Addiction

I stare at the door in front of me, hand clenched into a fist at my side as I debate turning around and leaving. I could pretend I'd never caved like this, pretend I'd never stood staring at the wooden grains and brass knocker. Who am I kidding? I couldn't do that. Not again. I knock, ignoring the hoop of metal affixed to the door, and step back. Lip caught between my teeth I hold my hands together in front of me, trying to keep them from shaking. Maybe he's not home, I hope. That would be a blessing. A sign that there is indeed some benevolent spirit watching out for me. No such luck, the door opens and he's there, looking at me with some mix of shock and amusement registering in his face. That charming smile and he steps aside, no questions asked "Come on in." and I do.

I walk past him, eyes on the ground as I pull my shoes off in his front hall and leave them neatly next to his. It takes a moment but I muster up the courage to look at him and open my mouth to speak -- then close it, open it again. The words aren't coming, I had expected them to be there but they're not. He covers for me though

"Tea?" he asks, walking around me and towards the kitchen. I follow

"Coffee, if you have..." I almost stutter, but manage to keep some form of composure. A grand accomplishment in my eyes. I catch the ghost like reflection of myself in the dark windows of his kitchen and just stare for a moment. I'm pale, I can practically see myself shaking, my hair's a mess and my eyes... darting nervously about now, taking in familiar surroundings and picking up on subtle changes.

"Sugar and cream still?" his voice snaps me out of my daze and I look at him, taking a second to register the question.

"Yes, less sugar though." I murmur, trying in vain to make my hair look presentable. I take the soon offered mug in hand and hold it tightly, staring into the steaming liquid. "I- I don't know what I'm doing here." Yes I do. "I just..." my eyes raise to meet his "I don't know." He knows too. He doesn't have to say anything and I know it. I watch him standing across from me, on the other side of the kitchen. When was the last time we gave each other so much space while in the same room? Never. Not even when we met. This was a mistake. "This was a mistake. I'm sorry. I should go." I put the mug down on the counter and turn to leave. I only get two steps before his hand's on my shoulder and I know I'm not going anywhere. Not tonight.

The touch of his palm on my bare shoulder transports me back, when's the last time I'd felt his touch? Not that last time when we'd realized what we'd become to one another. What he did to me was my drug, what I let him do to me was his. And I was the junkie who had just broken down first. Shown up at his doorstep looking for a fix; the doorstep of the only dealer who knew exactly what I needed and wanted.

"Stay." One word. One word and I know I'm stuck here. One word and I'm calm again. One word and I'm his again, at least for tonight.

"We both know why you're here," he whispers in my ear, still standing behind me with that paralyzing hand on my shoulder "and it's ok. This time" Sometimes change is palpable, the change that took place when he moved away from me for example. The change of mood within the room was as tangible as the chair on my left. I know the rules as well as if I were taught them yesterday. I'll always know these rules. He leaves the room and I stay standing there, staring at the cream coloured tiles of his kitchen floor and waiting.

I lose track of how long I'm standing there before he returns to his position behind me. Leather and metal wrap around my throat and with a click they rest. It's heavier than I remember it being but it still feels right. Another clip and there's a tug at the collar. "Come." Do I have any other choice? I follow him down the stairs to his basement and when he tells me to stop, I stop. When he tells me to strip, I strip down to nothing, until I'm standing there with only the collar around my neck, the leash hanging between my breasts and the glint of silver through my nipples. Gaze ever on the ground by my feet I see his hand reach over to flick at one of the hoops

"These are new." Am I to answer? "When did you get them?" Yes.

"Three months ago, Master." is the reply. I can practically hear the smirk in his voice in his next word.

"Kneel." And I do. Because tonight, just for tonight, I'm his again.

The floor beneath my knees is cold, smooth, hard and comforting. The chain hanging heavily from my collar is the same. Hands together behind my back, shoulders high and straight, head bowed, eyes on the ground and ears open, trying to catch some hint of what's in store for me. A shadow falls over me and I know it's almost time, my heart had been pounding in anticipation and now I'm shocked to find it can beat even faster.

"Look at me." So I do, looking up at the masked face of a giant; a man who towers head and shoulders above me when I'm standing my tallest. "Do you trust me?" Could I be here if I didn't?

"Yes, Master." And I know that those will be the last words that I'll speak for sometime and I know that this view will be the last I see for some time because now he's bending down, a blindfold in one hand and a ball gag in the other. And I'm excited, and I'm a little scared, and I'm ready.

Blind and mute I stumble as he pulls me to my feet with the leash. I nearly fall as he moves me across the room. I don't know what's in store for me and I won't have any hints until it starts. It starts. He removes the chain and then binds my wrists together in front of me and I know the look on his face even without being able to see it. Concentration will be creasing his forehead and pressing his lips tight, anticipation will have his eyes gleaming and cheeks rosy and when the binding is finished and my arms are being held out in front of me by something I cannot see anticipation will be replaced by excitement and concentration by determination. A breath of air brushes past my naked form as he moves away from me, I can feel the goose bumps rise on the skin of my arms and over my stomach and then... Then my arms begin to rise and a shiver runs down my spine. I know what's going on now! I can hear the whirring of machinery as my arms are stretched high above my head, lifting my heels off of the ground. And then it stops. Everything stops. There's no sound in the room, no hint of movement. More waiting. Waiting is even more torturous then what I'm sure he has planned for me but waiting is part of the fun. So I remain there, unmoving, half hanging from my arms and half supporting myself on the balls of my feet until he's ready.

I don't know how long I've been waiting there, I have no idea what he's doing during this time. For all I know, he's sitting comfortably, doing a crossword puzzle and waiting for any sign of weakness. I wouldn't be surprised. My legs are shaking from the effort, my shoulders ache from the strain and it's all I can do to keep myself from drooling -- so far I've been doing well. I have the time to mentally assess what it is I've done tonight and what else I'll do tonight. Time to contemplate the months I've just undone with one stupid knock. Time to wonder what's coming tonight, tomorrow, next month, if I'll have the resolve to stay away; to quit for good.

I hear him approaching me, quiet footsteps that sound so loud after the silence. Each hushed sound makes my stomach flip and sink in a way that's more pleasant than uncomfortable until I think I'll be sick from this fervent feeling he's building within me. He's circling me as if I'm his prey, planning his course of action and how to attack most efficiently. He's toying with me, mocking me, studying me. I can picture his gaze studying my stretched out curves and twitching muscles. Closer and closer and then he's beside me, no longer pacing. I can feel the heat of his breath on my neck, each gentle draft sending shivers over my entire body. And another warmth, a different warmth right above my breast. Familiar but I can't place it, I know I should be able to but it's eluding me like a word stuck on the tip of my tongue.

I gasp around the bright red ball between my lips as something drops onto my chest, it's hot, burning, liquid, and then it's cooling down, I can feel it grow harder. Wax. Falling from a shorter distance then I would've chosen, but he's making my decisions for me tonight. I hear his grunt of disapproval at the muffled gasp but he lets it slide... This time. Drip after drip of molten wax caresses my breasts, some splattering as they land, others sliding down my cleavage to my stomach or grazing over my sensitive nipples. I have a mental image of my pale skin marred red from the heat with white wax cooling into a shell as each drop attaches to the one next to it.

For every jump, gasp and squeal that I repress as the wax hits my bared skin, a jolt rushes through my nervous system. My cheeks are no doubt red, my nipples like pebbles, my breathing is growing heavier as I grow more excited -- I can feel the hard wax crack with every rise and fall of my chest. Each shock is felt right between my legs, I'm sure I must be soaked by now... This pain rocks through my body like pleasure until I can barely remember my own name and then he takes it away, I continue to await the next drop of wax but it doesn't come. He's walking away. I want to cry out for more but I can't, it's not the gag that stops me but the fact that I'm back in my old role. His little slut for pain, and I know there will be more if I'm a good girl. If I behave and play by his rules I'll be rewarded.

He's not gone for long enough for me to recover, not long enough for my legs to stop shaking or my mind to stop reeling. Just long enough for me to work myself up even more, mind scrolling through the endless possibilities of what's to come because I have a sneaking suspicion that we're not nearly done here. I'm picturing the hours I've spent in this room in the past in rapid succession -- one experience to the next so fast that they're a blur of potential activities. A list so long that we could spend days getting through it and there's still more... There's always more.

His hands are on me for the first time since I stepped through his front door and I feel each brush of his fingertips more intensely then I've ever felt anything. It's nothing, but the butterfly light touches send electricity shooting through me and raise every hair on my body. It take all the self control I have too keep myself from pressing my breasts into his hands as he slowly peels the wax from my chest. Piece by piece it falls around my feet, striking my stomach, knees and toes on the way down but all I'm aware of is how it pulls at my skin and how he's being so careful to barely touch me. Extremely frustrating, but I think that's the point. No, I know that's the point.

Within minutes I'm free of my wax armor, painfully short minutes. I'm torn. I want him to touch me with the tenderness he was just using; I want him to hurt me as much as he can. I want it all. It doesn't matter what I think I want; I'll want whatever he gives me.

A brief touch of cool metal to my shoulder is all the warning I get before the point of a knife scratches down by spine. It's light enough that I know I'm not being cut, but hard enough that I'm arching my back in reaction: Half moving away from the blade, half into the tip -- my body as conflicted as my mind as to what I want from him. "Stay still" he growls and I struggle to obey, trying not to flinch as the utensil digs past my skin and I can feel it slicing a hot trail across the top of my shoulders.

Behind the blindfold my eyes are squeezed shut and if it were possible, my jaw would be clenched. I can feel blood run down my back and realize just how deep he cut me. I relish in the feeling, concentrating on the warmth trickling downwards and then on the warmth moving upwards along the same path... His tongue. If it was what he wanted, I could've cum right then.

I'm expecting more. I'm hoping for more. But I don't get it, in fact, I can hear him place knife down so clearly that I know he wanted me to hear it.

A steady stream of drool has been falling onto my chest for a while now, warm and sticky until it dries to cool. It's embarrassing how I can't control it, how my chin is slick and dripping. And then I'm given back the control, the gag undone and it falls to the ground, rolling into my aching feet. I work my jaw, trying to ease the discomfort that throbs in every muscle of my face.

The thing about blindfolds is that you can't see what's coming, even if it's coming straight for you. I didn't see the kiss coming until is lips were on mine, his tongue in my mouth. Just long enough for me to taste my own blood but not long enough to satiate my desire for more. I whimper in my disappointment and immediately know I've made a mistake.

Rule 3 -- don't make a sound without permission. And I didn't have permission. I broke a rule and I'll be punished. When we started I once broke a rule on purpose, in the mood for pain... He gave me more than I could handle, just crossing that line that turned my pain from pleasure to actual pain. I never tried again but today I slipped and the whistle of the crop whipping through the air hits my ears at the same time as the crop itself hits my ass.

It stings like a bitch. "Did." another strike, crossing over the first, but I've braced for it this time. "I." this one falls on my lower back. "Say." the back of my left thigh burns like he's using a branding iron. "You." the right thigh feels the same. "Could." upper back, just missing the cut made mere minutes ago. "Make. A. Fucking. Sound?" Four more in quick succession fall across my thighs and ass and the fabric of the blindfold soaks up a tear I can't hold back. And my jaw is clenched as tight as I can bear.

"I asked you," my right nipple feels like it's been cut off -- except I'm so acutely aware of the pain there that I know it hasn't been. "a question." and the left now.

"No, Sir, you didn't." I reply weakly, my voice trembling from the agony and the equally unbearable arousal.

"That's right. I didn't."

I can hear in his voice that my answer's enough. That my punishment has ended. The crop falls again and again over my chest, stomach, hips, back, ass and thighs at just the right speed and with just the right strength behind it that I can feel each blow resonate through every part of my body - the pain turning to ecstasy as is flows through me.

Before he's done I can taste blood again, my teeth have gone into my lower lip in an effort not to make a sound. Sweat and blood trickle over the welts on my back, sweat and more run down my quivering legs. All I know now is that this is torture and I love it. My name, his, our location, any sense of time - all are drowned out by the lust I've found in the pain he's causing me.

The crop hits me across my ass one last time before I hear it hit the floor. He's in front of me now, I can feel him there even though I can't see him and can't hear him. He's not touching me but I know. Know he's watching as my chest rises and falls rapidly, as my cheeks flush with the imagined feel of his eyes sweeping over my naked body. Know that he's watching as my pussy twitches in need, even if he can't see it.

His tongue brushes over my torn lip before he claims my mouth. Only his lips and tongue touch me and even that is ecstasy like I've never felt before in my life. His hands brush against my hips and then press against my bruised ass, fingers digging into a welt he'd left behind. My self restraint escapes me and I scream into the room, listening to the sound echo around his dungeon. "You don't learn very well, do you?" he murmurs, sounding so amused that my heart pounds even harder in fear of what my punishment will be this time. Before I have time to respond to him, his lips are crushed against mine again and his fingers are exploring the welt.

Next thing I know my feet are off the ground and the blindfold is soaking up the tears that escape my clenched eyelids. His touch on the wound was painful; with gravity helping... it's nearly unbearable. Without thinking of the consequences I wrap my legs around him only to be pulled close. I can feel how hard he is, his cock pressed against my cunt is such a tease.

There are no consequences, I may be hanging from his ceiling by my wrists and I may be blindfolded but we're equals now. Equal in our hunger for the other's body: Equal in our need for release. Power games are behind us for the time being as he tries to restrain himself and enter me slowly. My restraint is only forced by metal and leather right now -- his restraint is out the metaphorical window. We both moan equal moans of carnal delight as he comes to rest deep within me.

His mouth brushes against the skin where my shoulder meets my neck, teeth, tongue and lips traveling slowly upwards until it claims my own. One slow, sensual, kiss, lingering for a few seconds of eternity before he sucks my lower lip between his briefly. I return the favour, catching lip between teeth and basking in his moan as I bite down hard enough to make sure he's felt it. I remember that moan. I love that moan. I need more.

I rock my hips towards him and he takes the cue, setting into a pace that has the chains above me swinging. At first it's all I can do to keep from throwing my head back and screaming into the room and then, I stop trying. I cry out and listen to the echoes of my pleasure echoed by his ringing throughout his dungeon.

As he thrusts in and out of me, I forget why I stayed away so long and remember why we were together in the first place. I'm still so worked up that it only takes seconds for me to cum, grabbing at the cool metal above me as I shake, the teeth digging into my shoulder only making it that much more powerful. His lips find mine once again and we're overcome. This is nothing more than animalistic fucking, getting one another off and drinking all the gratification we can out of the other. It's intense and there's no other word for it.

There's no pace anymore, just the a-rhythmic dance of two bodies straining towards release, he tears his mouth from mine to breathe heavily past my ear. Each grunt, each moan, each whimper, feels like it's pushing me closer and closer to the edge of a second orgasm. I recognize the sounds he's making and the desperation with which he's pulling me towards him and I know he's close as well. Somehow, that's the proverbial last straw -- either that or the way his fingers are curling into my fresh welts.

I bury my scream in his shoulder and it's lost in his own shout as he climaxes, holding me as close to him as he can. We remain there - my legs wrapped around him, his arms around me - while he recovers and a moment later he places me down on my feet. Despite being suspended from the ceiling, I feel like I may fall and in the darkness behind the blindfold, it takes me a moment to grasp why I suddenly have to balance myself.

Then I am falling, my knees not strong enough to support me as he slowly lowers the chains from which I hang. Within a minute I'm on the floor, knees and elbows digging into the cold ground as I try to keep off of the fresh welts and cuts. My hands are out in front of me, still cuffed but close enough that I could take off the blindfold if I weren't feeling so weak and besides, I can hear him coming over to me.

Metal jingles against metal as he undoes the shackles binding my wrists together and fingertips brush my hair as he removes the blindfold. "This, is why you're here."