Enchanted Again. Nancy Madore

you?” he whispered huskily.

      Pansy was beside herself with a wish to appease him. “No, I guess I shouldn’t,” she whispered back, although she had forgotten the question. She felt weak and somewhat foolish, too. She vaguely wondered if Jack found her lack of self-control contemptible. But at that moment, there was such a look of tender passion in his eyes that it startled her. She looked away from him, saying, “I feel like a fool.”

      “You’re no fool,” Jack told her adamantly. He held her face in both his hands and forced her to look at him again. His expression was grave. “No woman has ever revealed her feelings so openly, right there on her face, with me before, Pansy,” he told her. “It’s truly humbling, and I’m the one who acted like a fool.” Pansy was stunned by Jack’s admission and silently waited for his next move, floating helplessly in a deep sea of arousal, and knowing no relief without him.

      Jack continued to lightly caress Pansy’s face as he went on talking to her, moving leisurely over his words, meandering in and around the pleasure to come. His voice was low and gentle, like his caresses. “But you shouldn’t look at me like that,” he repeated huskily. “Someone should have taught you never to let a man catch you looking at him like that.” Pansy just kept staring into his eyes and listening to him, hypnotized by his voice and the gentle, steady strokes of his fingers on her face. She watched him with an almost ludicrous devotion. But Jack appeared to find nothing ludicrous in her expression, and he continued speaking to her in the same vein, tantalizing her with his words. His voice was so heavy and laden it seemed to be moving over her, even fondling her. “Perhaps I should teach you why you shouldn’t look at a man the way you’re looking at me now.” He noticed that her eyes widened with anticipation when he said this, and he couldn’t suppress a laugh. “You would like that, wouldn’t you,” he said, amused. “You would enjoy a lesson from Taskmaster Jack?”

      Pansy began to shake. His unhurried attentions produced a bounty in her desolate existence that she could not resist. She nodded her head shamelessly to his rhetorical question, as if to assure him that yes, she would indeed welcome any lesson he would care to give. Jack laughed once again, and his desire seemed to increase suddenly in reaction to hers. “Let me see the marks I put on you yesterday,” he said. “No, just turn around and take down your pants. Yes, like that.” He stared at the red and purple welts on her bared buttocks and thighs. Pansy stood quietly trembling with her pants halfway down her legs. The cool air made her more aware of the wetness between them. Jack, as if reading her thoughts, reached down to touch her and with a moan he let his fingers wallow in the silky fluid.

      “Christ, Pansy,” he murmured. He moved onto his knees behind her and grasped her hips violently, causing her to cry out. “Bend,” he said simply before pressing his face between her legs and burrowing his tongue into her wetness. Pansy was bent awkwardly at the waist, light-headed from the dizzying pleasure he was giving her. His tongue wriggled and writhed its way into her, first into her front passage and then into the back, repeatedly switching back and forth between the two as he ravished her thoroughly. Pansy struggled to maintain her footing as she basked in the heady sensations that were rushing over her. She positively loved the way he opened her up and exposed her to his every wish as he took and gave pleasure in equal parts. She knew she would let him lead her anywhere, no matter if it brought her pain, shock, embarrassment or anything else. But even before she could fully consider the possibilities of where Jack might lead her, he was already taking her there.

      Jack grudgingly pulled himself away from her, pausing to kiss her buttocks on and around the welts. “I won’t spank you again until you heal,” he told her. Pansy captured from this remark the promise that they would be seeing each other more in the future. “I have something else in mind anyway,” he added offhandedly. Pansy thrilled to his words. She noticed that his eyes were fixed on something across the room as he spoke, and she followed his gaze to an odd little statue that she hadn’t noticed before. It sat upon an elaborate footstool next to the bed. The statue was of a vicious-looking gargoyle with a sadistic grin on his hideous face. She wondered suddenly that she hadn’t noticed it. The gargoyle held a sword in its hand, the tip aiming downward and the handle turned outward and up, so that it was pointing toward Pansy and Jack. Pansy did not fail to notice that the handle of the sword was of a similar shape and size of a man’s penis, perhaps a bit larger. She felt a mixture of dread and longing curling up within her. Jack’s eyes remained fixed on the statue.

      “Pansy,” he began slowly and thoughtfully, “take off your clothes.” As she removed her clothing he walked over to where the statue stood. He seemed to be studying it. “Come here,” he said after a minute or two. She shook off the last of her clothing and went to him. He looked her over. There was a lazy smile playing at his lips. “I want to see you ride the gargoyle’s sword handle.” Pansy closed her eyes. It had been exactly what she was thinking, and yet…

      “Now,” he demanded, sitting down on the bed. Pansy was uncertain of how to proceed. That she would do it was evident; yet it was extremely awkward. She didn’t know if she should face the gargoyle or put her back to it. There was also the difficulty of getting onto the sword handle in such a way that she would be able to move up and down on it. And all the while she was painfully aware that Jack was watching her. She moved closer to the statue and saw that the object she was about to mount nearly reached her waist in height. It would have been easier had it been slightly lower, for now she would have to accomplish her task on tiptoe. She decided to face the statue so that she could rest her hands on it for leverage. She positioned her feet on either side of the gargoyle and placed her hands tentatively on its repulsive head. Its hideous face seemed to be looking directly at her from this vantage point, and its lips twisted into a lecherous smirk. Very carefully she maneuvered herself over the tip of the handle, easing her body down on it ever so slowly. It was larger than it first appeared and much stiffer than most man-made objects for that purpose. It was as hard and cold as marble, and terribly irregular. She gasped as she struggled to push herself down farther on it. Its solid length was foreign and extremely menacing, although startlingly arousing, too. She was never so well lubricated to take on such an object and she slowly and cautiously inched herself down farther and farther, literally forcing herself lower and lower with each downward thrust. Even with her extreme wetness she could feel the solid edges pulling at her insides. It affected her in the same way that the previous day’s beating had; leaving her weak and confused and craving, and fully unable to reason again until she found a release.

      “That’s it,” Jack encouraged. “Just a little farther and you’ll reach the end.”

      “I can’t,” she cried, even as she struggled to take more of it inside her. If only it were the tiniest bit flexible, she thought. But it was her body that was obliged to flex and yield to the hard edges of the gargoyle’s sword handle. She gasped loudly as she wiggled and squirmed her way down the length of it. She clutched the gargoyle’s head in her hands as she fought to get her body farther down on the rigid handle. “Ooooh!” she cried.

      “Just a little more, Pansy…for me.” The sound of Jack’s gentle coaxing gave her strength. She grunted loudly as she finally succeeded in taking the last bit of the sword’s handle inside her.

      “That’s a good girl,” he praised her enthusiastically. “Now ride up and down on it.” Pansy gripped the gargoyle’s head firmly as she began to painstakingly move up and down over his handle. Her moans were mingled with little gasps and shrieks. Her pleasure was as intense as her suffering. She was no longer aware of how she performed for Jack as he watched her with eager surprise, and she was only vaguely aware that she had lost control and entered some forbidden place that she had never been to before.

      “I’m afraid,” she burst out in between gasps.

      “Don’t be afraid, Pansy,” Jack chided her. “I’m here with you.” And he came up behind her and kissed her shoulders and neck and pinched her nipples firmly between his fingertips. He moved one hand lower and began massaging her clitoris carefully, so as not to inhibit her movements over the statue. “That’s it,” he encouraged. “Go all the way down. I don’t want to catch you going only halfway.”

      Pansy obediently drew her body up as far as she could on tiptoe