Drowning on Dry Land: an erotic short story Read online

  He’d laid out one of her favorite toys.

  If she hadn’t already cried herself almost sick Bette would’ve wept again, not in sorrow this time but in that complicated tangle of lust and love and guilt because Damian had managed to figure out exactly what she wanted and was giving it to her, even though she did not, at the moment, deserve the gift of his service.

  She took off the towel and finger combed her hair, then twisted it on top of her head to keep it out of the way. She shrugged out of the robe and went naked to the bed to look over what her boy had put out for her. It surprised her, a little, though it was in fact, perfect. The flogger had a hefty but comfortable rubber handle and multicolored rubber strands that could be used to tickle and caress…but that also fiercely stung. Lightweight enough for her to wield almost tirelessly, it was the one implement in her carefully curated collection that was guaranteed to break him into using his safe word. Bette shook the flogger to untangle the rubber strands and let them slide across her palm.

  She wanted to hurt him.

  She wanted to make her boy whimper and cry and writhe; she wanted to make him beg her to keep going, and she wanted him to beg her, finally, to stop. He’d chosen this for her so she could do just that, because he knew her and wanted to please her. Because he loved her, Bette thought as her fist clutched at the dangling rubber strands, crushing them against her palm.

  She watched the muscles in his back tense and release at the sound of the rubber smacking against her fingers. She was teasing him with the anticipation. The desire to hit him rose inside her with an almost physical force, making her shiver. Bette closed her eyes.

  She breathed.

  Damian would not mind if she beat him to make herself feel better, to forget the things inside her mind that were causing her pain. Once, in the beginning, he’d told her that he’d rather she lose herself in hurting him than dwell on whatever it was that was hurting her. He would not care, Bette thought, but she would.

  She put the flogger back on the bed and went to him, kneeling to curl around his back. Her face pressed between his shoulder blades. Her weight against him pushed Damian a little forward, but he was strong enough not to topple over. Her arms slipped around his waist, and she hugged him. Tight. She closed her eyes and took in his scent, grounding herself to his smell, his warmth, the distinctive feeling of his body. She anchored herself to him.

  “I need you,” she whispered.

  He twisted to settle on the carpet and pulled her into his lap. “What’s wrong? I thought you’d want to.”

  Bette buried her face into his neck. Beneath her thigh, the metal of his chastity cage bit into her skin. She shifted, but it was still there. She closed her fist around the key to it, dangling from the thin silver chain between her breasts. With a tug, she snapped the chain and pressed the key into his hand.

  “Take it off,” she said.

  “It’s only been two days,” he began.

  She didn’t slap his face, though the urge was there, same as the desire to beat him had been there. This time also for the wrong reason, and worse, because she was mad. She had never struck him in anger, and the fact she had almost done it now twisted her stomach.

  “Take it off,” she repeated. “I need you, Damian.”

  He didn’t answer with a Yes, Ma’am, but carefully slid her off his lap so he could use the key on the device. He unlocked it and held it out to her in the palm of his hand. Silent.

  Bette looked into his eyes, both of them kneeling on the carpet in front of the bed. “I want your cock inside me. I need you to fuck me, Damian.”

  “Yes…” he began and stopped, looking at the curved metal device in his hand. “I just thought…”

  “It’s not your place to think,” she snapped, standing. “It’s your place to obey.”

  He couldn’t hide the flash of irritation in his gaze. Maybe he didn’t even try. His lips thinned, pressing together, but he nodded stiffly and looked away from her.

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  She might’ve said those exact words to him in a different tone, or a different time, and they would’ve turned him on. She had hurt him, and not in the way they both liked. She couldn’t bear it, suddenly.

  “I cannot be in charge right now,” Bette said slowly. Carefully. She won the battle to keep her voice from breaking, but only barely. “I can’t do this right now, Damian, do you understand me? I just…need…you. I need you.”

  Uncertainty warred in his expression with a flurry of other emotions, not all of which she could discern, but he nodded anyway. He got to his feet to meet her eye-to-eye. He kissed her softly on the corner of her mouth, letting her turn toward him instead of away.

  “Yes, Bette. Okay. Whatever you need.”

  She gasped when he slid a hand up the back of her neck to twist in her hair, tipping her head back. Again, when his hand pushed between her thighs so the heel of his palm pressed her clit. With his mouth locked to hers, he walked them both to the bed. It hit the back of her knees, but his grip on her kept her from tumbling backwards — at least until he let her go. Then she fell with a low cry onto the mattress and the softness of the flannel sheets. Damian was on top of her before she had time to do more than let out that one sound. His hand moved beneath her to lift and pull her at the same time he shifted, moving them both upward on the bed.

  She never forgot how strong he was, or that the only reason she was ever able to control him was because he was so willing to submit, but she was rarely reminded so forcefully. Desire ripped through her. Harder when he bent to nip at her throat, moving his mouth lower to suck at her nipples, one at a time. Bette writhed beneath Damian’s touch. His other hand moved back to her cunt, sliding two fingers inside her. Not gently. She cried out again, louder this time, adding a curse.

  He cut off her words with his kiss. He took her breath with his own as his fingers moved inside her, then out to circle on her clit before pushing back inside. His cock, thick and heavy, stroked her thigh as he moved, but she didn’t touch him.

  “Fuck,” he muttered into her mouth. “You’re so wet. I have to fuck you, Bette.”

  It was what she wanted. Needed. “Yes. Now.”

  In a smooth motion Damian settled between her legs. His cock nudged her entrance, and just as he’d done moments before with his fingers, he filled her in one thrust that sent another bolt of desire igniting her. He filled her so fully there was a hint of pain, but she embraced it with a tilt of her hips to drive him in even deeper. He pushed up on his hands to look down at her, his lower lip pulled between his teeth and his brow furrowed in concentration.

  “That thick, hard cock,” Bette said on a gasp. “Fuck, you’ve got such a nice fucking cock…”

  He fucked into her harder. She ran her hands up his forearms, loving the veins there. Up over his biceps and the bulging muscles. Her nails dug into his shoulders, then raked his back. She gripped his ass cheeks, urging him to fuck her harder. Faster. Deeper. She wasn’t going to come this way — not enough stimulation on her clit, despite the way his pelvis pounded hers, but the frenzy of it, oh, shit, yes…that was good. It was good enough.

  Not for Damian, apparently. He eased and slowed, holding himself off her with one arm while he slid his other hand between them to press his knuckles to her clit. It felt good, but it wasn’t going to get her off. She didn’t want this. She wanted to be pounded. Fucked. She wanted him crying out her name as he came.

  When she tried to push his hand away, though, Damian shook his head, stubborn. Before she could stop him, he’d pulled out of her. He rolled them both, graceful and coordinated the way he always was. He slid down the bed until his mouth could tease her cunt. Wriggling, she tried to get away, but his grip trapped her. At the swipe of his tongue against her clit, Bette shuddered.

  She fought him, but he was stronger. He gripped her wrists, pinning them to her sides. With a strangled cry, Bette tried to free herself, but could not.

  She did not tell him to let her go.