Claimed Darker by Em Brown

Chapter 50

DARREN

Present

Between the running mascara and my cum oozing out of her mouth, Bridget’s face is a mess. Part of me wants to fall to my knees and kiss away her tears. But I steel my nerves. This woman ran out on me and is hiding my son from me. Even now, after the torment that I’ve put her through, she won’t admit to it. What is wrong with her? She lose her marbles after Amy’s death?

I pull up my pants and remove the clamps from her nipples. I want to give her an orgasm to wash away the pain. I’ve always felt the more a sub endures, the more she should be rewarded. But I want my son. I can’t make Bridget take me back, but if I have him, I’ll have a part of her. For some reason, he wasn’t at the house. I had thought to take both of them at the same time back to California, but after waiting a while without my son showing up, I decided to leave with Bridget first. One of my men is camped outside the house in Denver and is supposed to inform me the instant he sees my son, but I haven’t heard anything so far.

Looking over her body stretched across the table, I feel a stab of guilt. I just put the mother of my child through some serious sexual torment. Nothing beyond what she can handle, but still. She at least deserves an orgasm. As angry as I am with her, I want to hold her. I can’t remember ever feeling this conflicted before.

I decide to untie her from the table. I leave the rope around her wrists but make the mistake of taking my eyes off her when I loosen the end of the rope from the leg of the table. As I’m about to straighten, a blade is jammed into my bicep.

I stare in surprise at the switchblade sticking out of my arm. I don’t know if that’s what Bridget intended or if she was aiming for my heart and missed.

Bridget scrambles off the table and bolts for the stairs, but she trips and stumbles to the ground. She never was the best at walking in heels. Swiftly, I stride over, grab her by the back of her dress, and drag her over to a chair in the far corner. She kicks and claws, her heel catching me good in the shin. I bend her, face down, over the side of the chair, trapping her arms beneath her body, and use the weight of my body on top of hers to hold her down. She continues to struggle while I tie each thigh to a leg of the chair. Then I grab the extra rope dangling from her wrists, loop it under the chair, and tie it around her neck. If she tries to go anywhere, she’s going to have to take the chair with her.

I sit down against the wall and pull the blade from my arm, releasing more blood. It didn’t go in too deep but starts to sting. I take off my shirt and cover the wound, applying pressure.

Looking over at her, I ask, “You just try to fucking kill me, Bridge?”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles between sniffs. “I wasn’t trying to.”

I can’t really blame her, but I’m more pissed off than ever. I snort. “You expect me to believe you?”

I tear my shirt into strips, which I use to bandage my arm. The wound feels like a hundred needles poking into me. But I’m not done with Bridget. And part of me welcomes the pain. Now we’re both suffering. Together.

I wonder if she would kill me if she had the chance? The thought that she might hurts more than the stabbing. And angers me even more.

I get up. “You know, there was a time when I would have believed anything you told me. A lot’s changed since then, hasn’t it?”

“Darren—”

“Shut up. You used to be a good sub, a good... What happened?”

She doesn’t reply at first.

I kick the leg of the chair and reiterate, “What happened?”

“I made a mistake. I-I want to be a good sub for you.”

“Do good subs stab their masters with knives?”

“I got scared. I wasn’t sure what you were going to do next.”

“Oh, I’ll show you.”

I get the briefcase and set it before her. “See anything you like here?”

“The wand,” she murmurs.

“What else?”

“The flogger.”

“We did that.”

“The, um, anal plug.”

“Good choice. But this is a big one. We’ve never worked up to this size before. This one might bust your ass. But bad subs need their ass busted.”

By the leery expression on her face, she agrees with my assessment. I take out the plug, which is designed as two large heads, one atop the other. The first and smaller head won’t be a piece of cake, let alone the second one.

I hold the plug to her lips. “Get it wet for me.”

She looks worried, probably thinking her saliva isn’t going to provide enough lubricant. It’s not. Saliva dries out too quickly. But she takes the plug into her mouth, sucking on it to generate as much as spit as she can.

I feel between her thighs to find she’s still wet, but we’re going to need more, so I get the vibrator and turn it on. “If you want more lube for your butt plug, here’s your chance.”

I settle the wand against her pussy. I’m not sure if she’s in the frame of mind right now for arousal, but we’ll see. Gradually, her body responds to the vibrations. I see her adjusting her position, possibly trying to max the spot that’s the most sensitive. The wetness has definitely increased. Time for the butt plug. It’s an awkward object to hold in one’s mouth, and saliva has dripped down the corners of Bridget’s.

The wound in my arm throbs, but I’m not patient enough to go upstairs to get it treated or take a pain reliever. Removing the Ben Wa balls, I replace them with the butt plug.

“Oh God,” she mutters.

“You can feel how thick the plug is, can’t you? Well, that baby’s going in your ass.”

She whimpers.

“Don’t you want it in your ass? You said you wanted to be a good sub for me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Pulling out the butt plug, I push up her dress and press it against her other opening. Twisting the plug, I wedge the first bulb into her anus. She grunts and breathes as if she’s going into labor.

“How’s that feeling?” I ask.

“G-Good. Thank you, sir.”

The second part isn’t going to go in, at least not without a lot of pain, unless she’s more aroused. I get the vibrator again.

“Just don’t come,” I warn her.

Once it seems like her body is more relaxed, I resume pressing the plug in. There’s a lot of resistance. Her feet push against the ground, edging her body and the chair away from the plug.

I reach over and fist my hand in her hair. “Where do you think you’re going, Bridge?”

I can’t hold on to her hair and the wand while working the butt plug at the same time, so I tell her to hold the vibrator. Holding her in place by her hair, which causes her to arch her neck and back, I continue with the plug with my other hand.

As more of the plug enters her, she pants louder and starts to curse, which I don’t often hear her do. I watch, mesmerized, as more and more of the flare disappears little by little into her ass till her hole eventually swallows the whole thing, leaving only the handle visible between her butt cheeks.

“Nicely done,” I admire.

She fumbles and drops the wand.

My cock is rock hard at her accomplishment. I release her hair so that I can undo my pants. Kneeling behind her, I position my cock at her slit and sink in. I can feel the plug through the wall of her vagina. Hearing Bridget whimper, I reach underneath for her clit. Though I want so badly to start thrusting, I stay still while I fondle her.

“You like how stuffed you are?” I ask her.

“Y-Yes.”

“That the truth or another lie?”

“Truth,” she says after a pause.

I think I believe her. The hardest part, accepting the plug, is over. Though it’s not that comfortable reaching beneath the chair, I continue to caress her clit. She moans.

Feeling my other arm getting sore and weak, I straighten and grab her hips so that I can plunge myself farther into her. My anger has flamed into desire, and my body is on fire. I need to take her, claim her, mark her, dominate her. I thought I would use her and be done with her. Take what’s mine and leave her to wallow in the consequences of her actions. But she feels so amazing right now, I don’t see how I can deprive myself. Everything about her, even the stabbing, is fucking turning me on. My thrusts become quicker, deeper. The sensation is unbelievable. I can’t stop myself. This orgasm is going to be the mother of all orgasms.

When I climax, I don’t hear a thing. Not her cries. Not my own. I don’t see anything because my eyes are closed. All I know is that I’m drowning in a high that’s more intense, more insane than any drug. My hips drill into her of their own accord. My body is imploding and exploding at the same time. I almost can’t catch my breath. I can’t stop shaking.

When my hearing returns, it’s my own heartbeat I notice the most. Beating in time to the hundreds of pulses surging through my veins.

Fuck. That was…mind blowing. Or body blowing. Whatever.

Withdrawing, I plop on the ground, holding my waning erection. I run a hand through my hair and wait for the rave in my body to settle down. I don’t think she’s come yet. The wand is on the floor, still vibrating.

After my body returns to normalcy, though an occasional shudder still runs through me, I get up and redo my pants.

Rousing myself, I gently remove the butt plug and ask, “What should we do next, Bridge?”

“Whatever you want, sir.”

“Whatever I want? That’s a pretty open invitation. How about something off your list of hard limits?”

She doesn’t say anything.

“If I remember correctly, the list included needle play, public humiliation, multiple partners, golden showers...I’ll even let you pick.”

Still nothing.

Agitated at the lack of response, I say, “Or should we try them all?”

“If you wish, sir.”

She’s willing to submit to anything I want to do to her? This isn’t the Bridget I know. Although the Bridget I knew was open to different kinks, and sometimes I had to nudge her out of her comfort zone, she did it affirmatively. She consented, almost like she was humoring me. This doesn’t feel so much like consent as it does resignation.

The pendulum of my anger takes a dramatic swing into guilt, shame, and even horror. I can’t do this.

I’ve gone too far, put her through too much. As evidenced by the fact that she felt enough desperation to stab me. So even if she doesn’t object, even if she doesn’t invoke her safe word, I don’t have it in me. At this moment, I’m more likely to fall to my knees and beg her forgiveness.

I step toward her with the intention of untying her, but the sound of footsteps draws my attention. I hear the door to the basement, followed by someone coming down to the stairs. I’m irritated because I gave Marshall specific instructions not to bother me. But it’s not Marshall.

It’s JD.