Mine, All Mine Ch. 04

"Rules," he said, holding her gaze as a warning preamble to god-knew-what chaos was about to ensue. She blinked up at him, nodding her readiness.

"You will speak when spoken to."

She gave another nod, eyes wide.

"You will not ask questions."

Nod.

"You will answer me with 'Yes, Sir'."

Oh fuck, he is not even messing around.

His eyebrows raised in question at this last one until she caught on.

"Yes, Sir."

"Just like that, Taylor." The use of her real name instead of any nicknames was doing things to her.

"And if you fail to follow any of these," he said, arms tightening around her back, "there will be consequences."

His right hand slid down to take her left at this, bringing it between them. Before she had a chance to be unsettled at a move that smacked of skipping ahead several steps, he closed her fingers around the metal buckle there.

"What is this, Taylor?"

She could have strummed a jangling cord out of the tension in the air.

"Um ... your belt?" And the twitch of a brow made her add: "Sir?"

"That is correct." He gathered her close again with his right arm, sandwiching her hand in place. "And you will earn one stripe each time you break a rule. Is that a reasonable punishment?"

The image this conjured made moisture pearl out and spread in a warm line between her legs, almost as if on command. Dorky, everyday Ian from Taco Tuesday and movie nights over the last four years was gone. In his place was the man who urged her on behind closed eyelids in her darkened room, come to life and making her cream just the same.

Was it a reasonable punishment? Probably. The real punishment was the fact that this whole thing stood a large chance of being a revenge fuck: his first opportunity to try out all the things Amy would never let him do. That they'd still end up friends. Or less.

I'll take it. Sweet lord, if this is all I'll ever have, give it to me.

"Yes, Sir."

Her agreement was the magic key, it seemed, and he was backing her toward the beam again. This time, when her shoulders met wood, he kept moving, stepping around the lower end of the timber where it was buried in decades of collected earth. With his hold on her hand, he guided her around as well, stopping her midway and tugging her to lean back.

Whenever the beam had given up its hold in the surrounding walls of the shaft, it had met the ground some thirty degrees shy of vertical. This meant Taylor now half-stood astride, and half-leaned along its weathered length. In a way far removed from the worrisome state of affairs an hour ago, Ian wasted no time on small talk.

They were kissing again, this time with more leisure. Now, though, as he stood at the side of the beam, his hands wandered. The fingers at her waist rode up to her ribcage, her shoulder. He stroked the side of her face in a way that made her want to assault him with her hips.

Her touch couldn't stay in one place, either. Fine. He was going to let this happen? She could damn well get hers, too.

Now she would know what his chest felt like, his upper arms, the back of his neck. She would know what he tasted like when his breath came loud through kisses.

There was a tug on the bottom of her t-shirt and then a warm palm sliding over her belly. When the fingers tucked themselves between her hip and the waistband of her jeans, Taylor felt herself catapulted into reality.

Ian broke away to look at her when she gasped. His eyes wandered down to take in her parted lips, his hand wedged inches from knowing what her pussy felt like. He pulled it back, standing straight.

"Take off your left shoe."

She blinked at him, bereft.

"What?"

"That's One," he said. "Left shoe. Take it off."

One wha—? Ohhh. No questions. And also ...

"Yes, Sir." She bent to start unlacing the boot.

"Better."

One. He was going to use the belt at least once.

A thrill of fear sizzled up her spine.

The boot was off. She set it aside and looked up at him.

"Now your pant leg. Just the left one."

One pant leg? It made no sense, but she wasn't sure she was ready to hear him say 'Two'. Her fingers were at her fly before she had time to process the idea that Ian would be seeing her nude from the waist down in a few short moments.

"Huh. Commando," he said as the jeans came down. "Nice." She knew she was red at that one.

You've seen his dick. It's only fair.

Taylor stood there, awkward with one bare leg and her sock-clad foot in the dirt. She made her best effort to meet his eye without feeling unsure and small, while the sunlit air in the mine caressed her in places it usually didn't.

"Lean back again. How you were."

She did as he said, wincing on the way to the beam in anticipation of nails and splinters. To her relief, the surface was smooth aside from pits and grain, weather worn over the years so that it felt no more than sturdy and slightly textured at her back.

Ian had dropped to kneel at her bootless foot. Her eyes followed him, asking all the questions her mouth wasn't allowed.

In a series of quick, jerking motions, he shucked the pant leg on the other side down her thigh and past her knee, bunching the fabric along her calf and ankle.

Why hadn't he told her both legs if that was what he wanted? More questions she had to eat.

But the second side, once arranged to his liking, remained where it was, boot intact. Instead, he took up the discarded pant leg and threaded it behind the angled square base of the timber.

"Foot," he said simply, holding out his hand. Taylor lifted her socked foot into his grip, completely lost.

What is he doing?

Again, with brisk movements, he threaded her foot back into the leg of her jeans, gathering the fabric low on her calf to match the other side. Then the boot was in his hand and he was wrangling it back into place, as well. This accomplished, he stood, looking satisfied.

It took her almost a full minute of staring down at herself before what he'd done managed to settle on her. The bare legs that ended in lowered jeans and hiking boots, one planted on either side of the beam, had lost all range of motion due to the connecting web of denim woven underneath it. Her own clothing was restraint and spreader in one.

Ohhh ffffuck.

When she met his eyes again, he wore a smile that had her glad for the support at her back.

He didn't spend long gloating, though, and instead stepped around her to kneel at his backpack. After an audible zip and some rustling, he turned around to stand with a bungee cable in hand. Taylor physically bit her own lip to keep from asking.

"Arms up."

He was at her side again and she closed her mouth. A rational person would be asking whether this was a good idea to be letting a man she'd never played this way with before tie her up in an abandoned gold mine out in the middle of nowhere. Taylor Sharpe, however, was not a rational person. Not right now. Not under the spell of those eyes, that voice.

She raised her arms. Laid her wrists where she already knew he wanted them.

He was quick with the cord, wrapping it around the beam, hooking it onto itself. In seconds he had her bound, hand and foot, pussy exposed and, if she wasn't mistaken, beginning to scent the air. His knuckles made a line down the soft skin on the inside of her upper arm as he came in close.

"You know," he said, tipping her by the jaw to face him, "I don't think my dick's ever been this hard in my life, Taylor."

The release of her groan was lost in another kiss. His hand was back, roaming without obstruction over her belly, up under her shirt. When his fingers hit her bra, he had no qualms. He pushed up past the underwire to palm a handful of breast and knead. A thumb sought and found her nipple, brushing it to hardness, meeting with forefinger to pull in a way that sent a bouquet of small noises into his mouth.

Dissatisfied with this, he left her panting to concentrate on rucking her shirt up under her arms. She watched his eyes assess her bra and, with no way to remove it completely while her wrists were bound, he settled for shoving it up and out of the way.

Even restrained, Taylor couldn't help a discreet swell of pride at the groan the first sight of her bared body earned from him. Indecision gathered his brows for the briefest of moments, only to be replaced by hunger.

His mouth was on her, lapping, nuzzling between her breasts. How had she arrived here? Not more than fifteen minutes ago, they'd been ready to go for each other's throats. And now they were—ohmygod my nipple is in his fucking mouth!

The suckling stopped all thought. The pulling and pinching of fingers in tandem with the work of his mouth had her hips rolling at empty space.

How had they arrived here? How was off-limits, unobtainable, Ian Fucking Killbourne standing over her, making her body quiver and gush, when a week ago he'd been expressing concerns that she would try to make a blowjob into a relationship?

With a last-minute nip of his teeth, he left off his delicious torment and stood up straight, considering. Then he returned to the backpack. Her nipples were wet and perking in the air, and she was more conscious of her nudity then perhaps she'd ever been in her life.

When he rose and faced her again, she jerked against the bungee cord for the first time since they'd begun.

"OK, why do you even have clothespins in your backpack?"

"That's Two," he said, moving near again.

Fuck. But seriously, why? In her head, she growled. Something she'd have to ask afterward. Now, it would only earn her another round with the belt.

And yet, another, larger question gnawed with such insistence she had to risk it. She would take a stripe just to know.

"Ian," she said, stopping him in his tracks, "I know it'll cost me, but ... you seem to really kind of know what you're doing here. I thought Amy never let you do any of this stuff?"

He smirked at her, nodding. "You're right. That's number Three, now. But, I have to say, I'm impressed. You must really want to know if you're willing to pay with your own ass." He lowered his hand with the threatening clothespins.

"All right, Taylor," he said, straddling her where she lay along the beam—and, oh god, did his weight on her feel like the most perfect sin—"I'll let you have this one." She shifted on the beam, restless, and he continued.

"You know how I go home to Hollywood sometimes?"

She nodded, and tried not to let the pressure of his erection on her mound drive her to distraction. It didn't help that he continued his answer while working kisses along her throat.

"Well, a couple of the times," he said, voice low, "some of my old friends invited me to some very interesting clubs. And I saw a whole lot of things going on there." Jesus Christ, if he didn't stop, she was going to end up with a hickey. "Now, I never got involved, I was just there to be curious and gawk at everything. But I'll be damned if I didn't take a lot of mental notes." There was no need to see his face to know he wore a devious smile at this. Her heart skittered.

And now he has clothespins.

"So this triggers a questionI have to ask now, my brave little subbie," he said, levering himself far enough away to capture her eyes.

OK, why does it make me throb when he calls me that?

"What's that?" Fuck. "Sir?"

He shifted his hips, teasing fabric and a rigid promise over her bare pussy. "Good save," he chuckled. "You say I 'seem to know what I'm doing'? Well you seem pretty eager, yourself." The sex in his grin was killing her. "Have you ever played before? Are you secretly a way more exciting person than I ever knew about?"

She shook her head, tongue-tied at his grinding.

Nnghhh. What a cock tease. Or cunt tease. Whatever.

"But you're way into it, aren't you?" He brought a hand up to lace their fingers together above her head. Without thought, she turned her face to kiss the inside of his bicep where it had brushed along her ear.

"Mmhm," she nodded, tasting. "Yes, Sir."

"And why is that? Hmm? Have you been watching dirty movies on the internet?" At least he sounded amused, teasing. Taylor shifted under the dark velvet of gaze.

"Yes I have, Sir." The words came out as a breath. If he was getting her this worked up just talking about it ... And not even really talking. Just hinting, for fuck's sake.

He brought one of the clothespins up, dragged it down in a whisper over her lips and chin. "And would you like to try a little bit of pain? See how it suits you?"

Could she come from him telling her about it? Fuck.

"I think I would," she said, a prisoner of pale green eyes more than any physical restraint. "Sir."

"See?" he said, grinning wider. "Adventurous. I like that. And you know what to say if it's too much, right?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good."

She felt him lift his leg and pivot off to the side again, the cup of his palm hefting her breast, plucking at the nipple with his fing—

"Gaaahh! Fuck!"

Holy—! Taylor looked down to see the pink tip pinched in a spring-loaded, angry little wooden mouth.

Oh god! Jeeeesus!

Names of fruit were flashing in her head, but she bit her lip. She could take it. She would take it. Especially when the smarting pain seemed to spark a sympathetic throb in her clit. Curiosity ...

Taylor squealed at the second one, even when she knew it was coming. But now her nipples were panging out a rhythm of distress in time with the ripe, pleading twitch between her thighs. With both hands at once, Ian gave the bobbing pincers a flick, making her yip and shiver, even in the hot summer air.

And he'd still never explained why the damn things were in his backpack in the first place. But there were bigger problems, now. A palm was travelling south over her belly.

Her breath sped up when the first touch of fingers cupped her mound, squeezing. This, in turn, set her breasts heaving, and then, of course, the clothespins nodding and biting. And then his caress grew more specific.

Now he was parting her lips, separating folds. Her body had long ago assured him no resistance. She wouldn't have been surprised if he told her it was dripping down her legs. When his fingertips wriggled in a teasing little dance over her clit, Taylor gave up trying to watch and put her head back on the beam, rolling her eyes up into her head and biting off a groan. For what reason, she didn't know. It wasn't as though anyone could hear them.

"God damn," he said. "Soaked." She gave up another whine at this.

And there he was. Finding her entrance. Testing. For a brief moment, she thought about having a heart attack. But then they moved past testing and into implementation.

A finger was inside her and she gasped. Then nothing was inside her. Then two fingers!

"Ian!"

His chuckle was dark with amusement. "That's Four."

Fuck. It was probably too late to add the 'Sir'.

"Now Taylor," he said, lowering himself to kneel at her side, fingers still shifting, working, "you have one job. Do you know what that is?"

Her brows pinched together at the slick, moving pressure. "Mmm ... no, Sir?"

"Don't come."

The next thing she saw was the top of his head. And then came his mouth.

Taylor drew in a frantic breath as though someone was about to thrust her underwater. The Ian of her baroque and impossible fantasies began to show her pussy what it was like to be an offering atop a pagan altar.

He ate. He worshipped. He filled her with fingers both reverential and demanding, daring her to respond, to wet his chin and knuckles with her lust.

Her hips knew only to reach, to push her swollen flesh against the indescribable things he did to her. More, the writhing she could no longer control kept the clothespins nodding. The sharp contrast of their musical ache to the sweet chorus he had building between her thighs was sending her on a dangerous upward spiral.

The fingers crooked, shifted to a different angle. She clamped down on his hand, almost trying to stop it.

Oh, sweet mother of—! No! Don't!

When he chuckled she knew it was over.

His mouth latched onto her clit, suckling, and the fingertips struck home, again and again. The pressure was there, building, gaining momentum.

Hold out. Hold out. Hold out. Nnrrrrgggh!

His free hand came up, precipitating disaster. And the tongue. Oh, god, the tongue!

He yanked off the right clothespin.

Oh FUCK!

She felt herself gush down his hand, her body a reckless time-bomb of surface tension.

Don't come. Don't come! Don—

"AaaAAHHH! SHIT!"

The left one launched her sky high.

"Ian!FUCK! Nnnngggg! Fuckfuckfuck!"

Taylor disintegrated into panting, jerking, while Ian pushed to see how far he could take her.

They discovered together it was quite a distance. At least he stopped before she was speaking in tongues.

The retreat of his hand left her pussy clutching at nothing. At phantom starbursts of pleasure. Her nipples were throbbing back to something like normal as he stood, and then taste of her collapse in discipline was in her mouth, along with his fingers.

"Suck."

She sucked, pleading with green eyes.

"You had one job, Taylor."

Her sated cunt thumped away, unable to care less.

"What was that job?" he prompted her, removing the fingers.

"Not to"—she swallowed, wetting her throat—"not to come? Sir."

"That's right." The upturned line of his mouth was oh-so-pleased at her failure. "And that's Five."

He had the bungee off and his fist in her hair before she could pull in another breath. Her arms fell limp alongside the beam as he wrested a triumphant kiss from her lips.

"Now put your hands on the ground," he said, releasing her to the next leg of their journey, "and take your licks like you agreed."

The way he held her eyes as he said this ... they were bound up in this thing now, each needing what the other offered. It was too much. A perfect, delirious amount of too much. She bent forward, walking her hands down her naked thighs until they passed her ankles and her fingers sank into the soft dirt a full pace away from where her tethered feet were still planted.

Somehow, with her ass in the air, still-damp sex exposed from behind, she felt even more vulnerable.

Ian's palm was on her backside, caressing a cheek. There were probably lines on it from the wood. Hell, there were about to be more lines. Five, to be exact. She shuddered, her hair curtaining one side of her face, the sound of her breath punctuating the silence of the mine.

She heard the gossip of the metal buckle. Then she felt leather. The cool surface smoothed a deceptively sweet line over the place where her cheeks met her thighs. It was an ill-fated romance.

"Count them off, Taylor."

CRACK!

It was all the warning she got. A stripe of fire became the center of her existence.

"Ow! Fffuck!" And then, before she forgot: "O-one. Sir."

Hoooo ... this was not going to be as easy as it looked in the videos.

"Good," he said, giving credit. "And why are you being punished?" She was going to have to talk right now?

"Because I came, Sir."

"That's a reason."

CRACK!

"MmmMMGH! Two, Sir!"

"And what's another reason?"

The blood was singing across her upturned cheeks in two distinct lines.

"I-I asked questions, Sir?"

"Yes you did. Three of them."

CRACK! CRACK!

She barked out something between a growl and a wail at the twin kisses of pain.

"Three! Four, Sir!"

Much like with the clothespins, the sharp rush screaming across her untried flesh somehow had her pussy leaking again. Taylor wanted to stand up straight, to arch her back, but that would surely bring its own problems. She'd settle for his fingers again, pushing in, making her arousal gush out around them. It's possible the thought made her angle her hips to show him more. Maybe that was why he made that frustrated noise under his breath.