His Belt (Part Three) Read online

  ABIGAIL

  He brings me upstairs, holding my hand as we make our way up one of the seemingly endless curved staircases that rise up from the floor of his apartment.

  The whole time, I know I should say no.

  This isn’t like being out in a restaurant with him, or even when we were in his office. Those places were private, but there was also a certain amount of protection that came from being in semi-public spaces.

  But here, in his apartment, in his bedroom, it’s completely different.

  Here, things could be done that wouldn’t be possible other places.

  Not to mention the ramifications of those things. Every time I did something more with him, every time I kissed him, every new encounter, lessened my chances of being able to walk away from this unscathed.

  And what was he offering me in return for this risk he was expecting me to take, the risk of losing everything? He hadn’t come close to mentioning anything about a relationship, at least not the kind of relationship that I wanted, the kind that was built on romance and love and trust.

  No, the only kind of relationship he was offering me was one where I was his submissive.

  I wasn’t sure that was enough for me, wasn’t sure what it even exactly entailed. I supposed I would find out more tomorrow morning, when we went over the parameters as he’d said.

  These thoughts swirl through my mind like leaves in the wind as Elijah leads me down a hallway, the floor below us made of large planks of dark wood. We walk through a circular open area in the middle of the second floor -- a sitting room of sorts that’s filled with minimalist furniture. Abstract pieces of art hang on the walls, all of them splashes of red and black, giving the space an almost fearsome vibe.

  he comes to stop in front of a black door with no doorknob.

  “Last chance to say no,” he says, studying me carefully.

  I meet his eye, not saying anything.

  He nods, then presses his thumb to a keypad. A green light flashes and the sound of the door unlocking with a click echoes through the hall. Elijah places his palm flat against the door and pushes it open.

  The room is dim, and the door shuts behind me with another click. I wonder briefly how I’m supposed to get out of here if the door has no handle and the touchpad is programmed to respond only to Elijah’s fingerprint.

  But that thought flies out the window as I look around at what can only be described as a torture chamber.

  There’s a bed in the middle of the room, yes, but the bed frame is made of black wrought iron. The floor is poured concrete, shiny and glossy, and set up around the perimeter of the room are various different kinds of…ah, equipment I guess you could say – benches, something that looks like old-fashioned stocks, a metal contraption with bars sticking out of it that looks like no matter what you did with it would be extremely uncomfortable, and even a cage.

  There’s a gleaming glass cabinet on one side of the room, filled with whips and floggers and belts.

  “This is your bedroom?” I ask incredulously.

  “No, Abigail, this is not my bedroom.” He’s watching me carefully, waiting for my reaction.

  I walk around the room in a slow circle, feeling his eyes on my back as I take in everything.

  When I finally turn around to face him, he’s still standing over by the door, in his tuxedo, the pants hugging his strong thighs, his crisp white shirt stretched perfectly across the wide expanse of his chest. He crosses the room to me, turns me around so that I’m facing a huge mirror that leans against one corner.

  He pushes my hair away from my neck, and I shiver.

  “Do you always keep it so cold in here?” I ask, feeling goose bumps break out on my body.

  He smiles as if I’m an innocent who has no idea what she’s in for. “It needs to be cold in here so you don’t overheat.”

  He’s pulling the zipper of my dress down now, inch by torturous inch, the fabric loosening. Once he’s finished, he runs his hands up my body, skimming from my hips all the way up to my shoulders before slipping the straps of the bodice down.

  My skin tingles as he continues undressing me, loosening the dress and pulling it down gently until I’m standing there in just my sheer bra and tiny thong, the lingerie he picked out for me.

  There’s a light overheard, shining down on us in, the light hitting the floor in a smudged circle. It’s not bright, but with the rest of the room being so dim, it illuminates us, like the two of us are a painting to be showcased.

  I stare at our reflection in the mirror, him behind me, so handsome, so strong, his hands now on my hips, holding me in place.

  The hot sting of humiliation rises on my cheeks as I take in my reflection. I’d known the underwear he’d chosen for me had been sheer, but I hadn’t realized how sheer, hadn’t looked at myself in the mirror like he was now forcing me to do.

  My nipples poked through the fabric of the practically see-through black bra, and the outline of my pussy was visible through the mesh of the panties.

  I tried to turn away, but Elijah grabbed my forearms and kept me steady, his gaze traveling hungrily over my reflection.

  “You are so beautiful,” he murmured into my ear, his hand brushing my hair away from my skin. “But the way you talked back to me earlier, the way you left me at that table when I was touching you…”

  I bit my lip, keeping myself from pointing out that he was touching me under a table at a work event, in front of my work colleagues, which was completely inappropriate.

  But I had a feeling if I did that, whatever he had in store for me would be much worse. So I stayed quiet.

  “Do you know what’s going to have to happen now, baby?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What?”

  “I have to be punished.”

  “That’s right, baby.” He leaned down, planting a kiss on my collarbone, the warmth of his lips a contrast to the cold air of the room. As soon as he pulled away, I wanted him back on me. “I’m going to make you come hard, but first I’m going to have to punish you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He kissed me again, and then his hands were on my shoulders, pushing me down to the floor until I was on my knees.

  I looked at us once again in the mirror. The size difference between us was even more apparent with me kneeling in front of him, the broadness of his shoulders, the slash of his brow, his height of 6’4” making me feel small underneath him.

  “Do you see that bench over there, sweetheart?”

  My gaze traveled to where he was pointing, over to the side of the room where a long black bench covered in leather sat near the wall.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Crawl to it.”

  I took a deep breath and did as I was told.

  Chapter 5

  ELIJAH

  My cock throbs as Abigail begins to crawl, that sweet little ass pushed high into the air. The thong I’d picked for her clings to her like a second skin, the globes of her ass still red from my belt.

  “Good girl,” I say, watching as she reaches the bench. “Now climb on, and lay on your back.”

  She complies and I cross the room to the cabinet in the corner, opening it and looking through the instruments before choosing a small black flogger.

  I want to use the belt – I always want to use the belt -- but there was plenty of time for that later. I could use the flogger to get her ready for what I had in store for her.

  I also chose a blindfold, a silky black strip of fabric that would feel smooth against her skin and not too uncomfortable.

  If this was going to work, she was going to have to trust me implicitly, and tonight would be a good test of that.

  I approach her slowly, letting my eyes run over her body, the curve of her full breasts, the soft roundness of her stomach.

  “What is that?” she asks, spotting the instruments in my hand.

  “A flogger.” I run the ends of it over her bare stomach, skimming her rib cage until she sucks in a
breath.

  “Oh.”

  “Lift up your head.”

  She does, and I lean down and kiss her, my tongue pushing past her lips, taking her, drinking in her sweetness, the taste of wine on her lips, the sweetness of her tongue.

  “I’m going to blindfold you now, baby,” I say. “Do you trust me?”

  She hesitates, but then nods, and I fasten the silky black fabric around her, tying it tight enough so that she can’t see, but not enough that it will cut into her skin. There will be time for hard training later, and for now the flogger will provide more than enough pain.

  Her mouth forms into an O, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

  I reach down and pull the cups of her bra down, letting her big tits out, watching as her nipples pebble under the caress of my thumb.

  “Should I turn over?” she asks.

  “No talking,” I growl, and she stills, surprised at my change of tone. “You’ve been such a bad girl, baby.” I trail the flogger back over her body, this time going right up the middle, between her legs, over the crotch of her panties, up her abdomen.

  Then I pull back and strike her stomach,

  She cries out and arches her back, immediately trying to twist away from me.

  “Don’t move,” I say, watching her flawless skin for any signs of redness. “If you move I will tie you down, and then I will make it worse.”

  “Yes, sir.” Her voice is breathy, innocent. She’s totally out of her element, doing this solely to please me, and it makes me even more turned on than I already am.

  I pull the flogger back and reign it down on her breasts, enjoying the look on her face as she winces in pain, her back arching again as she fights against her instinct to get away from the pain, the only thing stronger than that instinct her desire to please me.

  I reign the flogger down again, back and forth, falling into what seems like an endless rhythm, varying the pressure, watching her tits bounce with every slash against her abdomen, her nipples, her thighs.

  I vary the pressure, light and then heavy, watching as the look on her face changes from pain and humiliation to pleasure and excitement.

  Her cries of pain turn to moans and whimpers for more.

  When her body is marked with my flogger, when her breasts are heaving and her panties are wet and clinging to her, making her pussy lips even more pronounced then they already were, I stop.

  I undo her blindfold, take the back of her neck and pull her to me, kissing her deep and hard. “Good girl,” I say. “That was a good girl.”

  She blushes under my praise.

  I lay her carefully back down on the bench. “I’m going to take you to the bed, baby. But first you’re going to take my cock out.”

  I see the look of panic on her face, but it’s brief, and then she nods.

  I unbutton my shirt, taking it off and throwing it onto the floor.

  Then I take Abigail’s hands and pull her onto her side, her dark curls spilling over her shoulders.

  I guide her hands to my belt buckle. “Undo my belt.”

  “Yes, sir,” she says in that breathy little innocent voice of hers, and that, coupled with her hands on my belt buckle and the sight of her tits hanging over the cups of her bra, the creamy skin only marred by the redness I’d left on her with the flogger, makes me moan.

  Her hands are shaking as she fumbles with the belt buckle, and she has to take a breath to steady herself, but finally, she gets it undone.

  “Good girl,” I say. “Now undo the button.”

  Her knuckles brush against the outside of my pants, and she pulls her hand away as if she’s been burned.

  “You don’t have to touch my cock yet,” I say. “I just want you to undo my pants. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Mr. Armstrong.”

  I take her tiny hands and place them back on my pants, and this time, she gets the button and fly undone.

  I pull out my rock hard cock, loving the way it looks just inches away from her lips.

  I squeeze the head, watching as her eyes widen in fascination as I stroke up my length, once, twice.

  “You like that, baby?”

  She nods.

  “You’re going to make me come tonight,” I say.

  I give one more stroke of my cock, root to tip, still just inches away from her mouth. It takes all my self-control not to push it against her lips, to grab the back of her head, to fist those luxurious curls as I made her take me all the way down her throat.

  Instead, I reach under her, lift her up and take her to the bed.

  Chapter 6

  ABIGAIL

  His hands under me are strong and sure, and I lean my head against his bare chest instinctually. I’ve never been carried by a man before, have always been insecure about my size. I know I’m not fat, but I don’t have the type of body that conjures up images of a man scooping me up as if I’m light as a feather.

  And yet Elijah is picking me up as if I weigh nothing, his strong frame making me feel small and light against him.

  He takes me to the bed and sets me down with my back against the headboard.

  I watch as he kicks off his shoes and removes his belt, then his pants and boxers, his thick, hard cock bobbing in a thatch of soft hair. A line of that same soft hair starts at his belly button, dipping down over his flat, toned stomach, the V of his hips flexing as he climbs into the bed next to me.

  He sits next to me, both of us with our backs against the wrought iron headboard, our legs out in front of us.

  I try as best as I can not to stare at his cock.

  I’m both terrified and excited at the same time, fascinated by its size and hardness.

  He’s holding his belt in his hand. “Do you trust me?” he whispers.

  I nod.

  He reaches up and places his leather belt flat against my neck. I struggle against the urge to move away, instead meeting his eye as he fastens it around me like a loose collar, slipping the other side through the wrought iron of the headboard, trying me to it so that I can’t move.

  “Turn so I can let your tits out,” he says, his voice heavy with lust, his dark eyes hooded.

  I pull my hair to the side and he unhooks my bra, letting my tits out, the weight of them causing the cups to drop.

  Elijah tosses the bra aside as if it’s of little consequence, instead of a delicate piece of lingerie that probably cost more than my rent.

  His left arm curves around my far shoulder, pulling me close so that we’re thigh to thigh.

  His left hand is at my side now, and he hefts my breast, his thumb expertly rolling the tip of my nipple, sending warmth and desire flowing through me.

  “You were such a good girl tonight, baby,” he whispers into my ear. “And now I’m going to make you come hard, do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re going to make me come, too.”

  His cock twitches at the words, and his thumb continues to play with my nipple, brushing and tweaking and sending heat in a searing fire right between my legs. He pulls me closer to him, putting more pressure on my breast to do it, until we’re pushed up against each other.

  I turn my head towards his slowly, and his mouth presses down on mine, his tongue teasing, stroking. The whole time his thumb tweaks at my nipple, the rhythm matching the strokes of our kiss as we moan against each other’s mouths.

  “God, you are so sexy,” he says. “You have no idea how fucking sexy you are.” His free hand goes to my thigh, and nudges it open.

  His fingers skim over the outside of my panties, tracing my pussy lips.

  “You’ve never had anything inside of you?” he murmurs into my ear.

  “No.”

  “Not even your own finger?”

  I shake my head.

  “Don’t lie to me, Ms. Bennett.”

  “I’m not, sir.”

  He pushes aside the crotch of my panties, runs his finger over my bare skin, the pad of his thumb skimming my clit as he tests h
ow wet I am.

  “So sweet. And I bet so tight.”

  He keeps rubbing my clit, keeps rubbing my nipple with his other hand, keeps kissing me until I can’t keep track of all the friction and the warm sensation that’s swirling through my entire body, turning into a cyclone with its center right between my legs.

  He tugs down my panties, until he’s taken them off.

  “Have you ever had a dick in your hand, Ms. Bennett?”

  He knows the answer to the question, knows that I never have. But I know he wants to hear me say it again, and so I oblige. “No, sir.”

  He takes my hand in his, places it on his cock.

  A groan escapes his lips as I wrap my hand around him, surprisingly enjoying the feel of it in my hand, like steel encased in softness.

  “Fuck, baby, that feels good,” he groans, his eyes hooded, his voice rough, and I marvel that I’m the one having that effect on him. It’s the first crack of vulnerability I’ve seen in him.

  I start to move my hand up and down, up and down, jerking him off.

  “Good girl. Just like that, stroke my dick.”

  I do as I’m told, watching my hand moving up and down over his hard cock, watching in fascination as a tiny bit of precum appears at the tip. I rub my hand over it, using it to lubricate his cock.

  My hand is slippery now, and he groans and I feel his cock get even harder in my hand, watch it twitch and seemingly grow before my eyes.

  “Yes, angel, just like that,” he moans. “Shit, you’re good at that. Jerk me off, baby, stroke me harder.”

  His voice is rougher now, more intense, and he palms my mound with his hand, using his ring and index finger to spread my pussy lips. My clit pops from its hood, and he runs his middle finger over the swollen button.

  We keep kissing, stroking each other, my right nipple brushing against his chest, the belt around my neck keeping me from being able to move too much, his other hand holding my left breast.

  When he finally pulls back, breaking the kiss, I feel out of my mind with lust, desperate to come.

  “I want to come,” I whisper, hoping I won’t be punished for my forwardness.