The Balcony

"Yes, sir."

"Would you like your pretty little hole to be used whenever I feel like it?"

God, yes. No, wait; no. He can't just...

"You don't know?" he said gently.

I was relieved he didn't sound disappointed. "I'm not sure. It sounds...great, but in reality..."

"It wouldn't work. What if I called to ask if you're free first?"

I smiled. I could just imagine it. "Hey, slave, you free for a fuck?" "Ah, no, I'm in the middle of sipping tea with my mom." With my luck, that's exactly how it would go. "Perhaps later?"

"I'd like that," I said, still smiling.

"Good. Now you see how it works."

"Yes, sir."

"Let's hear it then."

"My limits?"

"Yes."

"What if I don't know...?"

"We could find out."

"Now?"

"No, in January," he said calmly.

He does that. I didn't know it then, but I know him better now; I know when he's joking, even though his voice is perfectly serious, I know it's a joke and the level tone of his voice is just for the effect.

~ ~ ~

The basement was warm, a bit stuffy. As the blindfold came off, the first thing I saw was a birdhouse. I frowned, wondering if I was hallucinating. Then I saw a chisel, some nails and a hammer. I remembered the sounds I'd heard while watching him before and I could only hope I was seeing evidence of a hobby, not instruments of my torture.

He motioned with his hand toward a table. Strange thing, too high and too long to be a coffee table, too low for dining, but hand made and beautifully crafted. Its surface was lined with long sets of parallel grooves and I shivered seeing that they formed a shape of a woman's body. He didn't need to say anything; he simply waved his hand and I climbed up, lying on the tabletop facedown. It was a perfect fit, I noticed. As if he had made it for me. He might have.

I'd asked for this. Didn't expect it to feel so...real. Didn't expect him to look so dangerous. Didn't expect to feel this rush of energy before it's even started.

I didn't turn to look when I felt him nudge my legs apart. He secured my ankles, then, without a word, slid a hand under my belly and lifted me to place a large pillow under my hips. Then my hands were bound, a noose around each wrist, then under the table, where he secured it somehow, then back up and around my wrists again. I could hardly move a finger.

He moved behind me; I couldn't see him but I could feel his eyes on me.

~ ~ ~

"How does it feel?"

"Weird, sir."

"Does it turn you on?"

"Kind of. I like...taking orders from you. And I like to think this turns you on." Silence. I peered into the darkness across the yard, but couldn't see him. My head dropped a little and I whispered, "Does it?"

"Yes." It's only one word, but my whole body tightened. Yes.

"I meant," he said after a while, "does it hurt?"

"Not really, sir."

"Do it harder, then."

I did it harder. I was worried the slap might be heard, if someone's left a window open.

"How was it?"

"My ass doesn't really mind, sir. My hand stings, though."

He chuckled. "You must have soft hands. We should put them to better use." Oh, yes. We could do that. "Mine are harder," he added softly.

I shivered. "Is that a threat?" It was. It was there in his voice, dark pleasure at the very thought; it was deep inside me, a yearning to experience it, a need to belong...

"It's an offer." It would be easier if it were a threat. It's easier to be reluctant than to make decisions. He wasn't making it easy for me, but he was aware of it and kind enough to add, "You don't have to decide now."

~ ~ ~

He'd agreed to everything. He'd listened carefully. I felt safe. I knew I shouldn't. This was not an affair you'd tell your friend about over a cup of coffee, giggle and analyze every word he'd said and every thing he'd done. Not the sort of man whose last name you could speak after your own first name, trying out the combination.

My friends would tell me I'm insane. Which is probably true. Where I was going didn't require a suitcase full of clothes, yet from my balcony to that unfinished building felt like going to the other side of the world.

To the end of the world and over the edge, into nothingness.

"Promise me you'll take me back home. No matter what."

"I promise."

~ ~ ~

His cock was in his hand. I raised my face from the table to watch. He stepped closer, aiming the large head at my hand. It sank in like a warm animal and my palm curled spontaneously. It was so close to my face it might as well have been in my mouth. There was a tiny flicker of regret in the back of my mind — I'd almost hoped he'd, at least by accident, break our agreement and touch me not with his hands, but with that rock-hard, gracefully shaped shaft. It would scare me into wondering what else he might do, but I'd get to feel him, taste him.

His pants were rolled down around his ankles again and he leaned down to pull a condom out of a pocket. I watched him put it on in fascination and dread. If he breaks one rule, he might break them all. Then again, he was putting a condom on, and he wouldn't if he didn't care for my safety — or was it just his he was worried about? Whatever his intentions were, there are only so many things you'd need a condom for, and I was ready for each and every one of them.

As the rubber slid down to the base of his cock, he moved closer to my mouth. I looked up into his eyes. "It's not what I asked for."

"No, it's not." He didn't move forward. He didn't move back. He waited. "It's what I want. And, technically, no discussion's needed; you wouldn't be touching me, but rubber."

I smiled. It was a lame excuse, but it would do.

"Not tonight, anyway," he added. My eyes flew from his cock to his eyes again. Staring back with a lustful grin, he pressed down on his shaft to angle it to pry my lips. Not tonight. Either he was trying to tell me something or just wanted to surprise me so I'd look at him while he entered my mouth. The smell of rubber was strong, and the taste left something to be desired, but I swirled the tip of my tongue between my lips and the condom, coating it in saliva until it could slide into my mouth easily.

He pushed in slowly, his fingers coiling into my hair and around my head until they locked; then, suddenly, he was shoving in to the back of my throat forcefully, in and out quickly, ignoring my moans of protest. My neck was twisted and straining. I was driveling and breathing with difficulty. One second I wanted him to stop; the next we were both groaning and I was sucking him deeper into my mouth, spurring him on, unable to speak but doing my best to take as much as I could — to let him know he could go as far as he needed to go.

My eyes were closed, my mind floating on the flow of his hips — in and out, in and out, full and empty, sweet and hungry — nothing but a tantalizingly slow increase of rhythm filling it, until I could feel his orgasm raising as if it were my own. When he stopped, pulling out roughly, I gasped for air, I gasped in need for him.

He snapped the condom off. "You don't get anymore."

"Please... I... more..."

"No. I want you coming back for this." He shook his head, zipping up. "Stop whining and pay attention. I want to show you something."

I stopped whining, not because he'd told me to, but because there was a fine but unmistakable difference in the two sentences beginning with "I want". The one about showing me something had been a part of the game. The one before that, about coming back, sounded just plain weird, spoken as an order but accompanied by an ironic smile. By now, you would expect it not to seem ironic anymore, a woman begging a man for a blowjob.

It's been a while since anyone's took the time to get me naked slowly. Usually, it's either ripping the clothes off, or I wait for the guy already naked. I've forgotten how erotic it can be when a man takes his time, even if it's only with the panties. I didn't know if he was faking it for my sake, or if the hunger that shone in his eyes at odd moments was true and he really had trouble prolonging the game; either way, I didn't need to be tied up for this; I held my breath, needing him to need this as much as I did, motionless, my mind a blank, completely drowned in delicate sensation of his fingers tracing the curves of my ass and edges of my panties. I hissed each time they passed from the cotton to the bare skin; they tickled through the cloth and then felt warm and so much stronger trailing down my thighs. I moaned as they followed the sweat-soaked crevice between my legs.

I never wanted him to stop — and, still, desperately needed something stronger — when he started to pull on the waist of my panties. He used only one hand, only one finger, wedged between the cloth and my crack, tickling, and they slid over my ass cheeks excruciatingly slowly, catching on my hips, my weight trapping them in front between my belly and the pillow. He tugged sharply and I raised my hips. When the panties were halfway down to my knees, I tried to raise my knee above the surface of the table, expecting him to want to take them off, but he left them there. It took mere seconds for me to understand why. They covered nothing, yet they were still there to remind me that I was revealed. I could only imagine what I must look like, bound and with panties around my knees. As if I needed another reminder, he placed a soft kiss that left a slowly cooling damp mark on my ass cheek.

He lingered, his breath blowing gently over my skin. Waiting for me to decide whether what he'd done had been against the rules or not, probably. I didn't know. The limits were to protect me from getting hurt or pissed on, not kisses. I'd liked it, so I kept silent. Soon his fingers were back to trace a line from the small of my back to the crack of my ass and down, sliding smoothly between the swollen lips, a shiver running back up my spine.

"I wish you'd let me fuck you," he rasped. I didn't know if he was regretting he couldn't, or asking me to let him do it now — but I wanted to. I wanted him to take me, against the stupid rules, without concern, without care — without a condom. Whatever he was worrying about, I didn't care — I wanted to feel dirty and free. I wanted to revel in his wild, crude, timber- and cement-smelling world; to drown in his power.

But I wanted him to ask for it. He didn't. Not that night. He just told me he'd make me regret it.

The first slap I was afraid of the most. But, if a slap can be gentle, that one was. He was testing me. He was letting me test him. When I said nothing, he hit just a bit harder.

"I can't hear you, princess."

"Harder," I whispered.

"What did you say?"

"Harder, sir," I repeated.

There was a method to the smacks. What little sanity I had was soon gone, and I couldn't appreciate it then... But then some things happen more than once and you start to recognize the patterns.

I opened my eyes during a pause between smacks that was longer than the others, wondering if it was over, listening to him move behind me. I felt like I could faint at the slightest move. I felt like I could run for hours. I couldn't move to find out which was true.

I heard him chuckle and almost simultaneously a screen of a lap-top came to life with a shrill scream. Before I even knew what I was watching, my body jerked in alarm and exploded in primal fear. I was a monkey who'd heard its relative screech and get devoured by a tiger. I struggled in my bonds, my legs trying to run, my chest heaving violently. Then my brains joined the party and I realized what I was watching.

It was him. The girl was a blond like me, only tied upright, spread-eagled and having to deal with a lot more than me at the moment. There was a long, black whip in his hand. It was that vicious looking thing that must have made the girl scream, then settle into low whimpering.

If I hadn't recognized him, I would have thought I was watching a porno movie. It had that staged look to it, too perfect, too...unreal. Black leather everywhere, his pants, her top and skirt, bunched up around her waist, handcuffs that held her bound, whip, all leather, except a satiny scarlet curtain that provided a dramatic, somewhat predictable background. I would have laughed to see this movie under different circumstances; draped over the table, having recognized him, knowing it was for real, I found nothing funny about it. I was scared shitless. Is this what he normally enjoys? I'm not having my ass whipped. No way. I remembered that I was locked down here, him having the key. Jesus. Woman's back was already criss-crossed with red welts. He does not expect me to...

Yes he does. I want to show you something. There was an obvious similarity in looks that could not have been accidental. Blond, large breasts, skinny while I was more muscular, but thin either way, baby blue eyes. Either he chose only certain type of women for this, or he had a large collection of home movies to choose from. I didn't know which possibility was more frightening.

As if to rub it in, the man on the screen quickly raised his hand and the black whip cut through the air — cut into his victim's flesh. She screamed. I screamed. He'd smacked my ass in time with the whip hitting, making my mind leap and flip over, my body nearly doing the same, breaking loose. He cooed softly, "Shhh, it's okay, it's okay..."

Despite myself, I relaxed, wondering how it was even possible to feel safe in the hands of a man hurting me, and obviously capable of hurting me even worse. His fingers traced the curve of my ass, the sensation pleasant and oddly separated from the burning remainder of the slaps he'd given me. As my body relaxed, a slow trickle of moisture oozed down my slit. His hand soon found it, and a chuckle rumbled through his chest. "Slave, you leave stains wherever I put you."

I wished that I could feel only fear — or at least that I could watch and not feel embarrassed about liking it — but the truth was, I was loving it and didn't have the guts to admit it. My head dropped, my face burning. He cupped my chin roughly to lift my head back up. "Watch, princess. You know you want to. I know you want to."

You would have thought a basement room would be less stuffy. The summer has crawled in even down here. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I couldn't find a way around his words. It was a simple, pure truth. I could have so easily not met him and never have felt like this... exposed, helpless like a plaything, his fingers entering my body easily, my inner walls swollen and soaked in juices...exposed more, more completely...

"Such a bad girl... Watch, princess. I'm not one of your boyfriends. I don't think you're a slut. I know you're a slut, remember? I know already..." His voice trailed off with a hiss and his hand smacked my ass almost gently. "...and I'll make you pay for it... I'll give your filthy little ass what it deserves..."

It wasn't only my body exposed; somehow he saw deeper than a wet pussy, he knew what made it wet. And he'd broken through my defenses. I wasn't afraid of what he was doing do me, not even of what he might do; my mind was soaked in the scene on the screen, where he'd turned the whip around to bring the handle between the woman's legs; she humped it, howling in pleasure, the sound doubled by my own moaning and his whispered words, urging, mocking and scolding in turns, rhythmic smacks reverberating through my body, reaching my clit, each bringing me closer to climax, further out of control.

The man on the screen tossed the whip and pulled the woman onto a bed, both his and her arousal obvious, making me wiggle on his table. He increased the intensity of the slaps but I was only half aware of it, watching in fascination as a man in the movie thrust into abused flesh with unbridled passion. Oh, God, how I envied that woman; I would have done anything to have his dick filling me, his muscular body pressing mine into the mattress like that, his teeth sinking into the skin of my neck, his breath in my ears, his cock... his cock...if he'd only... "Please..." He could... he was getting off on this. The proof of it was pressed into my side, alive, warm, twitching.

The movie stopped as abruptly as it had started, my ragged breath suddenly the only sound in the basement; the screen was blank for a moment while the next file was being loaded — and then I saw myself. On the balcony. The sun must have set just minutes ago, there was still some warm orange glow reflected in the window to my right.

A shadow moved just beyond the doorway and I blinked in bemusement. I couldn't remember having a visitor out on the balcony recently... It moved again and I recognized it.

"Oh my God..." How had he managed to sneak into the apartment and right behind my back without me noticing it? He'd been two steps away!

I barely realized he was walking around the table, letting me out of my bonds, until he stood before me and pulled me up by my hair. "I came so close," he said in a hoarse whisper, "I thought I wouldn't be able to turn back. What would you have done...?"

That did it. Knowing he had turned back. Knowing I wouldn't have fought him. As my body tensed on the verge of an orgasm, he gave me a final set of quick blows that delayed the ecstasy, making it that much stronger when it came. I screamed and moaned, my body wracked by powerful spasms. He let me slide to the floor, where I writhed and whimpered until I came to my senses.

His foot nudged me to open my eyes and see him rubbing his own crotch.

"Open your mouth, princess," he said huskily, "if you want a taste."

I did, and he unzipped his pants again, giving me a magnificent view of his thick cock and his body looming over me. I licked my lips in anticipation; even though he'd said he wouldn't let me suck him anymore tonight, I wanted more. I tried to get to my knees, hoping to tempt him to use my mouth, only to be shoved gently but firmly back down by his foot.

"Did I say you could get up?" His voice was unpleasant but his breath ragged.

"Uhmh... No, sir."

"I'm not done with you yet."

"I'm sorry, sir," I told his shoes.

"Look at me."

His teeth were set, his eyes dark. "You do realize you're breaking your own rule?"

My mind was slipping away while I watched him, realizing that I was about to glimpse behind that steel wall of self control that he'd been so easily maintaining all night. My pussy clenched in need and my hand snaked between my legs again. He saw it and grinned, his hand prolonging the strokes, my own fingers pushing deep into my slick flesh when I realized he would let me masturbate at his feet.

"I don't care." I just wanted to watch and feel him cum. My legs spread wide, rolled onto my back, I moaned in disappointment when he threw his head back so that I couldn't see his face, but it dissolved in sight of sperm shooting from his cock. First pearly string hit only my shoulder, most of it falling on the ground behind me with a faint tap, but his head snapped forward and his aim soon improved, the second spurt covering my face and my mouth, and the next my breasts, soft rapid tap-tap-tap of warm heavy drops like summer rain over my chest. I rubbed harder on my clit as his essence melted on my tongue. "Mmmmm... you make... such a sight, slave," I heard him grunt while another orgasm shook me.

It felt like waking up, finally opening my eyes after that one, like waking up reluctant to part with a pleasurable dream. I raised slowly, my eyes flicking from his face for approval to one last drop still dangling from the tip of his penis and back; I extended my tongue and looked up to him again, silently asking permission; he nodded and let me lick him clean.