Hot Lessons

by Annie Windsor

  She could do this.

  But she really needed to open her eyes, didn’t she?

  When had she closed them?

  Her hands groped for and found the sides of the stone archway.

  Light pierced her mind when she forced her lids up—to behold a massive room bright with candles, all colors, all sizes, all types of holders, even torches—a room stocked with all manner of medieval furniture. She saw chairs, wooden benches, covered benches, bare tables, covered tables—and oh, God, they had leather straps hanging to the sides.

  Stocks with benches and straps, swings, slings, cages…

  Biting her lip hard enough to send bolts of pain across her face, Celia looked to the right. The stone wall on that side of the dungeon was dominated by a rack with all sizes and shapes of whips, not to mention canes, rods and ticklers. Below the rack, arranged neatly on a long table, was the largest collection of dildos she had ever seen. Different colors, different sizes. Handles, strap-ons—this dungeon had it all. Even wooden horses with mounted dildos.

  “Come in,” Reggie said gently from her left.

  Celia wheeled to see him reclining on a very large medieval bed. The doctor was stretched out on a red satin bedspread, wearing a black lounging robe and pants, complete with black slippers. The drink in his hand looked like Scotch.

  He nodded toward the center of the room, and this time, when Celia turned her gaze back toward the array of cages, tables and benches, she saw Alan.

  Her body twitched like he had shocked her with that violet wand.

  Damn, he was handsome in his tuxedo, arms folded across his muscled chest. His sexy, stern face doubled the warmth between her legs, as did his wide stance.

  He looked so serious.

  So…masterful.

  And he was holding a flogger.

  Oh, God.

  “Well, well. If it isn’t my naughty djinni,” he said in that low, teasing rumble. “Come here. I have a few hot lessons to teach you.”

  Chapter Five

  Celia approached Alan.

  Only the tap of her heels on stone kept her in reality.

  She felt like she’d been pitched back in time to an era when men possessed their women totally, without question. She’d slipped into a dimension all about passion and how much pleasure two people could share.

  I’m a djinni in a castle dungeon, and my Master is about to flog me.

  Just the thought nearly unhinged her reason.

  She came to a halt in front of Alan. He was smiling at her. Not a boyish rogue’s grin—but a man’s carnal smile. The gleam of anticipation in his blue eyes made her skin tingle.

  “Kneel,” he demanded.

  Almost on reflex, Celia dropped to her knees. Her soft green gown spread out to either side of her as the rope thong shifted against her clit. She had to clamp her teeth to hold back a moan. The stone felt so cold against her knees, but it was smooth, almost polished. Her eyes were fixed on the obvious bulge in Alan’s crisp black pants.

  “Unfasten my pants,” he instructed.

  Celia complied with an eagerness that surprised her. She fumbled with the fancy hook and zipper, but the minute she created a little space, his thick, long erection broke free, only inches from her lips.

  She moved his pants down just a little, to keep the zipper’s teeth at bay.

  “Hands to your sides,” came the next order, and she complied quickly. Alan’s voice sounded so sure and husky. “Do you like what you see, djinni?”

  “Yes.” Celia nodded and licked her lips.

  “Yes—what?”

  “Oh! Um—I mean, yes, Master.” She started to look up, but he spoke first.

  “Keep your eyes lowered, and don’t forget my title again.”

  His stern orders made her wiggle, which of course made the rope thong torture her clit. Damn it felt good, but it was driving her totally insane.

  “Yes, Master,” she responded, doing her best to sound contrite.

  Alan stroked her hair gently with both hands, and Celia realized how damp it was despite the dungeon’s coolness. Her arousal was really making her sweat. And it only got worse when Alan curled his fingers into the short strands and started forcing her head forward. The tip of his cock pressed into her lips.

  “You’re my djinni tonight,” he said quietly, in that sure, commanding tone. “I want your complete submission. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Master,” Celia answered, shivering as her lips swept a drop of pre-come off the tip of his erection.

  He tightened his grip in her hair, making her eyes water, but even that felt naughty and thrilling and so good.

  “Suck me,” he ordered.

  Celia barely got her lips apart before his hot, throbbing cock drove deep in her mouth, stopping just shy of her throat. Her tongue flicked along the bottom vein. Then she did as he commanded, sucking hard and fast, delighted by his immediate groan.

  He may be the Master, she realized, but boy do I still have the power.

  Alan pulled his cock back, letting it slide along her tongue, through her lips, then back in again, a little deeper.

  She relaxed, letting him force her head back and forth, moving her up and down his shaft as she sucked. She had to brace her hands against the floor and lean forward a little to keep from pitching into him as he pulled harder and faster. The tip of his cock plunged deeper, filling her mouth like she so wanted him to fill her pussy.

  How long would he make her wait?

  Each time he rocked her, the damnable rope caressed her clit.

  “That’s it. Yes. Take me.”

  The pain of his tugs on her hair, the sensation of the rope along her pussy, the stone beneath her knees, the salty, warm taste of his cock—dear God, did she ever need an orgasm.

  Alan built his speed and force another few seconds, then cut loose, fucking her mouth so fast and powerfully it stole her breath. Celia sucked hard, using her tongue to increase his enjoyment.

  How much she wanted to please him—that rattled her down deep in those empty places. In the quiet, lonely chasms he was warming, filling, forcing her to surrender.

  His hands tangled in her short red hair, pulling, pulling, demanding that she give him more, more—and she did.

  “Look at me,” he said, and it sounded like he had his teeth clenched. “I want to see my cock pounding in and out of your mouth.”

  Celia looked up and fixed her eyes on Alan’s handsome face.

  She could tell he was close.

  She was way too close herself.

  Once more, she made herself move away from the sensation of her pussy and somehow kept a measure of control. At the same time, she moaned against Alan’s cock, letting the vibration fill her mouth, run along his tender flesh, all the while sucking, sucking, tracing that pulsing lower vein with her tongue.

  “So beautiful,” he said, part word, part gasp.

  With another powerful thrust, he erupted, spilling his hot seed straight into her throat.

  Celia didn’t flinch. She took every ounce, drank him, drained him, feeling the flush of need crest in her own cheeks.

  By the time he slowed his pumping and took his cock out of her mouth, she was so close to the edge she wanted to scream.

  “Is the rope rubbing your clit?” he asked in a hoarse, pleased tone. “Do you need to come?”

  “Yes, Master.” Celia rocked a little more, squeezing her pussy tight around the rope. “Please.”

  “No.” Alan knelt and pulled her to her feet. “You came without my permission in the limo. The lesson for tonight is self-control, which is about trust. I want you to trust that seeing to my pleasure, following my instructions, will give you what you need.”

  Celia started to protest, then glanced at the flogger he still held in one hand and thought better of it.

  “Undress yourself,” Alan ordered as he moved back a few steps.

  Muttering a few choice words under her breath, Celia pulled off the luxurious gown, folded it, and placed
it carefully on the stone floor. Trying not to let the rope thong move too much, she pulled off her heels and put them beside the dress.

  Alan gestured to the thong. “That, too.”

  Grateful and reluctant at the same time, Celia slid the leather band over her hips and ass, eased the rope out of her pussy, and stepped out of it as it dropped. Her clit felt raw and huge without the constant pressure. So, so sensitized. Damn. Even without the rope, moving almost made her come.

  Alan’s gorgeous eyes studied her for a long few moments. She saw so much emotion pass through the bright, swirling blue. Appreciation. Desire. Something else.

  Was it hope?

  His wish to please her?

  Oh, yeah, he was enjoying this too, no doubt—but he had taken so much trouble to learn new things, amazing things, just to give her pleasure.

  This delectable hunk of a mathematician truly wanted this to be the night of her life. He was doing everything in his power to make her fantasies come true.

  I need to be careful. I could fall for him way too hard—and way too deep.

  Damned tears. Why did she keep wanting to cry? Was she scared of feeling too much for Alan?

  Scared of feeling too much about anything? Scared of…turning loose?

  Alan reached out and took her arm, not roughly but definitely firmly. “Over here,” he said, and as he pulled her forward, she saw where she was going and balked.

  “Talk her through it,” came Reggie’s smooth, unobtrusive instruction.

  Until that second, Celia had forgotten Reggie existed. Now she was aware of another man’s eyes on her naked ass—but it didn’t bother her. It added a little shiver of pleasure in the midst of her fear.

  Alan let go of her arm and dropped the flogger on the floor. He rubbed her arms shoulder to wrist once, twice, and let her catch her breath. Her eyes flicked to their obvious destination—the St. Andrew’s Cross on the dungeon wall.

  “What scares you, Celia?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered, then quickly added, “Master.”

  “Is it the restraint? The pain?”

  “N-no.” She leaned into his touch, letting him support her just a little, enjoying the feel of his stronger, larger male body so close to hers. He felt like an anchor holding her to earth. “I think it’s the pleasure. All of it. I don’t know how much I can stand, Master.”

  “Do you trust me?” The question was tentative, reflecting genuine concern with no condemnation. Celia looked at Alan again, at the concern etched into the Nordic lines of his face, the worry in his bright blue eyes.

  I’ll be damned. He could fall for me, too. Maybe he already has.

  “Yes, Master,” she said, surprised at how small her voice sounded in the huge stone room.

  “Do you remember your safe word?”

  Agamemnon, her brain screamed, but what came out of her mouth was, “Yes, Master.”

  “You can stop this any time you choose.”

  “I know.” She lowered her gaze. “But I—I don’t think I want to stop it, Master. I want to try.”

  Alan rubbed her arms again. The relief on his face was so obvious and sweet. Celia realized with a start that he would have been devastated if she had spoken that word and brought this evening to a close.

  This whole Master-slave thing is backward in a weird sort of way. It really is.

  In truth, the ultimate power was hers, wasn’t it?

  That thought, along with his touch, his unmasked emotions, gave her new courage.

  She looked at the St. Andrew’s Cross, then back to Alan.

  “I’m ready, Master.”

  Alan’s lips curved upward.

  Slowly, slowly, he led her forward, then turned her back to the cross. The wood felt cool against her ass and thighs, sending pleasant chills across her shoulders.

  Never taking his eyes from hers, he raised first one hand then the other over her head, fastening her wrists securely to the cross.

  “Open your legs as much as possible,” he instructed. “I want your pussy spread wide.”

  Celia’s cheeks burned a few degrees hotter, but she did as he ordered. He tenderly fixed a leather strap across both thighs, then secured her ankles, too. Alan stepped back and stared at her so intently he might as well have been touching her everywhere. All at once. Her nipples grew impossibly harder.

  It felt both wrong and right to be stretched open, bound and exposed to a man fully dressed in a tuxedo—and another man, off to the side in his lounging robe.

  Alan took full advantage, approaching her again, closer, closer, until the fabric of his tux scraped her jutting nipples. He matched his hands to hers and kissed her so softly it was more a tease than anything else. His smell of light aftershave, leather, tux and pure male crowded out the dungeon’s faint scent of stone and earth.

  “Do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you?” he whispered.

  Celia’s heart galloped.

  She wanted to know, but she didn’t. As long as it involved orgasm, she wasn’t sure she cared.

  His lips moved down to her chin as his fingers trailed down her arms. He kissed her neck, then ran his tongue down her chest between her breasts. Then lower, to her belly, back up to flick her nipples, and down again so fast she didn’t even have time to gasp. He kissed her mound, pulling at the curly red hairs with his teeth as his fingers followed the wet trail across her nipples.

  Still nipping, he moved lower again, catching the edges of her swollen lips between his teeth.

  Celia ground her teeth to keep from screaming. Even his breath was almost too much. She needed to come. Had she ever needed anything so much?

  And he was going to make her need it more, she just knew it.

  Alan’s teeth raked her clit oh-so gently.

  Her entire body rose up and slammed back against the cross. She whimpered. A fresh sheen of sweat broke over her brow.

  One swipe of his tongue and she’d explode. Just one swipe.

  Of course, that swipe never happened.

  Instead, Alan moved slowly upward, licking and kissing and touching, showing her how helpless she was, how he could make her twitch and moan and buck with the tiniest tap of his tongue or thumb.

  “Mine,” he whispered more than once, and each time he did it, she shivered.

  At last, he had mercy enough to back off and just look at her for a time.

  Right before he undressed. Very, very slowly. Folding each article of clothing, stacking them neatly on the floor, cufflinks, tie, shoes—everything.

  Celia couldn’t stop staring at him.

  The man was truly splendid. Muscled and tan, blond from head-to-toe like some sea God freshly landed to bring her fantasies to life. And his cock. Mmm-mmm. She knew how that thick piece of heat felt in her pussy, like barely yielding iron, driving deep, pounding and pumping.

  “You wish I’d fuck you now, don’t you, djinni?” He walked toward her again, in all of his naked glory.

  “Yes, Master,” Celia almost shouted as he once more matched his hands to hers, letting his erection press into her belly.

  “I’d like that, too.” He eased himself down, letting the tip of his cock touch the top of her pussy.

  Tremors claimed her, then doubled as the head of his cock dipped lower, brushing her aching clit.

  Alan took himself in one hand and moved his cock back and forth over her swollen button, playing, hinting—until he stopped again and sighed.

  “I wish I could fuck you, but you’re being punished. We’ve a ways to go before you’ve earned my cock.”

  Several vibrant curses occurred to Celia, but she kept her mouth shut, figuring a tirade would just make him wait longer before he gave her what she wanted.

  Alan turned back to his clothes, knelt and rummaged in the pockets of his pants, then folded and stacked everything back like it was.

  When he came toward her again, he was holding a silk blindfold and a pair of bronze clamps joined by a gleaming chain.

&n
bsp; Agamemnon, she told herself, then swore silently over choosing a word too damned hard to say when a gorgeous naked Master was about fasten clamps on her nipples.

  He put the blindfold on her first. The black silk blocked all light. Not even a sliver got through after he tied it around her head and made sure it was comfortable and secure.

  Celia heard rustling noises, and she knew Reggie had gotten off the bed.

  Agadimwit. Agadumbnon. AgaohmyGod…

  Male voices murmured, but Celia couldn’t make out what they were saying. Then Alan’s hands were on one of her breasts, holding it out, pinching the nipple between his thumb and forefinger—hard, damn it!

  She held her tongue between her teeth as cool metal slowly replaced the warmth of his grip and fastened even tighter. The pain was enough to make her grimace, to bring tears to her eyes, but just as fast, ripples of pleasure spread out and down, straight to her pussy. He fastened her other nipple into its clamp, then let the chain drop. It swung against her chest and belly, pulling the clamps, increasing the sensation, making her think of streams of swear words she hadn’t heard in years, all ending in soooo fucking good!

  Her senses told her Alan had moved away. More murmuring—and then he was back.

  She felt the light tickle of leather on her neck and shoulders—lots of soft strands.

  “Do you know what I’m touching you with?”

  Alan’s question startled her. When she jumped, the nipple clamps dragged and made her moan. “Yes, Master,” she finally managed as the soft but insistent sound of music filled the dungeon.

  Reggie must have turned on some accompaniment.

  Why? Am I about to scream? Shit!

  The soft leather made a deliberate path up her arm to her hand, back down across her swollen nipples, to her other hand and back down, across her belly, across her pussy, down her legs and back up—damn it, he wanted her to faint! What was he doing?

  The leather tips left her skin, only to be replaced by the flogger’s rough bulbous end. This, too, traced her entire body, skipping her pussy at first, but lingering in its maddening path across her nipples.