Never Let You Go

Jonathan Toews blinked awake. He scrunched his face up, lifting his hand to shield his face. He found that he was in a small bedroom. A single queen sized bed jutted outward from the wall. There were rose petals littering the ground around the expensive, rich looking bed. There were no windows on the walls, which were a peachy-yellow color. Flowery wallpaper lined the top and bottom of the wall, racing around the room.

There was only one door, which let out. Jonathan jumped to his feet and tried the door handle. It was locked.

“Hey!” the Chicago captain yowled. “Let me out!”

He turned around and faced the bed, frowning. He wasn’t sure what to do. He just wanted to find Patrick Kane and get the hell out of here. He made his way back to the chair and contemplated what he was going to do. He was slightly curious about what was going to happen.

Suddenly the handle jiggled. Jonathan tensed up, as a short female with curly brown hair entered. She relocked the door and slipped the key into a secure place. The Blackhawk eyed her with interest.

“Oh good you’re awake. I had hoped that you wouldn’t be mad at me. It wasn’t my plan to do this. I really wanted to do this the legal way, but that’s not an option, I see.”

Jonathan stared at her, speechlessly, as she pulled on a pair of lacy hand gloves. The tips of the fingers were cut off, so that the pasty white skin of her fingertips remained visible. The elastic on either end of the glove fit half-way up her arms.

"Who are you?" the centerman asked, nervously.

"Mackenzie. Mackenzie Wilson," she responded, "But you can call me Mistress Kenzie!"

She was enjoying herself, she realized to her delight and with not a little shock...but that she was actually enjoying herself. It was mostly, she understood, because of the heat of pure lust that she could feel emanated from his body, even as he moaned and twitched beneath her body, but still, this was more fun than she had imagined it would have been.

And she felt a wicked smile curling on her lips, knowing that she was startling him, perhaps even frightening him, with the intensity of her present attentions.

And had it really only been two hours since it had begun? It seemed much longer. It seemed timeless. However long it had been, above all, it had been wicked, wanton, and heavenly. It had begun as a shock, for both of them, but mostly for him. She had discussed it before, with him, briefly. She told him that it was always a fantasy of hers.

When she finally had decided to attempt it, had gathered the instruments she would need and laid out her plans, carefully, step by step, she did so almost with a disbelieving smirk that it would ever come off the way she would have liked it to. But it was, in every detail rich. In fact, in some ways, it was even better.

She had been in the city for most of the week, enjoying the sights, meeting on-line friends, exploring this strange environment. She had met three other female just like her. Single and curious and totally into hockey players.

In dreams, they had spent time together, Jonathan and herself, Mackenzie, stealing away to share moments in each other’s company, when nothing else was planned for her. It was lovely, and the electricity between them had been just as strong in person. She had surrendered her body and soul to him and her reward had been a shattering night of purest lust and the essence of gentle love. He had quickly brushed against her limits of endurance and gently pushed her beyond them, turning the next entire day into a swirl of wanton abandon and giggling fulfillment.

And again, at other times they had enjoyed their deepening relationship.

But then, as her time was drawing to a close, she had gone to lunch with a couple of friends she had originally met online, and blushingly mentioned her curiosity about that other side of things. They knew him as well, and all had shared a giggle over the image.

They had encouraged her. If she wanted to do it, she had to do it.

With a smile, and a faint throbbing deep in her heart, she had decided she would.

So, as she stared down her dream celebrity crush, live in the flesh, terrified in front of her, she felt swoon and drawn to him. She walked up to him. He sank into the chair, unable to move anywhere else.

When he answered her, she had automatically addressed him with the respectful 'Sir', as always, but then she suddenly heard herself beginning to tell him what she wanted him to do. She was instructing him and with a tingle along her spine and the noticeable budding up of her chest, she realized she was enjoying it.

His breathing deepened as she knew he was realizing what was happening, and although his tone remained low and even, she could hear it recede slightly, taking on an awed and humble edge. "Yes," he had acknowledged, when she had finished telling him where she wanted him and exactly when, and how prepared.

"Yes what?" she heard herself say to him, a disapproving tinge to her voice.

“Yes..... Mistress Kenzie," he virtually whispered, and she felt herself beam at the sound of the word.

Yes, she was going to thoroughly enjoy this game. A game with Jonathan Toews, the leader of the Chicago Blackhawks, her favorite NHL team.

The room had been prepared to the way she wanted it. Certainly, she would have to punish him for the disobedience, that he had shown by fighting against her, but how? It was difficult enough for her to arrange the surprise for him. However, would she go beyond what she had already planned to occur?

She smiled to herself and gave her first order to him, the edge of amused tolerance in her voice, “Submit to me and I will make your evening magical!”

She took a moment to stand perfectly still, drawing in a deep, steadying breath, before moving across the room to the bed. She leaned against the footboard pole and put her hand on her hip.

Jonathan stood up, slowly, but followed her command. He was attired exactly as she had dressed him, before he had awaken: the boots, the dark blue jeans, gray shirt, the long black jacket. His gaze fixed on hers and he smiled that soul stealing smile, which caused her heart rate to quick. She was totally ready to receive him.

“Who are you?” he managed to squeak out. (Awe, he was frightened!)

But then, she noticed his gaze trailing down her body; his eyes widened in surprise at the vision she presented for him. For she had attired herself to suit the role for tonight’s exploration. The long boots hugged her slightly parted legs. A light blue prom dress hugged around her figure, fitting her nicely. She could see Jonathan’s expression go from surprise to pleasure.

“Come here, Johnny!”

She did not look back as he stalked up to her, cautiously. By the time he reached her, she was already returning to the bed, lying down in a luxuriant pose. She could see him begin to smile as he watched her settle into place, and part of her wanted to simply open herself up to him and just let him do her, right there, but she wanted to take her time with this game. Perhaps make him wonder just how much of it was something more than idle play.

She nodded and spoke. "Just stay there, baby. At the foot of the bed. Stand."

“I-I’m not your baby! My name is Jonathan or Johnny!”

“Don’t talk back to me!”

She saw him close his eyes for a moment. She could almost feel the abandonment beginning to well up in him, and her own body began to ache, recognizing what he must be feeling from her own deep soul. She didn’t want to snap at him, but he wasn’t being easy with her. He wasn’t submitting himself to her and it was pissing her off.

But he opened them again quickly and stepped slowly to the place where she had indicated; his body tight and coiled as if to avoid fully committing to her. He was frightened and cautious and he had every right to be. This woman was just throwing herself at him instantly.

She lay there, staring at him, sweeping her eyes slowly over him, noticing the fiery, hesitant gleam in his eyes, as he looked at her. She smiled and began to savor the moment. She pushed herself into a sitting position.

"Hands behind your back, I think," she commanded, unsure of herself. It didn’t matter, as he drew his arms back, they disappeared behind him. He eyed her, as she could feel her heart rate accelerate inside of her chest.

"So," she quietly teased, "you've had quite a nice week, tormenting me with your near perfectness, haven't you, Jon."

"Yes," he replied, his voice virtually a whisper, and that too caused her body to well with a dull aching. She drank in the feeling and let it settle through her before she sighed slightly and continued.

"Well, tonight, it's time to pay the piper for all that fun. Tonight I'm going to have the fun and you're going to do exactly everything I say, understand?"

"Yes... Mistress Kenzie."

She smirked, relaxing now and beginning to enjoy the game. She could order him to do anything she wanted, ask any task, demand any sacrifice, any attention and he would do it, fully and completely, without question. She shook herself out of the building reverie and focused on him once more.

"You do know, don't you, that you belong to me, tonight," she cooed.

"Yes, Mistress," he spoke once more, his breathing beginning to become more rapid now. His eyes glittered with his inner skepticism and fear of her.

"Your mouth, your hands, and your ass...all belong to me and only me."

"Yes, Mistress," his voice barely managed, shot through with a quivering tightness.

She could feel her own breathing growing tighter, more rapid, as the excitement welled up in her, now palpable and demanding. Yes, she realized, she could own him if she wanted to. Own him totally, body and soul and forever, just as he could own her. She could own Jonathan Toews!

She reached out and pulled the Blackhawk forward, toward her. He was taken by surprise, but went with her. The woman planted her lips on his and drew him into the passionate frenzy.

"Oh shit," she whined, as the pleasure rippled through her "I wanted to tie you up first, but ooooooh fuuuuuuccckkkkkkkk..."

She reached down, laying a hand on the back of his head and pressing him, hard, against her own face. Jonathan moaned into her mouth. He couldn’t breath, but Mackenzie ignored him.

Suddenly she pushed his head away, with a firm "Stop!" and then fell back on the bed, almost spent. This was crazy, she thought to herself. I couldn't help myself. No, I've got to get some control here. Got to focus.

"Kneel!" she ordered "On the floor!" She gestured vaguely with an arm towards the foot of the bed. "There!"

He groaned, feeling highly used. She watched him. He slithered quickly to the end of the bed. She allowed herself a long moment to savor the fading scream of pleasure that was just echoing away from her flesh, before she drew in a deep breath. The taste of him resonated on her pale lips, filling her with desires. She mentally shook herself free of the clutches of her own abandonment.

She sat up and looked over the foot of the bed. He was sitting there, loyally. He sat back on his haunches, with his back straight, eyes downcast, hands resting on his thighs, awaiting her next command or move.

And the sight of him caused her to stir yet again. But this time she decided to hold off the obliteration of pleasure and abandon herself instead to the game she had planned. She slid off the bed and stood, stopping to allow her head to clear a moment, before moving to stand beside him, gazing down at him.

"Very good, baby," she spoke, her voice soft and soothing, as she reached out and gently stroked his hair. His eyes closed for a moment. She could see him shaking with trepidation. "Now, you don't move. Stay right there." Mackenzie kissed him on the forehead, lightly.

She withdrew her hand and turned, moving to the dresser, beside the bed. She began pulling open the top drawer, which she had filled earlier, with the implements for tonight's game. She pulled them out quickly, laying them on the dresser and closed the drawer. She scooped up the rope and other toys and moved back to where he sat on the bed, unmoving, obedient.

"Stand up, Jonathan!" she commanded.

He did as he was told and rapidly slid off the bed. His body became straight from shoulders to his feet. He stood tall and proud.

"Arms back."

He crossed his wrists at his spine, reluctantly. “Please, Mistress Kenzie. I don’t want to do this!”

She went down on one knee, ignoring him and looped the end of the rope around the crossed wrists. She quickly bound them together, snugly. Jonathan tested out the security. He was stuck. Mackenzie finished up tying the knots into place around his wrists and smacked him firm on the behind.

“Hey!” Jonathan screamed, flinching. He desperately worked at the ropes binding his wrists together.

She watched him, thrilled at the idea of his helplessness before her. Jonathan Toews was hers! And it made her incredibly happy inside. She stood up, continuing to watch the show, as the Blackhawk, helplessly grunted in distress, trying to slip free from the bondage.

"Stop struggling Johnny, baby," she ordered, and watched, as he slowly and carefully calmed himself, controlling his frantic movements.

“Please, don’t do this to me! Let me go!” the Chicago captain pleaded, his voice cracking under the pressure. He eyes the next item that she had grabbed.

Mackenzie shifted the next “item” in her grasp, tossing it between her hands. She stepped up close behind him, her mouth leaning in, to whisper in his ear. Jonathan whimpered.

"Keep that sweet mouth of yours closed, Johnny," she breathed, at the same time lifting the roll of black death upward. She had a hold of the free end and pulled it outward, before tearing it off of the roll in a swift downward motion.

Jonathan shook his head. He began to struggle again, but she had him trapped. She brought the tape toward his face and stuck it over his mouth, silencing him for good. She dropped the roll on the ground and proceeded to smooth the material over his mouth. She made sure to finger his lips, feeling them trapped and helpless under the cover of the tape.

He let out a small, startled, muffling sound as she made sure the tape was firmly in place. The vulnerability of the Blackhawk made her groan in growing lust. She pressed herself against his back, grinding her hips into him with a contented sigh. Jonathan screamed into the tape, terrified.

"I'm gonna rape you so good, Jonathan Toews," she intoned, savoring her prize and her power.

Then she pulled back, placed her hands on either of his shoulders and pushed, hard, causing him to crumple back to his knees. She pressed hard and his body bent, his chest falling over the foot of the bed. Under her hands, she could feel him trembling.

"Don't move!" A strange new force in her voice.

“Where can I go?” Jonathan seemed to snap back, but Mackenzie just pinched his cheek, as she pinned him to the bed.

“You’re so cute, when you’re in distress Johnny!”

On in impulse, she drew back a hand and smacked him once. Twice. Thrice. And one final time. She felt a light-headedness invade her, at his muffled answering, and stifled, helpless whimper. The gag muffled his startled cries, but the violent twitching and jerking almost knocked her off-balance, as he tried to purposely get her off.

"Do you still love me, Johnny?" she questioned, half lost in a reverie. His sobs erupted afresh and his head nodded as if in a trance, smearing the stain of his tears on the bedcovers. He didn’t, but he didn’t want to offend her and he also wanted her off of him as soon as possible.

He didn’t like this. He didn’t like being controlled by her. And he didn’t like feeling helpless. He liked being in charge. Jonathan loved leading his Blackhawks on the ice. But he never forced his teammates to do anything. He would never hurt anyone. He wasn’t Chris Pronger or nothing.

She leaned down on her elbow and gently draped herself over him, savoring the moment. Yes, she did own him, as much as, perhaps more than, he owned her. But of course, he didn’t own her and he never would. She nuzzled into his back, warmly. She could see, having tasted, the heady power of his blazing love that was given for her…and only for her...she would never let him go. NEVER!! She thought, blissfully, only the consummation remained, the wedding night, and the sacrifice, to bind them together forever, beyond all sundering.

She would force Jonathan to marry her. Yes. She had to! She had to complete her desires to have Jonathan Toews as hers! No one else could have him. Only her.

When she was able to, she helped him crawl, slowly, painfully, up onto the bed and gently turned him over on his back. With an extra rope, she had attached to his bound wrists, she moved and secured him to the leg at the foot of the bed. His arms were drawn up over his head. He muffled a silent plea, but she responded by giving him a peak on the face.

She then unbuttoned his gray dress shirt and peeled the halves to each side of him, opening up his bare chest to her. She felt herself swoon over the sight. He had a gorgeously handsome body. He was muscular, but not so buff that she was thrown off. No, Jonathan Toews had the perfect athletic male body.

Mackenzie placed both her hands, palms down on top of his clavicle bones, above his chest. She gently slid from north to south, halting just above his waist line. He shuddered under her hands and forced another moan into the tape. His eyes squeezed closed tightly.

She slipped off of him and the bed, suddenly, allowing him to “breathe.” From behind the headboard of the bed, she attached and pulled the loose ends of the ropes she had just secured there in preparation for his sacrifice. She gently raised each of his legs in turn and secured them, so that he was half lifted, his legs high in the air and pulled wide apart. His back curved and his hands were stretched out toward the foot of the bed. The sight made him look even more helpless than ever. She smirked, nodding in satisfaction with herself.

Jonathan flung his head backward, wailing into the tape. He hated this! He just wanted to be free once more.

She crawled up onto the bed between his captured, helpless, wide open legs. He lifted his head up and looked at her. His eyes shone with the agony of the torture he was going through. Tears welled up at the corners of his eyes. He was thorough upset with her and not enjoying himself. Mackenzie was a little heartbroken.

She pressed forward, however, savoring the deep gasping moan, his shattered soul let fly into the gag, silencing him. She climbed over his leg and slid across, propping herself on her side. With one hand, she touched his trembling skin on his chest again. She began to stroke him, softly and gently. “Shh, Johnny, I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to love you.”

She remained, gently brushing fingers across his skin, murmuring to herself in the process. She began to hum, beautifully, a song that she had always enjoyed:

“You say that I've changed
Well maybe I did
But even if I've changed
What's wrong with it?

I'll never let you go
I'll never let you go
I'll never let you go

I'll never let you turn around your back on each other
That's a good idea, break a promise to your mother
Turn around your back on each other.”