Wheeler demonstrates a perverse interest in seeing how far he can take things.
He's patient and curious, and above all, determined; in no hurry to seek the answers to questions that make themselves known along the way.
How many times can he make her come?
How many ways can he tie her down?
How far will she allow him to take things?
He tests her limits, and Linka loses a sliver of white-knuckled restraint with each decadent act she's exposed to.
When they're neck deep in it, she doesn't have time to think. Linka submits to his whim without question or complaint. She takes what he gives and accepts what he doles out wholeheartedly, even when it becomes too much.
Even when it hurts.
When it's over — when the pleasure and delirium fade, and her body and soul are back within her realm of consciousness, she retreats within herself.
The element of humiliation burns in the back of her mind; but it's always an afterthought, long after they've committed whatever debauchery was on the table, when the logical side of her brain kicks in, trying to rationalise whatever the hell they've just done.
Did we really do that?
Did he really bend her over a tool bench the other night and use a strap on her ass?
Did he really guide her over his face, licking her out while she squirmed breathlessly, her thighs clamped against his head like a vice?
Did he really buckle her naked to a ceiling pipe, her toes only just touching the cold slate floor, before bracing Linka's leg against his hip and allowing her to get internally acquainted with another sleek, silicone addition to their already extensive collection?
There's an element of disassociation when the deeds are done, and she can't quite equate how they've gone from idling in neutral to driving recklessly down the Autobahn at 200 miles an hour, swerving dangerously.
She was expecting a sedate Sunday drive if anything ever transpired between them — not this… these heated, frenzied escapades that defy logic and reason.
And even now, long after the tools have been downed and work has ceased for the day, Linka waits obediently on her knees.
Her head is lowered, and she's shivering amidst the heady scent of freshly cut wood shavings scattered around the basement from today's work efforts. Her bare nipples are hard points in the cool night air, and she's already so turned on right now, shifting restlessly against the wall, aching to be touched.
Flexing the hands bound behind her back, she glances up as his shadow looms large over her. He's wearing only a pair of silk boxers, and she can't miss the shape of his large erection jutting out against the fabric, only inches from her face. He strokes her hair out of the way, his thumb tracing the fleshy contour of her bottom lip.
Gazing up at him from beneath her dark lashes, she sucks his thumb into her wet mouth. Linka blinks up at him coyly, her tongue flicking and dragging slowly against his calloused skin, giving Wheeler a mere taste of what's to come.
Knowing that if she's a good girl tonight, Wheeler will reward her efforts.
He growls, and suddenly his boxers are gone and he's thrusting into her mouth; his cock slick with her saliva and her head hitting the exposed brickwork with each forceful intrusion.
And she loves it.
She loves the feeling of being used, of being ruined. She loves being degraded and humiliated and forced to pleasure him.
Having no choice or autonomy in the matter is oddly liberating.
Maybe this is the way things are meant to be between them.
Perhaps this was the intended path all along; earth-shattering in nature, and complicated and intense…
Maybe they wouldn't work any other way.
Her jaw aches, and her eyes are watering, and she's gagging on him, gulping air into her lungs with each brief reprieve before he plunges forward again… and she loves it.
She loves it most when he's rough.
Wheeler is just as turned on as she is, just as swept away by their new arrangement.
It's the only power she holds over him.
Wheeler's grip tightens on the back of her head, his other hand braced against the wall, and she knows he's close.
Her moans become garbled, only just heard over the wet, sloppy sounds of his cock driving into the back of her throat. Her fingers flex behind her back, her face already red and panting from exertion, but Linka opens her jaw wider, swirling her tongue against him.
Wheeler's breathing changes. His body tenses up, hips driving forward with reckless abandon. He erupts with a growl, spurting thickly inside her mouth, and she sputters, her throat pulsing as she swallows as much as she can.
She allows the rest to overflow from her lips, dripping down her throat and bare chest.
Wheeler's heavy breathing fills the room.
She leans back on her haunches, catching her own breath in the newfound stillness. He remains hard for the moment, his cock glistening and still twitching an inch from her face.
Leaning forward, her mouth envelops him again. She's slow and seductive, taking the time to lick and suck him clean, and he shudders, his forehead pressed tiredly against the wall.
"Fuck," he utters, staring down at her in wonder.
He withdraws from her mouth with a soft pop, and a string of saliva-tinged cum connects them. It dribbles down her chin, and she raises her eyes to his, all too aware of how she must look right now.
All dazed and mussed up.
All wet-lipped and pink-flushed.
All glassy-eyed and covered in spit and seminal fluids.
His perfect, pristine girl, looking utterly ruined.
He stares down at her, with that dark, morally conflicted look on his face that she's come to know so well. His nostrils flare, and she knows Wheeler is battling an urge right now.
Lust always prevails.
"What the hell am I gonna do with you, huh?" he asks huskily.
Winding his hand into her hair, he wrenches Linka's head back, and she barely supresses a moan.
Another trail of drool dislodges from the corner of her mouth. It trickles down her chin, and she clenches her bound hands helplessly as it elongates, before dripping to the floor between her spread knees.
Judging by his ruinous expression, she's been a very good girl indeed.
The effect is instantaneous.
He hauls Linka up, her bare feet swinging wildly through the air. Tossing her to the mattress, she lands face-first with a grunt before he launches himself on top of her. Pinning her down, he unties her wrists and repositions them, tethering each one roughly to the far corners.
He lifts her for a moment, shoving two large pillows into position beneath her hips, leaving her bottom raised higher than the rest of her. She moans as her ankles are wrenched out to the corners and tied to the handles too, leaving her lying face-down and spreadeagled.
Her limbs are drawn tight. Mobility is limited to her knees and hips only, and Linka squirms as his fingers dip down, stroking roughly against her.
An object is casually placed by her temple, within her line of sight, and Linka lifts her head, dazed, eyeing the six inches of soft, flesh coloured silicone. He tosses the egg vibrator beside it, and she shudders in anticipation, understanding what's on the agenda for tonight.
Wanting what's on the agenda beyond measure.
She wets her lips as he crawls forward, and the heat of his hard body descends. He pins her weight beneath his, skin to skin, rocking intimately against her.
Linka sighs, lowering her forehead to the mattress as his other hand ventures down, caressing the rounded curve of her bottom.
"Tell me what you want."
"I want you to make me come," she utters, eyeing the sex toys greedily.
Smack!
Exquisite pain flares. Crying out, Linka bucks against him in shock, but she's completely at his mercy.
"Tell me want you want."
"I just did —"
He slaps her ass again, and she shrieks, struggling against the restraints, her sobs muffled into the bedsheets.
Wrenching her head to the side, he mouths her neck hotly. "Gonna have to do better than that."
His fingers delve between her legs again, and Linka lets out a moan, already hopelessly wet despite the pain still flaring.
"Please —"
"Tell me what you want."
"I want you… I want you… to fuck me… with that —" she gasps, nodding toward the dildo two inches from her nose.
"And?"
"I want it… I want it… inside me —"
"Tell me how you want it."
"Oh my god," she utters, her face burning. "Uh… Slow… at first… and then fast."
"And the vibe?"
"Yes," she whispers, nodding a little too eagerly.
"What about it?"
"I want you… to use it… on me too —"
"Before or after?"
"Same time," she sighs as his fingers ease inside her, curling and twisting gently. "I… oh… oh my god, that feels… please don't stop —"
"Both?"
"Both…" she sighs, already panting, her fingers clenched into the seam of the mattress edge. "Both… the same time."
"You gonna come for me?"
"Yes," she utters as the objects in question are removed from her view. He withdraws his fingers and sits up, shuffling back down her body until he's crouched between her spread legs.
It's not long before she feels the vibe graze her clit. It rumbles loudly, and her eyes flutter closed as the head of the dildo slides back and forth against her slippery flesh.
She raises her hips in anticipation — and stifles a groan at the light smack he directs on her spread cunt.
For the next hour or so, Wheeler brings her repeatedly to the brink of madness…
And she submits wholeheartedly.
She's sore today; her muscles and joints protesting the prolonged treatment from the night before.
Wiping her brow, Linka shakes off the dull ache and gets back to work, rolling the Fog Mist thickly up and down the bedroom walls, taking care not to drip paint on the newly laid oak floorboards.
It's starting to look like a home.
Wheeler has hired a large dumpster. It sits on the council strip out front, and the container is already half-full with surplus building materials, and the decrepit old furniture and junk cluttering up the bottom floor. He's clearing out the basement, intent on making the area liveable, rather than the dumping ground it's become.
There's a plumber onsite replacing the furnace, and she breathes a sigh of relief at the thought of having functional heating tonight, rather than the portable gas panel that warms a single ass cheek: or whatever bodily appendage happens to be facing it at any given time.
Others have arrived throughout the morning to help, about half a dozen of his friends. She peers through the window, still clutching the roller handle and gazing down at the steady stream of volunteers moving in and out below. Four men carry a broken dining table out to the street. They heft it up and over in one, graceful swoop, and she hears the almighty thump from her vantage point.
There's laughter and playful ribbing going on down below. She cranes her neck further, curious, watching Wheeler in the midst of it all. He's running a hand through his hair, looking exhausted and oblivious to the animated conversation going on around him.
She is here again.
The woman from the first visit.
The ex-girlfriend.
Dressed to impress in tight jeans and another cleavage enhancing low-cut crop top, the woman follows Wheeler around in her two-inch pumps; her high ponytail bouncing behind her.
She's just as loud as last time. Linka can hear her whiny, high-pitched laughter from the top floor, and it grates on her incessantly. She barks orders and generally gets in the way of people… but is doing very little work.
But the uncertainty Linka feels in her presence has vanished.
Wheeler barely acknowledges her existence.
Linka smiles to herself, warmed by the knowledge that Wheeler chooses to ruin her every night.
Not the platinum blonde with the blood-red nails and the over-plucked eyebrows. He ruins the girl wearing the sweaty, paint-splattered overalls and the cobwebs in her hair, courtesy of cutting in around today's cornices.
He glances up and catches Linka framed in the window, peering down.
His eyes light up upon seeing her, and he raises his hand in a mock salute
She waves back, before resuming her painting, a dreamy smile on her lips.
Wheeler's larger than average dimensions are no match for the tiny bathtub
His knees are raised, his feet wedged awkwardly against the end of the tub. There's not a lot of room, but they make it work, and it's a comedy of errors trying to squeeze the two of them in.
"Gonna need a forklift to drag me outta this," he'd muttered when they'd first clambered in, and she'd giggled for a straight sixty seconds at the mental image drawn forth.
Linka sits between his legs, her elbows balanced upon his thighs. There's a light rain pattering against the windows, and she leans forward with a sigh, wrapping her arms around her knees as he drags the sponge over her back and neck, enjoying his gentle touch.
"Will you renovate the bathroom?"
"Eventually," he answers, brushing a loose tendril of Linka's hair aside, having escaped the rough bun fashioned on top of her head. "I'm in no hurry. Does the job."
"Will you aim for a separate shower?" she asks, glancing up at the removable nozzle above their heads.
"Hell yeah," he mutters. "Drivin' me nuts steppin' into this thing. Curtain's gonna have to go, too."
He drizzles water over her shoulders while she trails her hand through the bubbles, utterly at ease.
Six pm bath sessions are certainly not the norm… but here and now?
Linka can certainly see the benefits.
"When do I get to see you again?" he asks, tossing the sponge aside and wrapping his arms around her. Wheeler pulls her back against his chest, propping his chin on her shoulder and kissing her neck.
"At least a month," she murmurs, her eyelids already lulling closed amidst the heat and the steam rising above their heads. "Maybe more."
"Shit." He sounds disappointed. "A month?"
"Congo, and then Haiti. Kwame has been forced to bring in other agencies to help."
"That's a sure sign it's gonna get messy," Wheeler mutters.
She nods her head miserably… because he's right. "I am not looking forward to this one."
"You never know," he says, rubbing a patch of dried paint from her upper arm. "Might surprise ya."
"No one ever agrees on a course of action," Linka sighs, dipping her fingers beneath the scented water. "More paperwork and interference from governments. The process takes longer, now. It is getting to be quite —"
"Frustrating?" he finishes, and she glances back at him, wondering if the change in the nature of their work contributed to him leaving.
"Yes. It is frustrating. Plus the interference from governments."
"Can't even wipe your nose these days without some dictator gettin' pissy." She hears him sigh heavily. "Wishin' I had you here for longer."
"I have finished painting," she chuckles, her lip quirking. "What else would you have me do?"
"The possibilities are endless," he says, his voice low and suggestive in her ear. He nips her ear lobe playfully. "Maybe I just like havin' you around?"
"Two days was all I could spare," she explains, her head lolling forward as he kneads her sore muscles. "Three would have been stretching the professional courtesy."
He nods, his mouth burrowed into her damp neck and his forearm curled across her chest.
They lie in silence for a while, just enjoying the moment. Linka listens to the rain, soothed by his strong hands working her muscles. She thinks she dozes a little, too, while the water turns stagnant and the bubbles start to dissipate around them.
The waters sloshes suddenly as he leans forward, taking her with him. He refills the hot water, and then they sink back again. She lets out a contented sigh as his hands returns, massaging out the kinks in her neck and shoulders.
Linka curls up on her side, resting her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes as his arm settles around her. She winces as his thumb hits a sore spot, at the base of her neck. He relaxes the pressure, rubbing the area gently, working the knots out with steady, patient strokes.
"Wheeler?"
"Hmm?"
"I like being here with you," she whispers, tipping her head back and gazing up at him. "I like the things you do to me."
The corners of his eyes crinkle. His lips curl into a genuine smile, one that makes her heart quicken with desire.
Cradling her in the crook of his arm, he traces her face lovingly, and the butterflies swirl as his mouth lowers to hers.
She's on her knees, naked, bent over and blindfolded.
Linka's forehead is pressed into a pillow, her ass raised high in the air. He's got her tied in a compromising position; her wrists bound beneath her body and tethered securely between her thighs, fastened to the length of timber separating her knees.
She stifles a groan as his fingers trace between her legs, and she can feel how maddeningly wet she is.
Linka waits expectantly.
His hands move over the curve of her bottom, groping her rounded ass before slipping downward again.
She feels the silicone vibe, rumbling down along the inner crease of her upper thigh. It glides across her pubic bone and along her outer lips, and she shudders as he finally makes contact. He presses the device against her firmly, and Linka utters another groan, succumbing to the vibe rumbling strongly where she so desperately needs it.
Without warning, he pushes two fingers into her wet core, and she whimpers, thrusting back against his hand, seeking more friction and —
Smack!
Pain flares, and her ass clenches in shock. A muffled cry escapes her lips as he smooths his palm over her reddened skin.
His fingers withdraw, and the vibe is gone.
Just his hand remains, gliding over the curve of her ass again, and she knows with a god-awful clarity that they're back to square one.
This time, Linka follows the rules.
She's compliant and submissive, allowing him to build her up in order to break her down again.
He slaps her lightly as the process repeats itself.
First the vibe, then his fingers, building with an exquisite slowness until she's dazed and incoherent. He slaps her ass again, harder this time, and she cries out as his tongue delves deeply at the same time, until the pleasure and the pain are no longer separate entities but gloriously entwined, one unable to exist without the other.
"I want you inside me," she begs, delirious, when the intensity becomes too much; when her toes curl, and her back arches, and her hips start bucking despite the earlier punishment inflicted, and the potential consequences to be dished out. "Please… Jake —"
"Tell me what you want."
"I want you… inside me."
"No," he answers curtly, and she screams as another stinging slap descends on her bare ass.
Gritting her teeth, she readjusts herself as best she can, her eyes fluttering as the vibe returns.
And eventually, his fingers return, too, pumping and twisting steadily until she's a panting, sobbing mess.
It feels different this time, more intense, the pleasure radiating outward in waves.
She comes harder than ever before, groaning as the spasms wrack her body.
"Oh god," she gasps, still trembling as the vibe presses against her clit harder. He's unrelenting, his fingers still working in and out of her despite her orgasm.
She utters a thin and lusty cry into the pillow, feeling a rush of fluid escape from deep inside her, gushing all over the sheets.
Her body quakes and jitters. She falls limp amidst the aftershocks as Wheeler tosses the vibe aside.
He shuffles forward on his knees, leaning into her, grinding his palm into her slippery flesh.
"You… got any idea… what you do to me?" he grunts, pumping himself furiously with his free hand. He splays his fingers wide, opening her up as his breathing becomes erratic. The head of his cock nudges her entrance, and she pushes back with a moan, needing more, but ultimately receiving less.
Wheeler finishes with a strangled shout, spurting all over her spread cunt. His seed drips down her inner thighs as he catches his breath, his hand resting on the small of her back in an effort to steady himself.
Her heart thuds painfully in her chest.
The sheets beneath her are soaked through. She can feel the wetness against her knees, arms and wrists.
His fingers skate down her sides before clutching her hip, and it's then — only then —that he eases his cock inside her.
Linka's eyelids flutter closed.
Her face falls slack and a groan escapes her lips as he buries himself inside her wet, hugging warmth, filling her completely.
He pulls out, then thrusts just once more for good measure, his cock already softening inside her. He lands a final light slap to her ass, and she whimpers, her muscles tightening around him before he withdraws again.
"You got any idea what you do to me, babe?" he says, a note of pure wonder in his voice.
Linka's forehead sinks to the pillow in response.
The nature of their time together is obscene, and objectifying, and raw… yet it turns her on no end.
Reason intrudes a little earlier tonight than usual, and there's a lightbulb moment to be had…
That there is nothing but this.
She deserves all of it.
Linka is worthy.
Worthy of love, and pleasure, and sex — and she's allowed to partake wholeheartedly… and to gain satisfaction from it.
She's allowed to ask for it.
She's allowed to want it.
Linka floats away, having allowed Wheeler to ruin her just a little… in anticipation of the day when he ruins her a lot.
Yawning, Linka pads barefoot across the kitchen as quietly as she can.
The dull ache remains, the one between her legs from his overzealous treatment last night.
Her ass is worse though.
It still smarts, and she moves about gingerly, reminding herself to bring tights next time, rather than the stiff denim jeans that rub painfully against her inflamed skin.
She doesn't mind it, though.
Wheeler would ease off if she asked him.
He knows her boundaries, and they're comfortable enough to be honest with one another about what they like and dislike.
And she likes being spanked, truth be told.
Last night was their most intense session yet, and she can't stop replaying it in her head.
Twelve subsequent hours of discomfort she can deal with. It's nothing that an ice-pack won't cure.
Parched, Linka grabs a juice from the refrigerator and gulps it down in one go. The sun is only just rising, filtering through over the horizon, and she leans against the counter with her glass in hand, peering out the kitchen window for a while, taking everything in.
Refilling her drink, she swallows a couple of ibuprofen tablets and wanders through the house, admiring her paint work. The bedrooms are finished; fresh but bare. The hall is completed but devoid of the warmth and character that comes from soft furnishings, just Fog Mist walls and freshly oiled oak floors.
The place has undergone a slow transition over the past few months… from a mere contract to a purchase, just bricks and mortar and utter chaos. The effort has paid off, though.
It's now a house: one that's about to become a home.
Wheeler has picked out the furniture and it's due to be delivered in the next week or two. It depresses Linka a little, knowing she won't be around to watch it all take shape. She's been invested in the process, but duty and work take precedence.
There's a level of comfort Linka finds in being here, although she suspects it has more to do with Wheeler's presence than the house itself.
She's filled with sadness at the thought of returning to the others this morning. There's a lump in her throat that won't go away, and she feels teary and emotional, and restless, too.
Not quite ready to leave.
Pulling on her sneakers, she heads downstairs to the basement, ambling around in the darkness.
Wheeler's bulky shape is visible in the corner.
He's passed out on his stomach on the bed: on the thin double mattress that has seen way too much action these past few months — not to mention last night's impromptu sheet changing exercise before sleep claimed them.
She's still stunned by what happened, but Wheeler most definitely took it as a boost to his ego.
A few of the mattress springs are busted, and she's unsure if it's due to their combined weight or the vigorous treatment received of late. When rolling onto her side, her hip hits the floor in places.
Linka smiles ruefully. She won't miss the lumpy mattress, but the morning cuddles?
That's a whole other story.
Crouching beside Wheeler, she runs her eyes over his muscular back and arms, and the firm line of his jaw, feeling that pull of attraction warming her again. She considers waking him to say goodbye, hoping he'll pull her giggling into his arms like usual; talking softly and enjoying one another's company, her face pressed into his neck and his hands resting in her hair.
Maybe she also hopes they'll finish what they started last night, giving her some form of completion before she goes.
It's what she wants, after all.
But the lump in her throat is getting bigger.
Her resolve is fading. It gets harder to leave every time, and she's worried he'll witness a blubbering, snotty basket case having a meltdown on her way out the door.
Duty calls.
She has a job to do. People are depending on her. Colleagues are waiting on her, most of whom are already frustrated by her recent vagueness and unreliability. It's something so out of character for her, and Gi is already suspicious, peppering Linka with questions she refuses to answer… for the moment.
Gi wouldn't understand… but it's none of their business, anyway.
Reaching out, she runs her fingers fondly through Wheeler's hair, and smooths a hand over his shoulder blades, finding him sleep-warm and unmoving.
Want is a strange thing.
Want has led her here, and want attempts to keep her here, too; her heart over-ruling her head for the first time ever.
It's both liberating and depressing all at once.
If she wakes him, it'll be too difficult to go.
Gathering her bag, Linka rises to her feet and heads upstairs, her lips pursed and her face pale and grim.
Closing and locking the door behind her, she hurries toward the subway, her bag slung over her shoulder and her hands stuffed in her pockets.
The winter weather is retreating.
Spring is on the way. The pavements are not as icy and wet as they have been, and the wind chill has faded to acceptable levels.
The snow is melting, and the color of the parked cars along the street can be noted — no longer coated in several inches of snow at this time of the morning.
The flowers will be blooming by the next time she sees him.
Shuddering, she wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her woollen coat and increases her pace, heading for the subway.
By the time Linka arrives on the platform, she's crying.