“What do you think?”
“It’s incredible.” She hesitated. “I’m curious about a few things.”
Marcus smiled.
“Don’t worry, kitten. We’ll have plenty of time to try everything more than once, but now, I’ve got something else in mind. Something I’ve been yearning to do for a long time. Pick a cushion, bring it to the middle of the room and kneel.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Marcus went to one of the drawers and pulled out the contraption he’d fantasized with seeing on Gabi hundreds of times. He glanced at Gabi. She was in position. Unsuspecting. Waiting for him to decide how he’d control her pleasure next.
“Do you remember when we met, kitten?” he asked. “How I’d told you I wanted to have my dick down your throat and you scoffed at the idea.”
Gabi nodded.
“That day is today.”
Chapter Fifteen
Gabi gaped at Marcus. Her pulse pounded in her ears, reverberating throughout her entire body.
A spider gag.
She recognized the round ring and spindly steel legs, designed to keep her mouth open for his pleasure. She would not be able to speak or maintain any amount of control over the speed and depth of the blowjob. Marcus would be entirely in charge. He would decide how fast to move, how much she could take. All she had to do was keep still.
Did she really want to relinquish control completely? She thought back to the nights at the club. No sex. No cocks. No intimacy. She’d been playing it safe. Skimming the surface to find but a tiny grain of sand to build a castle from. It had never been enough. Antonio had given her mountains of sand, but he’d buried her under them. What would Marcus do? She pressed her lips together. She wouldn’t let him bury her.
“You won’t be able to speak, so we’ll arrange a safe signal,” he said, quietly, almost like a whisper of fresh air in an enclosed tunnel.
Marcus wasn’t Antonio. She had to remember that. Now. Forever. Goosebumps sprouted on her arms. It was too soon to think of forever, wasn’t it?
The gentle touch at the top of her head quieted the turmoil of thoughts.
“Kitten.”
The current of fresh air became an open window, bringing in the scent of spring and new beginnings. A sense of peace surrounded her.
“You’re overthinking,” Marcus said. “If there’s one thing the gag will help you do it is stay here in the moment with me. Ask me to put it on you,” he said, dropping his voice an octave.
A current of unadulterated lust raced through her bloodstream. She wanted this. To forget the past and embrace the moment. With Marcus.
“Will you put it on me, Sir?”
Marcus’s grin lit up the room and made her heart squeeze almost painfully.
“If you’re uncomfortable and want me to slow down, tap my leg once. If you want me stop completely, tap it twice. I will not bind you, but you are to keep your hands behind your back at all times, unless you want to safe signal.”
“I understand, Sir.”
“Open your mouth,” he instructed.
Excitement swam through her veins and stuck to her throbbing pussy. Gabi licked her lips and opened her mouth. Solemnly, Marcus fitted the ring behind her teeth and quickly strapped the leather piece to the back of her head. When he was done, he took a step back, and she quickly readjusted her position.
“I could come just from watching you like that,” Marcus said. “Are you ready for some dick, slut?” Without waiting for a reply, Marcus freed his erection. Gabi whimpered. Up until this moment, she’d never been so hungry for a dick in her life. Long and thick, the pink bulbous head glistened from the drops of pre-cum sliding down its side. Marcus grasped his cock, palming it in long, sensuous strokes, which inflamed her desire further.
“For years, I imagined this moment. Your plump mouth around my cock, sucking, drooling. Your chained tits are just a bonus. How are you doing with these?” he asked, tugging on the chain.
Gabi gasped as pain shot to her clitoris and bloomed into pleasure.
“Can you hold them another ten minutes?”
She nodded. He gave her a long look, no doubt appraising her.
“Of course you can, slutty kitten.” Marcus moved closer. She tilted forward, eager to begin, her mouth watering. “Hungry for cock, aren’t we?” Marcus chuckled darkly. Finally, he placed the tip of his dick over her lips. Gabi reached for it with her tongue, and he growled. Threading his fingers through her hair, he pushed all the way in. Caught by surprise, she gagged. Marcus crooned and pulled back.
“Look at me as I fuck your mouth, slut. Be fully aware of who commands you.”
Gabi’s gaze flew to Marcus’s face. His green eyes had darkened dramatically, and his lips were set in a grimace of determination. Her heart sped. Saliva dripped down her chin. Marcus picked up a rhythm. Tears sprang from her eyes, and moans reverberated in her throat. Occasionally, she would gag lightly, but he’d always pull back before she had an accident. His fingers dug in her scalp, pulling at the strands and sending tiny jolts of pain traveling across her body.
“Slutty kitten. I knew this day would come. I knew you’d be mine to plunder. To possess. You’re my slut. My kitten. Your mouth belongs to me, your ass, your cunt.” Marcus punctuated every word by penetrating her.
Gabi moaned. She belonged to him. The thrill of the fact wrapped itself around her, squeezing happiness into every one of her pores. To think she’d wanted nothing more than a quick fuck. She was Marcus’s now, and this was where she wanted to be. Her mind started to wander. Her vision blurred. She rocked with Marcus, following his lead, leaving aside all thoughts as his presence consumed and possessed her. This moment. This man. There was nothing else for her. Nothing she wanted more. It was perfect.
Chapter Sixteen
“Sir?”
“Hush, kitten. Just rest for a moment.”
He caressed her back in soothing circles and kissed the top of her head. Gabi sighed and relaxed in his arms.
“What happened?” she whispered after a moment.
“You went into subspace. Gave me quite a fright. I hadn’t expected it.” Marcus hugged her close.
“It was glorious,” she said.
Marcus smiled.
“I can’t say it wasn’t,” he agreed. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He’d seen her slip, watched the way her eyes had lost focus and she’d grown completely slack. His to possess completely. He could have finished off then, but it was too risky, so he’d opted for removing the spider gag and sitting down with her until she came to again and they could continue.
“Fuck me,” she purred, running her nails across his chest.
“I knew I called you kitten for a reason,” he replied grabbing her hand. Her dark gaze pierced his soul.
“Please.”
“At my own time, slut,” he replied, tugging on her chain. She winced. “We need to take these off first.”
“What would you have me do, Sir?”
“Can you stand?”
“Yes.”
She got off his lap, and he got onto his knees.
“Are we switching roles?” she asked with a tittering giggle.
Marcus smiled. “Not in a million years, slutty kitten. Breathe,” he reminded her.
She inhaled deeply, and without warning he released the first clamp.
“Fuck,” she cried out as blood rushed to her engorged tips.
“Breathe,” he repeated.
She shut her eyes and followed his request. He undid the other clip. Gabi swore and stomped her feet.
“Be still, kitten,” he demanded, placing his hands on her hips. She stopped moving, and he leaned in to kiss her breast. Gabi froze. Marcus rested his lips on her areola. He could practically feel the erratic beat of her heart. He sucked in her nipple. Gabi yelped and tried to move away, but he dug his digits onto her flesh and rolled his tongue across the turgid nub.
“Sir,” she whimpered, running her fingers across his short
hair.
He slipped his palms to her ass, kneading the flesh before dipping lower to her cunt.
“Hot and wet, just like a good slut,” he said, before switching to her other breast and plunging two of his fingers into her cunt.
“Thank you, Sir,” she gasped.
As he drew her forward, she tumbled into his arms. Angling her head, he claimed her mouth, pouring every ounce of desire and affection into the kiss.
“Sir?” she whispered. “Please?”
Marcus took her in. Her plump lips were swollen from their kisses, and smudges of eyeliner created uneven circles beneath her eyes, which held a plea he understood perfectly.
“Yeah,” he said hoarsely.
Relief swept through her gaze, and she climbed over him. Grasping his cock, she impaled herself onto it with a ravenous groan.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he said.
“It’s mutual,” she replied, rolling her hips deliberately slowly. “I don’t think I’d ever wanted to be filled so badly.”
Marcus grinned. “You’ve seen nothing yet, kitten.”
Pulling her down for a kiss, he shifted their position, pinning Gabi to the mattress. She wrapped her legs around his waist and arched against him.
“Fuck me, Sir.”
“Since when do sluts make demands?” he quipped, nipping her neck.
“I’m begging you.”
She didn’t need to ask him again. He was as desperate to come as she was.
“Look at me,” he commanded. Their gazes locked, sending a shiver through him. “You’re my slut, Gabi.” He drew back. “My kitten. My submissive. My woman.” He dove back into her wet pussy, gritting his teeth to keep from orgasming right then. “Say it.” He pulled out, and she whimpered his name. “Admit it, kitten.” He plunged back inside all the way to the hilt.
“Sir.”
He entwined their fingers and started to build up a rhythm. Sweat coated their bodies, and around him Gabi’s legs shook. His balls tightened almost to the point of pain, and he clenched his ass.
Just a little more. She was on the verge, but she kept her emotions in check, still unwilling to give into him.
“Open up, Gabi,” he growled in her ear. “Say it.”
“Sir.” She licked her upper lip and focused her gaze on his. “I’m yours. I’m your slut. Your kitten. Your woman.”
“Then come for me, slut,” he groaned. Reaching between them, he pinched one of her nipples and pistoned in and out of her. “Do it.”
Gabi’s mouth parted in a silent scream, and her body convulsed, her pussy sending rippling waves to his dick and triggering his own orgasm.
Finally, they collapsed into each other’s arms. For long minutes, they lay in silence, embracing, and listening to each other’s heartbeat. Gabi shivered, and he made to stand and grab a blanket.
“No. Wait,” she said.
Marcus lay back down behind her, spooning her. She sighed.
“I want to try this. You. Me. Us.” She clasped his hand. “It’s been so long,” she said quietly. “Too long since I’d felt something like this.”
“Like what, kitten?”
“Free. Being able to open up and let go. Careless. I didn’t think I could do it again, but a few days with you and I find myself craving it.”
“Doing it,” he amended.
“And wanting more,” she added.
“Of what?” He knew the answer, but he needed to hear it just the same.
“Of you. Me. Us. Sir.”
He could hear the tremble in her voice, and it warmed him inside and out.
“Turn around, Gabi.”
She spun in his arms to face him. He could already see a change. Her gaze was less guarded, softer. Her lips tilted into a shaky smile. His heart swelled, and though he knew it’d still take time, he didn’t doubt they’d make it.
“You. Me. Us. My kitten. All you have to do is open.”
The End
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BONUS SAMPLE CHAPTER
BREAK ME
Elyzabeth M. VaLey
Copyright © 2017
Prologue
Grisha Vasiliev entered the ballet studio. His five-hundred-dollar leather shoes squeaked against the vinyl floor. He frowned and stood to one side, away from the other spectators, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. The velvety smoothness of the piano chords playing from the speakers wrapped around him like the touch of a lover’s caress.
“Down, up, down, plie, tendu, pli-plie.”
Anton Phillip, the ballet master of his company, drilled instructions from the front of the room across a floor-to-ceiling mirror. A group of close to forty dancers aged fifteen and over followed his commands. They were there to learn and take their technique to the next level with the best: Anika Vasiliev’s ballet company.
His business. Grisha not only owned the city’s ballet company, which included dancers, an orchestra, managerial and support staff. He also had schools for both children and adults. Furthermore, he employed permanent staff of craftsmen for prop and costume design, as well as his own physiotherapists and physical trainers.
“Your back must turn you around, not your knee, your back. Observe,” Phillip called out.
Grisha swept his gaze around the room. His breath caught. There she was. In the front row, a few feet to the left of Phillip. She was unmistakable in her red leotard with the low scooped back and black skirt.
Ayla Clark.
She was his reason for coming to today’s master class. He’d seen her name in the registry list and he knew he had to see her up close.
Her pale skin contrasted sharply with her choice of outfit. Her dark hair, which she had pulled into a bun, caused her aquiline nose to stand out. She kept her attention on Phillip as he demonstrated the movement. She copied him.
“That’s it,” Phillip praised her.
Ayla smiled. Full lips pressed tightly together, eyes downcast. Grisha cocked his head. Always the same. He had been observing her for the past few months and her smiles were never wide or open. For him, it appeared as if she were pleased but didn’t want to show it. Either that or she felt she wasn’t good enough.
Yet, her technique was flawless. Her body lithe and flexible. When she danced, her spirit showed through and true joy reflected on her face. Those were the moments he hated her.
Grisha swallowed. His fingers trembled. He closed his hand into a fist. Easy now. It wouldn’t do to lose control here. Taking a deep breath, he turned to look at some of the other girls. There were some wonderful dancers assembled in the studio and some which would never make it far in the business. He caught sight of another girl. She turned well but didn’t land properly. Her eyes narrowed, clearly displeased. She tried again. Grisha shook his head. She was a good dancer, but she was not the best. Her movements lacked finesse.
He found himself searching for Ayla again. He followed her across the floor as she performed a chasse and a pirouette.
How could she move with such precision? In her, he saw true love for what she did. She wanted to be a dancer. It was her dream, her purpose in life.
Yet, she currently worked for a small ballet company as part of the corps, a mere background dancer. She never held a position for more than a year, even though she was good. Why? He wasn’t a dancer himself, but he had grown up in that world. He knew perfection and passion when he saw it. Ayla had both. When she danced, he could almost taste the happiness coming from her. Grisha licked his lips.
It was intoxicating.
Sickening.
Bile climbed to his throat. The bitter taste in his mouth made him grimace. Happiness. The word clanged in his head like loud church bells. A myth. A legend. There was no such thing. Women like his mother Anika, Marie, and now Ayla, equated the world of dance with bliss. It was an illusion, just like ballet. They were one and th
e same. Castles built on clouds. Beautiful on the outside but so sensitive a mere breeze would blow them into nothingness. The real world was bleak.
Dark.
Lonely.
Painful.
Grisha ran his fingers through his hair in a futile attempt to alleviate the growing headache in his temples. The words hammered in his skull harder and harder as they had done for the past year.
He had grown complacent, settling into a routine which lulled him into a false sense of security. In the last four years, he hadn’t felt the pull. He buried himself in his business and into a peaceful life. He tricked himself into believing he’d conquered the need to inflict pain and destroy joy. It was never the case. The monster within him lay dormant, waiting for someone to bring it back to life. Ayla had been that person. One look at her and his world had come crashing down around him.
Grisha bit into his cheek and tasted blood. His vision wavered for an instant as the image of a bloodied Ayla danced before him. She reminded him of what he’d lost and what he could never have.
He unclenched his fists.
Ayla pranced about, oblivious to him and his plan. Soon, he’d show her what life was really about. The music which made her so joyful would make her miserable, and his world would be righted again.
“Thank you very much, everyone,” Phillip said, breaking into Grisha’s reverie.
People clapped. Grisha joined them politely. The music had stopped. Dancers stretched out their kinks. Family members and observers crossed the floor to chat and congratulate them.
Grisha made his way to Phillip. Here and there chatting groups quieted as he passed them. He smirked. Although he hated the attention, it was all part of the business. If any of these ballerinas wanted to be someone important one day, they had to know who he was.
“Anton,” he called out. He’d known Phillip for many years, long before coming to the United States.
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