Claimed Harder by Em Brown
Chapter 4
BRIDGET
Present
Ihate it when he ties me up in asymmetric suspension because I can’t relax into the rope bondage as much. Balancing on one foot—when that foot is in chunky five-inch heels—is no fun. Plus, the sensation of being off-kilter is making it hard for me to think and plan my escape. Every time I wobble, I seem to feel the crotch rope even more against my clit, reminding me of the orgasm that I had come close to having when Darren was fondling me between the legs.
After all these years, after all that I’ve learned about him, my body still goes crazy for him. It’s like my lust is Pavlov’s dog. All Darren has to do is caress me, and I’m a wet, hot mess. Even when I’m freaked out that he might kill me!
But would he? I can tell that he’s furious at me. What I can’t tell is what he intends to do with me. Use me as his fucktoy, then kill me? Part of me finds it hard to believe that he would kill me, though maybe he wouldn’t actually pull the trigger himself. Or maybe he would. I clearly don’t know him as well as I thought I did.
He’s a gangster. His cousin had my roommate Amy murdered.
The heels I wear have been doing their version of homicide on my feet, and I can no longer find a position for my standing foot that is discernibly less painful. I should never have allowed myself to be talked into buying these shoes. I shouldn’t have gone on that date with Josh. Coretta had taken my son, Evan, with her to her daughter’s house for the weekend so that I could study, not go out and wind up kidnapped by my ex.
Stop it! I tell myself. Crying over spilled milk isn’t going to help me out of my current predicament.
I tug against my bonds again, but they don’t give any more than before. If I can’t get out of these ropes, I have no hope. I’m a sitting duck.
So I have to find a way to get untied. I had suggested to Darren that I would give him a blow job. He’d passed on it at the time, but he had also said, “Don’t worry. You’ll get a chance to blow me.”
That suggests he will let me blow him. Problem is, there are many ways he can have me give him head. I could still be trapped in rope. But my current position wouldn’t work, and when he undoes the ropes to change things up, I might have a chance then.
Ideally, I would have my hands free. Then I could maybe grab something for a weapon.
Looking around, I see only the light bulb and a chair against the wall nearest me. Otherwise, this basement is only concrete flooring, windowless walls, and exposed pipes. I think about my shoes. Maybe the heels could work as a weapon? But how good would they work against a gun?
I shiver, remembering the shot I heard earlier. And Darren isn’t alone. I’m not sure who the others could be. Maybe Marshall, his sometime bodyguard and head of security.
But one thing or one person at a time. Maybe I’ll get lucky. I have to try something. And I’m not afraid of getting shot or hurt. As long as I can make it out alive. For Evan. There’s no way I’m dying and leaving him without a mother when he’s already missing a father.
Taking a large breath, I tamp down the fear that occasionally swells inside of me. I need focus and calm.
It feels like an eternity before I finally hear footsteps coming down the stairs. Thank God. I wouldn’t have an ankle left if I had to wait another minute. Or arms, which are sore from being raised above me for so long. My mouth is completely dry thanks to my own panties stuffed here. And because I’m still occasionally nursing and pumping, my breasts feel tight and uncomfortable. Meanwhile, there’s still the faintest simmer of desire between my legs, thanks to the crotch rope.
Please let it be Darren.
The door opens, and I breathe a silent sigh of relief when I see Darren standing at the threshold. Even in a simple pair of jeans and a loose-fitting tank that reveals his muscular arms and parts of his chiseled chest, he looks hot as hell. Physically, he hasn’t changed all that much, whereas I’ve put on a few pounds. The main visible change is that he’s grown a faint stubble, giving him a rugged quality. In more ordinary and non-threatening circumstances, if he didn’t turn out to be a gangster, I might have told him I liked the new look.
He sets down a suitcase before walking over. Taking the panties out of my mouth, he asks, “How we doing, Bridge
I really want something to drink, but I put that need aside and brace myself for the performance of a lifetime. I have zero experience in acting, but I’ve got to qualify for an Oscar now.
“Mercy, sir,” I reply, wanting relief from the bondage and the crotch rope.
He lifts a brow. “That’s funny. You think you get a fucking safe word?”
My heart accelerates, and I try not to let fear grip me too tightly. No safe words? We’ve never played without safe words before. But that’s actually not the issue. There was a time I would have trusted Darren enough to go without safe words. It’s his anger that scares me.
I lower my eyes. “I’m sorry, sir.”
He tugs on the crotch rope, making me gasp as the knot rubs further into my clit.
“I could have you wear this all day,” he says.
“Yes, sir.”
The muscle about his jaw tightens. “That all you’ve got to say?”
What does he want me to say? I could tell him I want to suck him off, but the timing doesn’t feel right. It might come off disingenuous.
“I-I deserve to be punished?” I try.
“You bet the fuck you do.”
I swallow with difficulty. He releases the rope and caresses my flesh.
“So how should you be punished?”
A thought crosses my mind. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“Where we are,” I answer. “There’s a BDSM club in downtown Denver. If we’re not too far…”
“We’re too far.”
“How far?”
He stares at me. I think he knows I’m trying to figure out our location.
He folds his arms in front of him. “What’s this BDSM club called?”
“Club Kink.”
“You been there?”
I shake my head.
“Then how do you know about it?”
“I was bored one day and was curious if Denver had that kind of scene.”
“I don’t believe you. How often did you play there?”
“I’ve never been there,” I insist truthfully. Even though I had looked it up, I couldn’t imagine playing with anyone but Darren.
He shakes his head. “I used to think you were such a goody two-shoes, someone trustworthy. Guess I was wrong. I hate being wrong.”
My toes come off the floor as he pulls the crotch rope up.
“Now let’s get back to your punishment,” he says. “Why don’t you start off with some ideas?”
Inwardly, I groan. I don’t want to answer his question. There are so many things that he can do, so many options in his arsenal. Bastinado is probably my least favorite, so I don’t want to offer up that suggestion. But he’ll know if I’m trying to lowball my punishment.
As if impatient for an answer, he tugs the crotch rope even higher.
“Nipple clamps?” I yelp. “A clothespin zipper? Making me blow you for hours on end?”
“Not bad. Let’s do them all. Along with my ideas, of course.”
My stomach feels queasy, but I’m encouraged that I’ll get to do the fellatio.
Stepping behind me, he unties my leg. My standing foot is so happy to have the other foot bear my weight for a change.
“Squat down,” he orders as he loosens the rope above my wrists.
I lower myself. He pushes me till my butt is touching my ankles, then spreads my thighs wide. With the cord of rope in his hands, he binds my upper leg to my calves. He retrieves another cord of rope and does the same to my other leg. With both legs bent and bound, I can’t run. The position pushes more of my weight towards my toes. I really wish I had never bought these damn shoes. I may refuse to wear heels the rest of my life.
Darren undoes the rope from the pipes, but instead of freeing my wrists like I had hoped, he anchors the end of the rope to the crotch rope. My wrists, no longer pulled above me, are now secured behind my neck, stretching my triceps.
Squatting down to face me, he reaches between my thighs and touches me, a finger on each side of the rope, teasing me. Unfulfilled desire from before percolates in anticipation. Taking hold of the knot, he wiggles it against my clit. My breath quickens. I should not be wanting this.
After he’s worked me up, he stands and undoes his jeans. “Now you can blow me.”
I stare at the semi-erect cock he pulls out. He came once already, so it may take a while to get him to come again. I just hope my body can survive being tied up for the duration.
“Come on, Bridge,” he urges, waving his erection in front of me.
I open my mouth wide, like a baby bird for its meal. He slaps his shaft against me, deliberately missing my mouth. I try my best to catch him. He lets me. My lips close about his hardness. I tongue the underside of his cock and suck till my cheeks cave in.
Putting a hand on the top of my head, he pushes me down his length. I start to gag when he goes too far. I haven’t done this in over two years. He pulls my head back, then pushes me back down even farther this time. My body resists, and I try my best to relax and adjust. When we were together, he always gave me a respite. It wasn’t always as much as I wanted, but it was enough to gather my bearings. But there’s no relief this time. I choke and cough on him. My body retches when his cock hits the back of my throat.
He finally gives me a second to catch my breath, right before he shoves my face into his groin, grinding my nose into his pubic hair. I sputter and gag. My eyes water.
He yanks me off his cock. A web of spittle falls from his cock to my chin.
Holding me by the hair at the top of my head, he asks, “That what you wanted?”
After my body has calmed, I reply, “Yes, sir.”
“You missed my cock, didn’t you?” he asks, tapping it against my cheek and over my eye.
“Yes, sir.”
Reaching behind me, he tugs on the rope connecting my wrists to the crotch rope. The knot rubs against my clit. Ever so slightly, it takes my mind off how sore my feet, legs, arms, and mouth are. But he doesn’t do this for long. Straightening, he plunges himself back into my mouth.
“Harder,” he orders.
I suck harder, channeling my frustration and lack of fulfillment into giving him as much head as I can. He groans and starts pumping his hips. I’m able to get into a rhythm and ensure my lips wrap him as tightly as possible while I go up and down. I want him to remember how good I can make him feel. I want to see his brow furrow in pleasure. I want to see his body surrender, to know what I can do to him.
Though I’d rather take a break, I press on. Up and down his cock. Up and down. Sucking and sucking. Until he starts bucking into my face faster and faster. I try to keep up, doing what I can to keep the gagging at a minimum.
With a roar, he pulls out and unloads over my face and chest. The white viscous liquid lands on my lashes, my cheek and lips. Part of me feels triumphant that I got him to come and relieved that he’s no longer pounding into my mouth and throat. But now what? I’m still tied up and unable to gain my freedom.
After sending the final spurt of cum onto my dress, he lefts my chin. “Don’t worry, Bridge. I’m not done with you. Not by a long shot.”
