“No, no, not with your hands.”
As per the rules of the game, she dropped her skirts, squeezing her inner muscles around the toy. “What is it, Master?”
A smile crooked his mouth. “Lightning.”
She gasped, and almost dropped the device. “Lightning?”
“Trapped in thick glass, very safe, I assure you.” He unbuttoned his shirt cuffs. “In a moment, I shall leave you to make yourself presentable to me. When I return, that had better still be inside you, and you most certainly do not have my permission to come.”
She gaped after him as he went to the inner door and slipped through it. She stood, cunt clenching on the device that beat harder and harder inside of her, whipping and twisting its entire length. With a sob of frustration, she reached for the buttons of her dress. Every movement seemed to aggravate the lightning trapped within the glass. She struggled out of her gown, her head reeling from the sensations coursing through her body.
She’d just managed to unbuckle her shoes when Horace returned, clad in the same tight leather as when they’d met, the dark brown hide creaking as he walked toward her. The laces strained over the considerable bulge level with her eyes as she straightened. Her gaze passed over every hard ridge of muscle between the waist of the trousers and the silver hoops that glinted in his nipples. Another two bars twinkled just below his collar bones; she’d run her tongue over them while desperately pleading with him to fuck her. His entire body, from his feet to his head, covered in a sleek leather hood and attached goggles that hid his eyes, was a map to all of her most erotic memories. Just looking at him brought her perilously close to the edge.
He held out a pair of leather restraints, silver chains dangling from an impossible number of cuffs. “We are going to play a game, pet.”
“A game?” She squeezed her thighs together. A game would be maddeningly pleasurable, but delay her pleasure maddeningly. The lightning device jerked hard, taking her breath away.
He stepped behind her, one finger trailing along the black lace overlay on her corset. His finger caught the loops of the laces in the back and gave a gentle tug. “Very nice. I think you should leave this on for a while.”
As he spoke, the smooth leather of the collar closed around her neck and cinched closed. He leaned close to her ear. “The same word as before, do you remember?”
She remembered, and nodded weakly. The weight of the collar brought a sharp clarity to her, a focus she’d only experienced under his command. She strove for that almost as much as she strove for each climax.
“On your knees,” he instructed, giving her buttocks a sharp slap.
She dropped, wincing at the bite of the floor. It was not rough stone, not like the dungeon they had visited before, but cold, polished marble that was hard all the same. The device bounced within her.
“I’m afraid this chain might be a bit short,” he said with feigned dismay. “I hope you don’t mind if we proceed, anyway.”
“Not at all, Master.” She swallowed as the ankle cuffs closed around her. The chain between the collar and her ankles pulled taut, but still her body bowed, head bent back when he fastened it. Another set of cuffs slid along the length of the chain; they brushed her back when he pushed her arms into position. Trussed this way, her body arched, her hips and chest thrust forward, her large breasts slipping loose from the corset and jiggling lewdly, pink nipples pointing erect at the ceiling.
And deep in her cunt, the lighting glass still pulsed and snapped.
“Ah, the very picture of loveliness.” He walked in a slow circle around her, reaching out to twist one nipple with his gloved hand. The cool slide of the leather brought gooseflesh to her breast. “How do you feel?”
She wet her lips, faintly aware of the sheen of sweat that stood out on her skin. “Ready to die.”
“Ready to die?” He stroked a lazy S across her bottom, then smacked, his leather glove filling the air with a loud crack. She whimpered in her shock, canted her hips back for more contact. “That doesn’t sound very pleasant. Perhaps I should take you out of these restraints—”
“No!” she begged, her channel growing slipperier, her muscles struggling to grip the device. “No, please, Master.”
He tugged at the chain strung between her neck and legs like a violin string, then dropped to his knees beside her and licked a long curved path up her chest. He’d tossed the mask aside, his auburn curls glinted like burnished mahogany in the low gaslight. His hand slipped between her thighs, his fingers entered her roughly, taking her breath away. “Here is what you’re going to do. I’ll leave this right here,” he punctuated his sentence with a hard roll of his thumb over her clitoris. She cried out, swinging her hips desperately. “And you’ll crawl to me. And if you reach me without coming, not once, I’ll let you suck my cock. Would you like that?”
She wanted to cry, to scream at him and beg for release. But he had not offered that. She squeezed her eyes shut and nodded.
“I didn’t hear you.”
“Yes, Master,” she whispered.
He walked away, to an elegant velvet wing chair at the end of the room. He sat, his fingers already working on the laces of his trousers. She watched, fascinated, a starving woman catching sight of a banquet. He pulled out his rigid length and sighed with relief as he stroked himself. He pumped his fist up and down a few times, his eyes locked on her watery gaze. “All right then. Come to me.”
Chapter Three
In all of his time at the club, Horace had never once lost control with a club member. Tonight, he had to concentrate on things like bookkeeping and medieval politics to keep from spilling in his own hand. He’d barely been able to resist fucking her against the wall in the elevating room. Now, he’d given her an almost impossible task. The newest toys his brother, Richard, had perfected were the lightning bottles, their unpredictable, arrhythmic pulsing and crackling the ultimate tease. Horace knew what she was feeling now; he’d purchased one for his own private use when his brother had discreetly pointed out that men, as well as women, could partake in the device’s use. She would come after two steps, he was certain of it.
With her arms secured behind her back, she could not crawl, and the chain was too short to permit her to stand. She shuffled forward, one knee, then the other, gasping for breath like a drowning woman. She hesitated for a long time, her eyes squeezed closed. He stilled his hand, trying to regain some control before she opened her eyes again. It was all a game, and one he was very good at, under normal circumstances.
But Tallulah…she was exceptional. He watched her sway on her knees, then, opening her eyes and fixing him with a resolved stare, she took another torturous slide forward. He resumed his stroking, forcing himself not to wonder how wet she must be, how tightly her channel must be gripping to prevent the lightning glass from sliding to the floor.
He definitely didn’t need to concentrate on the hungry way she eyed his cock, as though the thing she wanted most in the world was to reach him and wrap those soft lips and wicked tongue around him. No, if he concentrated on that, the game would be over far sooner than either of them would like.
She reached him finally, panting, and leaned her head against his knee. A drop of perspiration rolled down her cheek, or perhaps that was a tear of frustration. He wicked it away with his thumb. “Very good. Very good.”
“Thank you, Master.” There was nothing coy about her responses, not now, or during their other encounters. Some women purred “master” as though they didn’t really mean it, as though they remained always cognizant of the fact that it was, indeed, a game. Tallulah was one of the rare few who gave themselves over completely and without irony, losing herself in the trust and devotion, even if it was only for a few hours.
A woman like Tallulah was not one a man liked to lose.
“Do you remember your reward?” he asked, already threading his fingers into her golden curls. Her careful coiffure had fallen, the ringlets loosening haphazardly into a beautiful mess a
bout her face. She nodded, looking up at him with hope and desperation, and he sank down further in the chair, spreading his legs so she could inch between them. With her hands bound, it would be a difficult job, but she had managed before, and he would do nothing to take her from the perfect erotic state of mind she’d entered. He took a deep breath and prayed for control as she obediently opened her mouth and took him inside, swallowing his generous size deeply.
His body jolted, and he gripped the arms of the chair as she bobbed her head up and down in a steady rhythm, her tongue rolling over his shaft while the back of her throat fluttered against the head. Some men would be concerned at a woman’s prowess with his member. What did it mean, who had she been with? Horace was of the opinion that it mattered less than two figs how she’d learned to do it, so long as he reaped the benefits. But too soon it became apparent to him that he couldn’t enjoy her attentions as long as he would like. Before she could push him past the breaking point, he gently lifted her head and extricated himself from her lips.
“Very good. In fact, you’ve done such a wonderful job, I’d like to see you come now.”
She sobbed in relief, her shoulders trembling as he set about removing her restraints. While she stood before him unbound, lightning glass still buried deep inside her, he considered his options. There was a padded bench against one wall. It would be easy enough to pull it to the center of the room, bend her over it, and fuck her hard until they both came. But that would end their encounter much sooner than he’d planned. There was a low fainting couch, with loops carved into the wooden scrollwork trim. He ordered her to lie upon it while he untangled the arm restraints.
For a moment, he watched her as she laid there, her hands roaming over her body, her hips grinding into the upholstery as she sought further stimulation from the lightning glass. That would not do, not at all. Any climax she had tonight, he would give her. He would have her dreaming of him for weeks, unsatisfied by any other patron of the club.
The fierce possession in his mind took him by uncomfortable surprise. He, of all people, shouldn’t be having thoughts of fidelity. Not with the scores of women he’d been with.
“Please,” she begged him, lifting her hips from the couch. “Please fuck me, Master.”
“Already?” He went to her and threaded the restraints through the loops on the raised end of the couch. “I think not. Unless you have some more…pressing engagement?”
He traced a path down her chest with his fingertips, following a trickle of sweat between her breasts, then swooping beneath the quivering flesh to skim the satin corset, up again to capture the pale column of her arm. He guided first that limb, then its mate, over her head to slip into the restraints they had so recently been released from.
A thousand pleas stood ready to fall from her lips. Her urgency radiated from her, like the vibration of a harp string. The music of her panting breath served as an appropriate accompaniment to his long, slow slide down her body, and he settled at the end of the couch, knees on the floor so that he could lean down, face to face with the delicate blonde curls over her mound.
“First, this must go,” he said, stroking around her dripping opening with one fingertip. She gasped and lifted her hips toward him, and he worked two fingers inside to grasp the sleek glass rod and withdraw it from her body.
“While this is an incredible device, you must admit there is little that can compare with the human tongue.” His cock twitched at the sound of her indrawn breath. Nothing spurred his libido more than knowing a woman desired his touch; that she looked forward to the delights he offered. “However, I can’t have you knowing my secret identity, can I?”
“I-I don’t understand,” she said, and before her erotic haze could lift, he fished a length of black silk from his pocket. Laying the lightning glass carefully aside, he leaned over her and blindfolded her with the cloth, then pulled his mask off.
Although she was fully aware of who he was outside the club, Horace found that not being able to make eye contact with him made his partners more uninhibited in their passion. It was rare that he would use his mouth on a partner at the club because of risk of revealing his identity. Since Tallulah already knew, he wasn’t about to waste his chance to taste her.
“Shall we go through the exercises, while you’re here?” He lifted one of her legs, bringing her pink little toes to his lips. “Do you remember how to play?”
She nodded.
“Good.” He had hoped she would remember the way he’d taught her to revel in her body that first night she’d been at the club. She was not the first woman, married or not, to come to the club with little knowledge of her body’s parts.
Starting at her toes, he kissed, nibbled, and sucked his way up her leg, pausing at every plump inch to ask the name of the flesh to which he paid adoring tribute. She writhed beneath his touch, the words not coming to her as easily the closer he drew to her cleft. Finally, he spread her thighs to admire the damp sheen there, and placed his hands reverently on either side of her mound. He let his mouth hover over her, listening to her whimpering cries as his thumbs kneaded her without touching the part he knew she pleaded with him to touch. “And what is this called?”
The first time, she’d blushed and writhed and tried to beg to avoid saying it. This time, she spoke almost before he finished his question. “Clitoris. Please, enough of this silly review!”
Were she any other partner, he would have used this as an opportunity to tease her further, but to do so would only prolong his torment, as well, and he couldn’t resist her sweet cunt any longer. He fastened his lips over the glistening pink bud, and it throbbed against his tongue. He took long, slow sips against it, drawing it into his mouth and releasing it, savoring the taste of her and the feeling of that smooth flesh slipping against his lips.
Her body tightened, her voice cried out in helpless shouts of escalating passion. She was so close, it would have been easy to take her over the edge. But not until he was inside of her.
He set a record for speed, he was certain, as he sheathed himself, and with a final kiss to her straining bud, he rose over her.
“Fuck me,” she begged him, her ability to be obedient stretched to its very limit. She was a helpless, writhing thing; her legs open wide for him, hands clawing at the restraints. “Please!”
He obliged her, plunging deep. Under other circumstances, he would have been more careful, more gentle. But she could take it, could take all of him, her sexual spirit somehow stronger when her physical body was bound. He sank into her to the hilt, then, out of pure impulse, leaned over her and pressed his forehead to hers. The black silk still covered her eyes, her mouth fell open, and in that moment he wanted nothing more than to claim her lips.
But that would have been against his own personal rules. A kiss was far more intimate than anything he’d done with her thus far.
He grinned and rose on his knees, gripping her ankles and lifting them high and wide. “Since you asked me so nicely,” he said, pumping against her slowly. “All right. I’ll fuck you.”
Chapter Four
Filled with him, all rational thought fled. Nothing existed beyond his touch, inside of her and out. His hands molded her breasts as he rode her, his huge cock dragging through her, turning her cunny into a searing furrow. She wished she could see him and cursed the scrap of silk over her eyes. She summoned her memories to substitute for touch, remembering the feel of the hard ridges of his abdomen under her fingertips. She’d remarked on that, the first time she’d seen him, that he looked more like a farmer than a dandy. She’d been teasing then, but now that she understood the extent of what his marvelous body could offer her, she much preferred that he look common.
Her body, held so long on the precipice of her desire, could take no more. He thumbed her nipples and leaned down to take one into his mouth, drawing her up with a hand at her back to support her. Splayed around him, his thick cock pounding harder and harder into her, her cunt spasmed under the swiftly build
ing sensation that swept through her. Her climax rolled through her like thunder, and she screamed, clenching the restraints in her fingers and his cock with her cunt.
Another man might have taken her release as a signal to seek his own completion, but not Horace Sterling. Not the Ace of Hearts. He pounded into her harder, almost too hard, forcing her back to the edge and shoving her over the brink once more. Still, his cock did not tire, and she rolled her hips, seeking to match him, seeking to best him.
“No more,” she whimpered, when the third climax took her.
“You know your word,” he purred. “Say it, if you must.”
She bit her tongue, hard enough to cause a ringing in her ears.
“No?” He pumped harder, as if daring her to say the word, pushing her to the very brink. “I suggest you hang on to something.”
Her cunt quivered at his words, and she gripped the restraints. He pushed her legs together and straddled them, his cock still buried inside of her. The shift of their bodies pulled his iron-hard cock against her throbbing clitoris and teased the delicious spot inside of her. She wanted to move with him, but she could do nothing but lay paralyzed with pleasure beneath him. He stroked against her slowly, gaining speed like a locomotive, tormenting her already battered flesh with equal parts pain and ecstasy. This time, when she came, she went limp, no longer able to support her straining body under her own power. He brought her legs around his waist again and drove into her, his body shuddering against her. Deep inside her, his cock twitched, and the pulse renewed her demented desires.
But the encounter was over, and she was glad for it. As much as she would gladly allow him to fuck her into exhaustion, she knew that her bodily limitations would force the word from her lips whether her desire wished it or not.
Bound in Brass (All Steamed Up Series, Book Two) Page 2