cut the sass--he was being so rude to me!âÂ
âOh you have got to be kidding me!â Youâre struggling to understand why your friend has descended into a fit of laughter, creasing over until he can no longer catch his breath. Itâs great that heâs finding it so hilarious that he canât even seem to straighten himself up to give you an answer, but whatâs even better is that you canât even begin to imagine how many people are witness to Danny descending into mania while you stand with your arms folded, a slack jaw and a look that could kill. And even if some canât see it, they can bloody well hear it. âI cannot believe you said that to him!âÂ
âDanny, I donât have time for this. If you donât tell me at least something, Iâm leaving.â
âWait, wait, wait, sorry, Iâll tell you, okay? Iâll tell you.â After wiping the tears from his eyes, he latches onto your arms and pulls you into his side, directing you to look out at the room before you. âOkay, so you remember the question I asked you before we came in? About being a sub or a dom?â You nod. âThe cups are representative of that. White for sub, black for dom. Grey if you donât particularly have a preference. Theyâre sometimes called switches.âÂ
âOkay, but what does sub and dom actually mean?â
âTheyâre just abbreviations. Submissive or Dominant if you want to be proper. They define what a person likes to be in the bedroom. Dominants are usually controlling, they like to manipulate and gain pleasure from using submissives in whatever way they like. Submissives gain pleasure from being controlled, from being told what to do and will usually go through extreme measures to satisfy their doms, and in lieu, themselves. For example, see over there?â Danny points to a booth of what looks like two guys sitting on either side of a girl. They are shadowing over her, running fingertips up and down her leg whilst she sits bashfully in the middle. âTwo doms and a sub.âÂ
You look to another area of the room and in the corner you see a woman, dressed in the tightest latex corset you could imagine, and she looks fucking amazing in it. Full of luscious curves. Her confidence is striking as she walks with her head high like she owns everything in the room. She somehow makes picking up a black cup look sexy, drinking from it until itâs empty but inexplicably doesnât swallow. With her puffed cheeks, she grabs the face of a man who kneels beside her, opening his mouthââOh my God!â The words spill from your lips as you watch the woman spit her drink into the manâs mouth, swallowing with glee in his eyes.
âAnyone can be sub or dom. Thatâs why the cups make it so much easier to identify whoâs who and cuts out all the small chat bullshit in between.âÂ
Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. This is a fucking sex club. âBut how did you know I was going to be a sub?âÂ
âI just guessed. It takes a certain confidence and skill to know how to be a dom, and no offence honey, but I donât think youâd be a good dom.â
âAnd the straw?âÂ
âSignifies a bratty sub. A sub who likes to be controlled but also loves the fight against it. Anything to piss their dom off.âÂ
âHold on. A brat?! Who the fuck does this Tom guy think he is? Heâs talked to me for no more than five minutes and he calls me a brat?âÂ
âShhh!! Shut up!!! Oh my God!!â He hurriedly ushers you away from prying ears and you feel a sort of trepidation when he looks around cautiously. âHoney, you know I love you and I care for you but you have seriously fucked up to the point where I literally cannot protect you from whatâs about to happen.âÂ
âWhat? How?âÂ
âTomâs the owner of this place.â Heâs trying to hold in his laughter again. âAnd you just stood there and insulted everything about his club to him--oh my GOD you are so dead. Iâm weak just thinking about it.â Had he not been squealing and bouncing on his tip-toes in a nervous but weirdly excited way, you probably wouldâve taken Dannyâs warning a little more seriously. In Dannyâs overly-dramatic fashion, his translation of âdeadâ just means that youâre only slightly in trouble.Â
âSo what, heâll probably just kick me out.âÂ
âYou better wish thatâs what heâll do because Tom is a capital D-O-M and is a stickler for obedience. He has everyone, sub or dom, address him as sir. Itâs like one of his rules.âÂ
âSir? Really? Are we back in school?âÂ
Your own mocking laughter is the last thing you hear before a voice creeps up behind you, settling deep into the canals of your ear and shocking you into a small but powerful fright. âWe can be if you like. At least then I can teach you a lesson or two about how to respect me, newbie.â The way his voice instantly scorches everything inside you is mildly terrifying. Itâs the mixer in your soup of emotions; trepidation, anxiety, curiosity, exhilaration, anticipation, swirling together in the pit of your stomach. Â
You and Dannyâs eyes are locked in a stupor, both of you donning guilt-ridden, colourless faces. You think it wise to follow Dannyâs lead in not speaking, not moving because only he knows the repercussions that you face. Besides, if you listened to what your brain initially told you to do, you would be in a lot more trouble.
A wordless plea twinkles in your eye and your heart plummets when you see your friend respond with tightly pursed lips and a subtle shake of the head.Â
âNext time you bring your friends, Danny, I would expect you to inform them on how to conduct themselves around me. You should know better.â
âSorry, sir.â Dannyâs voice wobbles. Fucking wobbles. Loud and proud Danny, centre of attention on the worst of days, always one to speak his mind and is never afraid of judgement, and now heâsâŠscared.Â
âNow go. Justinâs waiting for you.â The unfamiliar person Danny has become swiftly brushes past you with no more than a final apologetic look and disappears further into the centre of the room. A certain desperation keeps your eyes on him for as long as you possibly can until you eventually accept your defeat, standing here alone with Tom stalking very close behind you. You notice his shadow standing just on the coast of your peripheral, lurking.Â
After an excruciating silence, Tom eventually murmurs into your ear, just the edges of his mask skimming the side of your hairline.
âFollow me to my office. We need to have a chat about rules.âÂ
âOkay,â you breathe.Â
Sure enough the door you nearly fell through enters the hallway leading to his office. Itâs well lit, spotlighting the framed memorabilia on the wall and you almost choke a gasp when you see what they contain. Whips, paddles, cuffs, chains, anything of an erotic nature is framed, dated and hung on these walls in plain sight. Tom catches a glance of your awestruck eyes from over his shoulder, smirking wickedly. Little do you know that that isnât even half of his collection.Â
He enters the office first leaving you to nervously trail in behind him.Â
âSit.âÂ
The tickle of velvet feathers your bare thighs, knees already knocking together while Tom takes a stand behind his desk, underneath the low-intensity spotlight that shines down on him from above. Your eyes skate over his features the second he unties his mask, shadows hugging every sharp angle from the crook of his brow bone to the contour of his cheeks. Holy fuck. Your knees lock tighter together.
âMask off.â It falls to your lap. When you look back up at him, you see that he doesnât bother hiding how he takes in every inch of you and it makes the burn of his stare even more obvious. âWhat do you know already?âÂ
âUm, not much. Danny told me about the masks, Doms and Subs, the thing about the cups, addressing you as âsirâ andâŠâ you clear your throat, a previous anger returning, âhaving a straw in my cup.âÂ
âAh, so he explained it to you, did he?â Fuck, even his grin is perfect.Â
You bite your gums, eyes averting. âWish he didnât.âÂ
A piercing whistle rings in your ear, short and sharp in the small, panelled office causing an audible wince. âOi, eyes up here.â Did he just whistle at you? âIâm going to handle this very delicately because youâre new, but if you keep testing my patience then I wonât even give you the chance to back out.â
What the fuck.Â
âSince your friend failed to explain the rules, Iâll have to do it instead. This is my private establishment and I expect anyone who enters it to follow my rules, including newbies like you. Rule number one: respect. Respect for me, respect for others, respect for the property. Simple, yes?âÂ
âYes.â His eyes widened slightly, âsir.âÂ
Tom begins to circle around his desk, nearing you. You tuck your feet in underneath the chair as he leans against the desk a foot in front of you. âRule number two: boundaries. Boundaries must be set by every individual and must be adhered to by every individual. That includes things they consent to and things they donât consent to, and safe-words should be agreed to and abided by also. Yes?âÂ
âYes, sir.âÂ
âAnd I know you know rule number three.âÂ
But does he know that you also hate rule number three? Grinding your teeth together, you bite back his answer. âYes. Sir--â Before youâre able to utter another syllable from your lips, Tom has your cheeks in the pinch of his fingers, pulling you from your seat until youâre just a breath away from his own. Despite the circumstances of your racing heart and your throbbing cheeks, you come to realise that Tom has brown eyes, that his suit is really black, that he has one strand of hair that curls against the rest. Shit. Youâre really dipping your toes into muddy water here.Â
âSee this fucking attitude of yours? Drop it. If youâre really so eager to talk, youâll tell me what it is you want out of this. And know that before you start speaking, youâre on your last warning.â Thankfully, his grip loosens but it doesnât disappear completely. Keeping you just as reigned in as before, his fingers sink to the curve of your chin and curl around it gently. Itâs hypnotising enough that it coaxes you into spilling the truth.
âA little bit of excitement and adventure. Danny suggested I could find it here. So I came to find out for myself.âÂ
âAnd?âÂ
âIâmâŠnot sure yet.âÂ
âWe can certainly offer what youâre looking for, but it depends what kind of adventure you want to take. Do you want to explore or do you want to experience?âÂ
âWhatâs the difference?âÂ
Tom drinks in your curiosity, content with a quirk to his wet lips. All is silent in his sound-proof office, the beat of your own heart thundering in your ears and itâs the only thing you can tune into while the incredibly intimidating man in front of you sadistically drags out each and every second. âWe can start off slow, test your endurance and your tolerances, discover your likes and dislikes, introduce new things one at a time, a soft start over a number of weeks.âÂ
â...Or?âÂ
His pupils dilate. âEverything all at once. A full session, right here, right now. Thrown in right at the deep end. No restrictions and I get full control. An experience to say the very least.â
You gasp and the breath gets stuck in your throat. As the idea is spoken into words, you canât help but picture everything you saw in the hallway, the whips, the paddles, the chains, the ludicrousy of them ever being used as sources of pleasure and begin to feel yourself being overwhelmed. Albeit, the rebellious side of you plagues you with the mentality of saying âfuck itâ and trying it anyway, its voice ringing with the sound of your youth; willing to try everything, to say that you were brave enough to try it, to run away from the boring life of always saying no because you just werenât sure. You might even find that itâs something you likeâŠ
âWhat do you say?â He whispers with the small coaxing of his thumb gracing over your pout. âAnd donât leave it up to me. I think you know what I would prefer.âÂ
You take a breath, cheeks already flushing knowing whatâs to come. âIâŠI want the experience.âÂ
He doesnât move aside from his lids opening a fraction wider. âSay it again. To be sure.âÂ
âI want the experience.âÂ
A slow, salacious moan sings through his sigh, his breath crashing against your skin like a wave. âMmmm, I was so hoping you would say that. Iâve been wanting to put this brat back in her place allâŠnightâŠlong. Now I can. All. Night. Long.â Warmth encircles your neck and you realise that his hand has completely captured your throat, controlling every breath you breathe. You desperately try to whimper but even then, all your sounds are clamped down by him. Sensing danger, your own hands reach for his wrist as he pushes you back against the spine of the chair and shadows over you with fire in his eyes. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.Â
âSafe word?âÂ
âErrâŠâ You donât have one. Youâll have to make one up. What did you have for dinner last night? âPasta.âÂ
Tom chuckles but accepts it. âPasta it is.âÂ
When your one and only chance to speak is taken, Tom quickly readjusts his grip on your throat again, closing it off until your skin is tinted red with exertion. He sinks low, invading your space until thereâs nothing but him in your darkening sights, until his lips skim the tips of yours.
âIâve been wanting to get my hands on you all night. Do you have any idea how hard it was to keep that urge at bay? So fucking hard. I knew you were a newbie, but fuck, you were so fucking rude. You know, you never even thanked me for helping you up earlier. Instead, you chose to insult my club and my customers, and when you do that, you insult me. That doesnât fly with me and something will need to be done about that mouth of yours.âÂ
You gasp erratically, fighting for breath and his vendetta against you refuses to relent. Just as blackness consumes your vision, just as you're hanging on the precipice of consciousness, he finally relieves the tension and you gulp down air like itâs your drug, your lifeline. Almost simultaneously, Tom thrashes his lips against yours, seizing back whatever oxygen you just gained in a vicious attack. His tongue slips in almost too seamlessly, brushing against your own and tasting every inch he can reach.
From one method of suffocation to another. With his hand no longer occupied at the base of your throat, you find it clamped to the roots of your hair, keeping you detained as he forcefully kisses and licks every part of your mouth, barely leaving any time to breathe. It isnât painful as such, but god damn itâs overwhelming. The small squeak of struggle easily gets swallowed up by him and he growls for more. In time, another is drawn out but this time it's the result of Tomâs other hand pulling down the neckline of your dress and finding your tits, pinching and squeezing with a passion thatâs guaranteed to leave behind a bruise. To say you completely underestimated what the experience is and how little prepared you are for it, is under-statement of the fucking century.
He really isnât shy, is he?
Minutes go by and youâre losing sensation in your swollen lips and Tom can sense that too; you become lethargic, sloppy and out of control but thatâs exactly what Tom is waiting for. He can feel the plumpness of your lips as he drags them out slowly between his teeth, perfect to have wrapped around his cock.Â
He stands to his tallest, your hair still tight in his grip. âDo you have anything to say to me?â
âIâmâŠIâm sorry, sir.â
âWhat else?âÂ
âTh-thank you for helping me up, sir.âÂ
âThereâs actually one thing you should know about me,â he murmurs darkly. âIf someone is apologising or thanking me, I expect them to show their regret or their gratitude to me. Usually on their knees. That way, I know they mean it.âÂ
âAnd if I donât?â You are genuinely curious.Â
A shadow casts over his face, eyes glowering at your words. He clenches his jaw so tightly that you have to remind yourself to unclench yours out of fear. In quiet, articulated words, he provides you with the first piece of insight of what kind of night lies ahead of you. âI will fuck you and edge you against this desk until you are spent of every piece of sanity that keeps your bratty brain together. Even if you beg, even if you are crying out for release, I will not stop until you are nothing but my cum-filled slut.âÂ
âFucking hell,â you whimper quietly, but he hears it all the same.Â
âI would think very carefully about your next words, newbie, or youâre going to become very familiar with my temper.âÂ
Hey, you said you were up for the experienceâŠright?Â
It takes just a fraction of your lips to curl into a smirk for Tom to realise your motives. Provoked by just the smallest of your smiles, he runs his tongue along the lining of his cheek. He canât quite tell if heâs insulted or pleased, regardless, the result of either is the same; he will have you reduced to absolutely nothing if his life depends on it. After all, he doesnât allow insults to run dry on him, he snuffs them out as soon as possible and thatâs the lesson you need to learn.Â
âDonât fucking do it,â he warns one last time. How generous of him.Â
The air is tight and feverish, and so very, very quiet. UntilâŠâFuck. You.âÂ
Your words trigger a pregnant pause, leaving just enough time to hear a pin drop before something sinister happens. A cacophony fills the room: the wooden scraping of the chair legs as Tom yanks you from it, the squeal and the grunt that marry together, the clutter of objects as they fall from the desk to the floor, the resounding thump as your body mercilessly collides with the wooden desk and subsequent the yelp of pain to be heard by no one other than Tom.Â
The bruteâs groping hands impatiently tug at your dress, whipping it up to sit around your torso and the moment your ass is exposed to him, he wastes no time to drill his hips into yours in a desperate bid to split your legs wider and keep you still. The sweltering heat of your cunt seeps onto his trousers and, even contained, his cock feels it all. The harder he pushes to force you down, the harder the edge of the desk cuts through your pelvis, and the longer you stay there, the louder your pleas become. And every second of it all is like heroin to him. This is his high.Â
Tom rips your underwear from you, the thin material reduced to rags in seconds and just as quick, they become your bindings. With your hands now tied behind your back by the remains of your wet thong and your head smothered against the wooden surface, you are unequivocally oppressed.Â
âStay there, and donât move.â
âYes, sir.âÂ
âDonât bother trying that shit with me. Youâre too late. Youâve already made your decision to be a brat, so Iâll fuck you like one.âÂ
The recognisable sound of chain links clinking together stops your heart dead in your chest. âWait, what are you doing?â You try to shimmy a look over your shoulder to take a peak, but you canât see Tom crouching down behind you.Â
âExtra precaution.â Cold metal tightly hugs your ankles, grinding away at your bone with every tug. Thereâs little room to move, you can barely bend your knee without causing yourself harm. You didnât want to believe it, but the reality is true: heâs chaining you to his desk.Â
âNo fucking way.âÂ
âYes way. This is what you asked for.â He leans down to leave a patronising kiss to the shell of your ear, unbinding your hands and placing them exactly where he wants them, gripped to the edge of the desk beside your head. Not chained, but the wordless warning to keep them there is evident in the squeeze to your wrists. Youâre almost crucified to the desk. Itâs enough to make your sweltering body shiver. âAnd Iâll gladly provide.âÂ
Without warning, he spits into your ass and stops to watch it trickle down to your clit with hunger ruining his patience. He collects it with deft fingers, spreading it through every lip of your cunt, all the way back to gloss your puckered hole. You can feel every movement of his whether feathered or anchored, following the path of his fingers from your asshole to your clit and back again, only stopping to teasingly circle your entrance. He repeats it over and over and over again until youâre leaking with your own slick, glistening underneath the singular spotlight and the fire of Tomâs eyes. Itâs tantalising. Worse yet because you canât move to stop him. Youâre stuck with a burning cheek pressed against the desk and your hands trapped under what feels like Tomâs invisible reins.Â
âLook over to my clock and tell me what time it is.âÂ
âItâs 11:57pm.âÂ
âGood to know.âÂ
By 11:59pm he has you teetering towards the edge of your first orgasm with as little as two fingers and a thumb violating your cunt. By the turn of a new day, he has you wishing you had just said sorry and meant it.Â
âSuch a tight little pussy.â He groans behind you, littering small kisses along the base of your spine and your ass. His two fingers enter you again, anchoring down on the spot that winds you up so perfectly, stroking it with the curl of his knuckle and just when you both sense the coil tightening, he picks up speed and power. Anxiety and excitement broil in your stomach.Â
âOh God, f-fuck, Iâm gonna cum.â He already knows this. He doesnât need you telling him. In fact, heâs familiarised himself with the quivering of your thighs, the shaking of your body and already, he knows exactly when to stop. âNo! Fuck!â You grieve over the loss of your climax quietly with a small groan laced with heavy breaths.Â
His gruff, irritated voice buzzes straight down your ear, vibrating with impatience. âYou will take what I give you. And you will thank me for it.âÂ
The voice that spills from your lips is hardly recognisable. Whining, winging and moping, you donât quite understand where the grovelling came from and how it took over, but you canât find it in you to stop it.Â
âThank you, sir.âÂ
And just like that, the routine starts again and without a doubt, the result is the same.Â
Muscles ache, bones shaking, you feel yourself teetering on the edge of liquifying here on his desk. Alas, Tom possesses the ability to keep you solid like no other man has, keeping you somewhat stable and conscious enough to make you feel every last drop of his torment. No matter what sweet relief you feel when he gently massages your cunt, itâs completely forgotten about the moment he slaps the back of your thighs for moving your hands one centimetre out of place. And just like that, youâre back in the room.Â
When Tom painfully edges you for the sixth time, he asks you to read the time again. The digits of the numbers have blurred since the last time you checked, but you can just make them out. âItâs 12:32amâÂ
He smirks. âGood to know. Fuck, look at the mess youâre making on my floor.â A flat palm smacks against your cunt, seizing at the stimulation. Your thighs beg to squeeze together, anything to build up some friction to tame the urge but the chains rattle beneath you, keeping you contained.
He tames the fire with the lick of his fingers that curl eloquently onto your clit and swivels it around in circles in the same, insatiable manner as before. At first, you think heâs going to build you up again like he has done for the last thirty-something minutes and youâre not so sure that your mind and body can take the strain, but you feel the pressure of his other hand anchoring down onto your back, pressing your stomach flat against the wooden desk and eliminating any chance you have of escaping. Not that you had any before, but Tomâs a man of guarantee rather than possibilities.Â
Itâs new and the prospect that he might allow to cum reignites the exhilaration in your core.Â
Effortlessly, he sets your nerves on fire, plucking every one with overstimulation and you're on the cusp of the well-desired orgasm that youâve waited for for what seems like all night. You writhe so desperately for it that your pebbled nipples are starting to chafe underneath you.Â
Tomâs maniacal laugh drifts into your ears, his lips pressing soft, tender kisses against your ear and your neck. âWhat do you want?âÂ
You open your mouth and moans spill out, not the words of an answer. He continues to ruin you anyway. âI wantâŠI want to cum. Please!âÂ
âSo you donât want my forgiveness? Youâd rather cum instead? So fucking selfish of you.âÂ
He rips his fingers from you and the sensation is lost. âNO!âÂ
âYessss.âÂ
~~~~~
You still havenât came yet. How the fuck have you not been allowed to cum in all the pleasure Tomâs fingers and teasing words have granted you? He hasnât allowed you to move either leaving all of your muscles, joints and sanity aching against the stiff wood as you remain prisoner to his chains. And as his prisoner, all of your self-control has been stripped from you. With your eyes closed, voice gone, mind vacant, Tom decides to finally, finally, re-evaluate the situation.Â
And by re-evaluate, you mean change position.Â
Now unchained, he forces you to lie on your back and youâre thankful that the desk is long enough to support your head, because when you are being punished with extremities, the littlest things can be a saving grace.Â
âTell me the time.âÂ
You look over, Tom catching a glint of your red cheeks and the imprints of the wooden grain etched into your skin. âItâsâŠitâs 1:23am.âÂ
He grins wickedly, licking his lips, and with a smooth wink, he replies. âGood to know.âÂ
âPlease, Tom.â The crack is your voice is liquid gold in Tomâs ears and with his hands skating over your thighs, he hears what you have to say. âIâm so sorry about earlier. I amâŠso sorry. Please--IâŠI canât take it anymore.âÂ
âWhat is it you want?âÂ
âI want your forgiveness. Please, sir.âÂ
He sees it. He really does; the desperation in the tear that leaves your eye, the look of absolute surrender donning your features in fear that he wonât accept your apology, and even in the way your body warms at his touch tells him that thereâs nothing else that you desire. Thatâs the part he loves most and the main attraction for his dominant tendencies; the moment when the bad turn good. When theyâre at such a loss with their original intentions that they have no other option but to surrender and submit. From brazen words to pitiful pleas. From bratty attitudes to willful compliance. From âfuck youâs to âthank youâs. When that switch is pulled, thatâs when Tom knows heâs won.Â
He holds your legs dearly in his hands, your swollen cunt perched directly in front of him as he crouches to the floor. Itâs red, puffy and glistening in the light, screaming out to be touched, filled and ultimately freed of the orgasm that is running ragged inside.Â
He eases the slight quiver in your thighs with a grounding kiss, powerful enough to emboss just the traces of teeth marks onto your skin.Â
âWhat a good girl youâve become.â The same kiss is planted on your other thigh, just a hint closer to your crying cunt. âIâll tell you another thing about me,â he whispers, feeling the softness of your skin against his lips. âI donât just dominate and manipulate people, I manipulate pleasure too. I control it. I can stop it from happening, but sometimes I can be in the mood to make sure it never stops happening.âÂ
You take a breath and hold it. The anticipation of whatâs about to happen savagely ruins your mind that you just canât settle your pulse, and even if you try to slowly release that breath, you realise that it is all in vain. Your heart still positively thunders in your chest.Â
âAnd guess what, sweetheart?âÂ
Traces of your voice weakly spill out. âWhat?âÂ
âIâm in that exact mood.âÂ
Tom doesnât waste a second before his tongue is licking a fat, wet strip up the centre of your cunt and completely destroys your sanity. Itâs slow, meticulous in its travels as it covers every inch of you from your hole to your clit and your body involuntarily searches for more. Itâs like a wave, rolling over your cunt before crashing into the bundle of nerves at the end. Your cries vibrate through your body, all to be felt by Tom when his lips tightly seal around your cunt, suffocating it with the heat of his mouth and the lashings of his tongue. Itâs incredibly enthralling; being constantly aware of every small minuscule change in direction. From thrusting into your hole with tenacity to swirling tightly around your clit in a frenzy, thereâs no telling what heâll do next.Â
Your body drips with sweat and you canât decide if itâs from all the involuntary squirming upon the table or if it's the fire within, being fuelled by Tomâs uncontained lust. Thereâs a small explosion waiting to happen inside you, and Tom holds the detonation trigger.
âHoly fuck.âÂ
âMmmmm.âÂ
With his head buried beneath your thighs, his hands blindly roam your body. They descend down your thighs and over the valleys of your hip bones, shaping the contours of your waist before feeling the grooves of your ribcage as they expand with each pant you breathe, until he finds your tits, groping and pinching where he can. In both of your minds though, his hands are an afterthought, especially when his gorgeous mouth is massaging your pussy so rhythmically, moving against you like a ship on a wave.Â
âOhhhh my God,â you whimper, feeling the burn in your abdomen descend deeper and deeper towards your cunt. Youâre so close it hurts. Your legs start to twitch closer together.
âLegs open,â he mumbles. âAnd look at me. Look at whoâs got you shaking.âÂ
You cast your eyes downward, unblinking as he sucks and pulls at your cunt with his lips, making what you think to be the most salacious, delicious sounds a man could make while eating you out.Â
âF-fuck. Tom, pleaseâ.âÂ
Tomâs dark lashes lift, lids heavy as he stares at you with such forbidden intentions that itâs enough to make you shiver. Neither of you break the connection and you think it might just be the final nail in the coffin. With a deathly snarl, he claws at the back of your thighs, lifting them until they are pressed harshly against your chest and pans all of his attention, mind, body and soul into forcing you to cum. You sob as his tongue darts out, abusing your clit in all directions and it slingshots you directly towards the climax you have been aching for.Â
âTom!â
With a final flick of his tongue, you crash into your orgasm. It immediately wreaks havoc on your system and splinters your sanity completely, so much that you canât tell whether you're ascending or crumbling right here on his desk. Your lips part to scream, but your consciousness is shattered into a million pieces and your voice is lost. Wood creaks as your nails dig into the edge of the desk, white-knuckled and numb with a grip so tight you swear you feel your bones begin to bend under the strain.Â
Like he promises, Tom doesnât stop. Despite being trapped between your thighs, despite the wriggling and writhing, your pleas and desperate whispers, Tom doesnât stop. Not for one second.Â
Every flick of his tongue is more intimate than the last, plucking at your nerves so harshly, nerves that are already pulsing and in need of mercy. Regardless, Tom remains kneeling, feasting on you like you are his last meal, last drink, last breath heâll ever take.Â
Swimming through the pain, you come out of the other side to find another climax already waiting, just seconds from bursting as drastically as the first one. With one final pleading look to Tom, his dark eyes swallow you whole, subliminally telling you that heâs more than ready to keep this cycle going for as long as he deems necessary.Â
Mercilessly, his lips seal around your cunt, tongue slithering itself straight deep into your entrance, still not yet satisfied with what heâs tasted all ready. Youâre so wet, and with Tomâs constant laving and licking he only just adds to the mess that he spreads with his hands to your thighs until the glossy sheen catches your eyes. The sparkle of it makes you truly realise for yourself just how aroused he has made you, the sight so alien from your own eyes. No man has ever worn you down like this before. ItâsâŠunnerving. Only because youâre not sure if this is supposed to be what itâs like.
As another orgasm explodes, your body shudders violently on the table, his hands digging themselves into the crooks of your knees being the only thing to keep you from completely wriggling away. Your head collapses against the desk and gives way to a desperate whimper. It isnât cute, it isnât coy or coquettish like what youâve heard before in porn or films. Itâs raw, painful and very, very real.Â
It never seems to end. Youâve lost the ability to determine when one climax ends and when the next starts.Â
By the fifth time - at least, you think - he claims yet another, an hour later, you break.Â
After his torture renders you thoughtless, mindless and perhaps a tad vacant, your instincts quickly take over. Your hands whip from the silent hold he had on them and swing down to push Tomâs head full of curls away from your aching cunt while it still throbs through the orgasm. He grabs your wrists, far too quickly for your liking. Tom watches your every movement through his brows, still latched onto your clit, giving nothing away of the disapproval you know he would be demonstrating had he not been so adamant in eating every particle of you. âPlease,â your hoarse voice scratches your throat, sounding nothing like you. âIâm sorry, Iâm sorry, Iâll do anything, please--ah, fuck--itâs too much.âÂ
Slowly, deathly slowly, Tomâs lips detach from you, finally granting you freedom, salvation, relief. Yet he just canât resist recoiling every other second for just one last taste, one last swift lap of his tongue from entrance to clit in one clean strip. The moment all touch detaches from you, your thighs swing close, nursing the pulse that squeezes at your abused clit, taming the orgasm as it flickers its last flame.Â
âFucking hell,â you pant. âYou truly are a sadist.âÂ
Tom only chuckles, deep, dark, leaking from lips soaked in your slick. It rumbles straight to your core. âTell me the time, sweetheart.âÂ
Bleary eyes lazily drag themselves over to the clock and after a few blinks, the numbers sharpen. âItâs 2:38am.âÂ
His fingers tickle up your shin, tracing circles around your knee. âSo, so good--â you gasp, darting to catch his hand before it sinks between your thighs. He smirks, â--to know.âÂ
Your sadist allows you just one minute, you know because he counts it, to cool down and let your body reset; a glass of water, a clean rag and a comfy seat, unshackled and dressed. He also very calmly warns you as he sheds his blazer and unbuttons his cufflinks, rolling his sleeve up his tanned, muscular arm, that although itâs very late into the night, traipsing on the verge of closing, that you still have a long night ahead of you.
A small breath narrowly slips from your lips while you hold his stare. You canât even dwell on the gravitas of the situation, not risking spending the valuable seconds of your - likely - only cool down. So you bite your lip, sit yourself down and quietly regain your energy.
Your heart beat doesnât slow as quickly as you want it to. The exhilaration doesnât leave your system either, stuck in a perpetual cycle of replaying all that had just unfolded.
You force your way through a breathing exercise sitting on the chair he originally placed you in, facing forward, blocking him out behind you because you know that one look at him and he would detonate all that you had worked to subdue. Once calm, the tether between mind and body reconnects and thereâs one thing that screams down the line.Â
Filled with pleasure, yet still feeling empty. Yet to be fucked.Â
Tom alerts you that your cool down has come to an end as he saunters out of the dark corner behind you. It felt like barely a second. He had watched you the entire time, eyes roaming your figure, how it shook, how it quivered, how you barely managed to stand on your own two feet as you jumped from the desk, body scorching with the heat from your core. You were like a new-born deer learning to walk while he was a wolf waiting in the shadows.
Sat on the chair, you spin around to complain, attitude brimming, mouth open, words at the ready andâŠâHmph!â His hand clamps down hard onto your mouth, pinching your nose with the other. Not a breath slips through.Â
âHereâs me thinking you had learned to know better than to talk back to me.â His body arches over your head above you, tilting your head back to catch the panic glaze over your wide eyes. You think heâs going to do something rash, something to make you regret even thinking about turning around to answer him back; a slap to the face, a tug to your roots, something as evil as his wicked voice sounds in your ear.Â
So you can't exactly blame your heart for tripping over itself when, as smooth as butter, he lowers his head, lips puckering to lay a slight kiss to your forehead. It feels like air, an offering that doesnât conceal something malice behind it. A fragile dusting of comfort to your skin, gentle like a snowflake feathering down onto the ground. Your conscience arrows towards it.
When he lifts his hands from your mouth and nose, you donât find yourself desperately sucking in the air you lost. Rather, you inhale slowly through your nose and out through your mouth. It had to be that small, insignificant little kiss that lay your nerves to rest.Â
Tom is one hell of a manipulator.Â
His lips remain lingering on your skin, skating over the surface, mirroring his hands as they trickle down your cheeks and hold your jaw in their embrace. He whispersâŠâDo you think you can behave like my good girl again?â A small hum of confirmation buzzes at your lips. It isnât enough for him. âTake this as your warning. If you decide to be a brat, if you decide to not listen to every word I say from now on, know that I cannot be responsible for what happens to you.âÂ
The severity of his caution has your eyes opening just a fraction wider, able to read the same warning that traces his words in his eyes. He means it. Really means it. Dannyâs words echo around your head. âHeâs a stickler for obedienceâ. What is he about to do to you that itâs imperative you listen to what he says?Â
You could say no. You could invoke upon your safe word and make it stop right now. But when you delve deeper into the part of you that made you agree to this in the first place, you find that it still roars with life, telling you that your need for adventure hasnât quite been satiated.Â
You swallow, throat bobbing under his digits. âI understand.âÂ
He scrunches his nose in delight. âPerfect.âÂ
You donât turn to follow his movements to the back of his office, your ears tell you what you need to know. A cupboard door squeaks open, old, rickety, likely an antique. Then rustling. Objects hard, soft, textured, plastic, rubber, metal. A hum of satisfaction, then the closing squeak of the door, different to the first. His footsteps near you, perching directly behind you while you feel the soft sweep of his torso brush against your hair.Â
Then darkness. Soft, pillowy darkness that floods your vision. Remnants of light trapped in your irises float around like shooting stars before fading completely. Itâs the only thing you can hone in on as the knot tied behind your head tightens, confirming that he has indeed blindfolded you.Â
âRemember your safe word.â He breathes into your ear in earnest. Pasta. âDonât hesitate to use it.âÂ
âYes, sir.â You donât know if heâs still expecting you to say that, but you do it anyway to stay in good graces with him. Youâre not entirely sure if it will make a difference to the impending danger Tom warned you of. Even if it doesnât, Tomâs lip still curls anyway.Â
âGood,â a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth has you blushing, ânow donât move.âÂ
A single breath is all you have to prepare yourself before something cold eases across the skin of your arm. Insubstantial, almost weightless, it falls from the curve of your right shoulder and descends down until it reaches your hand, resting on the velvet arm. The sensation is ghostly but frigid, gliding but piercing. You canât quite work out what it isâŠ
The same icy coldness retraces its path back up your arm, floating and gliding along your clavicle and stops directly at the base of your throat, the pit where your collar bones meet.Â
It knicks your skin.Â
âOh my God--â
âDonât. Move.âÂ
Holy fuck. Itâs a knife. Itâs a knife. Itâs a knife. It is a fucking knife.
Thatâs the metal object you heard. And its sharpest point is resting directly against your neck.
Your skin pales and your stomach swirls with nausea. All your efforts to stay still and keep calm drains very quickly and panic floods in. Any chills the knife aroused in its cold path is replaced by small beads of sweat, your entire body blazing, screaming danger. Surprisingly, among other things, your nipples begin pebbling, brushing harder against the silk slip of a dress that adorns your body the more the blade's sharpest edge tickles along your skin. Your heart pounds, the sound of panic-infused adrenaline thrumming in your ears, comparable to the time you went on that rickety, old roller coaster when you were younger.Â
You guess the memory isnât too dissimilar; forced to feel the thrill of having your own safety rest in someone elseâs hands. You have no control here.Â
ItâsâŠintoxicating.Â
A dark admission on your behalf, but youâre here for the experience, right?Â
You dare not speak, dare not break his rules as the peak of the very sharp knife trails lightly up the column of your throat as its runway, bumping over your trachea, scraping the finest layer of your skin, commanding you to incline your head as it rises higher and higher. Your lungs expand and you canât deflate them until the knife flicks off your chin. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!Â
In the stone cold silence of his room, the resonating shwing of the knife rings in your ears. A small respite.Â
From what you can hear, Tom moves behind you somewhere. The creak of the floorboard dances from the left to the right and back again, giving you not one hint of where he plans to strike next, subjecting you to the torment of crippling anticipation until he does.
Suddenly the blade comes into contact once more with your skin, laying its long, razor sharp edge against your neck. Your body freezes, your nails scratch the edge of the armchair.Â
âStand,â Tom commands sharply. The knifeâs blade maintains the same pressure on you, even as you come to a stand, knees knocking beneath you.Â
Seconds later, the chair clatters behind you, just the swiftest of touches of velvet to your calves before it crashes off to your left, and where four legs once sat now stand just two. Tom. The warmth of his breath flowing past your ear is a stark contrast to the cool blade on your throat. But itâs the low grumble bubbling against your back that plucks a chord deep in your stomach. You can feel yourself getting wetterâŠ
âI can feel your heartbeat hammering against your ribcage, newbie. Worried?âÂ
YesâŠ
âOr is it more than that? Excitement? Anxiety? Lust? Desire? What is it? Tell me, a penny for your thoughts.âÂ
âNerves. Mostly. ButâŠexhilaration and curiosity. And confusion.âÂ
âAbout?âÂ
âDo people actually get off on this?âÂ
He chuckles at your naivety. âLots of people do. Itâs perfect for keeping any brat in their place. But youâll find itâs mostly the sort that spend all day bossing people about. Whose jobs are to take on the burden of responsibility, leadership, authority. If itâs been a particularly long and hard day for them, they come here. This is their relief.â
âTo be held at knife point?âÂ
âTo relinquish control. To let someone else take the reins for once. To be controlled rather than being in control. The knife just adds that flare, the incentive to keep them in that headspace of receiving orders instead of being the one to make them. It could be a gun if youâd like,â he jests. Youâd shake your head, but you might slice your throat in the process. Â
You take a constricted breath, feeling the weight of the knifeâs edge becoming just that little bit heavier. âAndâŠdo you like it? Being the one in control?âÂ
He presses himself against you as if to mould the contours of your body into his, lips furrowing deep into the crook of your outstretched neck roaming where they please. His free hand anchors down onto your hip, slithering its way across the expanse of your abdomen where, if he held you long enough, would feel the flutter of butterflies wings coming from within. Alas, he spreads his fingers, sinking lower onto your pelvis, teasing the curve of your pubic bone and presses down hard, bending you into him. As if the knife he holds against your neck isnât controlling enough.Â
His erection pokes and prods at your backside. Heâs so hard you release a whimper. What you would give to feel him inside you.Â
Tomâs words speak directly onto your neck like heâs tattooing them onto you. âI love it.â A beat, then--âTell me,â he says, low in tone and volume. âYour dress. Any sentimental attachment to it?âÂ
âNo.âÂ
The knifeâs blade glides to the strap of your dress on your shoulder and picks it up, pulling it taut. âGood.âÂ
One tug and the material snaps.Â
A small yelp falls out and a flinch has your shoulders raising just an inch closer to your ear. The integrity of your dress now hangs precariously with just one strap holding on for dear life. If one thing is for certain, it wonât be holding on for much longer. You smother the urge to scold him for ruining your dress, your property, and lest you forget the threat of the very sharp knife he holds against you, itâs only the straps, you could tie them back together as a temporary solution. An easy fix.Â
The knife repeats its actions on the other side until your dress hangs lifelessly around your hips. The cold air bites at your nipples and Tom doesnât wait one second before he brings the tip to circle around the little bud.Â
âOh--â You canât stop your head tilting back onto Tomâs shoulder when the slight overdose of adrenaline makes you dizzy. The tickling sensation refuses to relent, crossing over the valley between your tits to tease your other bud just as salaciously.Â
Just when you find pleasure of the tip running rings around your nipples, when Tomâs hand sinks to cup your pantiless sex, when his scent rushes in through your nose, a harsh slap of the blade's flat edge to your tit whips you back to caution. Itâs unexpected. Being blindfolded, every touch is. Any touch you feel, whether blade or not, makes you flinch. Quick as a bolt of lightning surging through your body. Itâs torturous because in your darkness, in your paranoia, youâre permanently recoiled, shielding, flinching at nothing, waiting for the next hit.
Heâll strike. You know he will. Not knowing when is killing you. And he knows it.Â
âYou asked if I like what I do-â his finger sinks into you, skimming over your clit wet with your slick, â-from what I can feel, I think you like it too.â Your hips buck to gain more friction from both his fingers and from his hard cock pressed against your ass, desperate to feel that euphoria of pleasure again. A sick, twisted crack of satisfaction surges through you when you hear him moan. âShame youâve forgotten your manners.âÂ
The surface of the knife slaps you again, harsh against your nipple. âOw! T-thank you, sir.âÂ
âBetter. Now move.âÂ
A few blind steps clumsily place you facing a wall, palms resting flat against the wallpaper while Tom kicks your feet further apart. He makes sure that while he puppeteers you to never let you forget that the knife he holds is always within close proximity, that if you dare defy him, he wouldnât hesitate to use it. Gentle scrapes, warning knicks, cold presses, even to go as far as break skin would he warn you.Â
The audacity he has, though, when he takes the knife and slices his way through the remaining fabric of your dress, leaving you to stand stark naked before him. Thatâs going to be less easy to fixâŠ
âYou ripped my dress!âÂ
âProblem?â His voice is challenging, subliminally daring you to bite the bait.
âHow the hell am I supposed to get home with no clothes?âÂ
The fiery attitude that tries to bloom inside dies the instant he presses the flat edge of the blade flush against your cunt. The cold surface lying against your heat causes a stutter in your breath. It pushes upwards, almost lifting you off from your feet and onto your tiptoes from fear that any slight movement of defiance would trigger excruciating pain. Itâs dangerous, careless, and reckless, and you wish you could scream it, thrash around, push him away and yell in his face. The compulsion is overwhelming. If only you didnât have a knife to your cuntâŠ
âTelling me your problem isnât going to make it my problem.âÂ
Your jaw slacks, away from his prying eyes and you suppose you could allow yourself just one moment of freedom. Just one moment of no restraint because releasing what youâre dying to say would just be as gratifying as the first time Tom allowed you to cum. You can easily feel the knot thatâs dying to unwind, and saying what intransigent words would tease out the knot inside you, and also send him reeling.Â
He wants to call you a bratty sub? Fine. Thatâs what heâll get.Â
âYou are such a bastard, do you know that? I think youâve spent too much time being told âyes, sir, of course, sir, thank you, sirâ that itâs all gotten to your head. Maybe you could do with being reminded that not everything you do deserves that.âÂ
Quick as a whip, the blade snaps to your neck, digging into your skin that you feel it tearing your skin. The wince is evidence of your pain, but Tom ignores it, settling on placing his focus not on the knife he holds against you, but how quickly he can undo his belt, his trousers, springing his hard cock free and lining it up with your sopping cunt.Â
Without a warning, because you donât deserve one, he thrusts into your core, holding your breath hostage under the knife. âSo fucking tight,â he stutters to himself. Even for him, the sensation is immense. His next message is for you. âCheeky little bitch. Think youâre clever? Think youâre funny? Weâll see whoâs laughing when youâre begging me to stop.â
Your bodies clash as Tom begins rutting his hips against your ass, the staccato notes of skin on skin and the room swallows every snap, barely making out the door. He fills you, stretches you, and ruins you within seconds and you canât explain how the pain you feel translates so quickly into pleasure. You feel yourself needing more of it. The stretch, the burn, the knife, itâs indescribable.
His relentless pace maintains, stopping every ten or so seconds to ensure he fills every inch of you, submerging himself to the hilt and mercilessly grinding his hips against you, rolling around your cunt. Without fail, your hands claw at the wallpaper when he does, begging for reprieve.Â
âWhen I tell you,â he pants, lips pursed and eyes ablaze, still holding the knife firmly against your neck. âYou are going to give me everything.âÂ
He drops himself, snatching a slab of flesh between your neck and shoulder between his teeth and bites viciously in his frustration and you howl. His thrusts only become faster and harsher.
âI need to feel you squeeze around my cock.â A hand slides between your bodies and starts toying with your clit. âIâm not going to stop until I feel you cum around me.âÂ
Tom effortlessly tugs at the elastic band in your stomach and you are about to snap. He overloads your senses, violating your sensitive cunt to the point where you can feel it pulse in anticipation of the orgasm that is threatening to spill. Under the knife that now trails down your body, a pressure builds and it clenches your muscles with its tight grip, and with each pounding Tom hits you with, it grows a little closer to letting go.Â
Tom fucks you in phases, fast, slow, harsh, gentle, silent, loud, anything and everything thrown into his efforts to completely tear you apart. If itâs regret heâs after, heâs got it. If itâs an apology he wants, itâs there for the taking. If he desires to hear you begging, then itâs on the horizon. Youâre willing to give because youâre not sure you know where your limits are, and with your legging threatening to crumble beneath you, you sense that youâre about to get a good idea.Â
Tears brim your eyes only to be soaked up by the blindfold, a quiet plea for release.Â
âFuck, fuck, fuck, please! â Tom denies relief, keeping you squirming on his cock until his needs are satisfied. He has no care for you writhing to get away, because he can easily drag you back where he wants you with just a swift reminder of the blade that pierces your skin. Youâre certain by now that you have tiny little cuts littered over your body, accidental or not.Â
âTom, stop! I canât! Itâs too much. Fuck!â He doesnât heed your cries because to him, they are the symphonies he is waiting to hear.Â
Your entire body quivers and with the flick of his deft fingers and the thrust of his cock, you come undone. Thereâs no holding it in anymore. The elastic band snaps and a white-hot wash of pleasure convulses through your body. Blood pumping at your core but Tom isnât relenting.Â
The squeeze of your orgasm around his cock is suffocating, but yet just as painfully pleasurable as he needs it to be for the euphoric feeling to consume him. Finally, as the walls of your cunt contract once more, he cums inside you. But by this point, you are weak and Tom can clearly see just how destroyed you are. Nevertheless, his selfishness convinces him to pull away and sink into you over and over again, slower and with purpose.Â
âDonât you have something to say to me, sweetheart?âÂ
âIâm s-sorry, fuck, Iâm sorry!â
âTaking me so well. My little cocksleeve, arenât you?â He peels away the blindfold to find your eyes over your shoulder, but in your pain and exhaustion you canât focus on much else and your eyes serve a very glazed-over look. âLook at me,â he spits, you obey. âYouâre mine. This pussy is mine. Remember that any time you want to act like a brat.â He thrusts into you again as a testament to his words.
âYes,â you meekly whisper. The word comes out of your mouth before your sex-inebriated mind can comprehend what he actually said. Once it does, you gulp.Â
âYes, what?âÂ
âYes, sir.âÂ
âGood girl. Stay still.â Blinded by bliss, Tom pulls from you and with his size, itâs a feeling equivalent to an orgasm in itself and you hiss. Your pussy is hot, swollen, pulsing and leaking and yet somehow, as evident as it is for how sensitive it is, Tom canât resist one more taste. The knife clatters to the ground. Salvation.
âNo, no, no, no, itâs too much, Tom, please, Iâm begging you.â The words drip with a desperation you donât recognise. He simply hushes you, kneels behind you, splits you apart and continues to savour the taste of your arousal, meticulously circling his tongue around the small bundle of nerves once again. The warm, wet muscle glides from entrance to clit, cleaning you up of your wetness and replacing it with his own. For as excruciating as it is to endure so soon after an orgasm, you find yourself melting into the feeling and dizziness envelopes you in a warm hug.Â
~~~~
âTell me the time,â he murmurs, turning you around.Â
Your eyes peer to the clock. âFuck, itâsâŠitâs 4:29am. When does this place close?âÂ
Tom sniggers, floating over you with a smirk. âIt closed an hour and a half ago.â
âWhat?! Why am I still here?âÂ
âIâm the owner of this place. I decide who gets to stay and I promised you an experience did I not?âÂ
âYou did,â you agree quietly. The slight stickiness between your thighs bears a reminder of the experience and suddenly youâre burning again. You bite your lip, trying to contain the coy giggle like a teenager with a crush. âSome experience that was.âÂ
âSweetheart, that was childâs play,â he laughs.
âWhat?â
He pulls you close, skin to skin, soothing out your muscles in a gentle massage. âYou didnât actually think I was going to show you everything, did you?âÂ
Would it be stupid of you to admit that you did? âI donât know, you did say--â
âThat I would give you an experience. Something new, something outside your comfort zone, something you hadnât done before, an adventure.â
âBut--â But the paddles, the chains, the whips, all the things you saw outsideâŠ
Not another word lets slip before he cups your cheeks, holding your stare and wordlessly silencing you. âIf I had shown you everything, there would be no incentive for you to come back again now would there?â You shake your head. âWhile you may think Iâm a sadist, there are some things within BDSM that newbies like you just canât be thrown into. Trust me. I wouldnât put you through that. At least, not yet.â
âLike what? Tell me, I wanna know.â
Tomâs lip curls. Heâll definitely be seeing you around here soon enough given youâre so invested. âVoyeurism, roleplay, flogging, bondage, anal, wax play, primal, orgies, consensual non-consent--â
Your brain fumbles over his words. âWait what? Whatâs that?âÂ
The way his eyes lit up so brightly. He brings you closer to brush his nose against yours. âConsensual non-consent or CNC. A fetish where people enjoy being either the victim with the extreme lack of control or the predator with extreme control. Sometimes called rape play--â your eyes widen, â--but it is thoroughly negotiated beforehand and varies from scene to scene. Consent, as well as safe words, are vital. But for some people, verbally communicating consent takes away from the mood. To overcome that, they assign consent to an object. It would be agreed beforehand, could be a red scrunchie that you tie in your hair. If you came here one night wearing a red scrunchie, I would know that you would consent to me taking control over you. Perhaps drag you away against your will, take you somewhere where no one would see, make you get on your knees, suck my cockâŠâ his voice reduces to a whisper and lets you feel his words on your lips. âWould do things to youâŠâ
âOhâŠâ
Tom sighs, pulling away and composing himself. âFor another time.â He winks. âBut for now, you need to clean up. Thereâs a bathroom through that door. Feel free.â
âOh, uh, thanks.âÂ
~~~~
You donât emerge from your bedroom until early afternoon the next day. In your true stubborn nature, you do anything you can to prolong the confrontation with Danny. He knows what prevailed between you and Tom, and munching away at a bowl of cereal, you find him smirking at the breakfast bar. All because he knows he was right, he knows that bringing you to the Hunting Ground was the ideal thing for you. You canât deny him of it.
His eyes find the bite mark on your neck first, bruised and marked. Then to the large T-shirt that heâs certain isnât yours. The memory of Tom dressing you in it last night has your heart thrashing against your ribs.Â
âSo how did the kinky-cultish-sex club turn out for you?â He grins, a smile stolen from the Cheshire cat.Â
You click your tongue, deliberating the two ways you could go about this. Against your better character, you grin back at him, colour rushing to your cheeks.Â
âWhen can we go back?âÂ















