| Title: In Training Author: N. Chapter Four Once they’ve cleared the town he binds her wrists and takes the lead, pulling her along behind him without looking back. The skiff is nestled between rocky outcroppings in the heathland surrounding the town. Outside the skiff he grabs her and pins her against the metal hull. Breathing heavily against her, he fights the urge to slit her throat there and then. What he wants is to hurt her – not just physically, although that will happen, but hurt her somewhere deep inside to make her feel as helpless and frustrated as she made him feel. Not knowing how this will end both annoys and excites him. Raising her bound wrists, he hooks them to the handle of an access hatch high above her head to stretch out her body. He pulls his shiv and waits for the fear in her eyes. Instead she stares straight back at his goggles, trying to penetrate them, daring him to make his next move. He unzips her top and yanks it open. That’s when he sees the bruises. One the size of his palm on her ribs. Smaller ones down the other side. Bites and scratches and cuts, a graze above her hip. He stares down at her abused body where other men have left their mark on her, then twists her around at the wrists and pulls up her top to see the white scars slashed across her back from an old flogging. Not exactly what he expected. Part of him knows she deserves every bruise, every scar. He’s dreamed of vengeance like this, wanted to add a few bruises himself. He still might. And part of him suddenly understands everything – her taking control of him for once, after all those men who’ve taken control of her. But he knows, too, that she asked for it. She’s no victim. He’s thrilled by the idea. He realises his hands are on her, his fingers following the lines left by the whip along her spine. He slips his hands around her to unbuckle her pants, kneeling behind her to pull them down and off, along with her boots. In the glow of light from the skiff’s cabin he can see the red marks on the backs of her legs, creeping round to the tender flesh inside her thighs where someone has spread her legs and lashed her. Standing up, he uses his shiv to slice through her top. Then he swings her around to face him again and cuts the straps of her bra. He does it slowly, trailing the blade along the swell of her breasts, daring himself to draw blood. Not yet... not yet. He presses his hand hard against the large, new bruise on her ribs, and she sighs in response, closing her eyes, arching towards him. So, the bitch does like it. She likes all of this – the beatings, the pain… But the urge to hurt her is gone for now, though he can’t explain it. He wants to control her as she controlled him, but he doesn’t know how. If he threatens her, she’ll resist and he’ll hurt her and she’ll enjoy it. He can’t even rape her – in his mind’s eye he sees her bucking beneath him, urging him on, not struggling for escape. And despite the kick she got from training him, she’s not dominant by nature. She had her fun with him, tested both of them to see how far they could take it, but it was a learning experience for her as well. She wants to be taken, wants to be hurt. He’ll have to find another way… He sinks to his knees again, his hands running down her body with one smooth, long stroke. She shudders as he presses his face against her stomach, his hands cupping her hips. Warm skin under his lips, her scent beckoning to him, her heartbeat gently pulsing through her body… In this way he worships her. It feels right, now that she’s his. She wriggles in his grasp, impatience setting in, confused by his inaction. He runs his hands over her ass, the heated skin of her inner thighs, the dark curls at her mons. He’s desperate to take her but as he feels her reaction he realises there’s something he wants more than his orgasm – he wants her orgasm. He wants to give it to her, not let her use him to take it. He wants to control it. Control *her*. Pushing her legs open, drowning in her scent, he kisses her wet raw flesh, open-mouthed, tongue probing, licking, exploring. He avoids her clit, running his tongue slowly along her folds, pushing deep inside her, drinking like a thirsty man. Her body stretches up, almost as if she’s trying to evade him, as if it’s too much, but then she settles back down, her legs struggling to find a hold on him. He grabs her behind the knees and keeps her legs down. The sounds she makes are different from anything he’s heard before – tiny mewling noises from her throat, little grunts between the pants. She thrusts her hips at him in the hope of increasing the stimulation but he ignores her and continues to lick her slowly. When at last he laps at her clit she flinches with surprise. He uses the tip of his tongue to tease it gently, then leaves it alone again. She’s screaming through the gag, but he sucks on her labia instead, tugging with his teeth, until she calms down a little. He returns to her central nub, flattening his tongue and grinding at it until she’s shaking. When he senses she’s near, he stops and stands up before her. She stares at him in disbelief and he smiles slowly. She raises her knees and wraps her legs around his waist, drawing him close, thrusting against the bulge in his pants in a silent plea. He pushes her legs down with a single precise movement and roughly twists her around at the wrists so she’s facing the hull of the skiff. He bites into her neck, and her body tenses up instantly. His hands roam over her belly and breasts. He pinches the nipples hard between thumb and forefinger and she groans with pleasure, pressing back against him. He bites harder, drawing blood, then licks the wound. With one hand he cups her and massages her mons with his palm. She’s so tuned to him now that she starts to come almost at once. He pulls his hand away in time, drawing from her a cry of despair, and returns his attention to her neck and earlobes. He wanted this to last much longer but suddenly he needs to feel her release as much as she does. He spins her around on the rope and kisses her deeply, one hand fisting her hair while the other slides in between her slick folds. His fingers find her clit and he brings her to the brink in seconds as she wraps her legs around him. He presses his face into the curve of her shoulder and holds her close as she comes, their torsos melded together with sweat, her womb contracting strongly, over and over against his stomach. Slipping his hand between their bodies, he lays his palm against her belly to feel it clench and tremble. When he yanks down the rope and pushes her roughly up the ramp into the back of the skiff she’s still dizzy with orgasm. He kicks off his boots, strips and turns away to throw his goggles down. When he looks back at her, she sees him properly for the first time and freezes with sheer terror. And in that moment his primal instinct returns, that instinct that’s kept him alive all these years, that animal response to the naked fear he engenders in others – and his only response is to take advantage, retaliate, move in for the kill. As she draws breath to scream he lunges on top of her, covering her mouth with his hand and she screams into his hand instead. He clamps it tightly and she whimpers and struggles, unable to drag her gaze from his glowing eyes. Entering her swiftly with a deep stroke, she feels tighter than he remembers as her body resists him. He uses his free arm to hold her bound wrists above her head. She’s shaking, crying, her face a blur of colours to his enhanced vision. He’s the beast from her nightmares, a demon spirit, the devil himself, and he revels in the role. For a few minutes, at least, he’s found a way to terrify her, and that’s always been what he does best. As she tries to twist out from under him he laughs and pins down her legs with his. She’s mesmerised by his silver glare, gazing back wide-eyed with shock. As he picks up the rhythm, slipping his hand under her to raise her up to him, free at last to control the pace, she starts to calm down. Her sobs of protest turn to soft moans, the crying subsides. He slides one leg off her as he moves, to see what she’ll do, and she wraps it around his waist. He releases the other and she grips him between her thighs. She’s still shaking, still scared, uttering a strangled cry each time the head of his cock rams her cervix painfully. He raises his body up and looks down to watch his glistening cock sliding in and out of her, reflecting back at him in heated red and purple hues. When he looks at her again she’s still staring at him. Despite what’s happened between them he never predicted this – that she’d be afraid not of his strength or his shiv, but his eyes. He settles deep inside her when he comes, howling with release just because he can. At last, he can. As soon as he starts to lift away she rolls aside and crawls to the corner of the cabin. He chuckles cruelly and lets her go. Outside the skiff he gets dressed and thinks. The town is lit up in the distance. Her town – but she won’t be going back. She still owes him. She belongs to him now. He’ll take her away somewhere and no other man will touch her again. He’ll wait for the bruises to heal, wait until her skin is clean and new again, until she’s begging him for the sensation of pain to once again heighten her pleasure. Then he’ll begin his own kind of training with her. He gathers her boots and pants and shredded top and throws them in the back of the skiff. He can see her in the shadows, staring back at him, crouched and tense, fear mingling with curiosity. He jumps in and shuts the hatch, leans across the pilot’s seat to punch in the start-up sequence. Then he crouches down before her and cups her jaw in his strong hand. "You ready for this?" he says. Her eyes spark with anticipation and with his thumb he traces the hint of a smile on her lips. THE END (c)Copyright to N. for "In Training" Chapters 1-4 April 17, 2003. |