Ruled

by Angel Payne

  And fly.

  No scrambling for the evidence to the conclusion. That shit jutted straight out from him, gleaming and erect, as he pushed the bit back between his kitten’s luscious lips. With a groan, he watched as more of her saliva coated him, a shimmering bath over everything from balls to crown. He worked the juice up and down the red length, hissing as veins popped against his skin like a relief map from the land of turned-way-the-fuck-on. Still pumping, he paced back to the space behind her, frantic in his quest to use his next toy…

  Waiting in his pocket, where he’d been stowing it since this afternoon.

  Where it had been taunting him mercilessly through the hours, preparing for this consummate moment.

  “Who’s ready to see this girl truly become my kitten?”

  A round of approving hums answered from the darkness beyond the stage. They swelled as he pulled the length of tapered metal out of his pocket—its wider end embellished with a length of virginal white cat fur. Immediately, he swiped the glass along his cock. Twirled it and then sent it back the same direction. When he was done, the two and a half inches of stylized metal were shiny, wet…and ready to meet the tight recesses of his subbie’s hot body.

  Now for the fun part.

  Preparing her too.

  He started by sweeping a spread hand down the pinkened slope of her back. As he expected, her skin was still striped with heat from the flogger but knotted with trembling tension. She watched, along with everyone else, as he readied the anal plug with his unique flourish. She knew what was coming next.

  She knew—and wasn’t happy about it.

  Sure enough, he reached beneath the center flaps of her shorts, sliding a probing finger toward the rosette in her ass, and met a resistant pucker.

  “Kitten.” He modulated the word with gentle rebuke. “You know how this goes…”

  “Relax, girl.” The British Dom sent some aid for his argument. “Fighting only makes it worse.”

  But Tracy did just that, shoulders bunching as she blatantly resisted the urge to wield a full glare at the bloke. A moment before the temptation took over, another voice called out.

  “You’re doing so well, kitten.”

  Then another.

  “Better than that. She’s fucking gorgeous.”

  “Such a pretty, perfect thing.”

  “Magnificent.”

  Her body rolled as she pulled in a long breath. As she released it, everything softened for him. Not by a lot…but by enough. Franz angled his head toward the darkness, dipping a nod of gratitude to the supporters. Amazing, how a few words of praise went such a long way. If the whole world adopted such an outlook, they’d be retraining everyone on the team to harvest corn or herd goats instead of close-quarters battle and fast-roping into nests of hostiles.

  Or wondering how the hell they’d gone through so much life before doing something like this.

  Reveling in how it felt to peel back latex shorts, exposing their submissive’s silken ass to a room full of growling admirers.

  “Bastard,” one of those devotees said, laughing it out.

  “Fucking bastard,” another interjected, also chuckling.

  “Sure you don’t want to bury your cock in that flower instead, man?” the ultra-low bass added to the argument.

  To that, Franz swung back a meaningful look. You have no damn idea, my friend.

  Really…the guy didn’t. Franz wasn’t even sure he’d steeled himself well enough for the sight, proved by his clenching fingers into the silky spheres of her ass before baring the crimson bloom at their center. Just beholding that sweet fissure made his dick seep new milk, joining the juice he hadn’t spread on the plug yet, dripping into her hole like erotic nectar.

  “Goddamn.” His grate hit the air a second before he touched the plug to her anus. She writhed, and the force of it rocketed through the crowd. “Relax, kitten.” He twisted the taper, pushing it past the sensitive ring at her entrance. “Breathe deep. Push back, and then accept it in. This is going to happen. Don’t fight me.”

  “Oh, pssshhh,” came the Domina’s dour scold. “Let her fight. I love a good fight.”

  “No,” the Brit argued. “Just give it to her direct, mate. You’ve got enough lube for that pretty and two more.”

  “He’s right,” said the Dom who’d first called him a bastard. “Plunge it in now. Nice and deep, so we hear her scream again.”

  “She has a beautiful scream,” the Domina purred.

  Franz let them debate, focusing only his steady penetration into her tight, rosy hole. With every new territory he gained, his Tigress snarled and keened harder. Her thighs clenched and shivered. Her body quaked and jerked. And yes, oh yes, her pussy leaked and glistened.

  “Mmmmm.” He moaned the approval before slicking two fingers between her intimate lips. With the cream he gathered, he re-lubed her back rim. “Such a naughty, gorgeous little kitty. Feel how hot you are to grow this new tail.”

  “It’s almost in,” observed his British friend. “Damn, that’s hot.”

  “Damn right,” someone else snarled. “Giving me a few new ideas for my own little girl, man.”

  Franz took a long moment to stroke praising hands up and down her back, reconfirming he was still listening to her and vice versa. Though his subbie’s stunning head now lolled between her shoulders, everything from her neck down spoke a renewed vow of connection to him…fealty to him.

  He was her master.

  Her owner.

  Her humbled, spellbound Dom.

  “You like that,” he finally murmured, the words turning his throat into a cactus garden. “You like that a lot, don’t you, kitten? That soft fur, swishing. That hard spike, invading your ass…” He grabbed the base of the plug, determinedly twisting it. “Tell me, kitty. Good,” he crooned as she mewled in faltering abandon. “Now show me—and them. Swish your ass like the shameless little pussy you are.”

  The crowd gasped, sucking out all the air in the room. Surely that was the reason why he couldn’t find his own breath while watching her wave her incredible globes from side to side, hints of a smile appearing around her gag as everyone showered her with applause. Gods in every firmament. It had to be the most erotic thing Franz had ever witnessed, and he was the damn schmuck who’d orchestrated the whole thing.

  No. Not a schmuck.

  He was a fucking genius.

  And a textbook idiot.

  Now, every person in the theater wanted her. Even the sarcastic Domina. None of them kept it a secret. Franz knew the sounds of erections being adjusted or outright stroked—and, in at least five different corners, freed from zippers, as well. His subbie and her flawless ass, shaking that foofy tail in every damn direction, had affected the crowd so much, a bunch of them weren’t willing to wait for the after-party.

  His first response to that was a flash of irritation—replaced at once by a surge of possessive pride. Let every single one of them fantasize about fucking her. Only one Dominant in this room was going to put the exclamation point on this subbie’s ultimate lesson.

  Right. Now.

  The resolve was a forest fire in his mind—and torturing pressure up his cock. It was the fever in his fingers, digging a packet from his pocket, and the frenzied tear of his teeth through the foil. It was the feeling of her body tremoring beneath him, as he lined his erection up with her cleft and his lips against her ear.

  “Showtime, kitten.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  He didn’t order her to scream this time.

  He got a scream anyway.

  Emanating from everywhere yet nowhere; full of white heat but black ice; a sound of abject confusion but ultimate clarity…

  It was everything.

  He was everything.

  Leveling her senses. Demolishing her resistance. Liquefying her limbs.

  Destroying her.

  Delivering her.

  Into a fear so consuming, she could only surrender to it—and then fly through it. On
the other side, she burst into a world where everything in the room was clearer. People were kissing, touching, discovering…inspired by her. They moved together, succumbing to their passion…because of John and her. They opened their desires and needs and bodies…because of what he’d demanded from her first.

  Lusts swirled on the air, seductive as incense. Sighs broke those snake charmer patterns, more edicts for action instead of tantalization.

  As her Sir thrust his hot length into her welcoming channel, other Doms did the same thing to their submissives.

  They were beautiful.

  Bodies twining. Moans growing. Skin smacking. Arousals climbing.

  They were perfect.

  Whispers exchanged. Orders growled. Cries released.

  Exclamations of surrender…

  Taking her higher.

  So much higher.

  Into a white-silver apex of heat and hunger, nakedness and wantonness, honesty and audacity, she wondered if the “stage” in this place even mattered anymore…

  Because her fear sure as hell didn’t.

  It had fallen away. Far behind the barricades. In this new freedom, there were no worries about right or wrong, embarrassment or errors, what was “trending right” or “falling flat.” There was only the rightness of feeling. Of accepting. Of taking more and more of him in, as his lunges grew longer, harder…

  Then even longer.

  Even harder.

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  “That’s right, kitty cat. Let it all out. Scream about it. No judgments here. Only pleasure. All the pleasure. Take it, kitten. Take me, my beauty.”

  “Mmmm. Mmmm!”

  “Yes. Yes. As loud as you want.” A deep chuckle—bastard—as he reached fingers under, ripping the X’s off her nipples. “Maybe even like that.”

  “Unnnhhh.”

  “Just wait, pretty one. Just wait.”

  “Fuh you.”

  “I prefer fucking you right now, darling pussy.”

  “Mmmmm.” And she was really back to that? The mindless moaning? What the hell? But she couldn’t latch on to anything else to be, as the good part of “just wait” finally came. After the initial rush of blood back to the tips of her breasts, both mounds became sensitive, sizzling balls of electricity. With every new plunge of Franz’s cock, her nipples slid along the leather pad—and then burst into brilliant spheres of sensation. She even wondered if she’d look down and see they resembled a pair of those purple plasma balls.

  If so, then they were all about sharing the magic too.

  Everything from her nipples to her knees was a network of light, lust, longing, need…and all of it got worse with every lunge her Dom took into her body. But Franz didn’t stop. Her clenching limbs and pulsing pussy only compelled him to conquer her more. Deeper and deeper he fucked, inspiring the other Doms to do the same, until all over the room, growls of discipline were laced with moans of arousal…and juicy sounds of rising passions.

  “That’s it, girl. Take me deep.”

  “Pinch your nipples while I do this. Such a good little querida.”

  “Yes, boy. You may put your dick into your goddess’s grotto.”

  “Your cunt is dripping for me, baby. Spread your legs; show me more.”

  “You enjoy my cock in your ass, angel? Good, because I’m going to come there.”

  It was so much.

  Too much.

  Freedom stripping her breath away.

  A wash of joy, of inhibitions gone.

  A completion she had to have. A flight starting low in her belly, firing sparks and heat and need, before swirling around the rocket of her ultimate pleasure…the final explosion of skin, magic, friction, fantasy, combustion…

  Explosion.

  She strained, head snapping back, as the cosmic force of it took her.

  She screamed, lost to raw feeling, as it convulsed through her.

  She surrendered, rocked to her core and taken to the stars, as John slammed into her and then froze, roaring with the force of his own blistering release. She shuddered, feeling the fire of his come even through the condom…feeling the intimacy of his lips on her neck, even in a room full of strangers. No. Not strangers. She knew none of their names or faces or even what they liked on their pizza, but they’d made room in their schedules, their lives, and even parts of their hearts for a completely faceless woman tonight. They’d shown up to lend support but done so much more, sharing their intimate selves with her…and then consummating one of the most beautiful parts of their humanity with her too.

  She was humbled. Moved. And yeah, even floored to the point of having a punch-drunk silly moment, there in the confines of her sleek kitty mask.

  “Imagining an audience in its underwear” just got a crazy new lens filter.

  Talk about truth being way stranger than the coffee mug inspiration.

  Stranger. And better.

  If only…

  So many things in her world hadn’t also gotten brand-new filters.

  If only she wasn’t so obsessed with gazing through all those new lenses now…

  Especially the one labeled John Keoni Franzen.

  He moved like the same guy, his actions defined by quiet mastery as he pulled out, zipped up, and then discreetly disposed of the condom. He acted the same too, handling her like a dew drop while unbuckling her restraints, pulling out the bit, and gathering her close to his sweat-drenched chest. His heart throbbed with the same powerful rhythm, pounding at her ear even through his soaked T-shirt, confirming the impact of their passion on his own system.

  But none of it was the same.

  He wasn’t the same.

  He was more now.

  So much more.

  The hero daring enough to make this whole night happen for her. The Dom confident enough to keep pushing her through it. But the lover tender enough to cradle her tight now, murmuring soft encouragement, as she shook from the mental impact of processing all of it.

  The man, vigilant and bold and beautiful and strong, who’d come to touch so much of her soul…and rule so much of her heart.

  Who was so dangerously close to claiming even more.

  No.

  Wasn’t going to happen.

  Couldn’t happen.

  If he took anything more than what he’d demanded tonight, there would be bloodletting in having to let him go tomorrow. Or the next day. Perhaps the next. Did it matter? There were cosmic scissors in their future, plain and simple. Disgusting jaws that, in one mighty snip, would send her back to DC and John back to the post-military relaxation he’d earned.

  Shockingly, she managed to hold on to that resolve as Franzen rose, still clutching her close, and strode off the stage. Even in the shadows and cold beyond the floodlights, she was adamant about accepting his warmth and tenderness but nothing more. She even managed a lopsided grin when he carried her through another door, down a short hall with more leather-lined walls, and into the intimacy of—gasp—a normal bedroom. Well, at least what appeared normal. Who knew what kinds of things were stored in the drawers beneath the four-poster bed or in the huge chest against the wall? For that matter, four-poster bed. Hello, hidden bondage rig points?

  She could only hope.

  But even that thought was best tucked into another mental drawer, relinquished in the name of savoring only this moment. Maintaining this soft smile, even as John set her down on the cushy, ivory coverlet and then slowly peeled away the hood. He gazed at her for a long moment, pushing aside stray hairs his action had yanked free, before moving in to kiss her with lingering reverence.

  Accept nothing more than this.

  Believe nothing more than this.

  But crossing the Pacific in a rowboat was beginning to seem easier.

  Treasure the moment.

  Only the moment.

  Even as he finished the kiss and then guided her to turn over, stomach down, on the bed.

  Even as he stretched his massive body
alongside hers, skating fingers like feathers down the curve of her body, until they brushed along the furry extension still lifting from her backside.

  When he pulled the plug all the way free, an unthinking moan erupted up her throat.

  “You okay?” His query was just as careful as his touch. He rested his head in the crook of his elbow, watching her with a stare that missed nothing.

  Tracy nodded. Quirked up one corner of her mouth. “Fine…Sir. It just…”

  “Just what?”

  “It feels…empty now.”

  His lopsided smirk copied hers. “If that’s a bad thing, popoki, I can certainly fix the issue.”

  “That so?” Her own voice wavered a little. Maybe a lot. After the intensity of what they’d just been through, could she handle even more new sexual territory now?

  She only knew she wanted to find out.

  With him.

  Yeah, despite five kinds of anxiety and twice as many fears—maybe even because of them—she set her chin, met his gaze, cleared her throat, and said, “What…do I need to do?”

  Franzen’s nostrils flared. He continued to watch her, not even blinking, as he tossed the anal plug to the floor. At once, he returned his hand to the crevice of her ass. “Not a damn thing you don’t want to.” He reached in, softly stroking the rim of her hole, while going on, “But if you really want my cock here, roll to your side so I can get you ready.”

  “What if I already am ready?” She bantered it to ease her tension while positioning her body as he asked. Franz obliged with a soft laugh, though at the same time, he slid out a drawer in the headboard where a small bottle of lube was hidden.

  “Wicked wahine.” His tone was puma stealthy as he shoved aside the panels of her shorts, baring her backside. But his fingers…oh hell, his fingers were like cobras dancing on a snake charmer’s song, swirling and teasing at the sensitive rim of her naughty hole. “We’ll see about that. Breathe, kitten.”

  She’d been trying to do just that—but wondering about that lube was a mental path she hadn’t anticipated. But why? They were still officially inside his kink club; it made complete sense—but even if it did, had he used that stuff on others? And if he had—because he probably had—why should it matter to her? And why should she care if there was plenty of liquid left in the bottle too? Why should she admit that it ached to think of him using that stuff on the submissives who’d be in here with him after tonight?