There Are No Saints (Sinners Duet)

The terror that surges through me as that manacle closes around my wrist is like nothing I’ve ever known. I’m Mia Wallace now—stabbed in the heart with pure adrenaline.

Every nerve fires up, my senses higher than they’ve ever been. I feel Cole’s breath flowing across my skin. I feel the heat of his hands long before they touch me.

He clamps my wrists down to the table, and then my ankles. Then, slowly, he turns a crank, winching my legs apart.

I gasp as the cool air hits my bare pussy. I want to shriek, I want to squirm, but I refuse do it. Cole is a predator. If I show the slightest hint of fear, it will ignite his instinct to hunt.

Cole looks down at me. He’s never looked more beautiful than in this dazzling light. He really is a dark angel, biblical in power and in wrath.

His gaze is locked on me and me alone. Those black eyes crawl over every inch of me, searing my skin. His upper lip tightens, baring his teeth.

“You know I watched the video of you fucking that guy,” he says, softly.

I hold his stare, unembarrassed. “That’s why I brought him to the studio. So you’d have to watch.”

“How many times do you think I watched that tape?”

I swallow hard. I hadn’t considered that he’d view it more than once.

“I don’t know.”

“Over a hundred, Mara. Over and over and over again.”

My skin goes cold, then flaming hot.

He strokes the hair back from my forehead with disturbing gentleness. “Why do you think I watched it so many times?”

“I . . . I don’t know.”

I’m afraid the answer is he was stoking his fury against me. Already this encounter is taking a turn I didn’t predict, and it’s hard for me to remain calm.

“It was to learn,” Cole says, letting his fingers trail down the side of my face. “I watched it over and over to see what you like, Mara. To learn your preferences. This body of yours is so responsive . . .”

His fingers slide over my collarbone and down to the top of my breasts. My nipples stiffen, standing erect as if begging for his touch. Please, just a little closer . . .

“You’re a slave to what you love. The things you hate repulse you,” Cole says, in that low, hypnotic tone. “I knew if I learned everything I could about you . . . there’s nothing I couldn’t make you do . . .”

Gently, ever so gently, he grips the silver ring in his fingers and rotates it through the tight point of my nipple. The feel of that cold steel sliding through my flesh makes me moan. I can’t help it, I can’t stop it.

“You can’t possibly imagine what I know about you . . .” Cole says. “I know what you read, what you eat. I know how you touch yourself when you think you’re alone. And I know every song you listen to. All your favorites. I compiled a list and made an algorithm to search for exactly the type of song that carries you away . . .”

He pauses, taking his phone from his pocket and setting it next to his tools. With one long, slim index finger, he sets his playlist in motion. The music that floats out of his expensive speakers is not what I expected: light and ethereal, instead of dark and pounding.

I can’t control how music makes me feel.

My body relaxes, every muscle loosening. My eyelids grow heavy, and despite my predicament, despite the danger I’ve put myself in, my mind begins to drift across the swells of the first verse.

“I made something for you,” Cole says, from somewhere down near my feet. His voice is distant, as if we’re on two separate planets in space. “Custom machinery. Designed to your specifications.”

I try to force myself to focus. I do NOT like the sound of that.

Cole switches on his machine. A low, buzzing sound cuts through the music. What the fuck is that? Is it a drill?

Craning my neck, I see that he’s holding some kind of device, shaped like an oversized microphone. The head looks soft and bulbous.

“It’s like the dryer,” he says, his lips curving up. “Only much, much better . . .”

He presses his tool between my legs, right against my pussy.

The effect is instantaneous. I feel like I’m falling backward into a deep, warm bath. The vibrations are intense, a hundred times stronger than the dryer. Tied to the table, I can’t close my thighs or pull away. Pulsing waves flow through me, up through my body and down through my legs. The vibrations run all the way to my scalp, down through my fingertips and into my toes.

“Oh . . . god . . .” I moan.

The words come out of my mouth without any action from me. They’re pulled out of my lungs by the reverberation running through me.

I’ve never owned a vibrator. I could never afford a good one.

The one Cole built is like nothing I’ve seen. It’s heavy, powerful, and cleverly designed. The soft head molds itself against my pussy. It slides easily across my warm, swollen flesh.

Cole is running it up and down my exposed slit. Each stroke sends another powerful wave of pleasure crashing over me. Sometimes he holds it in place for a moment, pressing up against that sensitive bundle of nerves that runs from my clit down to the opening below.

The whole area is becoming more swollen and sensitive by the minute. I can feel my pussy engorging, and I’m acutely aware of nerves that hardly existed before, firing to life under the continual stimulation of those low, insistent rumbles.

“I tested all kinds of frequencies . . .” Cole murmurs, his eyes locked on my face. He’s watching my expression as my eyes roll back, as my cheeks flush and my lips part. He’s taking note of exactly what feels the best, constantly adjusting his technique so the pleasure ramps and ramps, never diminishing, never stalling out. “I even went back to the laundromat to compare.”

Through the warm, floating waves, I realize that I’ve made a huge mistake.

I underestimated Cole. I underestimated his creativity. And how far he’s willing to go.

Too late to do anything about it. I’m no longer in control.

The first orgasm hits, rolling me over and over like a sock in that dryer. Tumbling me here and there in an endless cycle of warmth and pleasure. I’m groaning like an animal, noises coming out of me that I’ve never heard before. The groans are low and desperate and endless. I can’t get enough of this. I’ll die without it.

The pleasure draws back, but only briefly. Before the first orgasm is done, I can feel the next one building. There’s no break in between. No refractory period.

The vibrations run through every nerve of my body. Every part of me is becoming as acutely sensitive as my clit.

Understanding this, Cole presses the vibrator against me with one hand, and reaches up with the other to massage my breast.

“Oh my . . . oh my . . . goddddddd . . .” I groan.

My whole body is melting.

Cole’s touch is unlike anyone else.

His hands are living creatures with a mind of their own. His fingers undulate on my flesh, each point of contact exquisitely soft. He’s not squeezing like most men, not groping—he’s exploring. It feels like he has a thousand fingers, a thousand hands. It feels like he’s touching me everywhere at once.

He moves to my other breast, keeping the sensation equal, keeping it spread across my body. He seems to understand that I don’t like things uneven, I hate unfinished loops.

His fingers move across my flesh, separate but coordinated, falling on me like rain.

The vibration pulses through me, filling me with energy, filling me with sensation.

Cole tugs gently on my nipple, careful of the piercing. He’s giving me the intensity I need, taking me to the point of pain but never beyond.

My breasts are as sensitive as my pussy. Maybe even more. The vibrations seem to concentrate in my chest, beneath his hand. My nipple feels as engorged as my clit, as capable of giving pleasure. The orgasm beings in my chest, not between my legs. He’s tugging on my nipple in slow, rhythmic strokes, as if he’s milking it, and it’s making me cum, helplessly, irresistibly, stronger than before.

He closes his mouth around my other nipple, suckling one, tugging on the other. There’s no table beneath me anymore. I’m plunged into pure, liquid pleasure.

“Ohhhh Cole . . .”

I don’t know if I’m moaning aloud or only in my head. I’m begging him not to stop.

Cole keeps the vibrator pressed against me while shifting his body, coming around the table up toward my head. With his spare hand, he unzips his trousers, freeing his cock.

It falls out in front of my face, heavy and brutal, pale as marble and thick with veins. The head already leaking. I look at that butter-soft skin, that clear drop of fluid gleaming on the tip, and my mouth waters. My lips and tongue are swollen, aching to be touched. Desperate to suck on something.

Without him asking, without him moving toward my mouth, I tilt up my chin, lips parting, tongue reaching eagerly for a taste.

I close my mouth around the head of his cock. The burst of liquid salt is the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted. It floods my mouth, that rich and complex mix of his skin, his pheromones, his sweat, and his cum.

It was made for me. It’s exactly what I like.

I suck gently at first, swirling his cock around in my mouth, running my tongue all around the head. Trapped inside his trousers, his cock could only fill so much. Now that it’s free, it straightens out, growing so hard that it feels as if the burning flesh can’t possibly be contained within that delicate silky skin.

I can feel his blood pulsing through the bulging veins beneath my tongue. Every time I take him deeper into my throat, I’m rewarded with another pulse of cum.

He begins to thrust into my mouth, in time with the rolling strokes of the vibrator. Each thrust of his cock is accompanied by a deep press of the vibrator right where I need it. The harder he presses, the harder it thrums, sending shocks through every nerve, in an endless loop from brain to groin.

Anywhere he touches me, I’m instantly sensitized. He grips the base of his cock, stroking it into my mouth. His fingers brushing against my lips feel unspeakably erotic. I open my mouth wider so his hand can press against my mouth, so his cock can delve deeper into my throat.

I want to be fucked deep in my mouth just like I want his cock deep in my pussy. Nothing else will satisfy.

He pumps into my throat, the heavy head of his cock hitting all the way back, to a sensitive patch of flesh that’s never been touched before. Maybe this should make me gag, maybe it would have before. But in this moment, it feels like I have a g-spot in my throat. Like the head of his cock rammed down there is the only thing that can make me cum.

The third orgasms starts and I’m moaning around his cock, I’m cumming with it deep in my throat, my desperate groans creating their own vibration against the head.

Now it’s Cole who can’t stay quiet, Cole who begins to shake and shudder as cum flows out of him, thick and rich, the most satisfying thing I’ve ever swallowed.

He fucks my mouth hard. I look up at him, realizing that at some point he took off his shirt. Every muscle stands out on his chest, his arms, the flat granite expense of his stomach. I look up at that perfectly carved figure and that face that wears no mask—that shows the full extent of his greed, his hunger, and his lust for me.

I look up at him and I think, He’s not human. He’s so much more . . .

I drink his cum like a gift.

I’m so dazed that I hardly notice when he pulls away. I only feel the absence of his taste and scent, his warm cock against my tongue. I want it back, intensely.

I whimper like a baby, begging him for more.

“Patience,” Cole says.

He’s loosening the restraints that pin me to the table. I think he’s going to lift me up and carry me somewhere, maybe to a bed in some hidden room. Instead, he rolls me over onto my stomach and tightens the chains once more, so I’m tied facedown instead.

He slots the vibrator underneath me so he doesn’t have to hold it anymore—it’s pinned in place under my body.

This feels good, but not quite as good because it’s only making light contact with my clit. I can’t get enough pressure.

Still, I feel light and floating. Flushed with chemicals from the three orgasms I had before.

I hear Cole moving around behind me. This position feels even more vulnerable. I squirm on the table, wishing that my legs weren’t winched apart, everything exposed to his view.

I hear the whisper of cloth and I realize he’s taking off the rest of his clothes. My heart beats faster, with fear and anticipation.

He pauses to press his finger to his phone, switching over the song.

The change in mood hits me like a slap.

This is no soft, floating ballad.

The new beat is steady, insistent. The voice comes in, young and deceptively innocent, but with an edge of menace.

**On Repeat Please**

My muscles tighten up, I grit my teeth.

Cole climbs on top of the table, sitting on the back of my thighs. He’s heavy. I’m reminded how tall he is, how strong. How easily he could overpower me even if I weren’t tied down.

Every time he shifts, his throbbing cock brushes over me, touching my thighs, my ass, like a tentacle, like a battering ram testing for weakness.

Maybe he knows my heart is racing too fast, because he begins to massage my back with long, slow strokes, calming me down.

He plays my body like an instrument, seeming to understand better than I do which places are tight, which are sore. I’ve never felt such strong hands gripping me, manipulating me. It’s terrifying. I’m completely in his power.

I’ve never let a man tie me up voluntarily, I never trusted anyone enough.

Now I’ve put myself under the control of the most terrifying person I’ve ever met. It’s suicidal. His hands knead my muscles like he’s tenderizing the flesh. Preparing it for slaughter.

Leaning over me, pinning me down with his weight, Cole murmurs, “Have you ever been spanked before?”

I’m sweating. Squirming. Realizing how thin the line is between nerves and hysteria.

“No,” I say. “And I don’t want to be.”

Cole lets out a sigh of disappointment.

“Don’t lie to me, Mara. I hate it when you lie.”

He sits up, his hand coming away from my back, then returning to my ass with a sharp smack. The impact ripples through my flesh, sharp and corrective. I jolt, trapped in place by the metal rings clamped around my wrists and ankles.

“Don’t!” I shriek, panic rising in my chest. “I told you, I hate that.”

“How could you hate it if you’ve never experienced it?” Cole says, bringing his hand down again hard in the same place.

SMACK!

He’s not holding back. The blows are hard and cruel. My flesh burns in the shape of his handprint.

I’m filled with a thick, squirming sense of shame. My cheeks are as hot as my ass, and I have to blink hard to hold back the tears that threaten to fall.

“Alright!” I cry. “I was spanked. Is that what you want to hear?”

SMACK!

He slaps me on the other side, even harder. It makes me jump because I wasn’t expecting it, because I thought he’d only hit one side.

“I already know that,” he says, in that low, dangerous voice. “It’s fucking obvious.”

SMACK!

He hits me again on the left side, making the whole cheek ripple, sending shocks all the way up my back.

Cole is viciously strong, and the slaps are hard. They really hurt, especially when he hits the same side twice in a row. I find myself grinding against the vibrator, desperately seeking a little pleasure to ameliorate the pain.

“Please,” I cry, my voice sounding childish and pathetic.

“Tell me how he spanked you,” Cole demands.

I am crying now. The tears are silent, but I can feel them running down my cheeks, falling onto the table.

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

He’s not going to stop. Not until I tell him what he wants to know.

I’m sobbing, eyes squeezed shut, admitting something I’ve never told a human soul.

“He’d make me go put on my school uniform. The plaid skirt and the shirt and the socks. No underwear. Then he’d make me lay across his lap and he’d pull the skirt up around my waist and spank me hard.”

I can feel Cole go still on top of me, absorbing this piece of information he already suspected.

“How old were you?”

“Seven when it started. Thirteen when he stopped.”

“Why did he stop?”

“A teacher saw the bruises when I was changing for gym. I tried to hide in the bathrooms to change, but that day they were full, and she made me change in the open.”

Cole is silent for a moment. Then he says, “Did he touch you?”

My stomach clenches, so hard that I have to swallow down the bile that rises in my throat.

“The point wasn’t to touch me. It was to make me cry.”

Another pause.

“And did you?”

This is the part that shames me worse than anything. The thing I most hate to admit.

But he’ll know if I lie. If I even try to hold back.

“Yes,” I sob. “He wouldn’t stop ‘till I cried. He hit me over and over. If the hand didn’t work, he used the belt. I tried so hard not to cry. Not to let him break me. But he always did. Every time.”

I’m bawling now, I’m so fucking ashamed.

I tried so hard to be strong. To beat him at his game. But I never did, not one fucking time.

Cole shifts behind me, and I think he’s going to hit me again. Instead, I feel the warm, smooth, infinitely pleasurable sensation of him sliding his cock inside of me.

My pussy is hot and thrumming, the vibrator still buzzing against my clit. Cole’s cock fills me all the way up, pushing down against the vibrator, giving me that deep, intense pressure I’ve been craving. The vibrations run through my body, into his cock. The oscillation is inside and outside of me, back and forth.

I sob again, but this time from pleasure and relief.

Slowly, gently, Cole begins to thrust.

I can’t move my hips. I can only squeeze around him, clenching him tight with every thrust.

The vibrator has engorged my pussy all the way along its length, all the way around the opening. I can feel every millimeter, every part of me that grips him, every part of me stroked by him. His cock rubs the inside while the vibrator buzzes on the outside, creating a friction so intense, so pleasurable that I’m crying again, tears of joy this time, from this sensation I can hardly stand.

I start to cum, my pussy clenching and twitching around his cock, his weight pressing me down against the vibrator.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” I beg him.

He doesn’t stop until the orgasm is over. Then he pulls his cock free, sitting back again, his ass against my thighs, my pussy still spasming.

I’m a fucking mess. I’m glad my face is pressed against the table so he can’t see the tears and mascara smeared everywhere.

Gently, but with deep, soothing pressure, Cole begins to massage my ass cheeks. Soothing the pain. Soothing the spanking.

“It’s alright,” he says, his voice low and caressing. “It’s going to be okay.”

I press my cheek against the tabletop, my face crumpling.

He draws back his hand and spanks me again, but this time it’s lighter. With the vibrator pushed against me, buzzing and thrumming, sending pleasure waves through my body, the slap doesn’t really hurt. In fact, it almost feels pleasant.

Smack!

Smack!

Smack!

He’s spanking me in time with the beat.

The slaps don’t frighten me anymore. I know when to expect them. Instead of hurting me, they feel satisfying: deep itch finally scratched.

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

He’s ramping up the intensity, but it still doesn’t hurt, because the pleasure of the vibrator drowns it out. My ass is throbbing, probably bright red, all the blood rushing to the surface of the skin. It becomes more sensitive with every slap. But the pain stays even with the pleasure, a carefully balanced combination like watermelon and salt.

My pussy throbs, my ass burns, and even before he puts his cock inside of me, I can feel the orgasm building, rising, begging to be released.

He shifts, gripping the base of his raging cock. He presses the heavy head against my ass.

“No, wait!” I gasp.

He doesn’t wait.

He runs his cock up my soaking wet slit, drenching the head, and then he presses it right into my ass.

“Aghhhh!” The groan rips through me as Cole pushes me down hard against the vibrator, his cock ramming slowly, surely, all the way inside my ass.

I can’t move. I can’t escape. He’s got me pinned down with his knees on the back of my thighs, his cock driving all the way inside me, eight inches deep.

I’ve never been fucked in the ass before. Never even had a finger in there.

The sensation is so intense, so all-encompassing, that it feels like I’m being turned inside out. I can’t breathe, I can’t move, I’m impaled.

He shoves his cock all the way in until his hips are flush against my ass. And then he holds his cock there, forcing me to take the whole thing, forcing me to adjust, millimeter by millimeter, to his outrageous girth.

I’m sweating, I’m panting, I can’t stand it.

The only thing getting me through is the vibrator acting like an anesthetic, turning what could be intense pain into intense pleasure instead, through the magical alchemy of its relentless buzz.

In fact, if I rock my hips just the tiniest bit, my ass clenches around his cock and a pulse of pleasure rocks through me like a hammer stroke. Each tiny movement feels like I’m being fucked by a horse—stretching, straining, at the absolute limit of what my body can handle.

Cole moves with me. Not rough, not hard—slow, incremental strokes in and out of my ass, each one wrenching another deep groan out of me.

I’m cumming again, even harder than before. Cumming from the stimulation of nerves that have never been touched, that have no idea what kind of signal to send. I think my brain is bending in half.

Finally Cole pulls out. It feels like giving birth—like three feet of cock is sliding out of me.

“What the fuck,” I moan.

Cole massages my asscheeks once more, kneading those deep muscles that get used all day long but never seem to find relief.

The song is starting over. I realize it must have started over several times—he’s playing it on repeat.

I understand what’s about to happen all over again, and I have no control, no ability to stop. Usually that sense of powerlessness would make me snap. Would make me scream and cry and fight with all my might.

But I’m lulled by the vibrator, and by the countless orgasms flooding my body with pleasure chemicals.

Already I’m arching my back, presenting my ass to him. A Pavlovian response as my body seeks another round.

I can almost feel Cole smiling as he raises his hand, bringing it crashing down on my ass.

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

I think I’m crying again.

While I beg for more.

“Harder,” I sob. “Hit me harder.”

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

Between spankings, Cole leans over and murmurs in my ear, “It’s okay to enjoy it. I know you don’t want to. I know it embarrasses you. But you need it. You’ve got all that guilt and shame built up inside of you . . . this is the only release. Because you know that after you get spanked, you’re not in trouble anymore. You can be forgiven. You’re a good girl.”

The words drift in and out of my ears, over the pounding beat of the music. I don’t know if Cole is actually speaking, or if it’s my own thoughts echoing in my head.

I want this.

I need it.

It’s the only way.

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

Already I’m anticipating the intense tearing, filling sensation of his cock. He slides it back in my ass and I groan not with pain, but with relief. With gratitude.

He fucks my ass slow and steady to the beat of the song.

I’m gonna run run away, run run away

Run away, run away and never come back . . .

I don’t know if I’m crying or moaning. Begging out loud or only in my head.

I don’t know how many times we’ve done this.

The song repeats over and over, and the cycle does too. He massages me, spanks me, fucks me, makes me cum. Massages me, spanks me, fucks me, makes me cum.

I have no sense of time. No idea how long we’ve been doing this. It could be hours or days.

I don’t want it to stop. I don’t want to be anywhere but here.

I’ve been drawn to Cole since the very beginning. My body always wanted him. It was only my mind that was afraid.

Cole growls in my ear, “Here’s what you need to understand Mara: it’s okay for bad things to feel good. You can take pleasure from whatever you want.”

I’m drugged with pleasure, drugged with pain. Drugged by the music. Time has no meaning. The only thing that feels real is Cole’s voice in my brain:

“These ideas of right and wrong, good and evil . . . who taught them to you? Your mother? She’s the worst person you know. Was it the priest at church? Your boss at work? Who decided these things?”

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

“It’s up to you what’s good and what’s bad. There is no god outside you. You are god. This is your world, your life. YOU decide what to feel.”

I’m floating through the air, weightless, rotating in space. I realize he’s untied me. Released me from the manacles.

But I don’t want to stop. I’m not finished yet.

Cole lays down on the table, his cock jutting up like mast, still rock hard, still ready for me.

I mount him, my knees on either side of his hips, my hands on his rigid chest. Slowly, I lower myself down on his cock. It’s easy to do—my ass is already stretched and ready.

I slide down on him until he’s all the way inside me and I’m looking down into that flawless face—feminine and masculine. Evil and good.

Rolling my hips, I start to ride.

I ride him with his cock all the way up my ass. I ride him harder and harder, keeping time to the song.

Run away, run away and never come back

Run run away, run run away, run away

Show ‘em that your color is black . . .

When I know I’m right on the edge, I lift up his hands and put them around my throat. I let him choke me, his fingers squeezing harder and harder until black sparks burst in front of my eyes, drowning out the music and the room, drowning out everything but pure sensation.

The last orgasm is so much more than pleasure. It’s a detonation inside of me that blows me apart, shattering everything I used to be.

I’m blasted to bits, la petite mort, the death of Mara.

I don’t know if I’ll ever come back together.

Or what form I’ll take if I do.