Whispers From The Edge

Chapter One-2

“Out there again?" Spencer whispered. “Time for you to come back.”

No, no! Leave me out there, let me “see” these unknown horizons. But his hands brought me back. They rubbed at my shoulders, squeezed my breasts, pinched my sensitive n*****s. They eventually found their way down my slick stomach and into my soaked panties. First one, then two, then three fingers slid their way inside me, thrusting up, up, until I was fully bucking to his strong thrusts. His impalement brought me back to reality and I couldn’t stop him.

Spencer did that himself. His knuckles withdrew, leaving me with a hot, empty hole. “Thank god, thank god”, I wanted to say. Or was it, “No, come back, I’m not finished yet”? Spencer lowered the suspension bar until I sprawled on the thick carpet. He released my cuffs but wouldn’t allow me to curl up in a tight, sniffling ball. I found myself on my back, despite my protests about the welts, and he made me look up at him.

“Well, what’s this?” he said. His fingers traced along my tear tracks. “You don’t think that’s going to make me let up, do you?”

“I don’t care what you think,” I said.

He grabbed the top of my head and wrenched me to a sitting position.

“Yes, you will, R.J. What I’m thinking is very important to you. Just as important as what I’m going to do to you now.”

He pushed me down on my stomach, forcing my arms behind me. I tried to resist, tried to keep my wrists apart, but the suspension and whipping had left me as weak as a kitten. My legs beat against Spencer’s back but he ignored them. I was nothing more than human clay in his hands.

He efficiently tied my wrists, then sat me up and anchored my arms. His bright, precious rope cinched my upper body all together in a V-shaped, breast encircling harness. I was a nicely wrapped package for his sport, unable to stop those constantly roaming hands. His lips covered mine. His hot breath filled my mouth.

I broke off from the kiss. Spencer didn’t like that at all. A gleam entered his eye, one I’d never seen before. It translated into his grabbing the front of my rope harness, pulling me to my feet. My legs were so weak I could barely hold my own weight, but Spencer shoved me up against the wall, near where his switchblade still stuck out.

“If you know what’s good for you, don’t move,” he says.

I didn’t. Fear froze me. Already Spencer had done things I didn’t know he was capable of; I didn’t want to push him any further.

He pulled off my panties and squeezed them in a tight, little ball. Pushed past my lips, their sharp, salty tang overwhelmed my tongue. I nearly choked on the odor but, before I could spit them out, Spencer was back with a large leather plug. He packed the panties down, made sure the plug rested on top so the only thing I could taste was myself. I was constantly reminded that only I did this to them, I had only myself to blame for my current condition. I tasted my own essence and my knees threatened to buckle. But then came another more familiar smell.

Attached to the plug was a leather helmet. Spencer flipped the limp, second skin over my head and I squealed. No! No, I can’t take this! It’s too much. Nearly smothered in its intoxicating scent, my legs finally gave way and I slid to the floor, but Spencer and the helmet stayed with me. He aligned the nose hole and I sucked in the seductive fragrance, the one I associated with bondage, desire and wanton lust. I’m turned around again, this time to endure the laces tightening in back. The pressure grew on my head and my new non-identity matured with every little tug. A collar, already sewn onto the bottom of the hood, captured my neck. When a small lock snapped in place at the back I was sealed inside. Trapped.

Yet, Spencer did offer a way out. His way. Through the hood’s eyeholes I watched him lean down and clip a short leash on me. He pulled me up, brought me close to him.

There was something in his manner, not of madness or a dominant gone wrong, but a will I’d never seen in him before. Suddenly, I knew it was this part of him directing his actions, telling him the best way to instill terror in me. Then, as if on the edge of my vision, I perceived something around him. Not a glow or some other trite metaphysical quality, but a sense of layers, of what he is, not just in this life but what he was before and what he’ll be after.

For the present though, the entity I knew as Spencer had me under his thumb. He tied a hobble rope around my ankles and, a few moments later, had me out on the club floor, under a chain that dangled from the ceiling. Hooked to a D-ring in the top of the helmet, it prevented me from wandering the floor. He hung a flogger from the front of my collar and left me, a chained up, striped, voiceless animal put on display for the amusement of passing gawkers.

I tried to call out. Help me! But the combination of the gag and the music made my pleas go unheeded. I strained at the chain, but the sight of another naked slave was not unusual. People glanced at me and, not wishing to intrude on my play, turned away. If they only knew.

One couple did notice me. They were familiar, although I didn’t know their names. Newbies to the scene, they were still in their quasi-voyeur beginning public play stage. The young man tentatively reached up for the flogger.

I pulled back as far I can. The young man’s confusion was plain.

“It’s okay,” Spencer shouted from his usual place at the bar.

I adamantly shook my head. NO!

“Are you sure?” said the young man.

Spencer casually ambled over, drink in hand. “It’s all part of her scene, Chris. Just ask anyone. She pretends to resist.”

I shook my head again. Not this time!

“Go on,” Spencer said. He leaned in close to Chris. “You want to, right? She’s all warmed up. She just can’t wait to feel the flogger. Put some more welts on her. She needs conquering.”

Chris wavered.

“Practice on her, then take what you’ve learned and do it on Andi. Go on." Spencer nudged him with his shoulder.

Goddam Spencer! The only things he was missing are a barbed tail and pitchfork. His seduction was too much for Chris, who snatched the flogger.

His first strike caught me across the ribs and part of my left breast. I nearly fell to the floor. Only the chain above kept me upright, putting me in instant traction. Spencer backed away and Chris kept on with his strokes, his inexperienced and undisciplined style threatening to devastate me. His strikes weren’t hard, but after Spencer’s drubbing even the tiniest touch inflamed my suffering. I turned my back on Chris, but he just kept on with the beating. In his clumsy way, he reminded me of just what I’ve come here for.

Down, down between my legs, the passion that had lay dormant reawakened. I couldn’t help it. With each hit I’m pushed toward an edge of having my needs fulfilled, of feeling a man’s power inside me, and releasing my own back at him. I didn’t want to acknowledge the truth of Spencer’s claim before. Now I have no choice. This is the true torture. Chris has no idea what he’s feeding me and I can’t but help soak up whatever he’s giving, no matter how immature. Tears of despair spilled from eyes.

I don’t know if my reaction affected Chris, but the whipping stopped. I slowly turned back around, my nose running, my stomach still hitching from my quiet crying jag. I fought to get it under control, but it’s not my emotional display they react to.

Andi pointed. “Look at her legs!”

There, on the inside of my thighs, like tear tracks, were two streaks of my own juices. Andi and Chris couldn’t help themselves; they were like a couple of kids who suddenly discovered a new candy. Andi leaned forward, her trembling fingers extended as if she were about to touch the water of life.

She stopped just short. Perhaps she didn’t want to intrude on my suffering. Whatever the reason, she backed away, her young face flushed. She absent-mindedly twirled a lock of her curly, blonde hair, nestling up to Chris. “That’s what I want you to do to me.”

Chris smiled. They deeply kissed and Chris let the flogger fall to his side.

Spencer snatched it up, not allowing it to touch the floor, as if it were an honorable flag. The exchange of authority complete, he dismissed Chris and retrained his sights on me. Triumph filled him.

He unhitched the chain and untied the ankle hobble, but didn’t reconnect the leash. Instead he simply used the flogger to direct me. I jumped to avoid it, like a simple beast. He drove me before him, the blades snapping at my heels, my ass, my back, until we were once more in our private room. He removed the helmet, my hair now drenched in sweat, my skin now able to breathe again. My panties were drawn out and I needed water. But first, it’s all Spencer.

“I think you have something to tell me.”

I couldn’t say anything. Even if my tongue weren’t swollen, I’d still remain silent. This final part of me I had to keep to myself. No, I refused to beg, but Spencer wouldn’t be satisfied without some capitulation.

I lay down on top of my bound arms. My legs parted and I lifted my cunt to him.

He is on me in an instant, his mouth slavering over my face, licking up my salty tear stains. His tongue pressed against mine and his own saliva brought me some slackening of thirst, if also reinforcing his dominance. His c**k slid into me without difficulty, driving deeper with each thrust. Our hips slap together, ramming, ramming, trying to come out the back side of the other. The carpet burns my back as Spencer’s weight drives me across it. I don’t care. “Do me right! Do me good!” I cry.

Then the inevitable. Spencer is still driving up inside me, but now it’s a hot stream of passion. I sang a mixed song of pain and pleasure. Just before he is spent, I too reach my goal. My contractions threaten to make me pass out, but I hold on. No matter what fiendish way Spencer got me here, or what may happen later, I’ve endured too much not to fully experience this. My legs wrap around his back, keeping him inside me until the last of my internal quakes are gone. His weight on top of me is dead, much like my own, a reflection of our spent wantonness. The stress of the day that led me here vanishes. All that is left is my submission and a feeling; a feeling that I’d been like this many times before, more times than I can account for in this life.

***

As much as I wanted to stay locked up forever in that room, the real world slowly intruded. After a while, someone knocked, asking if they could use the room now. Normally, we’d be left alone until we came out, but the club was busy tonight and we’d used it a long time. Spencer got himself together and poked his head out to say I still needed a few minutes. I got my own act together as well as I could. My bra and turtleneck were in shreds, but that was the price I paid for my s****l cravings. I did have a white camisole tucked in my coat pocket and this underneath my coat would have to serve on my way home.

Spencer cleaned up the room, keeping to himself. A good dom knows when a sub needs space, and I did, especially after such a heavy scene. When he handed me the last piece of rope to coil, as he always did, he stroked me lightly on the cheek.

“There’s someone I want you to meet. He’s a dom friend of mine. I think you’d be good for each other.”