Enamored: The Submissive Mistress (Special Double-Length Episode) (The Erotic Adventures of Jane in the Jungle)

by Colette Gale

  Darkdale laughed in return—a satisfied sound—and Jane felt him brush against her as the edges of the cloak fell back into place. As the silken covering settled over her once more, she sensed that the woman had led Darkdale a short distance away.

  Marcine murmured something low and provocative, then he gave another laugh, this time of surprise. “What a splendid idea. Indeed, I shall arrange that with all haste. That will be a night I shan’t forget.”

  “Very well, then, Kellan. If you have no further need for my…services”—this was said with that low timbre of invitation—“then I shall take my leave.”

  Jane heard Marcine and her two maids walk across the chamber, then the sound of Trevor bidding them farewell from the front door. She stood unmoving, trembling slightly as she waited to see what Darkdale intended to do with her.

  “I must wash up and dress for tonight,” he said. “Trevor, see that Jane is prepared to greet our guests.”

  Jane was shocked at the twinge of disappointment she felt at the announcement that Darkdale didn’t intend to…well, to do anything to her at this time. Perhaps she’d expected him to want to enjoy Marcine’s work.

  But she had no chance to dwell on these shameful emotions, for Trevor approached her. She could tell it was him by the sound of his footsteps and the way he moved. Jane couldn’t help but tense in expectation, but unlike every other man—or so it seemed—who’d been near her, Trevor didn’t touch her in any intimate way.

  Instead, he took her wrists and slipped them through armholes in the cloak. Then he brought them together in front of her, wrapping them with some sort of soft, velvety material in a figure-eight pattern, then bound them together at her belly. He released her, and Jane stood, still blindfolded and now bound, growing slightly more apprehensive due to his silence.

  Moments later, she heard a soft noise above her, and then her arms began to rise of their own volition—pulled up by the bindings on her wrists. Her hands rose above her head until her arms were taut and she was standing on her tiptoes, and then, mercifully, the ascension ceased.

  Jane licked her lips, her belly fluttering nervously and her heart pounding, waiting to see what would happen next.

  But nothing did. Silence reigned. She wasn’t even certain whether Trevor—who seemed to move soundlessly—was still in the chamber.

  There she stood—very nearly hanging by her wrists. It was only the tips of her toes that touched the ground and kept her from spinning slowly in a circle. She was stretched, long and lean, still in darkness, with the silken cloak molded to her curves. She could tell it was open only slightly in the front, due to the brush of air on her belly and throat, but where it touched her body it felt heavy and cloying.

  She waited, and waited—just as she had last night, in this very same chamber, on her hands and knees—wondering when or if someone would come, and when they did, what they would do to her.

  At last Jane heard the distant sound of a door closing, and the soft pad of footsteps she recognized as Darkdale’s. As they came closer, her heart leapt—and at the same time, she felt a shaft of lustful hope dart down to her sex…and then she immediately was ashamed, and attempted to banish that dark desire. Zaren. She should think of Zaren. He was the man she loved, the man who should cause her heart to skip a beat and her body to become warm and ready…

  But when Darkdale drew near and she smelled his familiar male scent—a combination of the pomade he used on his hair, the herbal water he splashed on his face when bathing, and whatever essence clung to his clothing—Jane’s breathing quickened.

  Her skin prickled, and she felt herself warm and dampen…everywhere. She bit her lip, trying to ignore the feelings as he came closer, brushing against her cloak, sliding it over her sensitive skin…

  “What a lovely sight,” he murmured, and covered her lips with his.

  His tongue thrust deep into her mouth, and heat and lust surged through Jane as he kissed her, long and sleek and hard. As she dangled there, stretched and long and helpless, as he devoured her, mauling her mouth with his tongue, sweeping inside it with strong, firm strokes, her body yearned to press against his… She needed his mouth and hands on her, his cock inside her. Jane gave a soft, desperate moan as he pulled away, arching and lunging awkwardly toward him.

  Her lips throbbed and her breathing rasped as she waited, helpless, blind, and ready. Would he take her now? Would he touch her and tease her into a frenzy of need?

  Half of her wanted it—wanted to beg him for his touch, wanted him to slide his fingers up inside her, to stroke her and then fill her with himself—and the other part of her despaired of her lusts, of her desires, and wanted to be left alone. Untouched.

  She wanted to wait for Zaren. Tears stung her covered eyes and she was overwhelmed by grief and fear. Would she ever see him again?

  Would she ever find pleasure from a man who wanted nothing from her but to give it to her?

  And to love her?

  Then Jane heard that sound again, and all at once, the tension on her wrists eased ever so slightly. She was able to lower her straining calves so her feet were on the ground, and her arms loosened so her elbows had only the slightest bend…and the noise stopped.

  She felt Darkdale behind her, and she began to quiver with heat and nervousness…and hot expectation. His hands were on her hips, sliding over the silky cloak, causing erotic prickles to rise over her skin. His mouth burned against her bare neck, and his hands pulled her legs wider.

  Jane moaned in expectation and hope, and when he lifted the cloak and she felt the brush of his cotton shirt against her lower back, she began to pant in anticipation. Her clit pulsed and her nipples tightened, and she shook, trembling, arching back into him as much as her bindings would allow. His fingers curled around the soft, sensitive skin of her thighs, and then he thrust up and inside her.

  She cried out in delight and pleasure, immediately tightening herself around his cock as he withdrew and then slammed up inside her again. Heat and pleasure traveled through her, and it was only by sheer force of will—and more than a little fear—that she didn’t explode

  “Oh,” she cried, biting her lip as he plunged in and out, faster and harder. “Please…oh, please…Master,” she remembered to add in a sort of gasp. Her fingers curled desperately into each other as her weight jolted against her bonds as he fucked her and fucked her and fucked her.

  “Ahh…” he grunted with one last savage pump, deep and high and sharp. He pulsed inside her, his hands tight at her hips, his weight heavy against her.

  Jane couldn’t stop herself: she quivered, and the lust overtook her. She came, her ecstatic shuddering mingled with pleasure and trepidation, her skin damp with heat, at the same time turning cold with fear.

  “Jane,” he said in her ear. His voice was cold and accusing. “Did you just break the fifth rule? So soon?”

  “Nooo,” she moaned, half sobbing with relief and terror. His hands cupped her breasts from behind, and she strained into them as he rubbed the silken cloak over her taut, sensitive nipples. “Oh, please, no…please…Master…”

  “You are very disobedient, Jane,” he said, tweaking one of her nipples sharply.

  She gasped and jolted from the pain—which was laced with pleasure—but he tweaked the other nipple, and then the first one, and then each of them in turn, in rapid succession until she was sobbing harder, twisting and writhing in vain to escape the unique combination of pleasure and pain.

  To make matters worse, that awful noise from above sounded again, and as Darkdale continued his torture, Jane’s wrists began to rise once more. Soon, she dangled again by her arms, her toes barely touching the ground. She was completely helpless and unable to do anything but twitch slightly, her toes skittering lightly over the floor.

  At last, Darkdale ceased his tweaking and twisting and stepped away from her. Her nipples pounded and pulsed, nut hard and flaming with heat. Surely they must be bright red and shiny from the abuse visited upon them. Jan
e hung there, feeling every throb as it ricocheted through her body. Sagging, her weight hanging from her sore arms, she sobbed softly, panting and trembling.

  When the edges of her cloak were drawn away, exposing her tortured breasts to the air, she stiffened and stilled. Her sobs ebbed into soft little gasps, and suddenly a warm, wet mouth covered one of her angry, throbbing nipples.

  Jane couldn’t hold back a moan, and then she jolted, giving a soft scream when he sucked hard, drawing her poor red nipple deep into his hot, slick mouth. She began to pant with frustration and hope as he kissed and licked her, as if to offer a partial apology for the abuse…but it was no relief, and surely no apology. Of course she couldn’t deny the resurgence of pleasure and desire, building deep in her belly and shooting down to her sex.

  Darkdale held her still as he feasted on her breasts, sensually enough to make her even more tight and wet and hot, and roughly enough that there was a double edge to that slick, pleasurable sword of his attention.

  By the time he finished his sensual onslaught, she was fog-minded with lust and pain, sore and overripe, desperate for one single, soft touch that would send her vaulting into relief.

  Darkdale seemed to sense her peak was near, for he suddenly released her. The edges of the cloak fell back into place, adding the insult of their sensual sweep over raw nipples to the injury of her being left unsatisfied. Her quim was so full it seemed to be twice as thick and swollen as usual, and so wet her thighs slid against each other. Her little pip pulsed softly, insistently, hard and tight and needy.

  Jane sniffled and shook, tears running down from beneath her blindfold. She trembled so hard beneath the smothering cloak her breasts jolted against its satiny fabric, adding more fuel to the erotic sensations she prayed would ease.

  “Although one would hope you’d learned your lesson by now, I confess, I’m not confident that is the case,” Darkdale said conversationally. “However, once my—er, our—guests have arrived, Jane darling, I give you leave to take any pleasure you desire. In fact, the more pleasure you take, the more satisfied I shall be.”

  She heard him walk away and wondered dully how long she would be left to hang here, throbbing, desperate, and needy.

  And how soon she would have the offered pleasure of release.

  After a stretch of silence and, Jane presumed, her isolation, a distant clock struck seven. She had no time to mull on the fact that she hadn’t heard any timepieces last night when she was left in this same chamber (but on her hands and knees), for just then she heard a knock at the front door in the foyer.

  She tensed, realizing whoever came in through the front door would see her almost immediately. She could only imagine the image that would confront the guests: herself, blindfolded, stretched long and lean beneath a black cloak, a hint of her pale skin showing in a long, slender vee. Perhaps the glint of the jewels circling her areolae, and at her quim…the black lace stockings from her feet to over her knees, and the long expanse of matching black gloves pulled taut above her head. Her red-gold hair, the only spot of color, in a thick braid over her shoulder…and beneath the black blindfold, her full, red lips, puffy and damp.

  She drew in a deep breath and struggled to remain calm, even as she realized how erotic and titillating the vision of her would seem.

  The more pleasure you take, the more satisfied I shall be.

  She couldn’t subdue a hot dart of fear and anticipation as voices from the front entrance reached her ears. There was Darkdale, greeting a man—two…no, three different men. They were speaking jovially. Trevor was being told to take their coats, their footsteps were coming closer; Jane dangled and trembled and her insides fluttered…

  “My gad, Kellan,” someone said, his voice falling into a near-whisper.

  They’d seen her.

  Anticipation and delight fairly crackled in the chamber, and the surge of lust and desire was so strong, Jane could feel it wrapping around her like a hot, heavy cloak.

  “This is Jane.” Darkdale’s voice was cool, but she knew him well enough—such a shameful admission!—to hear the layer of pride in it.

  Jane’s skin prickled as she felt them circling around her like hungry dogs. She felt the weight of their eyes sliding over the enveloping silk, sliding down over her arms, her hair, her breasts, her arse. The breathing from her admirers changed subtly, growing dark and lustful, and perhaps her keen ears even heard the movement of cocks—shifting or being shifted—behind the plackets of their trousers. Shoes scuffed softly, cloth whispered against cloth, and she smelled a variety of scents: of men, of outdoors and cigars and smoke and brandy and others.

  The quiet clink of glass against glass tinkled across the chamber, and then the familiar sound of something being poured…once, twice, four times. The soft slosh of liquid, the scent of whiskey now faint in the air…and still no one spoke. No one touched her.

  She dangled. She pulsed and throbbed and struggled to keep her breathing even, to subdue the fluttering and anticipation and nervousness in her belly. The cloak smothered her, her toes strained to keep her from spinning slowly from the bonds, her arms felt as if they were growing longer and longer by the moment.

  Someone drew near her, brushing near her throat…and all at once, the cloak was whisked away in a gust of refreshing air. There were snatches and intakes of breath from all sides, and she felt the scoring heat of want and desire as their eyes feasted on her.

  Even when she was on display in Cold Eyes’s village in the jungle, Jane hadn’t felt this vulnerable. She had never experienced the weight of such lust, and in such a civilized—yet untamed—sense. There were no whistles or animal sounds, no grabbing and groping, no words. Simply admiration…

  Or so she assumed.

  Then…that noise from above. She nearly cried with relief when her feet were allowed to settle flat on the floor and her arms sagged slightly. Not very much, but just enough that she could almost touch the top of her head with her wrists.

  Then someone touched her, lightly, brushing over a breast. Her nipple immediately shot to hardness, and Jane felt an answering twinge between her legs.

  The man hefted the weight of one breast, then both of them. She felt him standing in front of her, sensed the heat of his body emanating from him, smelled his scent…it was Darkdale.

  She couldn’t help it—she arched toward him, for she had no control over her body. There came a soft chuckle accompanied by the faint scent of whiskey, then he stepped away and she was left to wait once more.

  Someone murmured something in a low, masculine voice, and then glasses clinked together, as if in a toast. And then…everything changed.

  A hot, wet mouth closed over one of her breasts, and Jane gasped in shock and delight as someone sucked and licked her sensitive tip. She shuddered, pleasure coursing through her as he drew her poor sore nipple deep into his mouth—tighter, harder, using his tongue to flicker wildly over its tip.

  Jane gasped and jolted, trying to shift away as the sensation became unbearable, but she bumped into someone behind her. His hands covered her from the back, one hand sliding down over her pussy from the front, and the other covering a breast. She arched and writhed when his probing fingers found her arsehole, and one slid inside, deeper and deeper, as his other hand pinched her nipple.

  Jane cried out and twisted so sharply she lost her balance. She would have fallen but for the bonds at her wrists, which yanked her upright as she stumbled into a solid figure. She had no chance to recover before his whiskey-scented mouth covered hers, thrusting between her lips with a strong, probing tongue. She could hardly breathe as he drew from her, mauling her and sleekly exploring her mouth as he held her chin with forceful fingers.

  After that, her world became a dark blur; hands and mouths touched her everywhere. She tried to escape, but they stroked and licked and pinched, sucked, scratched, and bit wherever she went. As she stumbled, bucked, and twisted, insistent fingers probed, sliding inside her or curling into the soft flesh of her
hips and arse while countless strong hands squeezed her flesh and still others held her immobile.

  The men feasted on her, slurping and sucking hard, and Jane could hardly fight them off. They were soft and slow, sensual and tender, then turned more rapid and rough in turn, until the world behind her blindfold was red with painful, throbbing lust and her body shook with the intensity. Hands, mouths, fingers, tongues…everywhere she turned, everywhere she tried to free herself.

  The more she fought, the more they became rougher and more frenzied, and her arms jerked in their sockets when she stumbled and twisted, trying blindly to free herself from the greedy mouths and hands. Half sobbing, she pulled away, then stumbled and fell into someone else, then was yanked away to be fed upon and nipped by still a different mouth…and then it happened over again and over again.

  Then someone grabbed her by the thighs and forced her legs open wide. Jane cried out as a rough mouth suddenly settled over her quim, giving a long, sharp suck that was intense enough to make her scream. An orgasm blasted through her, colored with more pain than pleasure, as she undulated against the figure who’d moved behind her.

  He fondled her breasts, holding them while different mouths closed over each nipple. His breath came rough and dark against her skin as his companions sucked and licked her, tongues moving around her sensitive flesh, kissing and nibbling in a riot of sensations. The combination of erotic tortures—at each breast, over her quim and teasing her little pip—had Jane bucking and twisting, helpless to free herself while trapped in a world of rough, intense lust. They were silent as they fed on her, and the only noises were her soft, gasping sobs and the sound of slippery suction, over and over… Lost in a world that was hard and slick and wet and hot, Jane at last gave herself up.

  Then she came and came, and the peaks undulated into each other…or else they were one long, interminable orgasm; she didn’t know. By now, Jane was barely conscious, hardly aware of anything but the erotic torture being visited upon her body.