The Cane and the Knife [erotic fiction]

“You”, says your voice from behind me, “are supposed to be resting”.

I'm feeling that horrible sensation in the pit of my stomach that you get when you know you've been caught out doing something, and you're not quite sure how bad it's going to be. I turn around, trying not to cringe, hoping that I'll see anyone but you.

Although my skin's prickling with the physical sensation of closeness, you're actually much further away than I thought, sitting at a table a few feet away. I realise the reason I hadn't seen you before was because you're surrounded by your friends, whose laughter and carousing tails off as the harmonics of your voice freeze in the air. I feel a chill as my eyes fail to meet yours and I stand, suddenly isolated by the quick backwards step everyone near me has taken - as if they don't want to be associated with someone who is shortly about to be in whole oceans of trouble. I stand hunched over, miserably, my mind racing, trying to think of a way to defend myself against the accusation…knowing my behaviour is indefensible.

“Baby”, you coax. “Come here”. I can feel tears getting closer because I know you really are mad at me, and you're right to be. I've just had a major operation and I promised, *promised* I'd be good and rest until I was completely better. And now you find me out clubbing, and what's worse, you caught me when I was busy flirting with someone I'd only just met. Could I possibly get caught in a more compromising position? I briefly consider whether openly sobbing would help or hinder my predicament. As I ponder this, and chew my lip in thought, my eyes absently wander upwards and unexpectedly meet your gaze. You look so disappointed in me.

“I never thought I'd have to do this”, you murmur, with your voice like wild silk on wet gravel. You snap your fingers and one of your friends comes forward. He leans over with his ear close to your mouth, and I see your lips move, but I can't hear what you're saying. His mouth curves up at the corners and I think, 'no, please no - not him!' I've always been afraid of that one. He wears full length biker leathers, and with his shaved head and piercings, he reeks of testosterone. He's the antithesis of the kind and loving touch with which you've always treated me.

My hands automatically rise to protect myself as you look me in the eye. You turn to him and indicate me with a gesture. “Take her”, is all you say.

I shift my weight to take a step backwards but before I can even move he's on me. He's holding my eyes and I want to look away but I can't, even as I know my expression is changing from pleading to sheer frightened terror. His long leather coat provides plenty of protection from the kick I aim at him, and he's grabbed me by the wrist and is dragging me away from you, away out of the room. Your face is sad but determined. I stumble in my high shoes, gasping for breathe in the tight laced burlesque corset I wear. The blonde dreadlocks which fall to my waist only provide a convenient handle for his other hand, to guide me as I'm dragged, partly walking, partly crawling on my knees, partly carried…out to the little room - an antechamber really - that leads on to the chillout area.

He's let go of my wrist now as he's thrown me down. He's still said not a word to me. I rub my wrist, glaring at him, as I crouch on the floor. My eyes are angry, my expression is cornered. My lip curls as he grabs my wrist again and uses it to lift me to my feet, and then positions himself between me and the exit. There's a little bench pushed against the side of the room, at hip height, that I come up against as I try to back away. Fuck! He can't really do anything to me that I don't want - can he? Surely someone would hear me - I'm in a club, after all.

What's happening? What's going to happen now? Can I get past him to the door? As I'm flicking through my options, he takes two strides towards me and suddenly he's close, so close. I struggle to meet his eyes, and I feel the blush rising, the flush that always fills me when I'm with someone who presses my buttons, as much as I don't want to react to him like this, right now. Ashamed, I look down, and he moves closer, his hands going around my waist and lifting me onto the table. With a firm but undeniable grip, he parts my legs and steps even closer, so close I can smell leather and sweat, and something else, something dark and violent and dirty. I hear his voice for the first time now, and it's as deep as I always imagined it would be. Fuck, his voice is so sexy. I don't want to be attracted to him, but every part of my body tells me it's too late, far too late. My skin is afire, my body aflame, my flesh burning. “You.” He makes the word sounds like an instruction. “Look at me”. I try to resist but my face turns up of its own accord, and I look at him under my lashes through the heat haze between us. The moment my eyes meet his, his hand moves with such speed to my throat, I don't have time to cry out. He lays his fingers oh so gently around my neck, applying the merest suggestion of pressure. With his other hand he draws my hips closer to his, and I feel his erection pressing against me. My body betrays me…I want him inside me…he smiles, leans back a little and runs his hand from my throat, down my body to between my legs, lightly touching, drawing a line in which I'm divided in two.

He touches me through the thin ruffled fabric between my legs. I'm so ashamed, I'm so wet…I flush even more and bite my lip, dropping my head sideways to my shoulder. He rubs, touches, explores with fingers and I can't stop myself, my back arches, my head falls backwards, I cry out…'no…you mustn't…I can't….please stop, please don't, please don't, stop…please, don't stop…'

He unzips himself and, with one hand holding my throat, pushing me back against the wall, and the other hand on the back of my waist, drawing me closer….I try to push my thighs closed, but he uses the greater strength in his legs to keep them apart. There's the small matter of my knickers, which proves no barrier at all to the sharp knife he carries sheathed under his coat. He slits the fabric as if it were skin, and despite the increased threat I suddenly go crazy, writhing and shoving him away, kicking, shouting out, pushing at him with my hands which moments before had wanted to pull his cock inside me…deep into my body…

His face changes expression. He releases me for a moment, zips himself back up as I slap and tear at him, and then inside a moment he has turned me so I'm facing the wall. Bent over on the bench, my wrists are captured in one of his hands and held behind my back, as he pulls out a cane from his boot. I kick backwards, aiming for his legs, but as the blows fall I quickly lose focus. Each stroke falls with the pain of a slap, the threat like a knife on my clit, the pleasure of a tongue warm inside me. I can feel my thighs slickly rubbing together, my pussy is throbbing, I'm grinding myself against the bench, desperate, desperate to cry out no, desperate to beg to be fucked…desperate for the pain to stop, to get worse, to end me, to begin me, complete me. Each stroke makes a sound that echoes in the small room, echoed by my moans and cries. He finishes off with three hard, painful staccato slaps on my rear, and then the feel of the cane is replaced by a thick, human, hot sensation between my legs.

He holds my arms down with his hands as he pushes against the warm, dripping wet flesh that cries out to be shoved into…my whimpers turn to pleading, I can no longer pretend I don't want it, I'm begging for it, please, please, I need it, fuck me like I need to be fucked, please, please…his fingers tangle in my hair, forcing my face into the wooden surface…his one solid, thick thrust up to the balls in me, sudden and deep, over and over…tears from my eyes, my head turning, sobbing…please Sir, finish it…he uses me and I want him to…his pleasure in me, his climax begins mine, I arch, cry out, clench and squeeze the last few drops inside me, the last few tears from my eyes…

And then I hear your voice from the corner…when did you come in?…

You smile benevolently at us both, and say, 'Well done, my darling'.