Knight Nostalgia

by Joey W. Hill

  “Fuck…” Dana’s soldier language tended to escape her in uncontrolled moments, and this was undoubtedly one of them.

  Though it was mesmerizing, Rachel wanted to know how the men were reacting. She found them as absorbed as she was.

  Matt had risen from the table, maybe to refill his glass, and he leaned his hips against the side bar, arms crossed, raptor gaze intent. Ben had that dangerous expression that made his green eyes glitter, his mouth set in a concentrated line. Lucas leaned back in his chair, a slow rock back and forth, as he watched Dana’s reaction. Jon was still as he held her close, but the grip of his arm told her he wouldn’t be letting her move away.

  They were totally into it, but there was a provocative detachment to it, she realized. When a man wanted a woman he didn’t have, there was an edginess to his attention, predator calculating prey strategy. This was the attention of men who knew what they were enjoying was theirs to enjoy however, whenever they wished.

  It was the attitude of conquerors, the best kind. She suspected when they were handling a business deal they demonstrated the same singular focus, knowing the battle was won before they even started, because they’d accept no lesser outcome.

  They might be merciless about acquisition, but everything after that point made a conquest feel blessed. Case in point. As Dana was sliding back down the hill to semi-sanity, Jon eased his hold enough to run his hands over Rachel’s hair and shoulders, down her arms. He turned her toward him, shifting his grip to clasp both her hands. As he did, he stepped back and gave her an appraising look.

  She wasn’t sure on her feet, and he noted that. Lifting her back onto the table, he bent to unbuckle the shoes. He stroked the area the wrapped straps had cuffed before he eased her back to her feet, holding onto her until he was sure of her balance.

  “Go to the sidebar and eat a couple deviled eggs, drink some water. When you’re steady enough, check and see that each man has what he wants, drink and food-wise. This was just the preliminaries. We’re about to start the game.”

  She wasn’t sure what he meant until she noted that Ben had picked up a deck of cards and passed them to Lucas. She felt a little faint. Just the preliminaries? Ben’s goal of pushing them far beyond the wear-out point might just be realized. And encouraged and supported by every man here.

  But she had to give them credit. They excelled at aftercare, and had diabolical ways of using it to start them up that ramp again, even when a woman thought she didn’t have it in her.

  Peter had eased Dana down to her side and taken his seat behind her. He’d brought her even closer to the edge in that curled up position, so he could stroke and murmur to her. She was facing toward Rachel, Peter’s arm around her waist, hand possessing her breast, his other hand tucked into her pussy from behind. Because his hand required her knees to be slightly apart, Rachel could see the glistening lengths of his fingers gliding in and out, gently, as she made little noises, a reaction to his stroking of those highly sensitive post-climactic tissues.

  Jon hadn’t been kidding. This night was far from over. Thank Goddess. And please, great Lady, help us survive it.

  The sidebar was full of snacks she’d only vaguely registered when she entered the room. She followed her Master’s direction, knowing it would be wise to refuel. She drank half a bottle of water and ate two of the deviled eggs she was sure had been made by Ben, since she’d never had a deviled egg so good. The man had culinary skills equal to the little old ladies in the Piggly Wiggly grocery store deli section. They could cook comfort food in ways five-star restaurants wished they could.

  As she ate, she watched the men interact in a whole different way than they had a few moments before. They were razzing one another about what game they were going to play, who had cheated the last time. This provoked an indignant response from the accused—Ben, of course.

  “It’s a waste of effort to cheat, because you guys suck at cards,” he retorted.

  “I think we should shake him down beforehand,” Lucas suggested. “Make sure he doesn’t have cards tucked in somewhere.”

  “Go for it, bicycle boy. I’ll take out what’s in my pants and bitch slap you with it.”

  “Notice how every conversation goes back to his dick?” Lucas queried.

  “It’s like the Washington Monument,” Ben said. “It’s so big it’s the center of attention, no matter where you are in DC.”

  Jeers and guffaws were followed by Lucas's dry response. “Well, with his brain being that small, it has to be proportionately balanced with another body part.”

  Peter hadn’t joined in on the male bonding ritual and, as amusing as it was to follow the byplay, Rachel’s attention was drawn back to what he was doing to Dana now.

  As she’d recalled earlier, there were hidden options to allow for BDSM play, when the room wasn’t being employed for K&A business. After he’d let Dana recover from her climax, Peter had used a remote control to lower a series of lines from behind a panel in the ceiling. He laid Dana on her back on the mat, positioning a lower profile cushion to support her back, which also arched her up in a pleasing way.

  Attaching the separated wrist cuffs to lines, he drew them up with a control, so her arms were out to her sides and lifted a few degrees above her. He did the same to her legs, spreading and lifting them, attaching an additional set of cuffs just above her knees and adding lines there so her lifted and slightly bent legs weren’t supported only by the ankle lines.

  Rachel swallowed, hard, as Peter matter-of-factly lubricated up a thick dildo. He put one hand on Dana’s mound, his fingers parting the lips of her sex to begin feeding it into that channel.

  “Lift up for me, Sergeant. Work it into you.”

  Dana complied, her lashes fluttering, eyes closing, an automatic reflex as she concentrated, trying her best to obey her Master. Peter helped, caressing her clit, teasing and pinching, to help her muscles loosen and ripple. Dana’s hips lifted and lowered, circled. As the dildo disappeared, inch by inch, Rachel could feel her own internal muscles contracting.

  She noticed the male banter had ceased, their attention back on Dana. Lucas held the card deck under one hand as he rested on his elbows, his gaze intent upon Dana’s stretched sex, since he sat on the same side of the table as Peter, and had a pretty close-up view.

  It was all the way in. Peter strapped it in place around Dana’s hips with a harness he cinched with a jerk, pulling a gasp from her.

  “Can you be good, or do we have to do another gag?” he demanded in a stern tone. “Before you say something smart, next time it will be a ring gag. I’ll replace those cushy rubber nipple clamps with the clovers, and let Ben go after your ass with Jon’s metal ruler.”

  Dana flinched. Rachel knew she both hated and loved the clover clamps. Hated the pain, but loved the rush. It would be a toss-up whether her friend would misbehave enough to win their punishment. As for that ruler, Rachel had vivid memories of it herself, enough to give her a shudder. Like Dana and the clover clamps, she had a love-hate relationship with it. She remembered when Jon had last used it on her, another one of those times she’d reverted and called herself stupid. He’d taken her right after, increasing the burn of those strikes on her ass as he thrust into her from behind.

  At Jon’s throat clearing, she realized she’d finished her eating and drinking and was merely standing, staring at Peter’s preparation of Dana. She was supposed to be checking on the men’s food and drink needs.

  “Rachel, that ruler is behind the bar,” Jon said evenly. “I thought I might need it tonight. Bring it to me.”

  Ah, hell. But she did it, moving behind the bar. As she bent to withdraw it, she dug her bare toes into the carpet, and had to clench her buttocks to hold in the plug. The weight of the chain falling forward tugged lightly on her nipples.

  The ruler was eighteen inches long. The strip of corkboard on the back didn’t completely cover the line of metal on either side of it, or the sharp corners of the implement Jon used for his dr
afting work…and other things.

  She brought it to him. Anticipating his command, she bowed her head. “On my knees or over the table, Master?”

  He caressed her hair, threading the strands through his fingers. “I think the other Masters would like to see you up on the table, down on your elbows, beautiful ass in the air. Legs parted to shoulder width.”

  “Yes, sir.” She had his hands at her waist to help her on the table, but then she turned and assumed the position he’d prescribed. Since Jon and she were at the opposite end from Matt, by turning her body perpendicular to him, her profile was visible to all of them.

  She was aware of Dana’s stillness, listening. Peter’s hand was on her abdomen, long fingers playing over her mound as her hips did that little twitch of motion again, a result of the dildo filling her, Rachel was sure. Along with the plug.

  “Three strikes will be sufficient.”

  The first was a stripe of fire that shot heat straight to her core. Rachel lifted her hips higher, that perverse request for more that made her think she was crazy. Jon picked up his drink, took a swallow. He was making her wait for the next one, because it gave the nerve endings time to rally. Which meant the next strike would be equally as painful—if not more so.

  It provoked a cry from her like the one that had split from Dana’s lips after Peter’s last paddle strike. She tightened her fingers together, absorbing the pain. One more. When it came, she bit back a shriek.

  Jon gave her a couple necessary seconds before he made another demand upon her. “Why were you punished, Rachel?”

  “Because I got caught up in what Peter was doing to Dana, rather than immediately checking on the other Masters’ needs when I finished eating and drinking.”

  “Correct.” Jon handed her down off the table and ran his hand over her sore bottom, giving it a little pat. “Go to it. I’ll leave the ruler here in case I need it again. But I won’t, will I?”

  “No, sir.” When he cupped her breast and pinched a nipple, she caught her bottom lip in her teeth, a hum in her throat. Amazingly, a tiny trickle of response slid over her labia. They had their ways of taking a woman up again when she thought it would take much longer.

  “So why are you still here?”

  He was teasing her again. When he nudged her into motion, a tiny smile bloomed inside her fluttering heart. He knew how to balance the darker places a punishment could take her, reminding her it wasn’t because she’d disappointed him. It was because she’d given him the opportunity to enjoy the punishment, knowing it would make her hot and bothered like this again. The same way that Peter putting the dildo inside Dana and threatening her with the ring gag had her.

  She jerked into motion, going to the head of the table to start with Matt. His glass was empty. “What can I get you, sir?” she asked.

  The CEO of Kensington gave her an appraising look that lingered on her mouth and flushed cheeks before he ran his knuckles along her arm, an affectionate touch that had that distracting possessiveness all the men exercised toward them.

  “Whiskey,” he said.

  It was a cue, and one she followed, going to each man rather than calling across the table. She’d correctly realized that each would take the opportunity to touch her in some way. Peter a quick tug on the chain between the nipple clamps, Lucas a brush of her upper thigh, his long fingers caressing her close to her pussy. Ben curving his hand around her ass for a nice fondling squeeze, hard enough to make her flinch, because of the ruler strikes. He watched her reaction with heavy-lidded green eyes as he gave her his drink order.

  As for her own man, Jon brought her down for a kiss. “I’m very proud of you,” he said quietly, making her glow. “And I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

  Not proud, but definitely…content. In her element. She poured and brought the men their drinks, hoping she hadn’t been so distracted she’d missed anything. She brought Peter a water to give to Dana in small sips as he played with the dildo between her legs, making her writhe with the movement.

  “Rachel, I asked for ice in this,” Ben said.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” She hurried to him to take the drink. When she came back with the proper preparation, Ben closed his hand over her wrist.

  “Need another reminder to help you focus, darlin’,” he said. He tossed a look at Jon. “What’s that yoga pose of hers that gets you so revved up?”

  “All of them,” Jon replied. “But I’d advise Down Dog for your purposes.”

  “Since we all know doggie style is your favorite,” Lucas put in.

  Ben flashed a grin, then he looked at Rachel. “You heard him.” There was a look in his eye, despite the teasing, that suggested she better obey, and quickly.

  She did, hands on the floor, thighs stretched to the limit, ass lifted, legs hip-width apart. Ben’s fingers gripped the plug in her backside and manipulated it, making her legs tremble. She was aware of a creak as a chair moved and knew Jon had come closer, likely to ensure she didn’t topple. She wasn’t worried. No one here would let her fall. She was more nervous about…

  Whap!

  Hellfire, they were right. Ben’s barehanded strike had the impact of a paddle, and it made the ruler strikes burn. From the way he’d looked at her when she’d flinched before, she didn’t wonder that he’d decided on this for her punishment. Ben was the biggest sadist of the group. She sucked in a breath but held still as he struck again, making both buttocks wobble.

  “Fuck, that’s hot,” Lucas murmured. “Can she put her ankles behind her head?”

  “She can,” Jon said. “She’s very flexible.”

  While she should have noticed it earlier, Rachel suddenly realized another key difference in the evening. The men normally didn’t curse in front of the women. It was one of Matt’s pretty unbreakable rules. Apparently, an all-male poker night had a different set of rules, but she suspected it was calculated. The more relaxed use of rough male language emphasized the provocative nature of her and Dana’s role here. Submissives who, for tonight, were sex slaves.

  Talk about hot.

  Ben’s hand caressed the stinging area, his thumb sliding between her legs to press into her pussy enough to have her gasping again. He had unexpectedly rough, thick fingers.

  “Getting nice and wet again,” Ben growled. “We need to be recording this tonight, so Jon could cut out all our bullshit and make one continuous tape of their reactions. A hell of a background soundtrack to fuck any of your ladies against later. Your milky skin makes a pretty flush, Rachel. Brace yourself, because it’s going to get redder.”

  He did it five more times, and her fingers were digging into the floor when he was done, her short cries impossible to bite back.

  “Good girl.” His strong hands were at her waist as he rose from his chair and guided her back to a standing position. As he did, he held her back against him, dropping an oddly tender kiss on her head before he released her and looked over at Peter. A passing of the baton, she realized a second later.

  “I also asked you to refill the peanut bowl,” Peter said casually.

  Oh, crap. He had. While logically Rachel knew they were intentionally destroying her concentration, hoping she’d mess up like that, she still felt a service sub’s chagrin that she hadn’t met expectations. She refilled the peanut bowl while the men returned to the discussion of the game. Until she put the bowl near Peter and delivered herself to his side for reproof without being asked.

  While they hadn’t said she could, she couldn’t keep herself from laying a hand on Dana’s shoulder, her thumb sweeping her nape. When Peter lifted his brow, Rachel returned her hands to her sides, but he shook his head.

  “Laced behind your neck.”

  She wasn’t sure if that was in reaction to her touching Dana, but she obeyed. Turning his chair toward her, Peter set his big hands to her waist and drew her in between his knees. He was just above eye level with her breasts and, since Peter was “tit-obsessed,” according to Dana, Rachel realized why he’d
wanted her hands out of the way.

  “Think these clamps need to be tightened just a bit, to help you pay better attention,” Peter said.

  Yeah, like that would really help her focus. But she winced as he tightened the screws. It started to hurt, or maybe she was just imagining how much it could hurt, when her hand pulled free in involuntary defense and landed on his forearm.

  Peter stopped, one set of fingers on the screw, the other holding her nipple in a capable grip. When his storm cloud gray gaze lifted to her face, held there, she froze, her heart thumping.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” she said, but she couldn’t seem to make her hand lift and return to its laced position behind her head. Instead it curled into the firm, heated flesh of his forearm.

  Peter glanced at that contact, then back to her face. She looked down, feeling a heated flush rising in her cheeks, because the room had fallen completely silent. Not even the clink of ice in a glass. “Are you afraid of it hurting more than you can handle?” Peter asked her.

  She nodded, and he overlooked her not responding with words.

  “Your Master takes very good care of you, Rachel. That’s his job, isn’t it?”

  She blinked at the unexpected question, and hesitated before she spoke. “Jon does take very good care of me.”

  “A careful answer. You don’t think that’s his job.”

  “It’s not that. It’s that…” She stopped. It was even harder to think about complicated stuff when her body was on a high simmer of arousal.

  “You don’t feel it’s your role to set the terms.” Peter nodded, as if her inability to answer had confirmed it. He glanced toward Jon and, whatever he saw there, gave him an answer of some sorts.