Knight Nostalgia

by Joey W. Hill

  Another deep breath, and back to the box. Next was a silver-coated plug with a flared base that looked like an open rose. There was a small tube of lube to go with it. Ben’s gift, because helping a woman discover just how erogenous an area the ass could be was his special gift.

  The plug was a little larger than the one Jon sometimes inserted into her, so Rachel applied the lube generously before attempting to seat it. Once again thinking of her audience, and not allowing herself to be self-conscious, she turned away from the mirror, presenting her backside to view. One knee was slightly bent, her foot going up on the toes as she half-twisted her torso to begin to insert the plug.

  She panicked a little, as at first she was too tight. Her arousal had some tension to it. Not necessarily the bad kind of tension. Just the “I’m going on a roller coaster that goes three hundred feet in the air and will come screaming straight back down” kind. An experience that combined excitement and terror into one adrenaline spike, because of what couldn’t be controlled. And these five men were controlled by no one.

  Rachel took a few more breaths. Jon told her never to push. Always ease. It would go. She undulated her hips, tossed her hair back, and caught her lip in her teeth as she focused, focused…there. It made it through the first circle of muscles, and then the next, with only a bit of burning and discomfort, a fullness that was unsettling but not unpleasant.

  She had to brace herself on the ledge at the additional wave of lust that suffused her as she seated the plug deep. She adjusted it to ease some of the burning, to relax her muscles further, and she bit down on her lip again. Goddess, she wanted to keep moving it, as her pussy reacted with a contraction, more arousal trickling down her thigh. But she knew that wasn’t permitted. Again, Master’s privilege.

  Her fingers were shaking as she plucked out the next item. Just looking at it sent an additional spasm through her sex. From Lucas, the male who loved eating pussy better than anything in life. Jon’s description, but it had been echoed in various ways by the others during their social gatherings. Barbecues at Matt’s place, dinners at Lucas and Cass’s. Football games at Dana and Peter’s.

  It looked like a large, thin coin, but according to the note with it, it folded over the clit and was pinched into place, a soft, moldable metal.

  She experimented and found that was the case, though her breath became even more shallow as she used the pressure of her fingers and made it conform to her shape. Her clit throbbed like a small heartbeat in its hold.

  One more gift. A pair of glossy black heels with a silver buckled strap to go around the ankles, like a cuff. The soles were sapphire blue. She was glad they weren’t needle thin stilettos, because she’d likely break her neck on the office carpet, but they were at least three inches. With surprise, she realized they had to be from Matt, because she was certain the enamel box was from Jon.

  She sat back on the edge of the couch to put on the shoes, and suppressed a moan at the stimulation of the other three items, which expanded into a whole new wave of sensations when she bent to fasten the buckles on the ankle straps.

  She rose, and thought again of her audience, what she could give them. Moving back to the mirror, she re-checked the positioning of the nipple clamps, and slid her fingers over the clit shield, caressing her labia briefly before she twisted around, lifting her backside toward the mirror to verify the positioning of the plug. Then she ran her fingers through her hair, tipping her head back. It was powerful, she realized. Being a purely sensual creature, able to immerse herself in her own eroticism, heightened by the voyeurism of five powerful men.

  When she left the room, she walked with heightened awareness of her body’s movements. The sway of her hips, quiver of her breasts, the brush of her hair between her shoulder blades. Her pussy, ass and nipples throbbed from the stimulation of the men’s gifts, and the fluttering silk of the open robe made it even more torturous. Every caress of her skin with the fabric increased the impact of the toys, and what it all meant.

  She’d taken off her clothes, put on the toys and robe. Now she walked in high heels across the cream and beige patterned carpet toward the board room where five Masters waited. Four she would serve in whatever way her Master allowed, because he knew the idea of serving them under his command excited her.

  The thought stirred things deep down in her soul she’d never been allowed to consider okay, let alone expect to give the man she loved pleasure. Something that wouldn’t harm the love they bore for one another, but would only be another adventure they explored together.

  Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Rachel. Just because he’s okay lending you out like the bitch in heat that you are, doesn’t make it right.

  The exorcist-style injection of venom into her brain brought her to a full stop, her body jerking in a sudden, involuntary wave of dismay. The disruptive force poisoned the clean sensuality she’d been experiencing. Ruined it.

  No. No, it didn’t. She clenched her fists, closed her eyes, took a deep breath. Another. She’d been worried this would happen. Much more worried than she’d allowed herself to know or reveal, even to Jon. But she thought back to that day, looking at Kyle’s photo book. She wasn’t alone with these thoughts. She not only had Jon’s love, she had her own strength.

  Though the voice was a warping in her subconscious, putting Cole’s voice on old insecurities and wounds, she gave him her answer.

  “Just because you feel that way, doesn’t make you right. I know what love is. You made me forget. No. I allowed you to make me forget. I always knew what it was, in my heart. Limitless, undefined, between the hearts and souls of those who feel it. Jon opened up that room, let it free. Let me fly. You’ve no power over me. Not anymore. Go to hell.”

  She started to walk again, letting out another breath, letting it go. Though she felt the fiercely uttered words down to the soul, she quickened her step. When she set her gaze upon Jon, felt the rightness of it, their truth, things would steady.

  The door had been closed, though, and there was an envelope taped to it. Pausing, she saw Sweet Girl on the front, written in Jon’s hand. Pulling the envelope off the wood, she opened it and shook a satin black eye mask out in her hand.

  No instructions needed, though the back flap of the envelope said, “Knock when ready.”

  Her hand closed over the mask. She never refused a direct command, but for just a moment she struggled against the desire to open the door first, so she could put her eyes on him. Somehow, that would help validate what she’d just told her subconscious, put those ghosts back into the closet, help increase the strength of the lock on that door.

  If she truly needed that, she could do it. But instead, uncertain, but wanting to obey her Master, she put the mask into place so it was securely pressed against her face, blinding her. Her heartbeat accelerated again, and the creases of her palm felt slightly damp.

  She had so much going on in her head right now, but when she put the mask on, some of it became more still. She was really going to do this. But was she ready? Would those ghosts break out, would her emotions overcome her, would she ruin this…

  Stop it, Rachel. Knock, damn it.

  She knocked, stepped back. Waited. Footsteps and, when the door opened, she inhaled Jon’s scent, felt his warmth. She was right. Things steadied, her heartbeat leveling out as he clasped her hand.

  “Fucking gorgeous,” he murmured. “Come with me.”

  He guided her over the threshold, and brought her to a halt. Things had fallen silent, but she could feel the presence of the others, imagine them arrayed around the table. She could still hear Dana’s breathing, strained, little catches, and the implication of that sent more heat to Rachel’s core. She couldn’t tell where Dana was, but the noise seemed central to the room.

  Which meant Dana was likely on the board room table. On display. Which set off a whole new confusing set of feelings.

  Jon’s hand tightened on hers, drawing her attention. “You wanted to know why I didn’t give this
to you on our first anniversary as planned. Would you like to know the answer to that now?”

  She nodded, then remembered. If any setting could scream “official Dom/sub behavior required,” it would be this one. “Yes, Master.”

  “Since we’ve been married, we’ve worked through a lot of things as Master and sub.” He touched her chin, thumb sliding over her lips. “You’ve had a long, hard road, Rachel.”

  “I’m sorry for that, Master.”

  “See, right there,” he said quietly. “You’ve gotten better, but you still apologize for things that are not yours to apologize for. Your strength has astounded me, the way you discover yourself more and more every day.

  “The night I took you to Progeny, and my brothers gave you pleasure, that memory was tainted for you by Cole’s appearance. It was supposed to be a moment where you could let go of the past, embrace the future and your place in our family.”

  “It did that,” she said earnestly, moved. “No matter what he did that night.”

  “Yes and no. It was a good milestone for us, but a difficult one. I wanted you to have the night you should have had with us. A night that takes any thoughts you have, that it’s somehow wrong to want what you want, and gets rid of them, once and for all. We’re giving you this fantasy because that’s how we take care of what is ours.”

  She swallowed. She thought she’d had a lot of things going on in her head. In Jon’s voice, it was obvious she wasn’t the only one carrying around a lot of feelings about things tonight.

  “I want you to understand what a gift you’ve given me, Rachel,” he continued, keeping that fierce note. “Letting me take that journey with you. Knowing I’m the man you’ve chosen to be at your side as you heal, become more confident? It’s treasure. When we reach the end of tonight, I hope you’ll never question that again. But even if you do, it changes nothing. I hope you’ll understand that, too.”

  Her brow furrowed, but he shifted the topic. “Now, truth. Is what we have planned tonight something you want? Something you will enjoy? Something you’ve fantasized about? I want you to set everything else aside, any worries or fears you have, think it through, and then answer me truthfully.”

  As he spoke, he’d moved behind her. The mask loosened, fell away, and she was looking at what was directly in her line of sight.

  Dana was on the table, in the center. She was on her hands and knees, draped over a padded stool that supported her mid-section. She’d been given the same gifts that Rachel had been—plug, nipple clamps, clitoral shield and sexy heels—though the soles of Dana’s shoes were mint green and the buckles were gold, and the jewels and beads on her clamps matched. She wore Peter’s collar, a wide strap with a waterfall of decorative chains and a St. Christopher’s medal pendant. She also had a ball gag stretching her mouth, the straps digging into her sculpted cheeks and buckled around the back of her head. Which was up, her chin pointed forward, a pose likely demanded by her Master. She was on display, a centerpiece.

  Since Dana was blind, there was no need for a blindfold, so her Master had the pleasure of knowing her other senses were heightened, while he could still see the reactions in her pale green eyes. Her arousal was also communicated from the slight twitching of her hips, the quiver of her small breasts, a result of the breathy sounds escaping around the gag.

  In her current position, Rachel was seeing Dana’s profile, but if she went to the end of the table, she would be able to see the glistening, flushed lips of Dana’s sex, the redness from the paddling, and likely the damp tracks of arousal that had already been coaxed from her. It made Rachel wonder what else they’d been doing to her before she arrived, or if being put on display like this after the spanking, decorated with the toys, had been enough.

  “Is she something you want, Rachel?”

  “Yes,” she said, without hesitation. Eagerly. She pressed back into the touch of his hands, his body against hers.

  Wetting her lips, she let her gaze steal around the rest of the room. The men had fallen silent as she appeared, and she could feel all their eyes on her, though she didn’t meet any of them. Not just because they were Doms, but because she was too overwhelmed. They were all here. She’d known they would be, but actually seeing them was an impact on the senses almost more potent than the stimulation of the toys.

  Walking vibrators, with a fifty-yard range. Dana had made that comment at Rachel’s bridal shower, sending all of them into peals of laughter. But it was the Goddess’s honest truth.

  In their suits and ties, they were devastating to female senses. Casual wear was a different but no less pleasurable experience. Since at the moment all the men were standing at various places in the board room, her lowered gaze provided her the treat of a lot of well-fitted denim. Dark blue, stressed, faded to almost gray, black.

  As she raised her gaze from the terrain of the dark blue jeans, she saw Peter’s rock band T-shirt had a workout, stretching over his massive shoulders and biceps.

  Ben wore a hunter green T-shirt over the faded jeans. The shirt had a bar logo that included shamrocks and dragons. Ben had the body of a street fighter, a lot of layered, compact muscle, and a resting tension that made him seem eternally alert. Which made his humor and propensity for pranks an odd contrast, but it worked for him.

  It was rare that she saw Matt in jeans, but the man wore them well, the black denim matched by a short-sleeved black button down loose over them. While no one had Peter’s mass, Matt was the closest, with broad shoulders, wide chest, and a musculature that was Brad Pitt Troy territory. Lucas wore the stressed jeans and a polo shirt embroidered with a bike marathon logo over the right pectoral. A devoted bike enthusiast, he had the lean, fit body to match.

  And Jon. When he turned her to face him, she saw he had on a pair of belted black jeans, the blue dress shirt tucked into them bringing out the vivid color of his eyes. It was long sleeved, but he had the sleeves rolled up, embellishing the look of his strong forearms.

  His were the eyes she could meet, needed to meet. When she did, he gave her a stern look and a quiet reminder. “Time to begin. Remember your instructions, Rachel.”

  Walk around the room. Goddess give her strength. She left the threshold and moved into the space.

  Other than the men themselves and of course Dana, what captured a person’s attention was their board room table. It was new, since they’d moved back to fully renovated New Orleans offices after Katrina. It filled her with pride to know her husband had been the designer of the center piece to this room.

  The thick glass top had the shape of a lagoon, asymmetrical in a pleasing way. Decorative lines etched in the glass echoed those curves, like water that cut through the earth’s surface over time. The rounded ends of the table and slightly more narrow middle, reminded her of a woman’s curvy figure.

  A foot below the glass top was a parallel platform of polished wood whose shape matched the shape of the glass table, only about two thirds of the size, so it didn’t interfere with the knees of those pulled up to it. The dark red-brown wood with black streaks was rosewood. It was supported with a cross piece beneath. She knew that because Jon had told her about the design of the table when he’d taken her to see it, before the office re-opened.

  She’d learned about additional features—and why Jon was so involved in the design—from the other women. The etched grooves in the glass were functional as well as decorative. The glass could separate into six different pieces, smoothly sliding over each table leg to form side tables. If the executives needed to turn toward the multiple screens on the far wall for a video conference, such an option allowed them to shift their notes, tablets or laptops to that facing position. But that wasn’t what the women had wanted to tell her about.

  The rosewood base divided into two pieces at the narrow waist part of the shape. It would tent like a drawbridge, turn over and come back together, revealing that the base frame was more than support. It also served as a St. Andrews’ cross, with bronze fixture pieces at the
appropriate points for attaching chains, cuffs, etc. There were also additional tracks slotted into the thick wood platform, positioned above and below the crossing point of both beams, that permitted the attachment of a programmable arm. It could hold a variety of devices to pleasure a woman at any reasonable angle.

  While a woman was lying on the cross, the glass top could be brought back together with another press of a control button, so the men could continue whatever they were doing, while the pleasurably tormented woman was displayed beneath glass.

  Tonight, it simply looked like a table, but there were other options in the room she’d heard about that she didn’t doubt might be called into service. The thought of that added to the weakness of her knees. She noticed the table was covered with a large piece of black foam, about the thickness of her yoga mats. It was cut in the shape of the table surface, but slightly smaller, leaving about a foot of glass exposed along the perimeter. Seeing Dana’s hands and knees pressed into the cushioned support told her why it was there.

  One side of the room was a bank of windows. She recalled the windows were tinted so, though she saw a romantic postcard view of the lights of the New Orleans business district, and the markers on the Mississippi riverfront, no one could see into their room. Recessed lighting gave the room an intimate ambiance, though she expected it could be brightened to a more businesslike wattage when needed.

  Jon had also been involved in some of the feng shui elements of the room. A couple of their propagated Japanese maples were here, and a three-platform pedestal that bore a trinity of orchids, under which clever silver channels allowed a continuous flow of water to a basin. The sound was like the whisper of mist, the distant gurgle of a stream, rather than water falling from a faucet. The water moving from channel to channel relaxed and soothed, a meditative effect she might need to utilize a few times tonight, if Jon aroused her to the point of extreme agitation and then required her to hold back her release. A very probable certainty.