Surrender Boxed Set (Surrender Series Volume 1 - 7. BDSM romance with man love, bad boys, and billionaires.)

by Anita Lawless

  “All right, Mistress. I’m going to let you come now, and then I’m going to fuck that pretty little cunt while you watch.”

  His lips wrapped around my clit, while two fingers slipped deep inside of me, curling as they sought out my g-spot. I enjoyed a long, loud moan as his tongue flicked rapidly over my thrumming nub, then I worried another patron in the front of the store might hear me, so I struggled to lower my volume.

  But there was no holding back the cries of ecstasy as he finger fucked me in a rhythm that changed up from slow and sensuous to fast and carnal. In time with this, his lips, tongue and teeth thoroughly devoured my clit. I soon let out a shrill scream, wrapping my legs around his massive shoulders on instinct as every muscle went rigid. The release was mind blowing in its intensity. I trembled as orgasm filled me with a cloud of bliss that left me drugged, satiated, and sluggish.

  When I stilled and panted for air, he untied my wrists and commanded, “Give me your back and brace yourself on the chair.”

  Finding balance on shaky legs, I did as I was told. Embarrassment almost threatened to overwhelm me when I spied my flushed face, my tousled hair, my sweat gleaming skin in one of the pewter mirrors. But I kept my eyes wide open as he quickly shoved his pants and underwear to his ankles. We were positioned so I had a great sideways view, and I watched his thick, purple cock slap against his shirttail as it popped from his boxer briefs.

  He used its meaty head to massage the length of my now dripping slit. I tilted my head back and let out a long groan, happy for the release he allowed me. I was on birth control, since I’d taken this job as his mistress, so we were protected. And he showed me papers proving he was disease free. I, too, had taken tests to show I was clean.

  I sighed as his plump cock plunged deep into my pussy. My inner walls gripped him tight and didn’t want to let him go. I begged him to fuck me furiously, and my wanton ways must’ve encouraged him, for he pumped so frantically I thought we’d topple the chair. I soon came hard a second time, squealing and writhing in the throes of another intense orgasm. He followed not long after, growling low in his throat as he shoved his cock into me to the root and spilled his seed.

  ***

  How no other customers stumbled across our ardent sex session in the boutique, I’ll never know. I guessed it had something to do with Dmitri’s power and influence, plus the fact he seemed to know the boutique owner fairly well. I wondered if they’d ever been lovers, and the thought spiked jealousy through my heart, but I chided myself for being so foolish over a man who was simply my employer, not my committed partner.

  We spent the rest of the day shopping for clothes, then he showed me to my new apartment. The place was so lavish I couldn’t believe it belonged to me. After we dropped off my many packages, we next headed to his home.

  Lush, green grounds ensconced a palatial house made of light grey and black stone. It had a small, rounded tower that jutted from one end, and this was capped with a onion dome I’d often seen in pictures of Russian churches.

  We rushed through the inside, and Dmitri promised to show me around the place better tomorrow, after breakfast. I guessed that meant I was staying the night. The thought both thrilled and terrified me.

  He led me down a wide staircase carpeted in rich crimson, to the basement. We stopped in front of a black walnut door with a rounded top and antique hinges. It made me think of old Hammer films I’d enjoyed as a teenager.

  He stopped me, gripped my shoulders. “Once we enter, playtime begins. I’ll give you time to grow familiar with the dungeon, though, and show you around. If you grow uncomfortable at anytime, use our safe word.”

  I simply nodded and waited for him to open the door.

  I almost gasped when I saw what was inside. The huge, round room was well lit, but there were no windows placed in its gray walls. These were lined with wooden pegs and shelves that displayed a massive collection of bdsm gear, or so I guessed, for I was unfamiliar with many of the items my gaze fell on. I saw black, shiny masks, whips, manacles. Dmitri placed a hand on my back and took me on a tour, pointing out various toys and identifying them: studded collars, collars with loops for leashes, ball gags. My head swam with the vast catalogue he introduced me to.

  “Now, let me show you what we’ll be playing with today.” He led me to the center of the room, where thick tendrils of white and indigo rope hung from massive metal loops screwed into the ceiling. The top of these ropes were woven together like lattice. Their long coils hung down from this intricate design, making it look like a rope chandelier.

  My hand flew to my throat and I plucked at my blouse, hoping I didn’t look as apprehensive as I felt. Dmitri must’ve noticed, for his lips quirked up at one side and he rubbed his palm up and down my back in what I took as a calming gesture.

  “Tonight, not only will I be your master, I will be your Nawashi—rope artist. You will become my living sculpture.”

  He led me into the center of the ropes. They smelled of sweet hay, and I inhaled deeply. “Hemp,” Dmitri explained, when I did so.

  “It smells wonderful,” I said, then quickly added, “Am I still allowed to talk?”

  Dmitri seemed gently amused by my concern I’d broken our playtime rules. “Yes, Mistress, you may speak. I won’t ever rob you of your voice. But once we engage in play, you may only react, only come, when I tell you it’s allowed.”

  I had to look away from his intense gaze as I nodded.

  “For your first dungeon experience, we’re going to do rope bondage. Is that acceptable, Mistress?”

  “Certainly,” I croaked, hating how my voice betrayed me whenever he and I became intimate.

  “Wonderful. Take your clothes off.”

  He watched me as he began to strip. My fingers fumbled over the buttons on my blouse, and he was already unbuckling his belt while I was still working on my bra. Once I got to my skirt, though, things moved quicker, and I was naked a few seconds after he was. We folded our clothes and placed them on padded chairs that sat off to the side, then we met in the center of the rope construction once again.

  Being this close to his nakedness elicited instant response. He was a fine specimen of maleness. Triangle shaped, with shoulders that had to be forty-five inches across. His hair gleamed, and strands fell over his forehead, brushed his golden cheeks. He had well developed pecs, with a deep cleft that led to an expansive rib cage and trim waist. His legs were powerful, corded columns. Staring at him, I felt that familiar heat returning to my pussy. My nipples tingled and hardened, and my hands shook as he held them while guiding my arms away from my torso.

  “Playtime begins,” he said, taking a length of indigo rope and winding it just below my breasts. “You are allowed to ask questions, but I will explain the process to you as we go.” He tied knots just beneath my breasts, and the sensitive flesh tingled from the light sweep of his fingers. “This form of rope bondage comes from an old Japanese rope art practice known as Shibari. The erotic variation is known as Kinbaku, but in the West we have come to use the term Shibari to refer to erotic rope displays.”

  He looped the ropes over my shoulders and walked behind me. I soaked in their texture. They were rough, itchy, but also soft and smooth. It was a strange combination that stroked my skin in a sensual way I enjoyed.

  “Right now,” he continued, his touch sending sizzling stimuli up my spine, “I’m creating intricate patterns that will accentuate your beauty, the lushness of your curves, the shape of your breasts.” He came back around front to survey his work. The soft cables he’d strung above and below my breasts made them sit high on my chest, jutting out proudly. He tweaked and teased each nipple, watching my face for reaction. “The torso harness is complete. Put your arms behind your back.”

  I obeyed. Once more he created tight links around my wrists, but this bondage wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything the coils pressed pleasantly into my flesh, seeming to relax me with their touch.

  “Shibari was used in Japan between the 15t
h and 18th century. Samurai used it to respectfully restrain captives. It was considered dishonorable to physically or mentally hurt your captive, and this form of bondage was a sort of honor.” His hands urged my legs apart and I struggled not to gasp. His touch, the erotic sweep and pressure of the ropes across my flesh, was charging my body with lust and anticipation.

  “Kinbaku developed later, in the 19th and 20th century,” he continued. “It is the true name for erotic rope art. Many rope artist also photograph their models after they’ve created an intricate display. I’m working on a pattern, now, that will accentuate the strength as well as the fragile nature of your body.”

  Ropes and hands slithered up my inner thighs. I bit the tip of my tongue to keep from sighing loudly. Their braided tendrils parted my ass cheeks, teased my now throbbing pussy. I willed my eyes to stay wide open and not close under the pleasant torture. The cords encircled my hips, then he made another detailed knot in a flurry of fingers I found amazing. He drew the twisted material down to my knees. It pulled snug between my ass, pressing hard into my moist slit. I inhaled slow and deep to keep from moaning.

  “Good Mistress,” he said, glancing up at me before his attention returned to the ropes. “Your control is admirable.” He twined the coils just above my knees, knotted the length, then made another pair of loops halfway to my shins. More knots followed, his deft hands never faltering in their mission. “Lift your leg.”

  I did so, and his huge hand clasped my ankles while he bound my legs apart and high up in the air.

  “This form of rope art also incorporates elements of Shiatsu,” he continued with his explanation, which I found fascinating. “I’m placing the knots on specific pressure points to help you relax, to massage your muscles, and help you remain calm.”

  I now hovered above the bare cement floor, my legs arched behind me and my torso arched forward. As he’d promised, I’d become a living sculpture, and also, as he’d promised, there was minimal pain. More a tightness that contrasted with the softer quality of the ropes. I almost felt like I swayed on a swing.

  He stepped in front of me and admired his construction of flesh and fibers. “You look simply stunning. I must get a picture.” He moved to one of the tables built right into the dungeons’ walls and grabbed a camera. Soon he was back in front my me, snapping a photo. Next he moved to both sides and behind, still clicking away as he preserved this image.

  He stood beside my shoulder and held the digital camera before my face. “See for yourself.” A side image of my bound form filled the preview screen.

  “That’s wonderful,” I whispered. My breath was taken away by the photo. I appeared sultry yet vulnerable. Smooth, pale flesh squeezed through the ropes in a seductive configuration.

  “It is,” he agreed proudly. “Now, Mistress.” His gaze went all molten passion. “Prepare to suck my cock.”

  In all the time he’d been binding me, my focus had been on the ropes, his touch, and now as it centered on his cock—silk draped over hard steel—I swallowed and prepared to take the long, thick shaft in my mouth. There would be no controlling his thrusts, no touching his penis. My mouth and tongue would have to do all the work. The situation would be agonizing, being robbed of the feel of his flesh, but exhilarating in its challenge too.

  “Yes, Master,” I said, moments before the plump head of his dick glided over my lips.

  His fingers buried in my hair and he cradled my head, using it to swing me back and forth in a slow tempo at first. It was such a strange sensation, swaying like that, suspended in the air, as his slippery shaft buried itself deep between my lips then slipped out. I used my tongue, swirling it over the smooth sides of his cock when it dipped deep into my mouth. When his penis tickled the back of my throat, I swallowed and he groaned out his enjoyment. I sucked hard, trying to hold him inside, but he tugged back, denying me the lingering taste of him. It was maddening not being able to touch his glistening skin, his rippling muscles. I wanted to fondle his smooth, lightly haired scrotum, wanted to knead the bulging curves in his strong legs. My hands wriggled and twisted in their bonds in frustration.

  His face fucking grew rapid, and I responded with enthusiasm. But when I moaned around his slick length, he pulled out, wagged a finger at me. “Bad girl,” he said. “I don’t remember giving you permission.”

  I took a deep breath, grit my teeth. “Sorry, Master.”

  He made me wait another five minutes before the taste of him returned to my mouth. I sucked his with abandoned delight, taking in the sweet, clean taste of his dick, paying attention to the satiny texture of the skin covering his hardness. It slipped delightfully over the rigid muscle beneath, and he soon let out a growl-groan, lost in his own bliss. I managed to glance up, only to find him watching me with eyes that became jewels from the vivid shine of want.

  I swung faster and faster as I gobbled his cock, and I almost giggled in glee from the joyous sensation of sailing back and forth in my bonds while I pleasured him. I found an odd freedom in my swinging restraints. The coils creaked as I moved faster. The knots pressed deep then released, sending pulses of sensation and relaxation through my skin.

  Soon he pulled his still raging erection from my lips and said, “Now, it’s my turn.”

  He drifted away, and as he did so I felt his warm, wide palms skim between my shoulder blades. From my peripheral, I saw him bend and pick up a length of cord he hasn’t used in his sculpture. He came back to me, and this silky, rough coil slithered down my spine. It’s coarse tip danced over my ass cheeks, creating complex whorls on my tender skin. Then he trailed the rope between my legs, and he pressed the braided material against my clit, rubbing it gently with this scratchy smooth texture. My brain almost overloaded, and I suck my bottom lip far into my mouth to keep from crying out in bliss.

  “Do you like that, Mistress?” His words were guttural and dominant.

  “Y-yes,” I managed.

  “Good. Very good.” Now the tip of the rope flit rapidly over my swollen, aching nub. “I can tell by the way you grow tense in your tethers.”

  I clenched my teeth so tight they squeaked as they ground together. He tickled between my seeping pussy lips with the coil, then tucked the length inside my quivering cunt. He left the strand within my vagina, returning to the hanging cords to grasp another before moving back behind me. I breathed hard and fast now, struggling to hold back the shrieks of release.

  His new rope he used to tease my ass crack. He tickled up and down its length, then he thoroughly licked my anus, lubing it up so he could insert this braid into my anal canal. When his tongue touched my asshole, I squeezed my eyes shut so tight that tears squeezed from the corners.

  He came around front and commanded I open my eyes. Then he cupped my chin and looked deep into them, bending over so our gazes were level. “You’ve been a very good Mistress. Are you ready to come?”

  “Yes.” I gasped and writhed. “Oh, yes, please, Master. Please let me come, and make it hard.”

  His eyebrow drew together over his nose, and his lips curled in a lecherous expression. “Oh, I definitely will.”

  He walked behind me with the stealth of a panther. I moaned as his fingers dug into my ass cheeks, massaging and then yanking me closer to his cock. My pussy trembled as it waited for his plump cock. I gasped and threw my head back when its slippery length plunged into my cunt. Its thickness pushed the scratchy rope farther in, made it rub my cunt walls with extra friction that quickly drove me to a ecstatic precipice. The contrast between his silken cock and the braided texture of the coils made my stomach tighten. My cunt gripped him and the rope with ferocious strength. I concentrated on the dichotomy between these sensations, focused on the ridge of his cock and the ridges in the cord stroking every inch of my vagina, bringing my g-spot close to a delicious, dizzying apex.

  “Ahhh, Master…Please fuck me harder, faster.”

  He gave a chuckle that was part enthusiastic snarl. “Oh, how I enjoy my naughty Mistress. You’l
l get the fucking you deserve.”

  And then he really put his back into it. The rope became a writhing snake in my pussy. His cock was a steel rod wrapped in satin, pounding away without mercy. I soon squealed loud and long, my every limb going taut then shaking uncontrollably as I came hard. I could feel my juices squeezing from within me, dripping down my thighs.

  “Yes,” he said, as he drove his cock into me to the root. “Yes, grip me tight. That’s it.” It twitched once, twice, inside of me, then warm liquid spilled through me as he came. “Soooo gooood.”

  After he pulled out, I gasped hard, trying to gather senses and breath. He walked in front of me, limp but still impressive cock now gleaming with my release and his. Once more he cupped my chin, and this time he planted a lusty kiss to my lips. When he broke the kiss, he said, “You’ve been excellent tonight, Mistress. I can’t wait to take you to the Surrender Sanctuary this weekend.”

  ***

  Surrender To His Desires

  I woke up in a massive bed, sliding over silk sheets, while large fingers teased my nipples to stiff peaks. Surprisingly, after our rope play the previous evening, my wrists and ankles bore no marks or burns. I felt a little stiff from our ardent game, where Dmitri made me into a living sculpture by intricately weaving knots all over my body. But the memory of swaying freely inside the hemp swing while we had passionate sex made my minor muscle aches worth it.

  “We have to be at work soon,” I murmured, after peeling open one eye to glance at the clock. Although we did have plenty of time. His first patient came in at ten, and it was seven now.

  The advantage of being your own boss,” he said, then paused to flick his tongue over my other nipple, teasing it to attention also. “Is you can be late and no one reprimands you.”

  He lavished more attention on my breasts, but this time he used gentle strokes. There was passion, of course, but it was of a tender nature this morning. Fingers replaced his tongue, and he tweaked and rolled the now throbbing tips until my breath grew shallow and labored. The sensation woke a fire between my legs, making my clit pulse as it yearned to be touched.