“Please,” Vanessa called out in response, her voice so haunting and beautiful in its captivity. “Let my Master mark me, don’t be afraid, I want it.”
“You need it,” the man prompted, caressing her lips with the tip of the crop.
“Oh god, yes,” she groaned.
Tabytha groaned with her. There was no way to refuse and yet she had no wish to implicate herself in the torture of a fellow female.
“Please,” implored Vanessa to anyone listening. “Please.”
Her body twisted, so torturously perfect.
“For god’s sake,” Tabytha called out, springing to her feet. “Do it already!”
Harlan smiled. He’d won. Again.
Tabytha collapsed into her seat. Totally spent.
And now the show began for real.
He did not whip her at first.
The man took his time, taunting, building, and brushing the instrument of torture against her skin. Barely an inch of the girl was spared, her cheeks, her lips, her graceful neck, everywhere he touched, caressing with the brutal little stalk of leather.
When he reached her nipples he slapped lightly, causing her to thrash her head.
He did the same to her smooth, flat stomach.
Tabytha looked away as he placed the tip of the whip between her legs, finding her pussy, the delicate lips and the softness inside.
She wanted to turn away.
A voice told her to keep watching, it was the voice in her dream.
You need to watch. You want to.
She turned her head forward, compliant, mortified that she was obeying a ghost in her head, worse still that she might derive pleasure from the act.
Tabytha squeezed her thighs. She remembered now that she was wearing the black panties for him. They were getting steadily damper. Under the black lace bra her nipples throbbed, stung with every touch of that whip as though she were the one on stage.
Harlan must never know about the underwear…he must never know how sheer and how wet it was.
Vanessa was thrashing, shaking her head back and forth. The man had made her spread her legs, dainty little motions on her big toes so he could use the whip on her pussy. Slight little taps and slaps that clearly were pushing her to the brink.
This time she was denied orgasm.
Giving no respite, the man took up a position slightly behind the girl’s left flank.
Several times he tested the crop in the air. “You will count for us, Vanessa.”
The shuddering girl braced herself but clearly there was no preparing. The sound ripped from her lips was half moan half scream as he landed the whip on her bottom.
Crack.
Tabytha turned away again, this time the voice in her head did not attempt to stop her. She could hear the whip rising and falling, one, two, three, four, the steady cadence of consensual submission, Vanessa’s sweet, rasping voice calling the ever increasing number.
One, two, three, four…
“Five,” she called out now, her voice a broken sob.
Then everything grew quiet.
After a few minutes Tabytha couldn’t stand it anymore, she had to know what was happening.
A picture, they say, is worth a thousand words.
Vanessa, unchained now and on her knees, kissing and licking the man’s unfurled cock, as if thanking him for the beating.
After a few moments more the spotlight turned off and everything went black.
A hand touched Tabytha’s shoulder.
She felt her heart leap to her throat.
It was at this moment everything went black. Then someone touched her hand and Tabytha cried out.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” It was Harlan, back so fast.
Had she been mistaken about the man onstage being him?
“So what did you think?”
Tabytha squeezed her thighs, fighting the moisture, the pulsing.
“I think this is all staged,” she dismissed, “like pro wrestling.”
Harlan laughed. “How about we go backstage and meet the star?”
“What star?”
As if Tabytha didn’t know.
“Vanessa. She’s dying to meet you. I’ve told her quite a bit about you.”
Tabytha could only imagine what that meant.
“Fine, but it won’t change my opinion,” she declared, though at this point she wouldn’t know the truth if it banged her over the head.
* * * * *
Tabytha Quillen was ripe for the picking. Harlan would bet his fortune on it. The more she denied and argued, the more she ridiculed the more clear it became. She craved to know what it felt like. Her body was one huge question mark seeking the bondage, the domination, the whip on her body. She wanted it and needed it. Yes, Harlan knew this. It was his business. But a man didn’t go around forcing things, not a true dominant. He had to be subtle, had to hang back and let her draw her own conclusions.
The way he saw it, meeting Vanessa would be quite an eye opener.
They found her in the aftercare room, having just received some salve for the welts and a little bit of TLC from the handlers. The injury was slight, but Harlan was very exacting about such matters.
Besides, like most subs, Vanessa needed time and space to come down and she was generally pretty sweet and loving after a session, even more so than usual.
“Harlan,” she cried, seeing him the moment they entered.
Not waiting for the handler’s clearance, she jumped down off the table, running to him, still naked, though with a nice pink glow from the shot of bourbon they’d given her.
“Was I just the best girl or what?” she purred, burying herself against his chest.
“You were just great. I was very proud,” he soothed, stroking her damp hair.
“Mmm,” she moaned. “I do wish you’d play with me for real.”
“It’s nothing personal, sweetheart.”
“I know.” She sighed exaggeratedly. “You’re still waiting for Miss Whip Me Right. Hey…who’s this?”
Vanessa had just now seen Tabytha and she was all abuzz with female interest. “So this is the little chassis that caused you to finally break your dry spell. I saw her at dinner and thought it was an illusion. Harlan Blake with a playmate.”
Tabytha looked both angry and embarrassed. “Do you mind, I’m standing right here. And I’m not anybody’s automobile, or show-and-tell project or whatever. I am here doing a feature story.”
Vanessa giggled. “She’s hot, sassy, just a smidge bitchy, right up your alley.”
Harlan frowned in mock irritation. “Do not go there. I just need you to show our lady reporter you are on the up and up. She saw the show and doesn’t believe.”
“You mean these?” Vanessa turned about and bent over, proudly displaying her freshly punished ass. “A work of art, huh?”
Tabytha turned pale and underneath he could see the storm brewing, the equal attraction and repulsion. “How can you let a man do that to you?”
Vanessa approached her bold as brass. For a moment Harlan thought it might come to blows. “Same reason you watch, honey. It makes me hot.”
“You know nothing about me,” said Tabytha. “And trust me. You don’t want to get my Irish temper up.”
Harlan could hardly imagine that little scenario.
“Vanessa, that’s enough,” he said.
The young submissive backed off.
Tabytha did not. “And for your information, young lady, I’m not even lukewarm.”
Vanessa smiled knowingly at Harlan, upsetting Tabytha even more.
“I’m not,” she insisted. “Read my next column and you’ll see just what I think of all this.”
Vanessa frowned. “Maybe I was wrong, maybe you’re all bitch.”
“I don’t have to listen to this,” Tabytha said.
Harlan followed her out of the aftercare room and caught up to her halfway down the hall. “Tab, what gives?”
She whirled on him, some kin
d of crazy look in her eyes. “What did you call me?”
“Tabby Cat, why?”
“You don’t get to rename me, got it?” She was pointing a finger and she looked so fiercely sexy Harlan could not resist.
“Got it,” he said, his lips finding hers.
She made a protesting noise that was promptly drowned by the kiss, hot and tight, their bodies sealing, round female breasts against solid male chest, pelvis touching pelvis, communicating a language all on their own. For a few moments the world disappeared, people walking by on their way to and from private rooms, the sound of the violins playing in the drawing room upstairs.
He let his hands rest on her waist. She was his. She had to be.
“Come to bed with me,” he whispered.
“I already told you. No.”
“I am not a man to beg, Tabytha Quillen.”
“Of course not, you like to make the woman do the begging.”
He stroked her hair, sending electric waves through her, hot passion mixed with a delicious, liberating weakness. “Is that so terrible?”
“Yes,” she replied. “Now let me go.”
“I will,” he said. “If you can look me in the eye and tell me your underwear isn’t black.”
Tabytha’s silence said it all.
He moved directly to her ear, whispering the words, intimate, scandalous. “Be my slave tonight, Tabytha, if you dare.”
She stiffened, as if debating whether to fight back, denying the way he was touching her, moving in so close, as though she’d already said yes.
“Please,” she rasped.
He lifted her chin, making eye contact. “Please what? Yes…or no?”
Tabytha tried to breathe. It was all happening so fast. But her body wanted it, god help her poor little heart.
What should she do? What should she say?
“You can decide in the car,” he said at last. “I’ll take you where you like.”
Taking her hand, he led them to the limousine.
She walked as if in a dream. Somewhere in the distant haze of consciousness, beyond the feel of his hand enveloping hers, she heard him speak.
“Just circle around for a while until the young lady makes her mind up.”
I hope you have enough gas, she thought.
The back of the limo smelled like fresh leather and as soon as Tabytha pressed her buttocks to the soft, buttery material she had felt instantly aroused. This was his world, just like that club and the stage upon which a beautiful woman could be taken naked, chained and played with in front of a casually observing audience.
“I shouldn’t be here,” she announced even as her mind raced, wondering what his devious mind might come up with in such a tiny, enclosed space.
“Hush,” he said, placing a single finger against her lips. “You’re so worked up. Just lean back, relax.”
“But I’m not anyone’s slave,” she said, even as her head fell weary and compliant against the seat cushion behind her.
“It’s all about fantasy, love. It’s play time for grown-ups.” He leaned over letting his lips brush hers. “But say the word and it all stops. You’ll be home snug in your bunny slippers and bathrobe in no time.”
She moaned softly, cooperating just enough for him to take her mouth, his tongue exploring, promising. “I-I don’t have bunny slippers.”
He released her. She counted the heartbeats in her chest rising and falling. She was doing her best not to let it show. He was so close to her, his hot, firm body, his powerful muscles concealed under smooth, bronzed skin.
“Do you have any idea how adorable you are, darling?”
She shook her head no, trying to keep her eyes off his crotch. It was damn hard not to and soon enough he caught her, much to her chagrin.
“And you are wicked as the devil too, aren’t you?” he murmured, letting his fingertips graze her cheek. Tabytha sighed in response, imagining she was in Vanessa’s place, helpless, secured and at his mercy.
“The chauffer,” she groaned by way of protest as he moved to her breasts, lightly touching her peaked nipples through the dress.
“He can’t hear or see anything. Besides, that’s not your concern, is it…slave girl.”
Tabytha arched her back as he smoothed his hand over her belly, his motions at once soft and gentle, but also possessive, as if he were taking hold of her, readying her for a journey.
She dearly wanted to go along, anywhere he would take her.
Still, her will was at stake, and her pride.
“I’m not like Vanessa.”
“No, you are much more submissive.”
“You’re…wrong,” she gasped.
His hand moved up her inner thigh now, quietly demanding, as though he had rights to be there, to do as he pleased.
“Open your legs, sweetheart.”
He said it so sweetly she was nearly hypnotized.
“No, Harlan.”
Harlan left his hand where it was, just resting on the waistband of her panties. Then he kissed her…again. Gone was anything tentative, all the newness of the first time as her mouth opened to him, to his pillaging, probing tongue.
Tabytha had never been kissed like this, never had a man focus his attention, the whole of his will like he had all the time in the world and nothing else to concern himself with.
For her part, she could feel his lips, their power and contours just as she felt his chest muscles.
She could only imagine if he were bare-chested, if he had the freedom of motion, the range…and if she were naked too.
“Open,” he said at last, and this time Tabytha could only whimper, letting her thighs fall apart as he had willed them to do.
“Good girl,” he murmured and she felt wicked, hotly scandalous for wanting to please him, to be good, as his sex toy, his slave.
Harlan’s hand moved into place, exactly where he wanted to be, lightly exploring the exterior of her mons, the damp material of her silk underwear against his knuckles.
“You’re quite turned on, Tabby Cat.”
She turned her head away, cheeks flush. If it was a confession he was looking for, it was one she was not prepared to make.
The tips of his fingers pressed a little deeper, making contact with her throbbing sex. “How did it make you feel, seeing Vanessa dominated?”
To each their own she wanted to say or something else similarly snarky, but nothing came out now, positive or negative.
“Did you wish it was you?”
Tabytha groaned as he found her clit.
“You’d like to come,” he said.
She was practically there.
“But you won’t,” he told her. “Do you know why?”
Her teeth chattered. She couldn’t even manage a weak reply.
“Because you haven’t my permission.”
Tabytha’s body fell limp. In that one second the power transferred, quite as much by her desire as his.
“Oh god…”
“If you come before I tell you, Tabytha, I shall have to punish you.”
Tabytha whimpered, his wicked, sexually charged threat doing little to calm the raging torrents of passion.
“Place your hands behind your back.”
Tabytha did so, feeling herself prisoner to his will.
It was like the dream or the fantasy on the beach, nothing compelling her, no bonds or use of force.
So what was the power?
“That’s better. Now tell me, where are we going tonight?”
“To…to your place.”
“You trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You’ll have a safety word. Journalist. Say it and everything stops. Otherwise I will stay in control, I will push you, test your limits, find that devilish female who’s inside you, the sexy beast who gets off on whips and chains.”
She wanted to deny it, to fight him, but he had his fingertip on the very pinnacle of her pleasure, swelling, teasing. With a single word he’d told her she c
ould stop it all, but the only thing worse than this torture would be losing his touch entirely.
“Could you…go slower?”
“No.”
“But I can’t hold on…”
“I suggest you try, darling,” he said with exasperating detachment. “Or this will be quite a long night for you.”
Tabytha swore under her breath as the orgasm welled up, nothing to keep it down, no power in the universe to keep her from coming all over his hand, her fragrant juices gushing from the folds of her pussy, her clit throbbing like a tiny supernova.
And all this without taking off her underwear.
On and on it went.
Tabytha continued to moan, arching her back, helpless, no longer caring who might hear. She was in Harlan’s power, like it or not.
So far her body liked it just fine even if her mind was far from made up.
“You’re incredible,” he rasped, pulling her close so she could rest her head on his chest. “You’re a wild little beast waiting to be tamed.”
She looked up at him, spent, her flesh limp and drenched on the leather seat. “Does this mean I’m spared punishment?”
He returned her cheeky look. “Oh no, you’ve been bad, you just happen to be good at it.”
“Like Mae West?”
“Something like that. Fancy a drink?”
Tabytha watched him as he slid over to the bar. “Sure, whatever you’re having.”
He handed her a vodka on the rocks. She swallowed it down in one gulp, very, very out of character.
A minute later the limousine stopped in front of a luxurious building on the upper east side.
Her stomach knotted.
Too late to turn back now.
Chapter Five
Harlan took Tabytha’s hand, leading her out of the private elevator. They were on the top floor, the entirety of which belonged to him.
She pretended not to be bowled over by the décor, sleek, modern, smart, sexy, clean white lines and angles, with surprising splashes of softness and color.
The handful of paintings and sculptures were clearly originals and the furniture looked hand designed in Stockholm.
“Not bad,” she said, feeling stronger and more herself with each passing minute. “But I thought there would be a rack or at least an iron maiden in the living room.”
“They’re in the game room. Better Homes and Dungeons did a nice spread on them last spring. Something else to drink, another vodka or are you afraid to get too loopy on the hard stuff?”
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