by Joey W. Hill
She knew he was right, but she wanted to run, to panic, to fly. His knuckles whispered down the line of her spine. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “Celeste, would you like to know why you gave us the name Knights of the Board Room? Why you taunt us through your columns, why you goaded us by showing up at this club three times, looking for something to pin on Matt?”
She went still. His voice had changed. Still calm, but there was something…ruthless to it, an edge that made everything female inside her go on alert. Waiting. Anticipating. Knowing she should run but somehow not wanting to run at all.
“There's a term for it. It's called bratting, actively seeking retribution. Asking for something you don't truly understand, but something inside you craves. You’ll get the inside scoop on that tonight, though it won't be something you can ever print in your paper. Whether you learn the lesson and benefit from it depends on whether you're as brave as you pretend to be.”
“No. I don’t want…I don’t think I can do this.”
“I know you can. As a Master, I tailor my response to the women who submit to me. However, my specialty…my craving, is women who need to challenge a Master full on. I’ll tear open your soul before it’s over, I promise. But I also promise to take very good care of it, and send you out of here no worse than you came in.”
Wow. As a pickup line, it was overwhelming, probably because it wasn’t one. He meant every terrifying word, which meant she should run shrieking. But she couldn’t. She was tied up. Even without using a gag, he’d paralyzed her vocal cords.
He leaned in, so close his breath was pure heat against her neck again. She felt his teeth, moaned, and clutched the edge of the chair. No. He wasn’t doing this to her. He wasn’t.
“Surrender is the most powerful gift a woman can give a man. But I want something deeper, the surrender you’ve given no one, the deepest, darkest wells of your free will. When I take that from you, Celeste, that’s when you’ll get all your answers. That’s when you’ll find out what freedom truly is.”
“What do you get out of it?” she whispered.
She could almost imagine him baring his teeth in a feral smile. “I’m going to blister your ass until you cry. Just the way I’ve wanted to do, ever since you wrote the first word about us. While you’re crying, you’ll beg for my cock." His tongue teased the bite. "That's a promise.”
Part Three
Okay, yes she’d had sex before. Nice, vanilla sex. Every once in a while she’d played with the idea of what it would be like to spice it up in some nebulous, amorphous way, but she hadn’t broached it with the males in question. In truth, she never let them hang around that long. And when she fantasized…well, she just didn’t. It made her uncomfortable. Usually, if hormones overcame her and she masturbated in the dark of night, she didn’t let herself think of anything much other than the friction of her fingers, and how it felt good.
Well…maybe she thought about how it might feel if there was a strong, warm body curved behind her, his fingers over hers, taking over, doing it for her, letting her clutch his forearm under her head, dig her nails into his warm flesh, press her face into firm biceps. Press the tears there when the climax came.
Hell. There was no way she could pretend to be as sophisticated as this. But there was no other choice, was there? Unless she told Ben she wanted to quit. Which meant she'd be telling those cameras and the DM watching through them that she couldn't do this. All she had to do was say she’d had enough.
“This isn’t about pride, Celeste. Competition.” He slid his knuckles along her cheek. “Your muscles are all locked up, like you’re getting ready for an ice bath, but you're hell bound and determined to get hypothermia before you admit you’re cold.”
“Is this how you do it? Alternate all the mesmerizing sexual charisma with kindness, make them think they can trust you? Then they melt like butter and you can have everything you want from them, because so many women are desperately looking for a man they can trust?”
“Yes.” He answered her frankly, with no apparent affront. “You’ve boiled it down to the simplest form, but yeah. Except for one correction. They can trust me. In this room, you can trust me completely, Celeste. Anything you give me won’t be abused. It won’t be destroyed, unless it’s something you want destroyed.”
The knuckles stopped on her jaw, and then it was his whole hand, holding her face, his thumb sliding along her throat. “Most women are desperately looking for a man they can trust. It pisses me off that so many of my gender have let you down, have abused the gifts you could give them, looking only for pussy. They've overlooked how much more erotic, how much more of an experience it is--for both of us--when your heart and soul are included in the conquering.”
“Conquering.” She fought the emotions swelling inside her, making her ribs hurt. He was a lawyer, a damn good lawyer. He knew how to use words as weapons, and he was trying to break her open with them, as well as with that unsettling firm touch on her throat, the heat of his body against her hip and leg. “You slipped with that one. Pretty un-PC, the idea of conquering a woman.”
“That’s because our shallow PC world has made you forget what it truly means. Take her over, overwhelm her, possess her…and then, in the possessing, give her an oath to care for her, protect her, cherish all that he’s won.”
“I think someone should gag you.” She tried for a scornful laugh that came out nervous, shaky. “You’re confusing what’s really happening with a bunch of words. You’re setting women’s rights back about a century. You did hear there was a women’s rights movement?”
His fingertips slid along her sternum, down, down, following the curve of her breast over her bra, then back up, just as slow. Her arms shook, fingers clenching the top of the chair through the constricting mittens. He’d said she was tense, and she was, such that his movement made her tighten up further, anticipating him making a dip into the cup to tease her nipple, but he didn’t. Just a caress of the curve, then he cupped his palm to hold her breast. A firm pressure, thumb so close to the nipple, but not touching. Her pussy contracted, and she had to suppress the desire to shift to prolong the feeling. She wanted the bra off, wanted the contact between her bare flesh and his palm.
“There you are,” he said. “We’ll get there, Celeste. You want to be aroused, you want to give yourself to this. But there’s a lot of crap to get out of the way.”
“You haven’t answered the question, counselor.” She was proud of herself for having the breath to speak, especially in her exposed, highly sexual position. “Susan B. Anthony? Elizabeth Stanton? Suffrage?”
“I don’t think the intent of giving women rights—the right to vote, to not be abused, to have the chance to pursue a career—meant they had to give up their right to have someone in their life who can love and protect them, shelter them from the storm, hold them when they cry and open a fucking door for them. Giving women rights wasn't a license to abandon our responsibilities as men.”
“Maybe a woman can take care of herself.” His words made her angry. She didn’t want to feel angry.
“How do you take care of yourself, Celeste? Let me take a stab at it. At night, in the dark, you put your fingers between your legs and give yourself a release that only makes you cry. Your pussy gets relief, but nothing else. Women need far more from an orgasm than the orgasm itself.”
How had he crawled in her head like that? “Don’t mock me.”
She snapped it, and immediately despised herself. When anger took over, you showed your throat to the enemy. Sarcasm was the properly controlled tool for anger, but in this case, she’d simply lashed out.
He’d moved behind her, because now his hands followed the line of her shoulders, dropping to her elbows, to her back. Things in her belly quivered as he unhooked her bra, releasing the slim ribbons of the shoulder straps. The garment fell away, gently pulled free of her body by his hands.
Hands that molded to her sides, following the slope of her rib cage to the flare of her hi
ps. His thumbs teased under the elastic of her panties, then ran back up along either side of her spine. He had big hands. “You’re going to get tired in this position. We have too much to do. I’m going to change this…here.”
His arm slid around her waist, strong, supportive, functional. “I won’t let you fall. Take your hands off the top of the chair. I’ve unlaced the cuffs.”
When she complied, she found he held her weight easily, with no sense of tension. He slid her forward, so her knees were more squarely on the velvet cushion. It brought his whole body up against her. His broad chest against her shoulder blades was distracting enough, but her breath sucked in when something very hard and noticeably large pressed against her ass, gone so quickly she couldn’t get freaked out by it. Much. It left a definite impression.
She’d heard a lot of BDSM sessions didn’t involve sex, but he’d said she’d beg for that part of him. Would he try to make her service him with her mouth—yeah, right. Or…did he think he’d fuck her tonight? No chance of that. No way. He probably wouldn’t go that far. This was all to prove a point, right? But her pussy was so wet, as if it was already begging.
It was just an arousing situation, that was all. She might be sexually inexperienced, but she was a sophisticated, rational woman. Everything her body was doing was rational. It didn’t mean she couldn’t stay in control.
He’d changed her position so that her breasts were resting on the top of the chair, but the carved wooded edge had been covered by a cushiony foam of some type so that it didn’t hurt. He passed another one of those nylon silky-rough ropes over the top of her breasts, through the chair slats and under her arms, securing it at her back in a series of smooth crisscrosses that didn’t irritate the bumps of her spine. The constriction on her breasts made her nipples ache. The overwhelming physical stimuli had to be part of how they made women surrender to them, their minds overcome by all of it.
So you'll have a great excuse if it happens to you, right? She pushed away the traitorous thought. Celeste didn't surrender to any man. She usually took fierce pride in the thought, in outwitting her male counterparts, proving herself better and stronger than them, more in control. But right now, the thought was hollow. And merely an irritating whisper behind other internal responses she was experiencing.
The touch of the ropes gave her a provocative idea of what she looked like, restrained in this elaborate rope bondage. Now she found her weight distributed more evenly as he adjusted the rope around the back of her knees so they were firmly held in the center of the chair seat. Her muscles still took a certain amount of strain from the position, but it was a stimulating stress, oddly enough. She heard a metal snap, close to the floor, and Ben’s hand was on her back again.
“The chair’s been locked down. No matter how you squirm or rock, it won’t fall.”
She gasped as he bent over her again, this time pressing his hips deliberately against her ass, executing a good rotation against her that made it very clear the cock beneath those custom-tailored slacks was hard as steel…and the size of Florida. Her hips jerked, but she couldn’t have said if it was to get away or to try and rub against him. His hands cupped her breasts fully, covering the nipples so they pressed into his palms. This time, there was no doubt her attempted arch was to reach for more of his touch. He put his mouth against the back of her neck, going completely still for a number of silent seconds. Listening to her breath rasp in her throat, she felt her body quiver. He was simply letting her shudder, react, worry…wonder.
“I don’t mock women, Celeste,” he said at last. “You haven’t been touched much, or not touched well, which is why you tense when a man puts his hands on you. So let’s work on that. What’s that safe word?”
“Red,” she said defiantly. That’s what all the books said to use, after all.
“The color your ass will be when I’m done with it. And when I finally get your real safe word.”
She didn’t want to be hit. But it was a spanking, right? With his hand. She could handle that. But her muscles were staying rigid, tense, prepared.
He moved away from her, hands trailing down her back, over her buttocks, stroking. With that rope wrap from ankles to thighs, her ass would be a front and center display, especially at the canted angle, poked out like it was begging for attention. Jesus, had she lost her mind? Why had she agreed to do this? Why was she so nervous about a little spanking?
He’d shifted, or…knelt, because now his hands were squarely on her ass. He worked her panties down so they rested on the rope wrap and exposed her to the air. Gripping her buttocks, he parted the cheeks with his thumbs, a smooth economy of motion. What was he…
“Aahhh…” She cried out, partly in protest, partly something else entirely as his heated breath caressed that opening, and his tongue touched, licked. Began to explore her rim in a way she’d never been explored. It should have revolted her and caused her to stiffen up even more, but sensation exploded in her lower belly, making her nipples tingle like crazy, her whole body trying to squirm and wiggle and move in its confinement. Being so restrained as he was doing it made it even more intense and, when his hand dropped and stroked her labia, compressed by her legs being bound together, she let out another cry. Alarm, a plea…something unintelligible and primal. She was soaked, the fluid so slick that two of his fingers slid slow and easy into her, giving her a teasing finger fuck in the tight area as he continued to have oral sex with her rear entry.
“Ohh…” Thinking was not an option at all. Just pure, mindless stimulation. Apparently her lack of sexual experience wasn’t a problem, because he was doing it all, controlling it all. He was going to take her where he wanted her to go. All this was going on a tape…a tape where her identity was concealed…but…
His mouth and fingers withdrew and, in the next second, her cry became a yelp as his hand clapped on her ass, a blow that made her right buttock wobble. The combination of it with the other stimulation made her wriggle harder. Her nipples stimulated by air were stiff and large, needing actual touch, wanting touch. But he didn’t give it to them. He spanked the other buttock, then returned to the first one to dish out some more. The feeling reverberated in her pussy.
“I thought you might need a vibrator to relax you, but that’s not what you want, is it, darling? You’re so hungry for human touch.”
“Help…” She didn’t know what she was saying. What did it mean? But it was there, on her lips, in her head. Help me… A plea for more, for saving, for what? What was he doing to her?
A whistle of air and suddenly a searing stripe of actual pain, running from her upper thigh to the roundest part of her buttock. With the yelp this time came a surge of alarm. Ouch, holy hell, that hurt. It burned… She tensed for another, but instead he hit her with his hand, prolonging the sting but adding another element to it, confusing her. In its aftermath, the burn became a warmth. And she wanted him to do it again, even knowing how much it hurt.
“Stop that. That hurt. Don’t do that again.” She was breathing hard, making her sentences choppy.
“Then use the safe word.” He waited. Why wasn’t she saying it?
“What are you…doing to me?” she asked instead.
He didn’t answer, just hit the other thigh and buttock with the switch-like thing, following it up with the same firm spank from his hand. A flurry of blows followed, quick switches and spanks, all rolled together, so the pain became intense, overwhelming, and she was screaming. “Stop…stop…stop.”
He did, but she knew it wasn’t because she’d demanded it. She panted, her hands curling against themselves where they were cuffed to the sides of the chair back, below her breasts, on display on that cushioned foam. She should tell him to let her go, but that wasn’t where her mind was. It was just reeling, stumbling, rolling, her ass on fire, her breath caught in her throat. “I can’t…”
His fingers glided down her spine, slow, easy. Back up. “Take your time and get your breath, girl. Fuck, your ass is beautiful. It
has my handprint, and the marks of the switch. And we’re just getting started. Tell me you want more.”
“I’m afraid.”
“I know. Tell me anyway.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, mortified to find she was close to tears, and she had utterly no idea why she wanted to cry. “I want more.”
Okay, time for her rational mind to step in. She’d sat in this club three separate times, watched men and women come unraveled emotionally from this experience. She understood it, in an academic way, and now she was experiencing it directly. It didn’t make it right, normal or good. But it did help her understand it. She was still doing research. And she was still getting that tape.
She could stop right now, tell him it was over, get her tape, and be done with it. That’s what she should do. But she’d been sucked into it. Endorphin release, whatever you wanted to call it. She could see it through to the end. Or at least until she reached a line she couldn’t cross.
She had a sudden terrifying thought that, at the hands of Ben O’Callahan, no woman reached such a line. He had a way of blinding her to everything but what he wanted. If all the K&A men were like this, it was no wonder women had a difficult time standing toe to toe with them. They were sex gods, sent down from another planet, and that explained women’s lack of will against them.
Okay, she was punchy, giddy, and babbling internal nonsense.
“Your tits are so swollen. They want attention, particularly these nipples.” When his fingertip brushed over one, she made that shameful whimper. “Here we go. This is something Jon invented. I particularly like using it.”
It felt like the sensual touch of paraffin wax being brushed on, but it was obviously some kind of warming oil, except it did more than warm. In a matter of seconds, her nipples started tingling, and sensation shot along the nerve endings around them, stimulating them further. She pulled against her bonds restlessly, gasping in reaction.