Spice Box: Sixteen Steamy Stories

by Raine Miller

  She eased her shoulders back and dropped her gaze to her plate. “Sorry, Cal.”

  Their waiter, who had exquisite timing, appeared with their appetizers.

  “Are you wearing panties?” Cal asked as soon as the man had left.

  “No, Sir.”

  “Part your legs. I want to check.”

  Yes, that was the tone of voice she craved. She carefully moved her knees apart. Cal’s left hand stroked her from her knee along the inside of her thigh, finishing at the top of her stocking. His fingertips danced around the garter at the top of her leg, then curved down to feel her damp sex.

  Sara wanted to shift in her seat but she knew that would piss off an experienced Dom. Cal might be new at this, but either Mac had given him a great tutorial or he was naturally good at knowing when she was trying to drive the action.

  “Come a bit closer,” he murmured. Cal took a bite of his scallops with his right hand.

  She moved in toward the table. Just that tiny shift allowed his fingers to brush her clit, then settle on the sensitive tip.

  She couldn’t begin to describe what that was like. So delicate and yet almost electric. If he moved his finger at all, it would light up all her nerve endings from her toes to her nipples.

  He didn’t move his finger.

  Sara was torn. Did she want that exquisite torment or was she enjoying the knife’s edge of fear too much?

  God, he was good.

  Just when she thought she couldn’t keep still any more, he brushed the very tip of his finger, with the tiniest hint of fingernail, against the pulse of her clit. Then he was gone.

  Sara sagged.

  “Your salad doesn’t taste good?” She could hear the laughter in his voice.

  “Delicious.” She forked some of the mâche and chèvre salad into her mouth. She peeped at his face. He grinned at her.

  ***

  When the car service drove up to the house, Cal got out first, then reached back to help Sara out, making her feel delicate and special. Worshipped. He took a long time appreciating the looseness of her bodice, running his finger along the edge of fabric, before putting his arm around her waist and leading her toward the house.

  They walked together into the hallway.

  “Give me the tour of the dungeon.”

  “All right.” She started toward the door to the basement, but his hand on her nape stopped her.

  “I don’t think you need the dress down there, do you?” His eyes were darkest chocolate. So addictive.

  “No, Cal.” She stood still while he unzipped the dress, slipping the shoulder straps down her arms. When the dress was a ring of coral on the floor, he took her hand and helped her step over the fabric. It was a courtly gesture, like Sir Francis Drake or something. Only Queen Elizabeth had never been caught wearing a nearly transparent bra, a white lace garter belt, fancy silk hose and black Louboutins. Oh, and no panties.

  He picked up the dress and folded it over the back of a kitchen chair. She couldn’t say why, but his concern for her clothes didn’t diminish his mastery at all.

  “After you.”

  The stairs to the basement were wide and gracious, with dark wood treads. There was a home theater in the main part of the basement, a home gym in the front, and down the hallway a laundry room. Just beyond there, behind a locked door, was the dungeon. It extended under the courtyard, so anyone expecting the hallway to stop at the end of the main floor would think it a small storage room.

  Cal had the key. He swung open the door and flicked on the lights. “Ohmigod.”

  Sara had her usual visceral response to the dungeon. She loved parts of it and hated others. Either way, her pulse and breathing always sped up.

  Bruno had designed it to look like an Edwardian manor house. The ceiling was coffered in dark wood, a pale gold damask covered the walls above the gleaming wainscoting, and a massive Oriental carpet covered the floor. The rest was custom-designed BDSM equipment. A spanking bench, a St. Andrew’s cross, a four-poster bed, a throne-like chair with an elaborately carved back and legs. And, of course, the cage.

  Cal went straight for the cage. “Who can I call to remove it?”

  Sara froze. “I…uh, I don’t know.”

  Cal nodded once. “Mac will know. Forget I asked. Forget it was ever here.”

  Easier said than done.

  “Sara.”

  She flinched.

  “I told you to forget it was ever here. Even if you can’t do that, please respect my authority enough to stop staring at it.”

  She blinked, then looked up at him. “I’m sorry, Sir.” She tried to dial back her terror. “What can I show you first?”

  He glanced around, then pointed at the cabinetry along one wall. It looked like the built-in drawers and glass-fronted cabinets one might find in the dining room of an English manor house. “Let’s see the toys. I like toys.”

  Sara liked some of the toys, too. “All right.” She pulled open shallow drawers with their velvet-lined compartments for clamps, clips, restraints and bindings. Another drawer contained vibrators, dildos and butt plugs. A tall cabinet had hooks for crops, whips, canes and floggers.

  “Mac says he’ll give me a lesson on impact play.” Cal slanted a smile at her. “No need for you to be my guinea pig.”

  She knew he was reassuring her, but quixotically she wished he would practice on her. She didn’t like the idea that he’d be at The Club, learning on a dummy or, worse, one of the slutty masochists who let anyone whale on them. Maybe she could say something to Mac…

  “Sara,” Cal said in his Dom voice, the one that put her immediately in the mood for sex. “I want you to pick three items for me to use tonight. Not any of the crops, of course, but anything else you like.”

  She sucked in a shaky breath. Cal’s face was stern but generous. This wasn’t about pain or punishment. She really could choose her favorite toys.

  Nipple clips, but not the most painful pair. She selected a pretty set of round black clamps.

  Padded cuffs that could be clipped together.

  Final choice was her favorite vibrator. Master Bruno wouldn’t let her use it often because she came so easily with it. If Cal ordered her not to orgasm, it would be a painful choice, but he’d wanted all her climaxes last night. Be willing to be lucky, she guessed.

  She placed the items in Cal’s hands.

  “Very good. Last thing you get to decide. Which piece of equipment do you want me to use?”

  That was easy. “The chair.” Maybe he’d spank her as well as play with the toys.

  Cal folded his arms. “Very good. Take off the bra.”

  She unclipped it, peeled back the cups and let it fall until it dangled from her fingertips. Cal took it, folded it carefully and left it on a table near the doorway.

  He put his hand at the small of her back, just as he had at the restaurant. Funny to think she’d removed only two pieces of clothing, yet she’d gone from respectably dressed to a walking wet dream.

  When they got to the throne-like chair, Cal stripped off his suit jacket and tie. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and removed his watch, which he slipped into a jacket pocket. He sat down, and gestured Sara to stand between his legs. He smoothed her hair, inspected her face—did she have something on her cheek?—then swept his gaze to her feet.

  “Take off the shoes. They’re gorgeous, but you won’t need them.”

  She slipped them off and kicked them to one side.

  “Excellent.” He pulled her back between his knees. He ran his hands along her shoulders and arms, then leaned in to kiss her right nipple. He took his time, teasing it until it was hard. He repeated this treatment on the other one. When he pulled back, he inspected the results, his head tipped to one side.

  Sara wanted to tell him, “Yes, they’re ready for the clips,” but she pressed her mouth closed. She knew better than to speak and interfere with a Dom’s routine. It was just that her nipples ached and she wanted that itchy pain.
r />   Cal slipped the little round clamps from his pocket. He held them out to Sara, winking on his open palm.

  “Show me how they work.”

  Diabolical. She’d been counting on his ignorance to keep from tightening the clamps too much. She took one, fitted it on her nipple and tightened the screw until the tiny spikes caught and started to dig in. That was where Cal would have stopped, but she knew she could handle another turn of the screw. She gasped at the pain, then attached the other one, getting it just as tight. Her pussy was sopping from the anticipation and arousal.

  “Beautiful.” She didn’t need to look up to see his smile. “Now your wrists.”

  She held them out. He buckled the cuffs on, then connected them loosely.

  He turned her body so her back was to him. He caught her waist and pulled her carefully back until she was sitting on his lap, her legs splayed, her sex stretched open. One huge hand spread across her belly, keeping her safe. The other took the vibrator and turned it on. She panted, knowing she was going to come as soon as he touched the vibe to her clit.

  The vibrator tip went straight for her nipple.

  Sara’s head slammed back into his shoulder. “Ohmigod.” She wanted to scream but it was too soon. There was the other nipple—he hadn’t touched that clamp.

  Then he did, and she screamed. Her legs were wide open, so she couldn’t orgasm despite the hard throbbing of her clit. She couldn’t reach it with her restrained wrists, which rested on top of his left forearm.

  Meanwhile, he was playing with the vibrator on her nipples, moving back and forth, staying on one nipple longer, then pulling it away, moving, tapping, stroking, touching the tip to the exposed bit of nipple then removing it. Around and around, letting the sensations build. Sara thought she could come just from this, just from having her nipples set on fire, but he never quite got her there. The noises she was making—moans, whimpers, sobs, and tiny, squeaky screams—rose and fell in volume and intensity, punctuated by her desperate panting.

  It was like he making music—a melody only he could hear. She could tell that, even think about it in the brief lulls in his rhythm, but then he’d start again. Her back arched, her head dug into his shoulder, and her thoughts exploded like dandelion fluff in a stiff breeze.

  He stopped again. Sara’s breathing caught for a second and she heard him humming in her ear. He really was making music. Extraordinary. Her chest heaved with the need to breathe.

  “You’re so gorgeous, Sara. Time to make you come.” She felt the warmth of his words tickling her ear.

  Hard to concentrate on what he was saying when her entire body was burning with the need to get there, reach the crest and fall down the other side. Her nipples were excruciating pleasure, but that had plateaued. Her clit felt huge but with nothing engaging it, it almost seemed to hold her back from her climax.

  “I need you to stand, sweetheart.” The vibrator had disappeared from Cal’s right hand. He pushed her very slowly off his lap, holding on until she could stand on her own. When she did, he stroked her hair, then her shoulders, down her arms, and past the cuffs to her fingers.

  “Lean forward,” he said.

  Her hair fell on either side of her head, blocking her view but not the sound of him unzipping and the crinkle of a condom package. Thank God. He was going to fuck her.

  He nudged her feet apart, bent his knees and lined up his cock. She was so ready for him it wasn’t funny. He was fully inside with just a small ache to remind her last night had been the first time in weeks.

  He held her hands against her belly. Then she heard the whine of the vibrator and she reflexively clenched against the solid length of his cock. She desperately wanted the damned thing on her clit, but Cal had been pretty clever in his efforts to keep her from coming.

  The vibrator touched her right where his cock was pistoning in and out, but with nothing on her G-spot or clit, it was hard to make it up that hill. Slowly, though, she could feel the vibrator move up—almost there—closer to her clit, nearly there. Right…just another inch…there.

  Everything coalesced into a gigantic orgasm. Her nipples, his cock, her clit, the vibrator, even the tender way he held onto her hands. It was like a mammoth clockwork mechanism had tick-tick-ticked to the top of the hour and then caused the world to explode.

  Sara pulsed and shook with the force of her climax. Cal’s chest, still clothed with the fine white shirting, pressed against her spine. When her head flew up, he bit down on her shoulder, near her neck. His left hand grabbed her far tit, trapping the near one under his wrist. She just kept coming. His body tensed, shook, pressed up again and again, until a final hard push signaled his own orgasm.

  Then it was done and she could barely stand. Cal lifted her and placed her on the bed. He was gone a second, then returned to gently remove the nipple clamps. He soothed the puffy, hot flesh with his mouth and tongue, firing her nerve endings but easing the ache. He went away again—she was losing track of time—then he climbed onto the bed with her, curving her so her chest was pressed against his.

  Sara tried to keep her eyes open, but she just couldn’t manage it.

  CHAPTER 8

  When Sara fell asleep, Cal knew nothing had been solved or decided on the sleeping together issue. Just for a moment, though, he felt as though he’d won. After all, here she was, asleep in his arms, in a bed.

  Okay, on a bed. A four-poster bed in a dungeon that had belonged to his uncle. Cal could see how this wasn’t perfect. The elaborate burgundy damask bedspread was scratchy against his arm and the pillows too thin and hard to be comfortable. He wanted to be in the master bedroom. That, at least, felt like his bed. This felt like set decoration for Verdi’s Otello. All it needed was to be at an angle so the audience could watch as Desdemona died.

  Cal’s arms tightened instinctively around Sara. He’d enjoyed the scene mostly because he’d enjoyed watching her arousal rising until she could almost—but not quite—have an orgasm. He wanted to get those physicals past them so they could chuck the condoms. That was one of his goals. Another was to have sex—regular, vanilla sex—in his own bed. What better incentive than multiple orgasms to encourage Sara to sleep with him?

  As if he’d spoken that thought, she stirred and opened her eyes. She had the prettiest blue eyes. They made him think of Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony. The Shepherd’s Song.

  “Hi.” Her sweet smile merged with the music in his brain.

  He kissed her. “Hi.”

  Her smiled faded a little. “We should probably go to bed.”

  Cal swallowed. “Okay.” He couldn’t let go of her, not yet. “I— Just give me a minute, okay?” He felt her nod when he tucked his face into the curve of her neck. She smelled of her scent mingled with some wisps of arousal left over from the sex. And already he wanted more. More of her, more sex, more opportunities to take her and bind her to him.

  That contract… In theory it meant he already had a bond with Sara. Cal was discovering that the contract kept them apart as much as it brought them together. Before, they’d been roommates and nothing else. Now they were roommates with kinky sex privileges.

  What if he wanted a real relationship with Sara? The contract didn’t permit that.

  He needed to talk to Mac.

  ***

  Mac put down the Supreme Court brief he was reading and went to open the front door. Cal stood there. He had that look first-time visitors to Mac’s house often got. Stunned. Impressed. Slightly alarmed. Mac stood to one side so Cal could enter.

  “This is quite the house.”

  “Come into the kitchen. I was just going to make a pot of tea.” Mac glanced over his shoulder to see if Cal was following him. People often stopped dead in the front lobby, unable to tear themselves from the view over the Potomac River. Cal must not be that interested, though, because he was just a step behind Mac.

  Mac filled the kettle and started it heating. “What brings you out here on a Sunday?”

  “Sara, of co
urse.”

  Mac smiled to himself. “The new Dom’s disease. Being driven crazy by your sub?”

  Cal sat on one of the stools pulled up to the island. “I think it’s the contract she had with Uncle Bruno that’s driving me crazy.”

  “How so? Generally speaking contracts help people to negotiate and nail down what they want—and don’t want—in a Dom/sub relationship.”

  Cal grimaced. “You have to admit, this is hardly a case of ‘speaking generally.’ Bruno and Sara’s arrangement seemed bizarrely bloodless, if that’s not too unfortunate a turn of phrase.”

  “No, it’s fine.” Mac got out a larger teapot and some loose Ceylon he was particularly pleased with. The ritual of making tea relaxed him. Cal’s tension was infecting Mac’s usual Sunday tranquility.

  Cal tapped out a silent rhythm on the countertop. “I need your help.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  Cal seemed to notice what his fingers were doing. “Oh, that reminds me. I need a lesson in impact play. I don’t want the first thing I hit with something to be Sara’s ass.”

  “No problem. We can go up to my—”

  “Dungeon? Do all you guys have medieval torture chambers in your bachelor digs?”

  Mac looked around his sleek, modernist kitchen that barely looked like a kitchen. “No.” He laughed. “Bruno was a bit old-school about it all. He also had a lot more money to pour into making his into a fantasy English manor house. Is it not to your taste? You can always redecorate.”

  Cal lit up again. “Right—that’s another thing I needed to remember. I have to get rid of the cage.”

  Interesting. “I got the impression the cage was an important aspect of Bruno and Sara’s uh, play.”

  “I don’t know. All I know is that she goes white as a sheet when she talks about it. It terrifies her.”

  “Cal,” Mac said in a low, soft tone. “You’re new at all this. That’s not a criticism, just an observation. Sara’s a complicated woman. Move the cage, but don’t get rid of it. Stick it in the garage and tell people you might get a dog.”

  The younger man frowned. “I don’t understand the discipline side of BDSM. What does the Dom get out of it? For that matter, what’s the benefit for the sub?”