“Good.”
God. Because she wanted this. Wanted to experience what it would be like to be completely in another person’s power.
In Mick’s power.
Something deep and dark within her trembled violently, a tiny voice asking, do you really trust him? Do you trust him with your body? With your life?
Yes, she answered. She did.
“This way.” He took her arm and led her to a door in the corner.
“Ladies lounge,” he said. “Get ready for a long night.” He tipped her chin up. “I want you in scarlet lipstick. There should be matching nipple rouge. Use it.”
She swallowed, fighting down her panic over her decision—one he’d given her no time to consider. “I’ve never—”
He cut her off. “You have ten minutes to prepare yourself.”
The door snicked shut behind him and she found herself alone in the opulent bathroom. It took her a full minute to gather herself enough to move, another five to hurriedly freshen up. That left two to locate the right shade of lipstick in a cabinet stocked with packages of new cosmetics and apply it. She knew if she didn’t obey Mick he’d punish her. The thought of all those instruments on the wall made her heart pound like thunder. What would he do?
She rooted shakily through the unfamiliar tubes and pots of erotic make-up to find nipple rouge. She’d just taken the wrapper off the correct color when Mick walked back in.
He looked different.
His latigo harness was gone, his chest bare. His skin gleamed as though rubbed with oil. He’d changed his pants, too. The conservative leather trousers had been replaced by a pair of black rawhide motorcycle chaps, meant to be worn over jeans. But under Mick’s chaps was just...Mick.
His genitals hung free between his legs, large and proud as a stallion’s. A thick band wound around the root of his balls; a network of narrow, studded straps caged the length of his penis. Already thick, it began to stir at the sight of her.
“Defying me so soon?” he asked.
She shook her head, dragged her gaze from his rising cock, saw him looking at her breasts.
“No!” she rushed to say. “I— I—” She held up the small pot of scarlet paste.
He indicated the mirror. “Go ahead.”
She turned to the glass, opened the jar, tried to still the shaking of her hands. “I don’t— I’m not—”
“Shall I do it for you?”
Her voice cracked when she whispered, “Yes.”
He came up behind her, close, close. The rough, split-cowhide of his chaps scratched against her bottom and the backs of her thighs, catching on her silky thigh-high stockings. They’d be ruined. She didn’t care.
He put his arms around her waist, eased the paint pot from her trembling fingers. His stiff shaft eased into the cleft between her buttocks; the round metal studs on the cock strap poked into her sensitive flesh. He was hot as a brand, thick as the double barrel of a shotgun. Her backside tingled with frenzied excitement, eager for its probing.
She wriggled forward to escape the unfamiliar, embarrassing feelings.
He pulled her back. And held her fast.
It reminded her of when he’d held her at the crime scene, just like this, when she was puking. Even in her misery she’d been acutely aware of his hard body pressed up against her spine, had felt the unyielding ridge of the erection he’d pretended he didn’t have. And wanted nothing more than to have him shove it into her.
“Tonight you’ll deny me nothing,” he said, and spread a dollop of scarlet on the tip of one nipple, then the other.
She quaked. And knew he was right. “N-No.”
“No, what?”
“No...Sir.”
He grunted and plucked a short-bristled paintbrush from the counter, held it just over a nipple. He looked at her in the mirror, making certain she was watching. He rubbed his cock deeper into her cleft, up and down, then touched the tip of the brush to her areole. An agony of bristly pleasure burst through her as he stroked it around and around her pink nipple, turning it the color of a bullfighter’s cape.
He reloaded and started on the other. She sobbed out her breath. “Mick, please...”
His eyes flicked to hers. “Stop?”
“No.”
“What, then?” The brush tickled over her, back and forth, around and around. The words froze in her throat.
He considered his artwork in the mirror, turned her to face him. “You have such pretty nipples. But you’re so excited, they’re half their normal size. I think I’ll make them bigger.”
He sat her on the cold counter, dipped his brush, leaned over and worked on her breasts with delicate strokes like an artist at a canvas, enlarging the appearance of her areolae. It was all she could do to sit still.
“You’ve done this before,” she said breathlessly, pique overtaking fear.
“Once or twice.”
“With your friend Su?”
He inspected her again, then gently blew on her breasts. “Su and I aren’t lovers.”
“Just friends,” she said, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice.
“No. She’s my teacher. Hold still.”
He smeared a sweet-smelling gloss over her reddened nipples, eliciting a moan. “What’s that stuff?”
“To set the color. So it won’t lick off.”
She groaned in anticipation. “But you’ll try, I hope.”
“Stand up.” She did as she was told. “Bend over and grab the edge of the counter.”
She did that, too, watching his reflection behind her. This position never failed to fill her with lust. Make her want the man standing behind her to—
He pushed her feet far apart with a boot, spreading her legs wide.
“What does she teach you?” she asked, partly to distract herself, so she wouldn’t beg.
He slid his fingers between her legs, and into her. “She’s a dominatrix,” he said, shocking her.
His fingers probed her deeply, and pulled out the small vibrator. Then he fisted his cock and slid it slowly, deliberately, inside her. She moaned in instant pleasure. The cool bumps of the metal studs and the crisscrossing leather bands scraped into her with strange, erotic sensation.
“You let her whip you?” she managed.
He hilted roughly, making her cry out in a storm of pleasure-pain.
“No. She lets me watch.”
She gripped the counter, white-knuckled, struggling to hang onto her concentration. Because she sensed this was important. “Watch what?”
He pulled out, pushed back in. She groaned deeply, her focus beginning to crumble. So good.
He withdrew completely and her empty passage throbbed with loss. She instinctively moved to follow, but his hand on her spine prevented her from straightening.
“I watch while she disciplines her clients,” he said, jerking her back to the subject of his teacher.
“Why?” she asked, bent at the waist, clutching the counter, her derrière presented to him as she dreaded his answer. Her heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings, awaiting the pleasure of his whim. Awaiting the words she knew were coming.
“So I can learn,” he said. “To be a good Master to you.”
Her heart zinged and her body felt suddenly weightless, swept through with an overwhelming feeling of inevitability.
Unless he’s been trained as a Master...
“For me?”
“You knew,” he said. “All along you knew. You saw me watching you. Waiting. Knowing one day you would belong to me, body and soul. And now you do. You’re mine, Caro. To do with as I will.”
Terror streaked through her heart. Along with a sense of rightness. Frightening, petrifying rightness.
“Do you trust me, Caro?”
She wanted to cry. “Yes. I trust you. You know I do.” Her knees were like liquid.
“That’s good,” he said again. “But I’m going to make you prove it to me.”
“H-How—?”
He
picked up a tube from the counter and squirted some of its contents into the valley of her bottom, then slid the small vibrator through it, up and down, soaking it with lubricant, spreading the slickness through her cleft.
“What ar—”
“Shhh,” he ordered. “Relax.”
The smooth plastic capsule paused as it kissed her rear entry.
“Mick!”
“I take it this is your first time.”
Panic assailed her as he applied steady pressure to the capsule. She tried to wrench away. He slid his hand up her spine and grasped the back of her neck firmly.
“Don’t struggle, Caro. Enjoy it.”
He turned the vibrator on and she gasped. “No! I— Oh!”
He pushed harder.
She didn’t want to like how it felt. But she did. She moaned as the steady erotic hum slowly relaxed her tight muscles. He rubbed the blunt tip over her, probing deeper each time. Oh, God. She couldn’t help herself, she lifted up to meet its thrust. With a cry, she felt it breach her, sliding into her forbidden passage.
“That’s right, baby, let it in.”
Her body pulsed, her nipples ached, her bottom felt like a thousand velvet insects were crawling through it.
It felt strange, it felt outrageous.
It felt so incredibly good.
For a moment he let her lean there against the counter weak-kneed and panting, then he wound his hand in her hair and lifted her to stand up straight. The vibrator continued its sinful stimulation within her. She clenched at it tightly.
“Walk to the other room.”
She obeyed him, but reluctantly, her whole body steeped in a hot flush of guilty embarrassment. She didn’t want to walk with that thing in her. She didn’t want to move at all. She just wanted to stand bent over the counter and let it make her come.
He pulled her to the wall of restraints and picked out two pairs of fleece-lined cuffs with clips attached to the buckles. “Put these on your wrists,” he directed, handing her one pair.
He didn’t allow her even a second to think about what she was doing, how she was voluntarily giving herself over to him so completely.
“Tighter,” he ordered when her fingers fumbled and she fastened them too loosely.
Her bottom was on fire. Aching for...something more.
Kneeling, he attached the other pair of cuffs to her ankles. As he buckled each one, he held her foot on the thigh of his chaps inches from his cock.
She watched hungrily as it bobbed rhythmically between his legs, long and angry, trapped in its harness, the purple head erupting like a helmet from the top, dripping with his essence. His swollen testicles looked as though they would burst out of the finger-wide band that constricted the neck of their sac.
Licking her lips, she lifted the pointed toe of her high heel and stroked up his prick, smearing the glistening drops that leaked from its tip with the point.
“Stop,” he hissed, and stood. “You’ll get your chance to taste its bite.”
He grabbed her wrists and roughly clipped her cuffs onto the ends of an aluminum pole about two and a half feet long. There were soft handle grips for her to hold onto, and in the middle of the pole was a ring. He clipped it in turn to a chain hanging from the ceiling, adjusting the height so her arms were stretched high above her head. All this in seconds.
Before she knew what was happening, she was helplessly bound, suspended from the ceiling. The pole and chain supported her weight so it was impossible for her to fall—or to move except in a tiny circle. She was at his mercy.
Her limbs were like molten lead. Her clenching muscles had worked the buzzing vibrator deeper inside her; she could feel it in there, creating havoc with her pleasure-center. Her clit twitched with exquisite need. She couldn’t deny the secret thrill humming through her, knowing her body was totally in his hands and under his control.
“What are you going do to me?”
He didn’t answer, but walked to a concealed panel on the wall. Inside was a keypad. He tapped a series of buttons, and the four oversized monitor screens lit up. Her image came into focus on the screens, larger than life, each shot from a different angle. Suddenly she was staring into her own anxious, terrified face.
He punched two more buttons. Music started playing. Something classical. Baroque, maybe. And her face disappeared from the screen in front of her, replaced by the back of her head and a full rear view of her body.
She yanked at her bonds, turned away, only to see another view of her bound, nude flesh. Wherever she looked, she saw her own writhing image from different angles.
She spun to him. “What will you do to me?” she repeated, suddenly unsure, panic creeping into her voice.
He stood before her, clasped his hands behind his back.
He should have looked ridiculous in those chaps, his flagrant erection jutting out from them like some ancient mammothly-proportioned fertility statue. But he didn’t. He made her mouth water. And her heart quail.
“What would you like me to do to you?”
“Let me go,” she answered.
But that was a lie of desperation, and they both knew it.
In the background, the classical music picked up its pace, mirroring the blood in her veins.
“What are you most afraid I’ll do to you?” he asked quietly. Oh, God.
She felt a drop of moisture trickle down the inside of her thigh, graphic evidence of her body’s acceptance, and enjoyment, of Mick’s tortuous game. Evidence that eventually he’d break her and get anything he wanted from her, willingly. Eagerly. Anything and everything.
“Fuck me, Mick,” she said, to distract him from a purpose she’d rather not face yet. “I want you to fuck me.”
“Where?”
The vibrator hummed inside her backside. Her muscles were growing tired of their resistance. Thick pleasure pooled all along her cleft, front to back, more insistent than she’d ever experienced. But she wouldn’t let go. She couldn’t.
“Not there,” she said, reading the curl of his lip with a spurt of dread.
“Liar,” he returned, and strolled around behind her.
She looked up at the monitor. His back had eclipsed her from sight. His broad shoulders, trim waist, muscular thighs captivated her. But best of all was his tight butt, framed in all its naked glory by the cut-away chaps. The powerful muscles in his glutes rippled as he tipped his pelvis toward her, away from the camera.
“Not that one,” he said, grasping her face and twisting it toward the side view monitor. “Watch this one.”
Her lips parted. She could see them both, him standing behind her, his cock in his hand. Her swollen breasts seemed huge, pushed out by the position of her raised arms, the nipples bright red and distended as though he’d just been suckling her.
His hand leveled his cock, aimed the tip at her back entry, and stepped forward.
She spun away. The chain yanked her backwards again. His free hand clamped on her waist, then slid over her abdomen to hold her firmly between the legs. His middle finger skidded over her clit and plunged deep into her, anchoring her fast so she couldn’t move away. His knee wedged between her legs from behind, spread them, and he held her feet wide apart with his boots.
She panted, struggled against his hold. “Mick, no.” But it was no use.
“Watch,” he ordered.
The vibrator stopped.
Her bottom felt suddenly achingly empty, her clit ready to explode, teased to frustration by his immobile finger. She felt slick, with lubrication and her own juices.
She turned to the monitor, panic growing exponentially.
He fisted his cock and brought it to her derrière, eased the head into her slippery cleft so the tip licked at her forbidden entry.
She whimpered. “Mick, please...”
“Please what, baby?”
He rubbed the tip against her, up and down a fraction, moved it in tiny circles. He felt blunt and silky, and oh, so hot. She tried to squirm away, but
his hold was like iron.
He pushed gently. She tried to resist. She couldn’t. She gave way a little. He pushed again. She gave way a little more.
On the screen, his face was a mask of concentration. His eyes were glued to his task, every muscle rigid with restraint.
“Will you let me in?” he asked, rough and raspy.
“No!”
He pushed a fraction. She gave.
“Let me in, baby.”
“No.”
“Do you trust me?”
“God, no.”
But she did, and he knew it. Her body knew it, too.
Against her will she felt her muscles surrender completely, rings of acceptance radiating from the point of his pressure.
He slid in.
Just the head.
She gasped a deep breath, bracing for more. He held perfectly still.
She could feel the throb of blood pulse at their connection. Felt the scrape of leather straps and metal studs against her outside rim. His finger moved within her other passage, sending a wave of clenching hunger zinging through her.
“Where do you want me?” he demanded.
She’d already lost. She’d already won. He was in her. She’d had no choice. She’d wanted no choice.
“Deeper,” she said. “All the way.”
He pulled out.
“No!”
He tightened his hold around her, leaned his mouth close to her ear. “I can’t. Any deeper and I’d split you in half.”
“Then why?” she cried. “Why make me say it?” Why make her want it?
“You need to know your desires.”
“Not if you won’t fulfill them.”
“I will. Just not tonight.” He rubbed his stubbled chin against her cheek. “Now you’ll be ready for me.”
She exhaled with a quiver of displeasure. “I don’t like this game.”
“No?” He withdrew his finger, caressed her clit lightly. She saw stars.
The thumb of his other hand slicked through the ample wetness in her cleft, paused where he’d so recently invaded her.
“I thought you were going to be the killer,” she said, sizzling with frustration, needing something to happen besides this...this torture.
“First I have to be the husband.” He caressed her again, with both finger and thumb. “Be still,” he ordered when she writhed against him.
Slave To Love (sizzling erotic thriller noir - full length) Page 26