Love Slave Part 8 (18+ only)
I’ve been feeling a weeny bit sorry for my poor love slave; she’s been chained to the bed for well over a week, without me coming to rescue her! Then I spent days trying to untangle her, without much success. And she’s been doing a bit of gasping (being a total innocent, I thought she must need a drink. Turns out I was wrong…).
Finally – here is the next installment of Love Slave, for those who are following the story.
Happy reading! x
“What the hell did you ring Mike for?”
It doesn’t matter what I do, I can’t get out of the bike lock, and I’m starting to slice into my wrist in my panic. I can’t see any way of getting that key. And all I can hear is a slow, steady chuckle through the speaker, and those fingers flexing.
A thought occurs to me that he’s lying. Why haven’t I thought of it before? It would hardly be a surprise to discover that, would it? The words spit out from between my lips before I can stop them:
“There’s no way you can have rung Mike. You haven’t got his number. You didn’t even know I was still I contact with him until I told you. You’re bullshitting me.”
My mind is still very much on the unlocked door. Anyone could walk in. Mike could walk in. I’m sure I’ve called his bluff—right up the point that my heart turns to dust when all I receive in reply is the laugh that’s beginning to sicken me.
“Who says I didn’t know you were still friends? Or that you were meeting him when you did? And if you know how, you can find out anything. And I know how, my sexy little slave. I know exactly how to do anything.”
I just want to curl up in a ball. I want to get away from this camera. I want to scream at Mike not to come through that door. I turn away from him, cover myself with a pillow and sit facing the wardrobe, as best I can. My knee brushes against something hard, and I recollect my mobile on top of the duvet. It’s so plain isn’t it? Why am I being so dense? With one hand I scrabble through the contacts and find Mike’s number. I dial, praying that he will answer, and that he’s not on the Tube at this moment, because his mobile never works at all while he’s underground and moving.
The wait is unbearable. Nothing but silence in the room. I imagine him sitting there, watching me, those fingers twitching, and knowing I won’t get hold of Mike because he’s about to burst through the door at any moment. The second I hear the voice at the other end, tears begin to stream down my cheeks.
“Where are you? How close are you? Please, please don’t, Mike, I can’t have you seeing me like this. What did he tell you?”
I can sense the panic. Hear the break in his voice. Oh, no…!
“Charlotte? What the hell’s the matter? What are you talking about? Why are you crying? What’s happened? Fuck it—look, I’m on my way.”
“You mean you weren’t—? Mike, no, stop! That’s not—.” But he’s already hung up.
The tears break in a big way now. I swipe at my face with the pillow, but it only succeeds in wiping running make-up all over the cotton. I try ringing again, but Mike doesn’t answer. I have visions of him rushing over, hell bent on saving me from whatever it is that’s making me cry. Can he save me from myself? From the stupidity, the blind way I’ve begun to just do these things?
Breaking the sound of my tears, his voice, quiet and assured, reverberates through the room: “I told you I know how to do anything. You were bound to ring him. And, after what happened to that fuckwit the other day, he was always going to come running.”
“You bastard!” My phone is in my hand and I hurl it at the iPad. It hits the screen, and scuds across the little table and onto the floor. My stomach feels like it’s been hit with a brick. I can’t afford to replace the mobile; I can’t see if it’s broken, and I just hope that it’s not. The iPad seems to have survived unscathed, though, albeit that now it’s collapsed and fallen flat on the little table. The whole mess just makes me cry more, and I sob, tears drenching the edge of the pillow as I press it into my body, and into my burning face. I shake almost uncontrollably, my arm still stuck up at an angle, the way it aches now a constant reminder of my own idiocy.
My shaking stops abruptly when I hear the door open and then slam shut. And that familiar voice yelling, the sheer panic echoing through his words as he repeats over and over, “Charlotte! Where are you? Charlotte? What the hell has happened?”
The beads of sweat are rising to the surface of my skin. The sheen is across my chest and between my breasts, and I can see them all down my legs. My chest feels like it will split open. What am I going to do? I can’t think of anything except to cry and try to hide myself.
My eyes are closed; I feel his breath on my shoulder, his fingers under my chin. The moment he makes me look at him, and he sees my face, battered with tears and humiliation, I feel his arms then, too. They enclose around my back, pulling me close to him as he kneels on the bed, and I try not to wince out loud as his embrace tugs against my twisted arm.
“Oh, my little sweetheart. Are you hurt? Has someone touched you? Should I call the police? Who’s done this to you?”
I can’t speak. The pillow slips down onto my thighs, leaving my body pressed against Mike’s shirt. He’s warm, comforting, and I soak the material, leaving it translucent and clinging to him. But I can’t hide a grunt of pain any longer, and it’s only at that moment the state of my arm really seems to sink into his head.
“Bloody hell! How did you end up like this?” He tugs at the chain, at its lock, only then really drinking in the sight of me before him. Naked on the bed. He’s never seen me like this, ever. Not even partially clothed. His cheeks colour vivid pink, and it chases down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. I feel for him; my skin must be mirroring his embarrassment. But still I don’t answer. I can’t.
“What happened to the key? Has somebody got it?”
“It’s on the floor. At the end of the bed somewhere.” The words manage to seep out in whispers. I’ve stopped sobbing, and watch, helpless, as Mike scrabbles to the end of the bed and locates the key. Unlocking the chain, he takes my arm and examines it all over.
“You’re not cut. Does it hurt a lot? How long have you been like this?”
I look at him sheepishly. “No, it’s all right. I’m not sure how long.”
His fingers push up my chin. I can’t avoid looking him right in the eye.
“Has anyone—? Why are you like this? What’s going on?”
And, at the look in his eyes, I reach out and clutch onto him, my head against his neck, my nakedness pressed against his shirt. His hand touches my hair, strokes it, slides down it and onto my shoulders. His tentativeness is expected, considering the state of me and the kind of guy Mike is, but it doesn’t last long. He pulls me close and just the warmth of his hand in the small of my back makes me press into him closer. I just want to feel—wanted. Protected. Just for a while.
“No. No-one’s done anything. I just—” What can I possibly tell him? That I was commanded to chain myself to a bed naked, and that a man he can’t abide duped me into believing he was here, in the room, ready to fuck me? And that I threw the bloody key at the Invisible Man? “—I was trying something. I thought that I could—I wanted to know what it was like. But the key. I lost it by mistake. And I got stuck.” The tears start again, quiet, but making me quake in his arms.
I feel his body relax against mine. “Thank fuck for that. But why take your clothes off?” He pulls a sheet around me, shielding me away from the world. But not away from his shirt. It clings to my breasts as he cradles me, my naked hipbone pressed into the top of his thigh. My insides catch light as I feel his breath in the top of my hair, his arms wrapped around me. “You crazy woman. And you left your bloody door unlocked, too. You had me terrified.”
“I never had you at all. More’s the pity.”
His breath catches. I don’t know why I say it, except that he’s holding me, naked, in his arms. And he smells good, all soap and washing powder. I press myself into him as far as I can, wrapping my arms all the way around his back.
“You never wanted me, Charlotte.” His words are soft; they should sound bitter, but they don’t. “You don’t now, do you? Your head’s a mess. Look, let me help you find some clothes—”
He lifts me off him and I sit up, my face streaked in make-up, my entire body bared to him, and all he does is look into my eyes. I close mine, trying to avoid the pain in his face. Within no time at all, his lips brush against mine. Unfamiliar, quivering, hot. For a second, two, ten, I remain motionless, but, oh, then I respond, feeling my way against his lips, gently exploring just inside his mouth with the tip of my tongue. It feels nice. No. It’s good, soft, reciprocal. His mouth opens over my lips and I take my lead from him, our mouths meeting with more force as I pull him down to me.
So easily, without concern or fear, we fall to the bed. He holds himself over me, the first batch of his kisses trailing along my neck, making their way to my clavicle. Fumbling, like an immature virgin, I manage to open his shirt. Everything about his chest has matured since the last time I saw it bare. My fingers slide through the hair that spreads from his navel to his pectoral muscles, and he emits a deep moan. The sound makes my stomach flip, and I press his body to mine, gripping his thighs with my feet. His jeans rub against my pussy lips, and the friction sets my juices flowing from me. I know they must be on his crotch, but he doesn’t seem to care. His lips are finding their way over my chest, leaving kisses between my breasts. He takes care of my nipples, slowly, his lips gently teasing and pulling, everything so beautifully soft. He takes his time, kissing beneath them, around them, and he stops for a moment, my breathing forming tiny gasps as he tugs on his belt.
“Are you sure?”
His eyes melt me. So dark, yet able to express such desire. And I’ve never noticed it before the last few days. Or never taken any notice. I nod; he’s good for me. He’s gentle, kind. He wants to make love to me, and I want him to. Oh, I really want him to.
He undoes his belt, still kissing my stomach, and I hear the sound of his zip. When he slides back up my body to kiss me, full and impassioned, I tremble on the bedsheet, a wave of cum-tingles flowing from between my thighs and up, attacking every nerve ending I have with its exquisite ache. His cock, hot and hard, rests over the front of my pussy, its sticky pre-cum slathering onto the bottom of my belly. I don’t know what I want more: to see his cock or to feel it pressed on me, telling me just how much he wants this.
“Shouldn’t we be using something? I mean—give me a minute.”
He stays where he is, but rummages around, and I hear the clanking of coins in his jeans pocket. Sitting back on his knees, he unwraps the condom and slides it over his head, rolling it down until he almost gets to the base. I hadn’t expected him to be so wide. I whimper at the first sight of him, and I feel the heat burn in two spots on my cheeks. His eyes connect with mine, and he smiles, bringing himself back down, his taut skin meeting my curves, and his lips reconnecting with my mouth once more. His tongue dances with mine, and my fingers dig into his backside, pulling him as close as I can.
“You really want to?” His kisses break off, as he rises up and the heat of his cock tip rests just at the top of my clit. The pressure of it makes me want to cum.
“Mmmm, please. Yes, I—. Just—just do it.”
I draw back my body, letting his length slide back against my pussy. Bringing my legs together, I encase him in my folds as well as I can. His girth between my thighs shoots an ache from deep inside me, out around my groin, wrapping itself around the base of my spine. His lips are pulling, teasing, exciting my neck, and he has no idea just how much this makes me want him. I push against him, and he’s there, resting against my entrance.
“I can’t see, my little love slave. But, oh, I can hear. Make your Master cum to the sound of you fucking.”
Everything stops. My world, this beautiful world, here on the bed, crumbles and falls away, as Mike’s face fires a look at me that breaks my fairytale.
“What the fuck is that?”