Controlling Krysta

by Lyla Sinclair

  “Come here,” he said.

  I moved over to where he stood next to the black saddle.

  “Robe.” He put his hand out to take the robe from me.

  What was I doing out here? Was I in danger of being seen by those ranch hand types that worked here? And did I really want to get naked out in a barn—excuse me, stable—

  with Mason in charge?

  “Now,” he said.

  Desire whooshed through me so suddenly, I felt dizzy. It still disturbed me that I had such an extreme sexual reaction to his commands.

  Yet, I couldn’t refuse him. I pulled the robe off my shoulders, wondering how far I was willing to go to satisfy these weird sexual needs. And to spend time with Mason Maddox.

  He took my robe, folded it once and laid it neatly on the corner table. I felt ridiculous waiting for him, naked except for a pair of giant cowboy boots.

  “First, your punishment.”

  “For what?” I asked.

  “For violating the agreement. The contract states you are to obey me and will be punished for any insubordination. You didn’t obey me in the bedroom.”

  I didn’t have any response, since my brain was stuck on the words “obey me.”

  Obey me…

  “Lie across this saddle,” he said, motioning with one hand.

  After examining the saddle for a moment, I laid my stomach on it crossways as he had indicated. The leather seat was surprisingly comfortable against my abdomen.

  “Hands on the table.”

  I stretched out my arms and found that only my fingers could make it to the corner of the table. He seemed satisfied with my position.

  He walked over to the corner and unzipped his bag.

  “This is my latest acquisition.”

  Acquisition? I hoped it wasn’t some sort of dead animal.

  When he turned, he was holding a leather whip in his hand. Instead of the riding crop I would have expected, there were dozens of leather strips attached to the handle.

  He walked toward me, slowly, but purposefully, and stopped behind me.

  I braced myself for pain. The soft tickle of the tips skimmed down my back.

  They slid over my ass and floated away. Seconds later they teased the back of my knees, then slid up my thighs, soft and light.

  Pop!

  A flick of Mason’s wrist had snapped a hundred little stings onto my ass. I startled, grunted and jerked forward, causing the saddle to shift a bit. Liquid rushed to my pussy.

  “You can stop this anytime with an apology.”

  I didn’t want to stop it. Not yet.

  “I have nothing to apologize for.”

  Pop!

  Like scalding raindrops, the leather poured down on my back. I wanted to touch myself, but even if I were allowed, the saddle was in the way.

  Pop!

  The backs of my thighs were seared with unexpected attention. One rogue leather strand had hit the place where my ass curved into my pussy lips. What a cruel taunt.

  Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!

  One assault after another stung my ass as it flexed defensively.

  Sweet misery!

  After a few more flicks of Mason’s whip, my skin was raw. I was sure he wouldn’t actually take the skin off me—at least not on purpose—but I needed to stop this.

  “I’m sorry,” I called out.

  “What are you sorry for?”

  “I don’t know.” The scorching sensation on my backside was distracting.

  Pop! Pop! Pop!

  I didn’t understand how I could be so desperate to stop this and desperate to be fucked at the same time.

  “Please, Mason! It’s too much.”

  “So you’re sorry you disobeyed me?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  “Are you sorry you signed the contract?”

  This was a loaded question. If I hadn’t signed it, Mason and I wouldn’t have gotten closer physically or emotionally.

  “No,” I said.

  Pop!

  “I mean, I’m not sorry I signed the contract to be your sex slave,” I rushed on, “but I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you.”

  “Stand up,” he said.

  I lifted myself gingerly from the saddle. When I ran my hands down my ass, I found no cuts or abrasions. The sting was already diminishing.

  “Lie down on the table,” Mason commanded. “Head up there.” He nodded to the other end.

  I shuffled around, pulled myself up to sit on the table and let the boots fall off my feet.

  When I started to lie down, Mason’s voice stopped me.

  “No. Ass down here.” He tapped the very end of the table closest to the saddles.

  I scooted down, wondering if he expected me to dangle my legs off the end. When my rear end reached the spot he’d indicated, he took my thighs in hand and hung each of my legs over the saddles.

  Now I understood his diagonal positioning of the sawhorses. They held my legs apart, my pussy lips spread wide open.

  My clit wiggled, curious at the possibilities. I shivered with either fear or anticipation, I wasn’t sure which.

  The whip lay next to me on the table. Mason picked it up and allowed its tendrils to slither over me, from my collar bone, over my breasts, down my stomach…

  When it skimmed over my pussy lips, I shuddered.

  The corners of Mason’s mouth turned up a bit and his lids became hooded. He was changing from my master and disciplinarian to something else.

  “Krysta.” He moved in between my thighs. “I have something to prove to you.”

  I wasn’t sure what he meant, but his fingertips connected with the skin of my inner thigh. His hands moved up, slowly caressing.

  His hands. Mason’s ungloved hands.

  The idea that Mason’s bare skin was touching mine made my thighs shake.

  “I don’t think I’ll be needing that bubble.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to the inside of my right thigh.

  “Oh, God,” I moaned as he sucked my flesh into his mouth. “Oh, my God…”

  He trailed his tongue slowly upward until I could feel his breath on my slit. Then he moved to the left knee and started up my other thigh.

  I shivered, even though my body was now an inferno.

  After what felt like an eternity, his face moved up and paused centimeters from my pussy.

  An involuntary pelvic thrust told him what I needed. His tongue traced a leisurely path along my pussy lips. I needed him to do something more. Faster.

  I lifted my pelvis toward him repeatedly, desperately.

  He placed his hands on my thighs in a calming gesture. Then he peered up into my lust-dazed face and smiled.

  It was beautiful and sexy and promising. Since I’d seen it more often on his brother, it reminded me again of how much he and Dix really did look alike. And I suddenly knew how much I could love this family—Mason as my lover, my best friend, the keeper of my darkest secrets, and Dix as the pesky, lovable brother I never had.

  Tears popped into my eyes at the idea.

  I’d do my damnedest to love this Tessa, too, if that’s who Dix decided on.

  Before I had a chance to talk myself out of my ridiculous romantic feelings, Mason’s mouth made full contact with my crotch and all thoughts flew away.

  His tongue flicked lightly back and forth across my clit. Then it skimmed the ridge from bottom to top.

  His moist, warm strokes circled round, inside my pussy lips, spreading its erotic message out to my limbs. My shoulders jumped with every new contact and my thighs experienced non-stop quakes.

  He sucked, and my body tensed, ready for orgasm. He released the tender nub and the feeling dissipated.

  A second time, he pulled me inside the warm, wet heaven of his mouth. When he let go, I moaned miserably.

  “Krysta?”

  “Yes?” I wondered why we were talking instead of fucking.

  “Tell me you love the games we play…our little perversions. I want to hear yo
u admit it.”

  “No!” I said violently, then questioned why I’d reacted that way.

  It was that word. “Perversions.”

  My extremely religious parents were always using some form of that word to describe the worst actions and the worst kind of people—“perverts,” “perverted,” “perversions.”

  Mason had stood up and when I met his gaze, his head was cocked and his eyes were narrowed a bit. Was he trying to psychoanalyze me now?

  He reached out and picked up the whip, causing the leather strips to slide down my belly.

  “So, you’re saying none of this does it for you? The leather, the domination, the pain…?”

  “No,” I said, even though we both knew I was lying.

  “Why do you let me do these things, then?” he asked slyly.

  “The contract,” I said stubbornly. “I always honor my word.”

  He turned the whip around and caressed my pussy lips with the butt end of it.

  “So you have no kinks at all?” he asked innocently.

  “No.”

  He leaned forward and grasped one of my nipples between his thumb and forefinger, pressing the whip handle into the entrance of my pussy.

  “Oh!” I cried out as he pinched my nipple hard. My hands went numb and I was sure it was because all the blood had rushed south.

  “I guess this doesn’t feel good at all, then.”

  He pinched my other nipple while pushing the whip an inch farther into my pussy.

  Every nerve ending in the vicinity ached, crying out for more. And the thought of Mason’s leather instrument of discipline inserted into my private parts…

  Some stuttered syllables escaped my lips before I stopped them. I’d almost begged for it.

  He pulled the handle out a bit, then plunged it in deeper.

  Such exquisite ecstasy. I moaned.

  It stopped moving.

  I squeezed my vaginal muscles to try get some action, but the whip remained still.

  Realizing my eyes were closed, I opened them and blinked up at Mason.

  He released the whip. It hung, partly inside me, pulling downward, gravity threatening to steal it away.

  “Tell me, Krysta,” he said. “You want me to admit to all my personality kinks. You first.”

  “What?” All I could think was how I didn’t want that whip to leave my body and how desperate I was for Mason to finish me off with it.

  “Tell me to fuck you with the whip.”

  “No, I…” I didn’t know how to finish my thought.

  Asking him to fuck me with an inanimate object seemed too deviant to me. Yet, a wave of longing rolled through my sexually charged body every time I imagined it.

  “Tell me, Krysta.” He took the whip in hand again, twisting it ever so slightly inside me, then slowly pulling it out.

  “No!” I cried. “Don’t take it away!”

  “Tell me.”

  “Fuck me with it,” I begged. “Fuck me with the whip.”

  His lips curled into a satisfied grin. Mason slid the whip farther inside me than he had previously. A flash of sensual gratification poured through me. I shuddered.

  There was something so wrong about being carnally pleasured with an object meant for pain. But that only made the action more enticing. I pushed my hips up to meet the next thrust.

  As he plunged the whip in and out, he lifted my leg and raked his teeth over the skin of my inner thigh, just above my knee.

  Then he thrust the whip and bit me hard at the same time. I dissolved into shuddering, jerking jelly.

  Chapter Ten

  I’d been lying there for several moments, eyes closed, my muscles drained of tension.

  He’d pulled the whip out right away, and I was glad for it.

  Now that I’d had my orgasm, I felt humiliated at the idea I’d been fucked with a foreign object, even though the feeling wasn’t reasonable.

  Humiliation was usually caused by the unwanted actions of others toward you. But I’d asked Mason to do what he did.

  And as the recent memory passed through my mind—him plunging the handle into me and pinching my nipples—a flutter of excitement shivered through me all over again.

  Fuck. A part of me was sure I should leave this place and never see Mason again.

  Did I want to be the kind of woman who asked to be molested by random objects?

  This whole scenario put me in a submissive role, a powerless role, or at least a mock-powerless role.

  I’d felt powerless with Brandt even though I’d loved him. He’d had all the money. Like Mason. He was a control freak. Like Mason.

  Of course, Mason didn’t have a mother around to order him to break up with me like Brandt did.

  My self-image had been so crushed after that last relationship that I’d made some rules. My life would not be about a man, it would be about me. I would take charge. I would be successful. If the right kind of man came along some time in the future, so be it.

  So this thing with Mason was crazy. Wasn’t it a complete about-face from the strong, independent woman I’d worked to be?

  I should open my eyes, grab the robe and the boots and hightail it out of here. I imagined myself stopping long enough to grab my car keys and purse and jumping into the car, although I wasn’t sure I could drive in Mason’s boots.

  “Krysta.”

  I opened my eyes and looked at Mason. I had to blink a few times to be sure of what I was seeing.

  He was standing there, completely naked. I’d known he was tall and trim, but I’d never imagined he’d be this hot under his Italian suits and western shirts.

  He had the long, lean—yet well-muscled—body of a real working cowboy. I wondered how much he could actually be doing around here considering he had an office job. Then I remembered he also had a complete gym in his mansion.

  “Come here.”

  For a brief second, my plan to leave nibbled at the corner of my brain. But here was Mason—finally naked! No clothing or gloves between us. I could run my hands over that hot body…

  Before I knew it I was off the table and standing in front of him.

  “On your knees,” he said.

  I knelt on the clay floor and was confronted with Mason’s hard cock straining toward me.

  I gazed up at him as he placed his hands on the sides of my head, caressing my hair.

  In that moment, I didn’t care that I was in a subservient position, being petted like a cocker spaniel. Mason was touching me again.

  He ran a thumb over my lips, his eyes shone—yes, actually shone—down on me.

  “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about the day you…?”

  I knew exactly what he meant. The day I’d surprised him with a blow job and forced my skin contact on him in the most intimate way.

  I loved knowing that it was still on his mind.

  “And when you think of it, do you touch yourself?” I asked boldly.

  The corners of his mouth turned up as if he was about to laugh, but he straightened out his expression.

  “Stop talking and suck my cock.”

  Oh, the heat that curled through me at those words! It started at my neck and oozed down my arms and chest until it reached my crotch.

  “Yes, Mr. Maddox,” I said contritely.

  I pressed my fingers against the top of his rigid member. He took in a sudden breath.

  Sliding my right hand downward, I marveled at how his big rod could be so silky soft on the outside and so hard underneath.

  My fingers slipped under his balls. I took his cock in my left hand and pulled it to my lips.

  He massaged my scalp with more urgency.

  My tongue darted out and briefly touched his tip in a tease.

  His breathing accelerated.

  Again, I taunted him with a quick slip of my tongue over the top of his cock.

  His hips jerked forward in frustrated need.

  The caressing on the sides of my head turned into a squeeze.

/>   “Open your mouth,” he said.

  When I complied, he took his cock in hand and slid it inside. I now had intimate skin on skin contact with Mason Maddox, his member resting between my tongue and the roof of my mouth.

  I wanted to stop and savor the moment, but Mason wasn’t having it. He began thrusting his hips forward and back, sliding himself in and out of me.

  Yes. This is what I wanted. Mason to initiate contact. Mason to take charge and fuck my mouth.

  As he did, I laid my hands on the front of his thighs. I ran my palms upward, the sprinkling of hair tickling my palms.

  I continued up, over his hip bones, until I was exploring his abs, taut with exertion.

  His cock hit the back of my throat. He groaned and pulled out.

  I was bewildered. Had I done something wrong? Was he unhappy that I was feeling him up?

  “Stand up.” He walked over to one of the hooks hanging from the wall.

  When he returned, he held some sort of horse accessory made of a long piece of leather—reigns? I really didn’t know anything about horses.

  He wasn’t going to make me act like a horse, was he?

  Mason took my wrists and wound the leather around and through the middle in a figure eight pattern, then tied the strips together.

  I pulled and found that my hands were bound as securely as if I were wearing handcuffs.

  Mason pulled me over to stand under the empty hook in the wall, a couple of feet from the corner table.

  He lifted my wrists above my head. They were now held up by the hook and there was nothing I could do about it.

  A moment of panic swept through me at the complete loss of power over my own body.

  “No, Mason, I—”

  He stared down at me. “Ready to skip out on the contract?”

  His expression said this was about more than a contract. He was daring me to leave him. Was he still afraid of this relationship on some level? Did a part of him need to try to scare me away?

  “No,” I said.

  After eyeballing the situation for a few seconds, he said, “You could use a little more height.” He walked over and grabbed the black saddle from the sawhorse and placed it at my feet.

  “What?” I looked down wondering what he expected me to do with it.

  “Stand on the horn and the cantle.”

  “The what?”