The first telltale flicker of arousal teases my clit as a thump goes through me. This is bad. This is very bad. Doctor Rayne should frighten me. He’s commanding me, my body, as if he owns me, just like the others. For some reason, it’s different with him; it’s safer. I can’t understand why. I can’t wrap my brain around why he’s different. Is it because Melody left me here? Some part of my brain must still believe that she’d fight heaven and earth to free me if he was that much of a monster. But she left me here. With him. Alone. There has to be some reason.
His hands shift and drift back down my arms to gather at the hem of my shirt. Inch by inch, he moves it up. The soft fabric feels like sandpaper as it drags against my skin. As he pulls that off, I’m left with just my bra covering me. Will he let me keep that? As if he hears my thoughts, he grazes the front of my chest with his palms as he reaches for the clasp in the front. My nipples pebble, rubbing up against the fabric, begging for his hands to drift back over, to stay and ease the ache he’s starting.
Perhaps it’s the silence. Perhaps it’s just been so long since I had a kind touch. Hell, it’s been years since I’ve been conscious while someone is touching me. I lean forward, just a bit, enough to let him know without words what I want. I want to try. I want to see if he can make me feel again. But he doesn’t. He either knows what I want and refuses to give it to me, or I’m too subtle for him.
Denying you, over and over again. Is that what he’s doing to me? Can he really be so cruel as to deny me when I’m just starting to feel again? His perfunctory movements as he unlatches the bra, letting my breasts just fall out without the support of the all-mighty underwire, reveals nothing.
“Hands to your side.” The words penetrate the silence, causing me to jump. I do what he says, anxious to see if pure obedience will get me any soft or pleasurable sensation. He hooks his thumbs under the straps and pulls them down over my shoulders and down my arms. His breath fans the sensitive skin between my neck and shoulders, and for half a moment, I wonder if he’s going to kiss me there. He doesn’t, of course. That would be too nice of him. “Stay.”
That one word sends irritation shooting up my spine, stiffening me, but I don’t move. I don’t give him the satisfaction. I’m not a dog, and yet, as his words imply, I stand there for him like a bitch in heat - so desperate for a kind touch that I’ll mindlessly obey his will. The sounds of rummaging about reach my ears, and I long to turn and see what he’s doing, but I don’t. I resist as best as I can. Knowing him, I probably don’t want to see.
Grabbing my left hand, he urges my fingers around a rubber bar with straps coming off the ends, followed by a hook. Dread washes out any feelings of arousal that started welling up at his striptease. Now, probably, starts the punishment. He won’t harm certain parts of my body because he’ll need those eventually - after he breaks me to the point I beg for his cock. But my hands? Perhaps he feels I don’t need them to perform my duties.
His warm hand is solid on my back, drawing my mind away from harsh punishments and limb removals. “Breathe.”
It’s then I feel the deep exhale across my neck, urging me to match my breath with his. It takes several moments, but I can finally rein in my fears. If I let myself think rationally, then there’s no way he’d cut off my hands. How would he explain that to Melody? I’m sure she’d wonder about that. Even if he says it was an accident, would anyone really believe him?
Once he secures things in place, he goes to the other hand and does the same, breathing loud and deep to keep me in sync with him. With both hands complete, he grabs the hooks at the ends and brings them up to two awaiting rings at the top of the bed. Relief floods through me when I realize it’s just a means to secure me. My hands and wrists feel fine. The only thing causing me discomfort is having to rise up a bit on my toes to keep the ache in my shoulders at a minimum.
Again, he’s silent as he snakes his fingers around my waist to fiddle with buttons. He’s still fully clothed behind me, and somehow, it makes it all the more erotic to be exposed to him, even if he can’t see my pertinent bits. I lean back, just enough to feel heat soaking into me, grounding me to him. As his fingers mess with the button, the flicks go straight below, the vibration soft but steady. More than likely, I wouldn’t even notice something like this, but with everything so heightened and on alert, everything feels magnified.
The slow, steady clicking of the zipper sends corresponding tremors through my body. Some part of my brain hopes this is all part of the punishment. What he’s doing is torturous, more so because he can just play it off as undressing me. He can spin it to where he’s not doing anything to seduce me, and all of it’s on my end.
The jeans hug my curves as if they are designed specifically for me. I never noticed that when he put them on. But now, as he’s peeling it away from my body, exposing my ass to his gaze, I can’t help but wonder how he got my size so exact. To my knowledge, I didn’t have any clothes where they were holding me. Anything that covered me was shapeless sacks easily ripped off of my body.
His breath tickles my lower back as he hunches down to pull the fabric away from my body. My shoulders strain as he lifts up one foot, then the other to remove it, the burn shaking me out of this seductive nightmare. There’s still punishment coming, and only my panties remain between him and me. The stripping game is over far too soon. I long for more clothes just so he can have more to take off and lengthen the time before he hurts me.
He hasn’t said he would, but I know it’s coming. I don’t know how, and that anticipation is what kills me. Knowing him, this waiting game is part of it. He knows my mind will go off in a trillion different directions. Without him talking to me, there’s nothing to keep it from cycling. A strangled cry leaves my mouth as his fingers slide under the band of my panties.
“Come now, I’ve seen you naked before; no need to play shy with me now.”
His voice is like pure sin, wrapping me in a sensual haze. I want to resist him. I know I should. Deep down, I’m a good girl, but with just one sentence, one phrase, he rips away my resolve bit by bit. Truth be told, only part of it’s modesty. I’m ashamed to say I’m more concerned with the pain that will come after. With my underwear on, I can at least pretend that he won’t hurt me, won’t punish me, but inch after agonizing inch that he slides down rips the fantasy to shreds.
Once again, he lifts up on my foot, forcing me to shove all my weight on the other one. Then, far too soon, I’m naked before him. A clanking sound draws my gaze to my ankle, and I watch, dumbfounded as he hooks another cuff to the base of the bed before drawing my leg over and securing me. He does the same with the other ankle before even the thought of protesting can enter my mind. I’m trapped, stretched almost to the point of tearing at each joint!
Muffled whimpers build up in my throat as his hands encircle the column, squeezing lightly. I’ve never before felt both so scared and so secure in my life. With his wide chest behind me and his sure fingers around my throat, I feel myself drifting. It’s like with the drug, only this time, I can actually feel the numbness drift over me. It’s like a soft, familiar blanket, cocooning me, begging me to snuggle deep into safety and warmth. Safe, secure, owned.
The hand stays latched about my throat as the other hand slides down to tease the curve of my breasts. He drifts his fingers about, never touching anything I need. I push into his hand, only to have him drag me back by my throat.
“Do you remember what I said to you?” he whispers, his palm sliding up to cup my breast. “I said I’d never insert myself into you unless you asked me to.” He pauses to circle his finger around my nipple, keeping just to the outside, never drifting in close. I whimper again, but this time more in need than fear. “There’s a lot I can do outside of that.”
When he finally does touch my nipple, it’s not to stroke it as soft and sensual as he was doing everywhere else. No. He grasps it between his thumb and forefinger, clamping down in a biting pinch. A zip of pleasured agony zips down from the spot straight to my clit, awakening the deadened nerve with a jolt.
Confusion fogs my brain. Pain shouldn’t feel good. Pain shouldn’t cause the barest hint of arousal to gather below. Am I fucking getting wet from this? How? I can only surmise it’s the lethal combination of anticipation, pleasure, and pain making my body to react like this. What else can it be?
He guides my head to lean back against him with a shift in pressure against my throat. The action stretches everything else out until I’m taut against his body. Dropping his other hand, he begins the slow build of anticipation with my other breast, the movements exactly the same. This time, I brace myself for that bite of pain, willing my body to shoulder it and not give him the satisfaction of crying out.
I wait for it, the circling of his finger driving me mad. When is he going to hurt me? Instead of pinching down, he brings the fingers away and up to his mouth. I strain my neck back to watch as he sticks out his tongue, licking the tip before bringing it back down to graze my nipple. I groan at the dual sensations, one nipple on fire from the uncomfortable pinch, the other on fire for a completely different reason. I arch back against him, shoving my breasts further into his hand, and he stops.
I feel empty and bereft as he lets go of my nipples and simply holds my breasts in his hands. I should feel relieved, but I don’t. Instead, I’m aching for his touch, needing it like I need air, needing to connect with another person on such a primal level, needing to know that I can feel again - that I’m not broken. That niggle of revulsion clenches my gut. I am a slut, just like Mom said I was. My brain begins to take a turn for the worse, and Doctor Rayne grabs both nipples, pinching down harder than before.
“Where does your mind go?” His words fight through the molasses of my brain. How did he know? How does he always know?
“When we are together, I want your mind to be present with me. Nowhere else. Nothing else matters. Is that understood?”
He emphasizes his words with another squeeze to my nipples, and the lingering pleasure from earlier drifts away to be replaced by the pain from his punishing fingers. Tendrils of fear pierce the fog, but not soon enough. He pulls away as the gears start to click again. I strain in the silence, wanting to turn to look but being smart enough to stay where he put me. So far, he hasn’t done anything to cause me real pain, but the dread spiraling through me tells me he’s just getting started.
Minutes go by like hours as I hang there, waiting for him. Finally, I turn my head as far as I can, spotting him behind me with an eat-shit grin on his face, just watching me as I fumble about in the silence. How long has he been back there? Shame floods my face as I realize he probably never left. He’s been there, just staring for eternity.
Without wasting any more time, I hear his footfalls as he comes up behind me. He must be walking loud for my sake for me to hear him over the carpet. Coming around the bed, he sets a few items down and reaches for my face. Instinct takes over, and I pull back from him as far as my restraints will let me. Frowning, he reaches around and grabs my bun, pulling me back closer to him.
“You were a naughty girl, smacking Jeremy like that. Though normally, I’d applaud anyone getting the upper hand on that smug bastard, you are mine. As such, I will not let him take you in hand. I will be the one to see to your correction. No one besides me will ever touch you until I release you from your treatment. You. Are. Mine."
Safe. Secure. Owned.