Isabelle's Awakening Ch. 05

He still had a glove on his right hand and she briefly wondered why he hadn't bothered to take it off yet.

She tried not to squirm under his stare but it took a lot of effort. Lord, he was intimidating. Stunningly handsome in a rugged way, with hands that said he wasn't afraid of hard work, but that could caress your cheek with such tenderness you didn't feel the rough calluses. His shoulders were broad and accentuated with strong arms covered in a fine mat of black hair. His hair was longer than most men kept theirs and she liked that about him. And his eyes, oh God, his eyes; they had been haunting her dreams for months now, those piercing, dark eyes that seemed to bore into her soul.

Her skin prickled everywhere his eyes graced. First, raking over her legs, which were bare due to his ripping the sheet off in one smooth motion, then, over her mound and up to her stomach. He made quick work of the t-shirt, finishing it off in one quick tear. He perused her newly exposed breasts until finally moving gently up to her face. A steady clear gaze met her equally steady one.

The power of his perusal was palpable. The air hung thick over an already supercharged atmosphere and Isabelle found it impossible to tear her eyes away. She hoped futilely that he couldn't see what was in her heart and mind at the moment because Lord knows it scared her to death. He provoked such a volatile reaction in her. Even she couldn't understand the depth of emotion she felt for him. She only knew it was stronger than anything she had ever felt.

Yes, it is strong. We have something no one else has. But you don't need to fear it.

Damn it Dillon, just because you can read someone's mind doesn't mean you should.

He just arched a brow at her and shrugged.

"We can have no secrets, why bother pretending we can?" he asked, logically, reasonably even, as if it was completely normal to speak to someone else through your mind. She didn't even know what it was called, telepathy, empathy, or some form of it. That much she knew but she didn't know if this connection they shared even had a technical name.

She knew he was right, but did he have to sound quite so calm about it? She supposed he had had a longer time to adjust to their newfound power than she had and that must account for his rational analysis. But it still rankled.

"Stop fighting it and stop pouting. I suggest we make the best of it."

"Of course you would suggest that, you're not the one tied up," she muttered.

His hands reached out to grip her ankles above her restraints, one warm and smooth palm and one cool, leather bound touch. She promptly forgot what she was about to say as his touch registered on her skin. His thumbs began massaging her calves, slowly working his way up to her knees. The heat from his left hand penetrated her skin while the leather clad hand was a little cooler.

Her knee felt trapped on all sides by leather. It was cool and soft but his grip was not. She watched his face as his fingers took liberties with her body. His expression was shuddered; his eyes slanted in such a way as to not reveal anything of what he was thinking.

She wished she knew if what was happening was real or not. Could it be possible that they shared a connection that somehow allowed them to communicate via their minds? The proof was hard to deny, unless she had completely lost her mind and was just hearing her own voice in her head, which, considering the predicament she was in, could be a plausible explanation.

Quit thinking Isabelle. It is real.

Isabelle ignored him and decided that crazy or not, she was getting entirely too used to him answering her this way. It was comforting in a way, to know that your whole self was vulnerable and open to another, that there were no secrets, nothing that could separate them.

It was also one of the scariest things she had ever experienced. Trust did not come easily to her and here was this man demanding she trust him with all of her heart, mind and soul. And in the meantime he would come to know every little thing about her, every secret she had kept, every lie she had ever told and the fears that kept her up at night.

I already know your secrets Belle and the only lie I concern myself with is the one you keep trying to tell yourself now. The one that says this isn't happening, you don't really love me and that you can hide from me, all lies. As to your fear of giving of yourself, well I'm afraid it's a little too late for that. You give with every breath you take.

He squeezed her thighs tightly as if to emphasize his point. Isabelle felt her eyes well up at his message. Her heart clutched tightly in her chest and she felt a floating sense of peace overcome her. Letting go was sometimes the hardest thing to do, but something in his psychic touch reassured her that he could be trusted, completely and fully.

Faced with the truth, she finally let herself float on a cloud of pleasure as he stroked her legs. His touch was deceptively soft but determined.

For instance, the way he used his gloved hand to slowly slide up her thigh while his non-gloved hand slipped under her thigh to squeeze her bottom. The heat followed his bare hand and traveled under her thigh and into the muscles of her buttocks, spreading a soothing feeling throughout. Her legs moved restlessly, almost involuntarily, seeking his touch.

Her bottom felt warm from his hand and she yearned to feel him squeezing her again. Almost immediately he complied. In the fog-like state he managed to get her in every time he was near, she had totally forgotten he was reading her mind and was startled when he complied with her unspoken wish. When hot, dirty, pulsating images of things she would never name out loud began running through her head she realized how dangerous it was to have him seeing into her thoughts. Dear God, even her fantasies weren't safe.

There was no answering response to her last thoughts and for that she was grateful. She sensed he was deliberately ignoring the thoughts he didn't want to acknowledge. She yelped out loud when he squeezed her bottom even harder, giving acknowledgement to her last mental snipe.

His gloved hand continued its journey up her thigh, finally settling on that soft flesh next to her hipbone, where it rested companionably, almost nonchalantly, except his hand spanned her skin in such a possessive way it made her tremble. Every touch of his hand, even through the glove, made her feel loved in a way she had never experienced - protected, cherished, treasured; those were just a few of the emotions taking root in her heart.

Yes my love.

Soothing warmth poured through her limbs at his unspoken endearment. He always knew what she needed; she didn't know how, she only knew he did. His hands continued their torturous journey up her torso, skimming her tummy and spanning her waist. Her breath caught when the leather clad hand brushed the underside of her breast. His warm palm of his other hand cupped her other breast. Her nipples contracted, straining upwards like a flower seeking sunlight.

Her other breast was encased in satiny soft leather worn smooth by years of work. She could feel the heat of his hand through the glove but not as intensely as that of his other hand. A soft moan escaped her lips when his fingertips twisted and pulled on her nipples. The peaks stiffened further, reddening from his semi-rough handling of them.

She ached deep in her womb and she silently begged him to touch her. To please touch her swollen lips, her distended clit, and the moist heat flowing from her center. At that very moment she would have given anything to have him do as she wished. His hands reacted to her pleas, stilling on her breasts yet continuing to hold her nipples tightly in his fingertips. The ache intensified as a rolling, churning, torrid sensation gripped her loins.

"Dillon," she breathed.

"Yes dear, I know your pussy is aching. That's how I want it to be for me always, Isabelle, always swollen and weeping."

The soft tenor of his voice washed over her. His gentle tone gave no indication of his intent, but she knew. Oh yes, she knew. She squirmed into the mattress, trying without success to ease the unbearably delicious twinges happening inside her. They were taking over her entire being; they were all she could think about, these pulsating, throbbing, sweet contractions taking over her body.

His gloved hand flickered over her mound and she bucked as high as her restraints would allow, which wasn't much given his natural rope tying ability. She struggled to get her heels on the bed and could just barely manage it. It didn't provide her much control in this twisted power struggle they had going on, but she would take what she could get.

Is this where you want to be touched Belle? Do you want me to stroke your pussy lips like this?

He punctuated his question by lightly dragging a finger over one swollen lip.

Or like this?

He squeezed the other lip and pulled on it, entangling his gloved fingers in her pubic hair.

Isabelle opened her mouth to answer but nothing came out. She squeaked out a reply, she wasn't sure what, but something unintelligible as her pussy reacted to his touch. He exerted enough pressure so that she felt his every stroke, but not enough to soothe the turgid emotions boiling inside her.

Or like this Belle?

His hand covered her entire mound, the leather gliding smoothly over her pussy lips. Fingers twisted in her hair and pulled. Sweet pangs twisted her stomach as he held her powerless in his grasp. Wetness seeped out of her and covered his glove and yet he continued to hold her, gazing down at her with all the passion he felt evident in his eyes.

He didn't have to look at her to know what she was feeling; he could feel every twitch, every tickle, and every contraction she felt. It was part of the deal. But he looked because he liked seeing her like that.

She felt like a thousand ants had taken shelter under her skin and were scurrying too and fro in an effort to rush home. Every nerve ending danced wildly and chills flitted up and down her body with undiluted glee. She had never been this close to orgasm without being touched, but it was like she was under a spell. A lust spell? Yes, that was it. What other reason could there be for this hot enveloping sensation overtaking her?

What other reason indeed?

Tug. Her lips were stretched a little as he pulled but that only made it worse. She wanted to cry out but knew he would enjoy that, so she held off for just that reason. Another sharp pull was his answer. Her lips were trembling and her insides were quaking but she didn't cry out.

And when he used his fingers to pry her apart with one slightly wet gloved hand and one warm one she didn't cry out either. Leather bound fingertips glided up and down her folds, circulating wetness over her vulva and up and over her clit and drawing a sharp breath from her.

If he had exerted even the tiniest of pressure on her clit she was sure she would have come, but he studiously avoided putting any real pressure on her. That alone was enough to make her cry out in despair. Oh, she knew he would pleasure her, he always did, but sometimes the waiting was more than she could bear. Being tied down only added to her stress.

Your pussy is so very hungry babe. I almost feel sorry for you. Almost. It's just your bad luck or maybe my good luck that you hunger for me like you do. I love seeing you squirming for me like this with your pussy lips spread wide open, all glowing and pink. So damned delicious.

"Please Dillon, touch me."

"Hmm, you want me to touch you? You want me to end your misery? I don't know sweetheart, I kind of like you like this, all achy and dribbling sweet pussy juice all over my hand. It's how I always picture you."

Isabelle groaned, her head thrashing a little from side to side as his words punctuated her brain. She was going to die of desire if he didn't stop holding her pussy hostage. As if to show her how generous he was, he let her pubic hair slide through his fingers, finally releasing her pussy.

A hard gloved finger soon replaced his whole hand and he teased her opening with the tip of his finger. Unable to resist what he was offering she pushed against him, hoping to pull him into her. He was stronger and resisted pushing his finger deeper as she wanted him to.

If he wanted a power struggle he wasn't going to get one, Isabelle decided, she no longer had it in her to fight him. She had effectively become his prisoner, for she would do anything to feel like she did in this moment. To have this sweet aching in her womb for him, to feel this throbbing hunger deep inside her nether regions was beyond compare to any other emotion she had ever experienced.

Her hips arched towards his hand, desiring his touch, his affection, his discipline. He made her stretch beyond herself, made her reach for things that had once seemed unattainable but were now enticingly within reach. He tested her and smiled approvingly every time she passed his test.

"I'm going to finger fuck you now love. You're going to feel this soft, slightly worn, leather sliding in and out of your pussy and you're going to want to cum. I don't want you to cum until I tell you Belle. When this is over you will know who this pussy belongs to without a doubt. But until then, you will cum only when I say."

She looked at him with all the love and trust in her heart shining in her eyes and nodded. She didn't know how she would comply with his order, she was twitching violently inside, but she would try.

Velvety soft leather covered a finger as hard as steel as he followed through on his promise and pushed into her. She clamped down on the smooth textured finger displacing her pussy juice as he made room for his invasion. He didn't stop pushing until his leather clad fist was jammed up against her lips.

There was no helping the violent clutching of her walls as he stretched her to accept his finger. His finger curled up and stroked upwards, as if trying to stroke her clit from underneath. More liquid heat enveloped his finger but she didn't come, although she had to clench her teeth to stop the release of turbulent desire she felt. Her release waited impatiently on the other side.

He used his finger like a corkscrew, drilling into her and twisting inside and against her walls. Relentlessly he pushed on, pushing deeply into her and holding it there for a long second, before pulling out slowly and watching her wetness cling to his gloved finger. Her lips grasped at his finger when he pulled too far away, and he would laugh teasingly every time at her eagerness.

Isabelle was beyond caring if she appeared too eager, she was too eager. He held her orgasm in his hand, and withheld it from her over and over again. A growing stain of dampness grew under her as he teased her pussy. There was no denying the effect he had on her.

His thrusts grew stronger and her hips jutted up to receive him. Roughly, almost methodically, he began to fuck her pussy. Strong warm lips moved to possess her mouth and she opened her lips to accept his tongue, thrusting into her mouth with the same rhythm of his finger. She was going to cum even if he didn't command her to. She couldn't help the overwhelming sensations pouring through her.

"Don't do it Isabelle." he growled into her mouth.

She sucked on his tongue as he delved into her mouth and inhaled his essence. She had no intention of obeying him. Her body was in control now. Her mind and will were forced to sit quietly in the backseat of this ride.

She felt the familiar ache grow to terrifying intensity and sucked on his tongue harder, fiercely willing him to give her the command she craved. The velvet soft slickness of his tongue caressed and plumbed the recesses of her mouth, possessing every inch. She moaned and urged his finger to move faster with the urgings of her hips.

He refused to acknowledge her urgings and instead slipped another finger into her. The sudden infusion of two thick, warm fingers caught her off guard and she cried out. He moved slowly at first, giving her time to adjust to this new thickness he was ramming into her.

His patience soon wore thin, and before long she felt him using his fingers to spread her apart from the inside. He explored her walls, reached for her cervix and caressed the knobby entrance before moving to the back of her pussy and learning the texture of her skin there. She felt hollowed out, used, her pussy exposed and open to his every whim. But she didn't want him to stop. More than anything she wanted him to know every single inch of her.

And before long he did, his fingers diving in and out of her pussy with the same methodical slow rhythm he had set earlier. The air was being sucked out of her faster than she could replace it and she knew she was panting like an animal. Her breath came out in short, choppy gasps. He swallowed every one, pushing his will on her with intense strokes designed to drive her crazy.

With a choked sob, she rode his fingers, begging him with her mouth and pussy to give her what she needed. His fingers only increased their determined thrusting, sliding deeply into her before pulling out to his fingertips once again. Each time her hips would follow, desperately hoping for more.

Finally he grunted the words that would grant her release into her mouth.

"Cum for me Isabelle. Pour out your pussy for me." He punctuated his statement with several hard thrusts deep into her.

Isabelle needed no other encouragement. Her release was a combination of pain and pleasure as wave after wave shook her. Her pussy clamped down on his fingers and squeezed down over and over again as a strangled scream escaped her lips.

He didn't stop pushing his fingers into her, if anything he pushed into her even further. He was greedy for the feel of her clamping down on him. She gave him what he wanted without reservations; her body could do no less.

Her ears were ringing when he finally slowed his assault. She knew she had experienced an orgasm, but it had never been like that before. It was almost painful, as if he was pulling from her things she had never given anyone else. Things she thought were safely tucked away. But he managed to get at her core and take everything that wasn't nailed down.

Through hazy eyes she watched him untie her feet. She wiggled her feet when the ropes came off and looked up at him expectantly.

He smiled at her grimly but didn't give her any clues as to his next move. She didn't have to wait long as strong arms slid under her ass and pushed her to the head of the bed. The tension from the chains on her wrists eased as she was moved but not enough to allow her any real movement. He pulled her into a sitting position leaving her to wonder what was next.

She was saved from further thought as Dillon suddenly loomed over her. He had stripped off his clothes and was now standing on the bed, his cock jutting formidably in front of him and in front of her. The glove was gone but one hand was behind his back. In her orgasm induced state she was unable to read his thoughts, and tried instead to peek around him.

"Oh no, you don't. I want you to close your eyes Isabelle."

She obeyed, closing her eyes and trusting that whatever came next would ultimately be a good thing.

Her eyes flew open as cold hard rubber greeted her pussy lips. Dillon was kneeling in front of her and trying to work a massive dildo into her pussy. The fake veined head was sliding in and out of her but he hadn't yet pushed the whole thing into her. Good thing, too, she wasn't sure she wanted it inside her. The thing was a monster.

You will take all of it, you've taken all of me, and you'll take all of this.