Beyond Limits Ch. 02

I put the ashtray on the floor.

"I want to whip you," I said. "I want to tie you up and whip you."

April's eyes looked heavy, too heavy to be thrown off by something like that. "I have a whip in the bedroom. I have rope too. They've never been used."

I looked at her. "Do you know what I'm saying, April? Are you telling me you're like that?"

"For the right man, yes, I'm 'like that'—" And you could hear the quotation marks in her voice. "For you, Russell, I'm 'like that'."

A tide of blood surged through my body and one part of me told myself to stop but it was ignored. After all the denial I'd always gotten from Lexi, I felt almost dizzy, powerful, on fire. I sat up and the blood drained from my head and now I truly felt dizzy. It took me a moment to clear my head. April stayed on the carpet, on her knees.

Miles Davis was still playing, his muted trumpet sounding lonely and plaintive, the shopping bag of heroin—I didn't know how many thousands of dollars worth—stood by the end table looking foolishly bedraggled.

"Get your whip," I said. "Let's see what it looks like." I was suddenly angry. I didn't know whom at and I didn't care. It felt good.

April stood up. She'd taken her shoes off after we'd done our lines, and she padded quietly into the bedroom in her socks. I heard drawers being opened and closed. She came back with two whips—a riding crop and a bullwhip, the latter a kind of souvenir made of cheap, braided, rawhide. I'd seen these before—poorly cured leather not even meant to be used. They could cause real damage before they fell apart in shreds.

"Give me the bullwhip. Turn off the music and get on your knees."

April did as I said, handing me the whip, then turning off the stereo and kneeling on the carpet in the middle of the room where the coffee table had been. She looked calm, a bit sedated, her lids heavy with sensual excitement.

The whip was just what I thought, cheaply made, a souvenir of Mexico. The edges of the rawhide strands were sharp and stiff against my palm. It wasn't meant to be used, and a bullwhip was a horrible thing to use on a person anyhow, producing deep cuts and lacerations. But power was coursing through my body, the power of domination, a power Lexi hadn't let me taste in a long time, and I was heady with it.

I don't know if I would have done this if I hadn't been high but I think I might have, and then I don't know if I would have gotten high if I hadn't already felt deprived and made smaller by what had happened earlier that night. As it was, I felt disconnected from Lexi, cut loose and set free. April was kneeling on the floor maybe eight feet from me, fresh and lovely, a beautiful girl.

"Take off your sweater."

She acted as though she'd been obeying orders all her life. She grasped the bottom of the sweater and peeled it up over her head, her straight blonde hair cascading around her shoulders as the garment peeled free. She was wearing a black camisole, no bra. Her shoulders were pristine, like hills off ice cream.

I leaned forward on the sofa and hefted the whip in my hand, feeling the awkward balance. I thought of what it would feel like to strike her, but really, I had no cause. Between April and me there wasn't that confused nexus of want and desire that gave meaning to BDSM; there wasn't that furious tension of push-pull.

"Take off your jeans," I said.

She stood up and unbuttoned her jeans, a look of passionate serenity on her face. She wasthat way, I realized. The very act of obeying orders thrilled her. She had a beautiful woman's ability to distance herself from her body, and she did that now, peeling down her jeans and kicking them away from her with serene indifference, and yet her sense of excitement was palpable. She stood there in her black panties and camisole, awaiting my judgment or for whatever I might wish.

Though I felt nothing for her, it's impossible to remain unmoved in such a situation. She was giving herself to me, giving herself to this horrible whip, that flawless body, perfectly sculpted, the face of a child. She was an exquisite piece of work, just terribly well-put together, and looking at her made me hard. She was not as detached as she let on either. She was breathing faster than she should have been and she was holding her shoulders back with unconscious pride.

I couldn't have done anything to her with that whip even if I'd wanted to. It takes tremendous skill to wield a bullwhip and this wasn't even a toy, just some souvenir meant to hang on a wall. I could have used the crop if I'd wanted—or I could have at least played with her for God's sake; she would have let me do anything to her—but I was still pledged to Lexi in spite of all that had happened and I couldn't. But I'd been pressed down and denied too long. I couldn't resist her either.

"Sit down in the chair," I told her.

If she was disappointed, she didn't show it. She got up and shook her hair back, then sat demurely down in the chair, her back straight and knees together. I picked up the crop and sat down on the sofa close to her and looked at the symmetric shadows of her ribs and the soft mounds of her stomach muscles, the dark mystery of her navel. She was coke thin. I reached out with the whip and lifted her hair and let it fall back against her face. She didn't move but her eyes were alive and expectant.

I ran the tip of the crop over her face, down her neck and over her breasts, down her arms. April leaned back in the chair and gripped the armrests. She closed her eyes and parted her lips. Her nipples came alive behind the thin camisole and my cock answered in my pants. I moved the crop down to the hem of the cami and lifted the bottom of the garment so I could see her breast hiding shyly behind the fabric. I circled her nipple with the tip of the whip, violating her tan line and she stiffened, her nails digging tight into the arm of the chair.

I was still pledged to Lexi. We'd had a disagreement, that's all, something we'd no doubt talk out, and then things would be back to normal and I'd be ashamed at what I was doing back here at April's apartment. That's what I told myself but I knew it was more than that. There was something fundamentally wrong with me and Lexi, something I wanted that I wasn't getting from her, and I was getting it now from April, getting it easily and willingly and in abundance. There were women willing to give it to me, and I could tell from the way I felt it was something I needed. Why wouldn't Lexi give it to me?

I ran the crop over April's bare legs, teased it along her thighs until she began to squirm in the chair. When I tapped the insides of her knees, she opened her legs just a bit. She understood. When I tapped harder, she spread them.

"Leave your legs like that," I said. "Don't move them. Understand?"

She nodded vaguely.

The snow was blowing almost horizontally past the window. The drive home would be a bitch. With the stereo off it was very quiet in the apartment and we could hear a loose piece of metal shaking in the wind somewhere outside, maybe a stop sign. I moved the crop down between her legs and began to spank it against her pussy, and she sighed and moaned softly. Her chair creaked as she moved her hips to take the crop, which made soft patting sounds as I slapped it against her puffy cunt. I studied her face, the look of rapture there. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted. She looked like she was in a car that was going very fast and she loved the feel of the wind on her face. Every so often when I hit her too hard she winced and gave a little groan and the muscles in her legs tightened, but other than that and the obscene grinding, she didn't move, just sat there and let me spank her pussy. I never understood subs, but then, I didn't have to.

"Harder, master, please?" she whispered, and I was going to object. I hadn't told her she could speak and I don't like being called "master", but I didn't want to get too involved with her in an elaborate game. and for some reason now I didn't care what she called me.

"Put your leg over the arm of the chair," I said. "Move your panties to the side. I want to see you naked."

She gave a deep sigh and put her left leg over the arm of the chair, hooking her knee over it and spreading herself wide, then pulled the crotch of her black panties to the right. She wasn't shaved and her pubic hair spilled out, the color of corncobs, her labia and clit a lurid pink, glistening with lubricant. Her nails were painted black. She held her panties in such a way that she pressed down on the flesh around her clit, making it stand up boldly, wet and obscene, and I began to spank it harder with the crop.

"Oh master! God that's good! God, I just want to be your whore, Russell! I just want to be your dirty whore, your slut, your bitch! Do anything to me, master, anything you want. Oh God, you're going to make me come! Tell me I can come, Russell! Please tell me I can come!"

"No," I said calmly. "You can't come. I forbid it. Take your fingers off it and don't you dare touch that slutty clit, you bitch. Understand?"

I held the whip poised over her pussy as she lifted her hand away from herself and crushed it into a fist. She was shaking. Her head was back and the light from the window fell in slashes through the blinds across her legs and torso. Her chest was heaving with her frantic breathing.

"Please!" she said. "I'm so close! Please, master, please!"

"I'm going to hit you ten times," I said. "You're going to count them. On the tenth stroke, you're going to come. Is that clear?"

"Oh Russell! I can't do that! I'm too close! I can't control it! Please! Please—"

"Try," I said.

I lifted the whip and smacked her over her mound five times in rapid succession, making her wince and almost fold in half with pleasure-pain. The urge to cover and protect herself was strong and she couldn't stop herself from twisting in the chair, but she fought it off and kept her legs spread, her hand pulling her panties to the side. Meanwhile she managed to call out the numbers, one through five.

I waited till I could get a clear shot at her clit and planted the next shot dead on it, making her arch her back and thrust her tits out as she gasped: "Six!"

Her body trembled and she fought with herself not to come. It was a battle she couldn't win. I hit her again, a sharp little spank over the juicy nub of her clit. "Oh God! Seven! Master, Please! I can't hold it! Seven! Seven!"

It felt so good having her under my control like this, having her beauty and perfection at my command—like controlling the thing that controls you. With the whip I commanded a force that was so much bigger than myself. I made her twist and gasp and beg and it made me higher than I already was with a feeling of intense masculine power.

I hit her again and she closed her legs and held them closed but I could tell the slap echoed in her body like a ricochet and would not stop. "Eight! Oh God! I'm coming! I'm going to come! I'm sorry! Forgive me, master! I'm sorry..."

She sucked in a deep breath and held it. Lying flat in the chair, she managed to spread her legs again but her whole body was trembling, convulsing in the chair. She was still holding her panties to the side, her hand shaking as I leaned over and swatted her again.

"Nine!" I said, counting for her.

She was in no shape to say anything. She was coming. Her back was arched, her mouth open in a silent scream, the fingers on her left hand twitching. Her ass was flexing, and a thin, clear fluid was streaming from her pussy, staining her panties and the chair cushion below her. In the sudden silence, there was nothing but her trembling flesh and that stream of fluid and the rattling of the traffic sign blowing in the wind.

"Ten!" I tapped her on the back of the hand, the final blow.

But it was more than she needed. She was gone, sucking in great ragged sobs of air as her orgasm crashed over her, biting the heel of her hand and offering herself to the whip, wanting it, her legs spread wide. The urge to fall on my knees and take her in my arms was intense because I knew how much she was giving me, giving herself totally to the whip, but I didn't. I couldn't let myself.

I turned the whip around and pushed the handle into her, making her arch even farther, her eyes shoot open in blind shock as I penetrated her and she cried out, her thighs shaking. I pumped her twice and drove her higher into the arms of her come till she was almost hysterical, then I left the whip hanging inside her and I sat back. My cock was throbbing with pain.

I sat there as she shook in the chair alone, the whip vibrating with her frantic breathing, She was a victim of what I'd done to her, a willing victim, and my slave if I wanted her.

I reached over and pulled the whip from her pussy and she groaned.

She came down slowly, neither of us speaking. She moaned and sighed a bit, her hands on the insides of her thighs, caressing herself absently.

I was burning with lust and thought about masturbating on her. Surely that wouldn't violate my covenant with Lexi, would it?

No. It would. I already had. There was no rationalizing my way out of this. I had given in to temptation and didn't even feel guilty. I felt as though some ravening beast inside of me had been temporarily satiated but now stalked my mind, free again. I wondered if I could go back to the vanilla arrangement I had with Lexi.

"Not a word of this," I told April as I got my coat. She begged me to stay but I couldn't and she knew I couldn't. I told her I'd think about the dope overnight and talk to her tomorrow and I left her there like that, in the dark, lying on the chair with her legs apart, exhausted from orgasm.