Conductor

She wakes.

The first sensation she notices is the hard steel arm chair beneath her. Next, she feels the roughness of the rope binding her ankles and wrists to the metal, and the sheer silk lingerie draped across her form. Where are her clothes? Her mind is racing, trying to place where exactly she is. The last thing she remembers is the click of her heels down the alleyway heading home after the party. Then the screeching of tires, a sharp pain, and then…nothing.

She slowly opens her eyes and begins to take in her surroundings. It’s dark, so dark it’s almost like a solid mass, taunting her. The shadows take over everything and she cannot see where the walls begin or end, who or what is in the room. It’s simply black and she is simply cold, as if she is standing nude in a concrete parkade. About 2 meters, in a perfect circle around the chair, the light from the swinging spotlight above her slinks its way into the blackness just enough for her to see that she was right. The chair is set upon a paved floor that matches the walls and placed in front of her bound ankles there is a cushion large enough for her to kneel.

Soft, padded footsteps break the silence and she perks up, no longer assessing herself but instead trying to peer desperately into the darkness. Without her glasses, she can’t see a thing, even if the entire room was lit with flood lights it would still be blurry. She gives up on sight, and begins to listen. She closes her eyes to focus all her energy into that single sense, tilting her head as she follows the almost non-existent sound of the stranger’s gait pacing in the darkness. If they were trying to scare her, it was working. Her racing heart begins to pound faster and faster as it dawns on her that she might be in genuine danger.

She begins to shake, focusing harder still just to hear something, anything, as the silence completely overwhelms her. Her eyes still shut, she doesn’t notice that the stranger in the room has stepped into the light behind her until she feels their breath on the back of her neck. She startles, her eyes flicking open, her breath heavy in her lungs. This strange being still hasn’t spoken, but she can tell by the low hum of her senses that it’s a man. A familiar man, but she can’t quite figure out who. He slowly runs his fingers up the back of her neck, grabbing a handful of the long black hair cascading down her back and tugs her head to the side. Her eyes dart towards him, but before she can focus on identifying this man, she feels the heat of his lips as they lightly graze the indent of her collarbone and her jaw goes slack, her eyelids close and just for a moment, she loses herself in his electric touch. She lets out an involuntary sigh and then quickly clamps her mouth shut, scolding herself silently for allowing her sweet fantasies to whisk her away while in such a dangerous position. She can’t move, she can’t see who her captor is, and she has no idea where she is; this is the last place she should be daydreaming. But oh, she can’t ignore the puddle growing between her legs, the weight of the desire in her loins. The mans hand loosens its grip and finds its way down her body, between her breasts and across her stomach to palm her shamefully soaking cunt. Finally, he makes a sound. A deep, primal growl in her ear and then, it clicks.

“Patrick.”

She sighs, exhaling as if she’s been holding her breath for 10 years. She feels a cruel grin form on his breath as it dances its way across her skin, setting fire to every atom. That’s why he felt so familiar, why she was more aroused than terrified. His fingers slip from between her thighs and she groans. She’s no longer cold, except for the emptiness that his hand leaves in it’s wake. He saunters around the chair until he’s standing in front of her, towering over her small fame made even smaller by the emptiness of the room. His waist is at eyelevel, and she can’t stop her blood from racing at the sight of the painfully hard outline of what’s trapped beneath the zipper of his jeans. She bites her lip, letting her gaze wander across his large, delightfully commanding body. The bare feet, dark blue jeans, the deliciously tight black t-shirt accentuating his chest, build strong by years of rock climbing. She lets her eyes relax, taking in the sharpness of his tattoos, the darkness hiding in his soft gaze, matching her own. The desperate hunger that he’s carried with him for so long. The tug and pull of his energy, it’s inexplicable. She is the tide and he is her moon, pulling her closer and closer with every moment. Wave after wave, filling her up with desire without a single touch. Normally, when she’s around him (freely, that is) she must pace to keep herself in check. If she stays seated, she unconsciously begins to rub herself against whatever surface she’s resting on, squeezing her legs together to try to contain the raw need for him. But this time, her legs are forced apart and there is nothing to rub against so instead, she’s left frantically trying to find something, anything to help her keep control of the craving tearing through her entire body. He takes her jaw gently in his hand and raises her chin. Their eyes lock, her mind going quiet. She can no longer form a single thought. The softness is gone and all that is left in his expression is need and a desperate, frantic desire to hurt her, to envelop her entirely until all that is left of her is purring putty between his fingers. He leans over, just enough that she can feel his breath on her lips, but they don’t quite touch. She presses herself forward, oblivious to the pain shooting down her arms from the restraints, but he doesn’t let them meet, not yet. They both know once they get a taste, there will be no beginning and no end to this night. He runs his thumb across her lower lip and they part, welcoming him in. He presses his finger into her mouth and she moans, twisting her tongue around him, silently begging him to undo his belt. Eyes locked, she sees the strain its causing him to take his time, to make her suffer. His need is almost as great as her own and it’s beginning to take over. She is no longer a person, she is barely human. Her base needs have control now and there is no logic or grace left in the panting, wild woman reflecting back at her in the deep ocean blue of his eyes. He speaks now, in a low commanding tone and it ripples through her body like molasses. Slowly twisting its way through her veins, into her soul; filling her with a need to purge all her stress, her anger, her confusion. She needs to scream, to hurt, to explode, to forget. He is the only one who knows how to make her forget. She can barely breathe, they’ve been waiting for this moment for so many years and she needs this, every moment seared into her brain for later. He releases her wrists just long enough to bind them together on her lap, and does the same to her ankles. He tugs her out of the chair and she lands with her knees on the mat before her, unconsciously resting her bottom on her heels, head down, the way she was trained to all those years ago.

“Mmm. Good girl.”

He croons, and she feels the dampness he’s created beading down her thighs, dripping onto the mat beneath her. The outfit he had her dressed in when she woke is now sopping and stuck to her skin. He forces her to all fours and tosses the chair to the side, the legs scraping the cold, grey cement as it clatters to a stop. His large, calloused hand expertly prepares her round, ready ass for what’s next. There’s shuffling behind her as he searches for something, and she freezes at the sensation of the leather on her skin, the soft tendrils flitting across her back. The touch of the flogger has always caused an intense response but this time, it’s like meeting an old friend. She takes a deep breath in, closes her eyes and smiles as he raises it to connect with her skin.

He’s a conductor; She, the obedient Orchestra playing his sultry music. The highs and lows, the soft, swelling hum of the cellos matched so beautifully with the sharpness of the trumpets, the sax, the drums. He turns her into a masterpiece. Under his touch, she is whole, she is fearless, she is complete. The pain is a welcome relief; the sting a thing of wonder. Its like the plucking of a violin, a perfect balance between the softness of the note and the twang of the string, like the way the leather lands with a thud and crack. It’s their personal, handmade symphony and in it she drowns. Her body begins to hum now, matching the tenor of the cellos, an outward force she can no longer control; it feels as if her entire being is about to crumble. Her rear is stinging, face is flushed, and tears are streaming down her cheeks while relief makes a home beneath her closed lids. Her flesh transformed into a beautiful canvas of red, she revels in the sensation of the pain he’s inflicted. He lowers the flogger and steps forward, gently untying her feet. His palm once again begins its journey across her skin, rubbing her down like a wild animal after a long run. Once this is completed he kneels, his pelvis pressing into her raised behind causing a sharp gasp to escape from between lips. His hand wanders, slipping itself around her body to cup her breast, his thumb and forefinger rolling her nipple firmly through the fabric and she arches, pressing herself into him. His free hand suddenly clutches her throat and pulls her upwards, her back pressed against his chest, feeling the heat emanating from his body, his desire piercing through the layers between them. The fingers that were playing with her breasts now delve between her legs, teasing her. Gently caressing every inch except for where she needs him the most. Her hips shake and twist trying to force his fingers where she wants them, but a quick command from him stills her movements. The quiet, firm growl in her ear stops her short, her breathing so laboured she feels like she’ll collapse. He stands and helps her onto shaking limbs, so unstable he must hold her steady. He turns her around so they’re face to face, expertly unties her wrists and takes a step back, enjoying the sight of her knees clattering like a newborn fawn.

“Undress.”

She reddens at the command, turning the same shade as her smarting backside. She slips a finger under the strap of each shoulder and slips it off, letting the soft fabric fall into a heap around her toes. He nods in appreciation and she watches him observe her, devouring every single inch of her naked body. Her gaze settles on his waist and she catches sight of his cock twitching behind the rough fabric. Her eyes flit up to meet his, her stomach dropping at the hunger in his stare and he breaks. He covers the distance between them in a single stride and wraps his arms around her, lifting her up as his mouth devours hers in a frantic mess of desire. Her legs wrap themselves around his waist like a tree trunk, her arms around his neck as they pull at each other, desperately trying to mesh themselves into one. Suddenly, the cold cement wall is pressed against her back and he against her front, her naked body contrasted against his fully clothed self. They’re in the shadows now, the all-encompassing darkness hiding their frantic groping. His hands wander, slipping and slinking their way across her body, down her long legs as her hips begin to undulate against him, rubbing herself against his arousal that’s throbbing so hard she’s amazed he hasn’t broken his zipper. Her nails dig into his back, pulling at his shirt trying desperately to meet him skin on skin. He groans, a primal, fierce groan and pushes himself off the wall. She tries to stand and fails, crumpling down the gritty cement behind her. He turns away and runs his hand across his face, trying to shake the loss of control. Looking over his shoulder, he twitches a finger in her direction as if to say it’s time to move. She goes to stand, and he turns back around to force her on her knees.

“Crawl.”

He grins wickedly, the glint in his eye promising delights untold. She complies, and follows him as he leads the way, through a doorway hidden behind the curtain of darkness. What lies in wait, she will soon find out…