The Last Good Knight Part III: The Games Destiny Plays

Nora stripped out of her sweater, bra, skirt, boots and stockings in record time. She’d made the deal with him—sex now, payment later. Later was now. Now was later.

She waited naked at the foot of the bed breathing into herself. A sleepiness overtook her, a heaviness. When Søren buckled cuffs around her ankles and wrists, she put up no resistance. She became lethargic, listless. Her joints felt loose as if she stood in warm water and not in the bedroom of a sadist. A dozen years of practice had brought her to the place where the threat of erotic pain caused her body to relax instead of tensing.

Søren cuffed her ankles to a two-foot spreader bar, cuffed her arms over her head to the bedpost. When the first blow of the cane landed on the back of her thighs, she barely flinched.

The cane was first. Then the flogger. Cane again—the smaller one that left the vicious little welts instead of the big bruises. After that a heavier flogging. Then the belt, that unholy bitch of a leather belt.

Then nothing. Nora hung from her bonds, her muscles limp even as her body burned from the hour of pain she’d endured. When Søren unlocked her, she nearly sank onto the floor. But he caught her and laid her on the bed. For the privilege of watching him undress, she managed to open her eyes. Everyone in the Underground had seen Kingsley naked at some point or other. His French sensibilities precluded any body shame. Only when covered in the bruises and welts she’d inflicted on him, was Kingsley careful to keep his clothes on, even during sex. And she...back in her submissive days she’d been fucked in public view at The 8th Circle so many times she’d lost count. But no one but Nora got to see Søren completely naked these days except for his one and only lover—her.

He unbuttoned his jeans slowly as she lay there watching him.

“Stop being such a tease,” she said, a tired smile crossing her face.

“I can’t imagine to what you are referring...” he said, dropping his hands.

Nora rolled up onto her hands and knees and crawled across the bed to him.

“I am referring,” she said as she took his wrists in her hands, raised his arms and yanked his shirt off, “to the fact that you are stalling, sir. You know I’m dying here for you.”

“Dying? Should I say the Last Rites?”

“I’ll need them if you don’t get naked and get your cock inside me soon.”

“I was thinking of getting a glass of wine first.”

“I hate you.”

Søren gave her a sharp slap on her bottom.

“You’ll pay for that, too, Little One.”

“Run up my tab,” she said, dropping his shirt to the floor. She opened his pants all the way and stroked him. “Sex with you is worth any price I have to pay, sir.”

Either her touch or her words convinced him. Either or both, she didn’t care. All that mattered was that the rest of his clothes seemingly disappeared and she had him on top of her and inside her again.

Their mouths met and their tongues mingled. With each thrust into her, her hips rose up to meet him. Søren grasped her wrists and pinned her hands into the bed. The tension mounted in her stomach and she begged permission to come. He granted it and her body released the tension with a hundred inner flutters of her vagina all around his incredible hardness. After coming she could completely relax. She threw her legs open as wide as possible, inviting Søren deeper into her body.

“You’re mine...” he whispered in her ear. “Whether you’ll admit it or not, you’re still mine.”

She closed her eyes and said nothing. To deny him would be a lie. To agree would be to admit defeat. It didn’t matter that she still loved him, that she still missed him. She couldn’t go back to him, couldn’t return to her old life at his feet, obeying his orders, hiding in his shadow, living a lie and counting the days until he got caught and excommunicated.

I am yours... She spoke the words only inside her head.

With his mouth on her throat and his fingers clasped around her forearms, Søren came with a shudder and a soft exhalation. She closed her eyes as he poured into her.

Soon she lay across his chest, her ear over his heart. He caressed her back with gentle strokes of his hand from her neck to her hip, gentle strokes that soothed her burning skin and yet made her ache even more.

“I don’t believe you,” he said as she pressed a few reverent kisses onto his collarbone, into the hollow of his throat.

“Believe what?”

“That you didn’t come here to talk. I know you didn’t come here just for sex, as much as I might flatter myself that my body tempts you that much.”

“Your body should win awards, medals even. Your body should be given honorary degrees from Ivy League schools.”

“In what discipline?”

“Anatomy. Maybe even chemistry. No...art.” She looked up at him and smiled. “You’re a work of art.”

“You can keep this up all night and I won’t complain, but that won’t change the fact that I know you’re stalling. I want you naked.”

“I am naked.” She pointed at her body. “You can’t get any more naked than I am right now...unless you skin me and that would just be gross and messy. I know you’re a sadist but I don’t think even you are into flaying.”

“I can’t say for sure. Never tried it.”

“Practice on Kingsley. Flaying is my hard limit.”

“You seem to have an aversion to answering my questions, too, Little One. Your body’s naked, but your heart isn’t.” He flicked the tip of her nose. “Would you rather answer me or let me flay you?”