Page 124 of What Blooms in Barren Lands

“No. I am smiling,” I replied.

“Ah. Well, that’s allowed.”

His hands slid underneath my body, and he helped me up.

The sunset burned in his eyes, and his unruly hair was the colour of rose gold in the dying light, the roughly cut lines of his jaw softer and younger. He had shaved recently, and I wanted to run my fingers along the side of his face, to be startled as always by finding it rougher to the touch than I would have expected. But I didn’t, because that would have upset the balance between us, evicting us from a world that was just ours. I didn’t touch him because he hadn’t said that I could.

And in restraining myself that way, I felt lust stab through me, so powerful it nearly toppled me to the ground. My head swam with it, my whole body pulsed with the one command overriding all else, and lower below, I throbbed with anticipation so potent that it was like a phantom limb, a physical ache of knowing from memory the feel of him stretching me and filling me up, of completing me, belonging in me the way rivers belong in the channels in which they flow.

“Hm, and what do you think I should do with you now ...?” he mused as he looked down on me sternly over the bridge of his nose, likely aware of the mounting intensity of my desire.

And the thing that drove that intensity to what I felt was my breaking point wasn’t the implied threat of his withholding the pleasure that I craved, but rather my knowledge that his ungenerous act was exactly that, an act, designed only to add to my enjoyment, and not deny it.

“Take me. Use me. Fuck me. Please. I need you inside me so badly, it’s worse than not being able to breathe.”

“Do you? Show me.” His voice was suffused with malice, and his eyes gleamed, but he was flushed with his own desire, and the rock-solid bulge of his erection threatened to rip the zipper of his trousers apart.

Swallowing hard, I turned around and lowered myself until I rested before him on all fours with my legs spread apart. Entirely exposed and vulnerable.

He knelt behind me and his fingers brushed against the site of my desire, the friction against my clit brief and tantalising, and I shivered, thinking that I would start sobbing in frustration. He grumbled with satisfaction.

“I wish you could see how pretty your cunt looks right now, all dripping wet for me.”

“And I wish you would show it your appreciation by shoving your cock balls-deep into it. But here we are. Sir,” I quipped, unsurprisingly earning myself another hefty spank.

“You’re such a brat, babydoll.” He chuckled. “But alright. Even bad girls deserve a reward if they accept their punishment as uncomplainingly as you just have.”

I could hear him take off his shirt behind me. A powerful tremor ran through me as I heard him undo his belt buckle. He then leaned over, cupping my breasts. He pressed the tip of himself against my entrance, and I didn’t even bother to stop thetortured moan that tore out of my lips. Finally, he pushed into me with a sigh of his own relief, his journey to my core swift and devastating. I raised my hips, braced on my knees to let him in deeper, as deep as he could go, until he pushed hard into my cervix and I cried with the exhilaration of an earth-shattering climax already building up in my throbbing walls.

“But ...” Einar whispered in my ear maliciously with the next thrust, pulling on my hair, “don’t think I’ll let you come any time soon.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Careful, babydoll ...”

He rammed into me again, roughly, his fingers digging deep grooves into my skin, their force a caution.

“Why, Sir?”

“Because if you’re not willing to take good care of yourself, why would you expect me to?”

Unable to contain them any longer, protests spilled out of me in a flood like dirty water from a broken dam, the pinnacle of them calling him an ‘arrogant, sadistic cuntivore’. Einar straightened up and rested above me stoically with his hands on my hips, saying nothing. My frustration released, the void it left behind was rapidly filled with slippery terror and treacherous excitement.

“Sir, please, I ...”

“Silence.”

The retribution I knew was coming threatened to be very bad indeed from the way I felt Einar harden inside me with cruel arousal. Still on all fours, I turned my head to see him reach down towards his discarded trousers, wrenching his belt free of them. I suppressed my initial instinct to bolt and run, knowing that he would catch me.

Like a tentacle bursting from soil, the fear broke out of the confines of our dark game and crept into a realm that wasdistinctly real. I debated calling out my safe word. What stopped me in the end was my limitless trust in the fact that Einar was ever aware of my shifting cravings and the boundaries they created between us.

Instead of ending the game, I whimpered, throwing all my pride to the ground where he so liked to see it.

“What’s wrong, babydoll? Scared of the consequences of your actions?” he crooned behind me, tracing my back with the end of the belt.

“Y-Yes.”

“As you should be.”