Wild Card (Vegas Underground 8)

“It helps me come back into my body,” she explains.

I relax a little. Okay. She’s been here before. This is part of Cirque du Caitlin. Fine. I can definitely roll with it.

I take her to my house and bring her to the bathroom where I strip off her clothes and put her in the shower. “How do you want it?” I lean my head through the shower door. I figure I have to prepare while she’s cleaning up.

The water runs down her face, over her pale breasts and belly, down her slender legs. “Belt, please. And, Paolo?”

“Yeah, doll?”

“Don’t stop until I cry.”

My stomach drops. I may like to put the hurt on, but it’s contingent on her enjoying herself. Making her cry is something else altogether.

Obviously not a foreign act for me, but it is with a lover.

With someone I care about.

I don’t make any promises, I just shake my head. “You’re not in charge, are you, little girl?”

I see the first hint of a smile. “Talk tough to me, big guy.”

I relax. That’s the girl I know. And this is definitely a role I can play for her. And for me. For both of us.

I wait until she’s out of the shower and toweled off and then I tie her face down to the bed, arms and legs spread wide. I pick a wide, flexible belt and roll the buckle end around my fist.

“Ready, doll?”

“Mmm,” she agrees. She’s limp and relaxed—which might be a good thing except I would expect her to have a little more excitement. This isn’t post-orgasmic bliss, this is something else.

Not in her body, I guess she said.

I give her a few light spanks with the belt and she doesn’t even flinch, so I lay one down hard.

She jerks, buttocks clenching, feet kicking at the ropes I used to secure her.

That has to be a good sign. She felt something, anyway.

I give another hard lick, then another.

The muscles in her back tense and she lifts her head. Her feet jerk in the ropes some more.

“Okay, doll?”

“It’s good,” she pants. “Really good.”

I whip her again and again, keeping it hard enough to produce welts, to make her gasp. Then, after a dozen or so at that pace, I lighten the strokes and go faster. She wiggles and writhes under the belt, moaning.

Still no sign of tears.

Cazzo, how much does it take to bring a masochist to tears? Her ass is already red.

I lay a few down on the backs of her thighs, which makes her jump and gasp, then go back to the lighter strokes all over her ass.

I stop and squeeze her cheeks, massaging and kneading them. I dip my fingers between her legs and taste her juices.

Fuck it.

She can take a sex break.

I pull her ass cheeks apart and lick her from clit to anus and back again. The position isn’t great, but I flick my tongue over her piercing and tease her folds as much as I can.

“You’re going to get fucked hard now, little girl,” I warn her.

She turns her face to the side to look at me. Her eyes are soft, like I just said the most romantic thing. “Paolo.” There’s gratitude in the way she says my name.

I almost laugh. Whips and chains are this girl’s roses and chocolate. And that’s just fine by me.

I shuck my clothes and roll on a condom. I keep her bound and helpless for the fucking, just climb up over her and slide in.

She clenches around me, that tight pussy squeezing like a fist.

I growl with pleasure and slam in deep. Her body lurches forward, but she only travels an inch, bound too tightly by the ropes.

Perfect.

I brace my weight on my hands and ride her. I close my eyes, savoring the sensation of being inside her again. Of hearing the little moans she makes, the cries.

But then she goes quiet again.

Not wanting to untie her yet, I pull out and get the lube. Anal penetration will be hard to ignore.

I lube us both up generously and push in. I was right, she’s back to gasping and crying out, making those cute little sounds of pain and pleasure that get me harder than stone.

I fuck her, working one hand beneath her to rub her clit at the same time.

Her breath turns to pants, her cries grow louder. “Please, Paolo,” she begs.

“Come, little hacker,” I command, thrusting the cone of my fingers into her pussy as I shove deep into her ass and orgasm.

Her muscles flutter around my fingers and she comes with a strangled cry, her anus tightening almost painfully around my cock.

I wait until she’s done to ease out and bring a washcloth to clean her up. I don’t untie her, though. Maybe after her orgasm, she’ll cry.

I grab a wooden spatula from my kitchen and sit beside her. Last time she cried it was talking about her dad. I don’t have it in me to do that to her. Not that I’d even know what to say. I’m about as far from Dr. Phil as they come. I speak more with my actions.