Briony
I’m openly embracing chaos and transgressions unknown.
I can’t seem to stay away from him, just as he can’t seem to stay away from me. We appear to be polar opposites, differing colors stretched apart on the spectrum, reaching for the other. He’s the dark to my light as I am the color to his achromatic gloom.
Aero is unlike anyone I’ve ever encountered. He appears to live in a world of his own morals. A life of calculated destruction.
He’s mysterious and entirely too intriguing. A man without a face, who’s found me and claimed me as his own little doll, tucking me beneath his wing of protection. The feelings he gives me are unexpected. Lustful thoughts chase me in his presence, and his rough aggressiveness does nothing to deter me from him, only leaving me wondering what this man could possibly do next.
Desire is a dangerous web, entangling me in this unrelenting need for more.
“First, I’m going to need you to pull your dress up over your knees,” his deep voice instructs as he locks the door behind him.
A dim corner lamp lights a fraction of the room, which I’m assuming is some sort of office by the bookshelves lining the walls and the large desk behind me. The light illuminates an oversized globe like a half-moon on the other side of the desk; the shadows taking half of the ghostly-looking planet with it.
I blow air through my lips, unsure of what’s transpiring. I’m very inexperienced when it comes to anything relating to men. Curiosity had me wondering about the sensations below the waist, tempted to explore those feelings on my own, but I’ve successfully kept my temptations at bay the way they have taught me.
The sexually immoral person sins against their own body, they tell us. But indecent thoughts have plagued me long enough, and the idea of exploring something that seems so natural to the core of who I am is begging for release.
A small desk lamp flips on near the door, and I squint my eyes at the sudden increase in light. I gain my focus, seeing Aero has slipped his mask back over his face again. I run the length of him with my eyes, taking in his height and the edge of that black rose tattoo that’s peeking out of the top of his button-up shirt, wondering about the art covering the rest of him. He walks forward a step, undoing the top two buttons of his shirt, exposing his throat and a wedge of his firm, inked-covered chest beneath it.
The sight sets my nerves on fire as he steps up, towering over me.
“I don’t ask twice, Briony. Something you’ll learn soon enough.” His hand comes up and grabs a strand of hair hanging near my cheek. Twirling it around his finger twice, he curls it into his palm, gripping it roughly until my head pulls forward and my eyes water from the sting of pain. “I’m an impatient man.”
He untangles his finger and drops the hair, moving around me. Sitting down on a large maroon couch to my right that appears to be made of leather, he gets comfortable. Leaning back into the seat, he adjusts his hips, slouching into it with his legs spread wide and his arms braced along the back.
My heart is racing at the expectations before me. I’m not even sure where to begin or how to do this. I grip the silk dress near my thighs, fisting the material in order to pull it up and over my knees. He watches me through the holes of the mask as he toys with the cuffs of his shirt near his wrists, rolling the material up his corded forearms, exposing more of his ink as he does. The man is covered with them.
I lick my bottom lip, my tongue sliding across it, attempting to calm my breathing, as I kneel onto the rug of the apparent office he’s locked us in. My lashes flutter as I try to come to terms with the fact that I’m really here, doing this…with him.
What am I doing?
Settling myself between his spread thighs, I grip the extra fabric of the gown in my hands, white-knuckling the material. I kneel, feeling the rough texture of the thin rug over the wooden floors. My eyes peer up at him for my next instruction.
I can’t tell what his expression is behind the mask. All I see are hazel eyes reflected by the dim lamps. He stares at me, somewhat of a snort escaping him.
“Look at her. On her knees, surrendering to her God.” He laughs as a wave of panic washes over me.
I’m regretting my confidence a few minutes ago when I told him I craved the heat of his fire.
“Crawl,” he barks.
I stare at him in confusion. I’m already on the floor between his legs.
“Lift your dress up and over your hips and crawl over to the desk,” he instructs, tipping his head back against the edge of the couch.
This must be some sort of humiliation tactic. When he realizes I’m not moving, he leans forward, grabbing something from behind his back. My heart stops when I see the gun in his hand. He twirls the gun around his finger, making a strange clicking noise beneath his mask that sounds like a ticking clock.
The idea that I can trust someone of his level of insanity is asinine. I’m naïve, and run entirely by hormones. Hormones putting me in danger of a calculated man I can’t seem to crack.
I slowly roll the dress up my hips, knowing my lack of underwear is about to have him seeing all of me from behind. Humiliation runs from my neck up to my warm cheeks as the flush of embarrassment overtakes me. I don’t want him to see the strange wetness I feel pooling between my thighs, but there’s no hiding it.
I turn from him, crawling across the rug, keeping my thighs as close together as I can to hide my body’s arousal. Making it to the nearby desk on all fours, I turn my head back to face him, awaiting the next instruction.
His eyes stay trained on my exposed self as he commands, “Now crawl under the desk. On your forearms.”
This is ridiculous. I want out. I want to leave the room. The humiliation is making me feel sick. I go to stand up when I hear him approach me. He places the end of the barrel of his gun against my head, and I gasp in fear and reluctant arousal.
Who would’ve thought a gun to my head would have me swimming in some kind of sick, dark lust?
“7636,” he drawls.
I’m practically panting in fear now, on my hands and knees beneath him. I squint my eyes, looking beneath the desk when it all becomes clear. There’s a safe there about the size of a mini-fridge.
Crawling beneath it, I arch my back as I lower myself onto my forearms. I feel the heat of his gaze on my exposed center, the wetness sticking against the inside of my thigh as I bend further down. I use the code he instructed, opening the safe. It’s too dark to see what’s in there, and I’m afraid of what it might be.
“The envelope. Grab it,” he says, dropping the heavy gun on the desk above me.
I blindly reach inside the safe, finding what seems to be a manila envelope; thick and heavy. I pull it out, handing it to him when he tells me to close the safe and twist the lock.
Backing out the way I went under, my bare ass bumps into his legs.
“You thought you were done?”
Turning beneath the desk, I realize he’s trapping me beneath it with his body.
“I told you, Briony. This is your baptism,” he says with a controlled voice, opening the belt to his slacks. “It’s time we took away your purity.”
My heart flutters in the confines of its cage as Aero removes his belt from the loops of his pants.
“Isn’t this what you want?” he asks, leaning down to where I’m sitting on my calves. Holding his belt with both of his hands about two feet apart, he drapes it around the back of my neck, and I shudder. “To be dirtied by the devil?”
Yanking the belt towards him, my head tilts further, looking up at the masked man above me. Something about his belt behind my neck has my body warming with that same lustful wonder I can’t contain, the tightening of my lower abdomen making me want to touch the space between my legs for some sort of relief.
“Yes,” I whisper, then close my eyes tightly, hating everything about how I’m feeling in his presence.
I’m weak. Allowing him to control me. I fight the men in the room beneath us for this very freedom I’m so willingly giving Aero. Regrets will come. Many of them.
His eyes narrow, and I can practically see his satisfied grin beneath the mask. He talks slowly as he threads the end of the belt through the buckle, effectively closing the belt around my neck. “That’s my good…sweet…obedient girl.”
Something of a whimper leaves my throat at his praise as he tightens the belt through the buckle until it’s snug around my throat. I can’t even absorb what I’m feeling at the moment. My body ignites with sexual desire coated in fear, blending so effortlessly together. I forget which I’m supposed to feel as the familiar fog encapsulates me yet again.
“Pull your straps down and expose yourself to me,” he commands, with a confidence I’ve never dreamed of owning, pulling the tail of the belt forward until I’m up on my knees.
The tightening sends that familiar twisting in my stomach again. A hunger is forming. I can feel it at the base of my throat.
Reaching up, I pull the straps to the gown down over my shoulders, letting my breasts hold the material up. Aero reaches down, gripping the material near the middle of my chest and pulls it down. The move exposes my breasts, the cool air of the room causing my nipples to harden. I grit my teeth, closing my eyes, feeling entirely too uncovered and exposed.
His chest expands and contracts faster than before and a low rumble leaves his throat. He reaches his hand out and gently cups the base of my hanging breast, lifting it slightly while running his thumb over the pebbled nipple before dropping it and allowing it to bounce before him.
I can’t deny the pleasure that stems from the sensitive touch of his rough, large hands on my body. I lick my lips before I feel the quick sting of his hand slapping my breast, causing it to sway. A moan escapes me, and I flinch at the sharp pain that creates a heat wave, traveling deep between my thighs. He gingerly cups me again.
“You weren’t created this beautiful for nothing, Briony,” he whispers, rolling my nipple between his forefinger and thumb. “Fuck, you’re perfect for me.” He groans as he twists my nipple roughly, causing me to suck in air. “The devil’s tainted little angel.”
His words make me dizzy with a sick desire swirling around me.
“Now beg to please me,” he continues, rolling the end of the belt around his wrist once before gripping the base near my throat, pulling me tighter towards him. “I need to hear you beg for my cock in your hungry little mouth.”
My eyes widen. No one has ever talked this way to me before, nor have I heard words like this expressed. Every part is vile and disturbing, so much so that I want to bathe in the filth of it just to appease him.
“Please.” I flutter my lashes, feeling the belt tighten around my throat as I talk.
He runs his hand over his pants, palming the imprint of his erection. “Please what?”
I squint my eyes, unable to speak the crude words.
“They’re just words, Briony,” he whispers, reaching forward and trailing the back of two of his fingers down the side of my face. “There’s freedom in complete expression.”
Freedom. Freedom I’ve been craving.
“Please let me wrap my mouth around it,” I whisper, feeling entirely foolish.
“Around what?” he asks sharply, pushing.
I swallow and feel the constricting flow of my throat under the belt.
“Your cock,” I whisper breathlessly.
The word earns a dark, haughty laugh from beneath the iron-clad mask. The devilish laugh of a man who’s set to own me. Freeing me from my chains by placing new ones around me.
“Thought you’d never ask.”
