Caitlin
Sometimes it’s hard for me to distinguish fear from excitement. I have an intelligent, rational mind, but as soon as it lands on something that scares me, I leave my body. And the way I come back is through sex and pain.
So getting bound, whipped and face-fucked by the mafia kingpin who showed up to kill me? Didn’t scare me.
Talking about my dad’s death shut me down, though.
And when my hitman packs up my electronic equipment, throws me over his shoulder and carries me out of the apartment, real fear sets in.
“Mr. Tacone?” I mumble, swinging over his wide shoulder. I have a close-up view of his ass, and it’s quite impressive, I have to say. He’s definitely an Italian Stallion, this one.
Who knew?
I might have played my cards differently if I’d known skimming over a hundred thousand dollars would trigger a hitman in such a handsome, dominant package.
He slaps my ass. “Not a sound, little hacker. Do you want me to gag you?”
Ugh. Why does that turn me on? He scrambles my brain when he says things like that. I need to figure out how to escape instead of getting wet every time he says something bossy.
“No, sir,” I mutter.
“Good girl.”
There’s no elevator in my building, but he’s not even winded after carrying me down four flights of stairs and out into the parking lot. I look around, but there’s no one to hear me scream. He waited until the middle of the night to kidnap me.
I should’ve screamed back in the building. One of my neighbors might have come out or called the cops. Why didn’t I?
I swear sometimes I don’t have any sense. For a girl who got a 1410 on her SATs, I’m pretty stupid.
Or I have a deathwish.
That has a ring of truth in it. Which is why I targeted the Tacones in the first place. That, and for revenge.
They deserve to pay for what they did.
The Tacone guy-still don’t know which one he is-pops the trunk of his Porsche and cold washes through me.
Now I’m going to die. I’m definitely going to die.
I try to swing off his shoulder, even though with my ankles zip tied together I wouldn’t make it one step away. He slaps my ass but he’s careful putting me in the trunk.
Like he’s laying down a sleeping baby or something.
He stares down at me for a moment, his expression inscrutable.
I’m shaking all over. “Please,” I beg. “I don’t want to die.”
He shrugs off his jacket and lays it over me, carefully tucking the edges around my body to keep it on.
Huh.
Maybe I’m not going to die. Yet. What kind of hitman tucks his jacket around his victim to make sure she doesn’t get too cold?
“Please, Mr. Tacone.”
The trunk slams closed and I choke back a sob.
Shit! Fuck a duck. This is bad. Very bad.
My breath comes in little pants as the car roars to life and pulls away from the curb.
I’m so dead I’m so dead I’m so dead.
I don’t want to die.
That realization strikes me a little too late.
Too bad I continuously engage in risky behavior.
“I don’t want to die!” I scream, as if that might somehow convince the hitman to let me live. “Mr. Tacone!” I shriek. “Let me out of here.” I shriek until I’m hoarse, but of course it does no good. I can’t reach the emergency latch to open the trunk, and can’t get enough power with my ankles bound to kick out the lights.
Eventually the car rolls to a stop and the engine shuts off.
Now is when I should scream, but my throat is sore and dry and I’ve exhausted myself.
The trunk opens and the Tacone brother stares down at me. “Not a fan of the screaming,” he says, pinning me with a look.
That’s all he says.
Strangely, that’s all he needs to say. It’s like we both know I won’t do it again. He threatened a gag earlier, and I don’t want to make him follow through on that threat.
Also because he’s that dominant and something in me likes to submit.
Keeping his jacket wrapped around my shoulders, he hauls me up over his shoulder again and carries me into what seems to be a single-family dwelling in the suburbs.
Well, okay. He’s probably not planning to kill me here.
Or it seems unlikely. Too much blood.
And noise.
If he’d pulled me out of the trunk in some remote wooded location I would’ve been sure it was time to dig my grave. But this looks like it could be his house.
Huh.
He carries me inside. I lift my head and attempt to look around. It’s a beautiful modern home with luxurious furnishings. It smells like him- earthy male and leather. He carries me into what must be his bedroom and drops me on the king-sized bed. The comforter is an iridescent gun-metal grey. “Don’t move,” he says and walks out of the room.
Yeah, right. I’m not that stupid. I quickly scan the room and my eyes land on a pair of nail clippers on the bedside table.
Bingo!
I lunge for them, army crawling with my elbows across the bed and snatching them up. One snip and the ankle ties are free. I don’t waste time with the wrist ties, I just launch off the bed, palming the clippers as I run for the front door.
I’m almost there when something thin and soft wraps around my throat and jerks me back.
I drag in a desperate gasp, my fingers flying to the material at my throat.
His tie.
He’s choking me with his tie.
Except he’s not. He alternates cutting off my air flow and letting me breathe.
The man knows exactly what he’s doing.
He’s probably killed dozens of people this way while he forces their final confessions out of them. Did my father die this way?
“I thought I told you not to move.” His voice is even. Deep. Seductive, but I don’t think that’s what he’s aiming for.
I’ve never been into breathplay-it seems too risky to me-but I pretend this is sex, a scene. Something that could be ended with a simple utterance of my safeword. And just by flipping the scenario into sex-land-same as I did at my place earlier-my fear ebbs away. The blank panic fades. My body comes alive.
I let my head fall back on his shoulder and rub my bound hands between my legs.
His chuckle is soft. His lips are right at my ear.
“You like to get choked out while you’re getting it hard, Caitlin?”
Oh gawd. The man picks up what I’m putting down without even missing a beat.
“Maybe,” I admit. But there’s no maybe about it. I’m already wet. “Have you practiced breathplay?”
And the tactic totally works, because he forgets about pulling the tie taut around my neck, instead sliding one hand down my belly and into my pants. When he slowly swipes one finger over my slit, I’m shockingly slick and wet.
“I’ve choked a few people, yeah. You wanna try?”
I don’t miss noticing that he’s asking. It seems incongruent with everything else he’s done, and I take it as a good sign. Maybe he’s one of those guys who’s fine with killing a woman but not with raping her.
It sort of fits the mafia profile-at least the one portrayed in movies and television. They may be dangerous and operate outside the law but there’s still a code they live by. They just honor their own rules.
Maybe his rule is not to force himself on a woman. Or maybe it’s just his pride. I sort of doubt he would ever have to force. Not with those looks and the money and power behind them. Women probably throw their panties at him on a daily basis.
Which is precisely what I’m going to do.
“Yes, big man.”
He sinks one of his fingers into my channel. “Big man, huh? Babygirl, this is the strangest direction a shakedown has ever gone for me, you know that?”
I go still. “This is a shakedown?”
Not a murder. He would’ve said hit if it was supposed to be a hit, right?
With his hand still down my pants, he uses the tie around my neck to swivel me around and march me back toward the bedroom. “It’s whatever I want it to be. Right now, it’s me bending you over that bed and fucking you hard from behind with this tie wrapped tight around your throat. Capiche?”
I moan. I don’t even know if he means this as dirty talk, but to me it works like magic. “I capiche,” I say.
He snorts because I’m sure that’s not how you say it. Whatever. When we reach the bed, he pushes my torso down over the side of it and screws a second finger into me. I tuck my forearms under my chest and rock my hips to get him deeper. He bites my shoulder as he removes his fingers and I gasp. With quick, deft movements, he rids me of my yoga pants. I hear the tear of foil and I’m instantly grateful he’s responsible, because I hadn’t even thought about protection. At least I’m on the pill.
And the fact that he’s using a condom… does that mean he’s not killing me? Or is it just to protect him from anything I might be carrying?
Probably the latter. That thought tanks my initial elation.
The tie around my neck had gone loose but he cinches it again, sliding it up right beneath my chin so when he pulls on it, he lifts my head and bows my back.
“Aw, that’s pretty, doll. Really fucking pretty.”
I suddenly feel it. I picture how I must look to him; tied up, choked and ready to be fucked and it’s definitely hot.
He shoves into me from behind. It’s rough and forceful and just how I like it. My body was ready for him, even though he’s big. He thrusts in deep, easing out and bumping my ass when he slams back in.
I clench my pussy around his large cock and he jerks, shoving in harder. “Damn, you feel good, bella. You practice keeping that pussy so tight?”
“Yes,” I admit. Aren’t we all supposed to be doing our kegels?
He mutters something that sounds like, “Cazzo.” Must be an Italian curse.
I love the way he fucks me hard, like it’s punishment, like I’m meant to feel where he’s been for days. My ass is still sore from the whipping and each time he slams in, his loins slap against it, renewing the sensation, winding my crank tighter and tighter.
He tightens the silk tie around my neck, cutting off my air flow. The lack of oxygen, or maybe the fear and desperation that come with being choked bring me right to the precipice of orgasm, but he releases it before I get there.
I let out a frustrated moan.
When he pulls out, I flip my hair over my shoulder to turn and glare at him.
He smirks. “You don’t deserve to have me come in your pussy. You’ve been a bad girl.” He slaps my butt. “You’re going to take it in the ass.”
I shiver. I may be into pain, but anal’s not my thing. It’s too personal. Too intimate. “Lube!” I cry out defensively. “You can use anything-olive oil, coconut oil. Whatever you have. Please.”
He snorts again. “I ought to shred your ass with no lube,” he says, but he gets up and opens a dresser drawer, producing a bottle of lubricant.
Thank God.
“Climb up on the bed,” he orders, as if I have full use of my hands. I pull my knees up onto the bed and he helps situate me in the middle of it. “Ass in the air, troublemaker.” He slaps my butt to punctuate the command.
If I stopped for even a moment to consider how strange and crazy it is that I turned my shakedown into a BDSM extravaganza, I would laugh until I cried. But I’m too lost in the moment. Too turned on, too surrendered in submissive mode. The guy could probably do anything to me right now and I’d let him.
And that’s the danger of my quirks.
Risky behavior, is what the school counselor told the social worker back in high school when I filed for emancipation.
I don’t care. In this moment, it feels good.
My would-be hitman shoves my upper body down on the mattress and dribbles an ample amount of lube over my crack.
Again, thank God.
With one side of my face pressed to the bedcovers, I watch the man behind me unbutton his dress shirt and tug it off. Dayum. What I see makes my pussy clench in anticipation. He’s not what I expected. I mean, yes, he’s a big burly bear of a man with wide, muscled shoulders and ample chest hair curling above his undershirt. But there’s no flashy gold chain or rings on his fingers. The suit is obviously expensive but very tasteful.
He’s classy.
That’s the part that surprises me. This isn’t the street thug mafia man from the movies.
Scratch that. I rode here in the trunk of his car and he’s about to buttfuck me for trying to escape. Except it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like two people engaged in consensual nonconsent. An extended scene at the local BDSM club.
“All right, little girl. You ready to have your ass fucked?”
“Um…”
Is he waiting for a green light? After he told me I deserved to have my ass shredded by him? He rubs my pussy, playing with my clit until my knees slide wider on the bed.
“You look ready, bella.” He pressed the tip of his cock against my anus.
Even though I know the trick is to relax, I tighten.
He waits.
When the tight ring of muscles finally relaxes, he pushes forward.
I gasp and tighten again.
“Lie flat, little hacker, it will loosen things up.”
It will? Okay. I slide my knees back until I’m on my belly. He pushes my cheeks wide and dribbles more lube over my anus. Then he resumes entry. He’s right. This time it’s not as tight. He gets in and it stretches, but it’s not horrible. I breathe through it, my eyes squeezed closed. When he’s finally seated, he waits.
I forgot about the tie around my neck, but he didn’t. He picks it up and pulls it tight. My back bows up and I lean on my elbows to take the pressure off, but my hitman has started rocking in and out of my ass. Just a tiny movement, but it feels…
Really good.
Yeah, really freaking good.
I start making sounds. Moans of discomfort and pleasure mingled together.
He pumps a little harder-increases the range of his strokes. Tightens the leash around my neck.
“Ow, please,” I whimper, but I don’t want him to stop.
“Please, what, little hacker? Please fuck me harder?”
My pussy is swollen, sopping. Wanting something inside it, but he’s abusing my ass. I’ve never felt so used, so punished, so submissive in my life.
It’s a heady sensation. The endorphins course through my bloodstream. I’m on the edge of an orgasm.
“Please,” I moan again.
“Please you need to come?”
“Yes!”
He tightens the pressure around my throat at the same time he increases the speed of his pumps.
I try to beg some more, but the sound is choked off with my breath. I want to touch my pussy, shove my fingers in it, give it something to clamp down on, but I can’t move. I’m held prisoner by the band around my neck and the cock in my ass.
My orgasm rips through me. I tighten around his cock and he curses and releases the tie.
I suck in breath as I tumble face forward into the mattress, face forward into release. He holds me down by my nape and fucks my ass hard and fast while I float far, far away.
I hardly hear his shout when he comes. Don’t even know what happened after that.
The next thing I know, he’s put a new zip tie around my ankles and removed the one on my wrists long enough to pull off my shirt and sports bra. And then he must’ve put a new zip tie around my wrists, but I missed when that happened, because I’m suddenly in a bathtub filling with warm water and he’s standing over me, looking very stern as he strips out of his clothes.
“You move from this tub and I’ll shove something even bigger than my cock up your ass and it will stay there until you’ve returned my money. Capiche?”
I blink at him. What did he say? It didn’t even make sense.
I can’t return his money. The money is gone. Does he think I have it?
He steps into the adjacent shower and turns it on. “I’m watching you.”
It’s not funny, but I giggle. Just because he’s sexy when he’s stern, and I just hit subspace and am still riding my way back down.
I close my eyes and sink down into the warm, delicious water of the bath. I know I have problems. Huge, deadly ones. But just for this moment, I let myself forget. Surrender to the water and the will of my captor.
And aftermath of the best scene and sex of my life.
Paolo
Caitlin doesn’t move from the bath. She doesn’t even look around for a weapon, like she did in her bathroom. The girl is in outer space.
She’s definitely cray-cray. Like way off from normal.
Not sure why I find her so damn appealing.
Hot mess crazy isn’t my thing. I mean, I’d usually run away from that shit at the first sign.
But something about this little girl has already burrowed way under my skin. I feel strangely protective of her.
And her crazy thing doesn’t make me uncomfortable. It amuses me. Like I’ve chuckled more tonight than I have in the last month.
I keep an eye on her through the foggy glass of the shower door. She looks beautiful with her head tipped back, her wide mouth curved in pleasure.
I want to give her far more.
Too bad that’s not going to jive well with the demands I’m about to put on her. Which is the only reason I’m putting it off.
I can lay down the law tomorrow. Tonight it’s late and she’s gotta be falling asleep in that tub after what I put her through.
I shut off the water and grab a towel. She doesn’t open her eyes when I step out and dry off. Not until I pull the drain plug on the tub and the water starts emptying. Then she only lifts her lids halfway and watches me.
It’s damn sexy.
“It’s not going to be so easy lifting me out of this tub,” she observes and again, I’m tempted to smile.
“You gonna make it hard?”
“No.” She sounds surprised, like she hadn’t thought of resisting. “I just don’t see how you’re going to do it.”
“Easy.” I grip her forearms and lift her up enough to sit her on the side of the tub.
“Oh,” she says, like she’s embarrassed. “Yeah, I guess it was easy.”
I wrap a towel around her body and dry her off, then scoop her into my arms to carry to the bed. I want to keep her naked, but I have to remind myself she’s not mine. She may have initiated all the crazy shit we did tonight, but that doesn’t mean I can spread those toned legs in the morning and pound out my morning wood.
And I definitely will if she sleeps naked. Probably wouldn’t even wait until morning.
I put on a pair of boxer briefs and grab one of my t-shirts for her. I have to unclip the zip tie to put it on her. The skin of her wrists is getting raw and bruised, which I don’t love, but I can’t trust her enough to leave her unbound, either. I grab my tie and wrap it around her wrists a few times first, then use the zip tie over it, so she at least has some padding.
“Will you do that for my ankles too?” she asks innocently. Like she’s asking for a glass of Coke from a waiter.
I shove her onto her back and lift her ankles in the air, taking the opportunity to slap her ass a few times.
She shrieks.
“These ankles?”
“Yes, please.”
I can’t help myself. Putting a little hurt on her is so fucking satisfying. I had no idea what a sadistic stronzo I was with a woman until now. I paddle her ass all over with my hand, the crack of flesh on flesh and her resulting gasps loud in the bedroom.
I give her extra spanks over her pussy, which protrudes enticingly through her legs. I don’t stop until her ass is red and warm under my hand. Only then do I snip off the zip tie and use one of my socks under a fresh one to keep it from rubbing.
Her cornflower blue gaze is on my face the whole time. The blankness she displayed in the bathroom is gone. I see the keen intelligence now. “What are you going to do with me?” she asks.
“You’re going to make reparations. And after you do, I might let you go. We’ll see.”
I know I didn’t straight out tell her I’d set her free, but I meant the words to put her a little more at ease. Because I know she’s been wondering if I’m going to off her. But she goes pale at my pronouncement, her face shuttering up, shoulders hunching as she curls in on herself on the bed.
I slide the covers out from under her and climb in, then wrap an arm around her waist and pull her ass back against my lap. So much for not tempting myself.
I keep my arm firmly around her waist, my body molded around the outside of hers. If she moves, I’ll feel it. No way she’s going to escape during the night. I’m not a deep sleeper.
“You so much as move a muscle without permission and there will be hell to pay. Capiche?”
“Yes, sir,” she murmurs.
“Huh.” It must be a sexplay thing, calling me sir. She’s way too young and casual in the rest of her speech for me to believe she regularly calls men sir.
“Yes, Mr. Tacone,” she amends, remembering my correction earlier.
I roll her nipple between my thumb and forefinger. “Good girl.” It comes out as a satisfied rumble. And I genuinely feel it.
She’d make a great pet. And I’d fucking love to be her master.