by Ann Jacobs
“They’ll be pissed if I don’t,” he said, frowning at the prospect of having to delay his plans. “Don’t you want to invite your mom and Vince, too?”
“They’re my past. You’re my future.” Keely felt a load drop from her shoulders when Brad didn’t push it. The only kind of BDSM relationships she ever wanted to see were ones like theirs…like Jared and Ninia’s. Relationships based on mutual love and the Doms’ need to ensure their submissives’ pleasure, whatever that might entail. “If you want to do it in Denver, why not ask Jared and Ninia—and your sister—to join us?”
He grinned. “I’ll call Jared now. His Beechcraft’s newer and bigger than my Cessna. He bought it this past summer to ferry his dude ranch guests to and from the airport in Denver. If he’s in shape to fly it now with his gimpy leg, we’re a go. Diana will jump at the chance to show off her new man, I’m sure. She says he’s no sissy boy, but he lets her take control of their relationship.”
He talked with Jared a few minutes then set the phone down and kissed Keely deep and hard, until both of them were out of breath. “He says he’s fine as long as I sit up front as copilot. He and Ninia are calling Diana now. We’d better dress and get going if we’re gonna get off the ground before the wind kicks up again.”
“Dress?”
“As in, wear clothes. Grab something of Diana’s. She won’t mind since she never bothered to pick up the things I got for her when she was here on furloughs from rehab. You can shop for your wedding stuff while I’m picking out your collar and rings.”
Chapter Five
The penthouse suite Brad had booked consumed half the top floor of a downtown hotel. Keely shuddered at the thought of what this place must cost. She’d never have dared even to inquire about rates for these accommodations.
Glittering chandeliers, plush carpeting, and gleaming Victorian-style furniture spoke of years gone by, of gentlemen in top hats and ladies sporting outlandish hats. Setting the clothes she’d bought onto the king-size bed in one of the three sumptuously decorated bedrooms, she looked around, imagining herself dropping to her knees, stroking the length of her lover’s smooth, muscular legs, taking his cock in her mouth, rolling his Ampellang jewelry around in its tight hole. At his command she’d grasp her ankles and brace herself for his first delicious thrust inside her. Imagining him fucking her ass while he worked a dildo in and out of her pussy had her sweating, longing for him to come and make her come in the many ways he’d shown her while they’d ridden out the storm.
Sounds of sex bombarded her from all around, traveling through walls that couldn’t quite seal off Ninia’s whimpers or Jared’s shout of triumph when he came. From Diana’s room came muffled sounds of a cat-o’-nine grazing her rancher lover’s flesh.
Certain it would be hours before Brad returned from the jeweler with those scary, obvious symbols of his possession, Keely unpacked the sex toys they’d brought and inserted the plug in her butt, fiddling with the remote until the vibrations felt just right, not so strong as to hurt her yet strong enough that they reverberated through her body, driving her to a fever pitch of need.
Grabbing the dildo, she worked it up her cunt and began to slide it in and out. She’d just worked herself into a moaning, shivering mess of desire when Brad stepped through the door she’d left unlocked, two small packages in his hand. “I see you’re being naughty again, using those toys that belong to me in the tight, wet holes that are also mine. Come sit over here. Maybe when you feel the weight of my collar around your neck you’ll realize you belong to me. Only me.”
Moving awkwardly, she got out of bed and sat in front of an antique washstand, her gaze downcast the way a good sub’s should always be. The plug still vibrated, even after she removed the dildo and set it aside. “You’re my master. I’m your obedient sub. I can’t imagine being hotter than I am now, waiting eagerly to wear your symbol of ownership.”
She wasn’t so sure when she felt Brad wrap a wide metal choker around her neck and join the two ends with a click that sounded ominously final. The sensation of a metal ring brushing the hollow of her throat made her visualize Brad hooking a slender chain on it someday, threading it through the small gold nipple rings he’d personally inserted in holes made by a master piercer on their first stop after landing in Denver. Her breasts hurt, the pain a throbbing numbness that had started when Brad clamped her nipples then worsened after he ordered the piercer to push through sterilized needles that looked and felt as thick as the long wooden cocktail picks she’d seen Brad—her master now—use to skewer olives off the appetizer tray the hotel chef had sent up to their suite. His gentle handling as he’d fitted the rings through the bloody holes had soothed her, reassured her that the pain would soon yield to incredible pleasure.
“Look, my darling.” Her master turned her head until she had a clear view in the mirror. She gasped. The collar he’d chosen left little doubt she was a rich man’s sex slave, but it suited her perfectly. Her open robe obscured her vision, so she slid it off to get the full effect of the glittering choker fastened around her neck, the slender rings dangling from her reddened nipples.
Brad cupped her breasts, being careful not to irritate her piercings. “They look as red as cherries and nearly as swollen. I can hardly wait until they heal and I can play to my heart’s content.” Shifting his hot, possessive gaze to the collar that felt the tiniest bit snug against her throat, he slipped a finger into the oval ring that hung, a delicate loop of gold beneath a large square-cut emerald. “I couldn’t pick just one stone so I had the jeweler use a lot of them. They’re real, and they’re set in platinum. Nothing but the best for this Dom’s most prized possession.”
The collar was a work of art, its smooth surface embedded with rubies, then diamonds, and finally brilliant blue sapphires in different shapes. She realized now why it felt so thick and heavy. It had to be substantial, so the craftsman who’d made it could secure all the beautiful stones. “It’s beautiful, Master. I love it almost as much as I love you.” She held her head high, and the collar seemed less oppressive than when he’d put it on her and locked it in place.
It felt right to go down on her knees, free Brad from his dark jeans and take him in her mouth. It didn’t take him long to stiffen and fill her greedy mouth with his creamy essence.
“Next time we do it right,” he growled. “I want us to make a baby.”
* * * * *
The wedding the following day was everything Keely could have asked for, candlelight and roses, soft music, and a minister with a mellow voice admonishing them always to love, honor and cherish each other. Afterwards there were sensual finger foods and rich desserts. All happy memories to cherish, nothing sad to mar their wedding day. Jared was up once more, albeit on wobbly legs, standing beside Brad while they spoke their vows. Ninia stood beside him, dressed in pale blue. She held herself proudly, a slave clearly content with her doting Master. Diana and Matt, her supposedly submissive rancher, abandoned their public BDSM play and held hands conventionally during the ceremony and the sumptuous feast that followed.
Brad came up behind her when they were finally left alone. “You’re my beloved woman. The one I’ll spend the rest of my life giving the pleasure you deserve,” he whispered, taking her left hand and laying it over the collar that by now felt light, easy to bear as proof that she belonged to her awesome master who had no desire to enslave her. Only to love her and see to every one of her needs, sexual and otherwise.
“I love you, wife.” Tenderly Brad brought her hand to his lips, sucked the massive diamond solitaire and its glittering platinum band between his full, sensuous lips.
“I love you too, Master. Husband,” she added, liking the sound of the words—both of them. Keely was finding it easy to think of herself as slave, submissive, and lover. Her value as a person was neatly tied up in what Brad had made it, yet more precious now that he’d pledged not only his protection but his unconditional love.
As if he realized she’d turned a c
orner, Brad smiled down at her and squeezed her hand. He’d given her the gift of free will as well as all his love and support, and the moment she thought it might please him, she’d accept the role of slave to his Master. He’d done more, and she couldn’t have been happier than she was today, when he’d taken her as she was, as an equal emotionally, a sub he’d cherish for life. Brad McTavish was the beginning and end of all she needed. All she wanted.
Part Three – Diana’s Story
Prologue
As she’d expected, Roped and Lassoed’s decor reminded her of rugged Western males, from the grayed cedar siding on the walls to rugged cowhide-covered sofas and chairs that were so big they practically swallowed her up. Raucous country-western music wafted up from the bar downstairs, its beat primitive, at odds with lyrics that spoke of broken hearts, lost loves. The scent of leather and sweat surrounded her, another reminder this was a man’s mecca.
Even though she’d been coming to the dungeon often since coming home, she sometimes felt like an intruder, a female player in a male world. Now she waited for the male sub her brother Brad had promised.
Diana felt terribly alone, sitting apart from other players in the conversation grouping at the edge of the public playroom. She sat, her feet not quite reaching the floor, staring at the beaten silver handle on the flogger she’d bought before heading home from rehab. Why the hell did she feel so out of place?
“Patience, big sister. He’s coming.” Reaching over, Brad flicked the soft tails of the flogger. “Don’t you want to use something more lethal than that cute little thing? Hell, when Jared and I were small you used switches on us that felt liked you’d used a chainsaw to get ‘em off the tree.” His grin reminded her of that time years ago, before Gareth, when her life had revolved around her two much younger brothers and her responsibility for keeping the McTavish ranch running smoothly after their grandfather’s death.
Those had been good times, especially when she compared them with the nearly ten years she’d spent with as Gareth Bender’s personal property. She shivered. “I don’t want to inflict more pain than is necessary. I’ve been on the receiving end…”
“You know, BDSM doesn’t have to involve pain at all. It can be strictly psychological. With most Doms and Dommes, it’s not the desire to inflict pain, but a need to exert mind control that drives them.”
“I needed the pain to get off.” She couldn’t, wouldn’t think about the beatings, the humiliation she’d endured from a sadistic master, just to achieve orgasm. Those days were firmly in the past. After all, she’d spent almost a year, working the painful memories from her brain and setting her emotions free. “Never mind. I’m sure you know.”
“Okay, sis.” Brad bent, gave her a brotherly kiss. Concern still in his eyes, he rose, took her hands and gave her a steady look. “But I’ll be nearby if you need anything.”
Brad doubted she was taking the right path here. She read the concern in his dark eyes. But she’d made up her mind. While he was right to question her sanity about wanting to be within a hundred miles of the BDSM scene again, there was a part of her, even after all the therapy, that made her feel she had to confront the yearnings within herself. Something she’d firmly decided would find its outlet this time through her attempt to play the Domme.
Play the Domme. The words made her shudder, because that’s what she felt this was. Play, not real. She’d played with two submissives in a Denver dungeon and felt a certain amount of satisfaction in bringing them pleasure. Not nearly as much satisfaction as she’d felt when she’d been on the receiving end of domination, though, before her master had turned so cruel and abusive.
There was no way she was going back down the self-destructive path of being a sexual submissive. She worried that she’d find herself back in rehab, devoid of self. And she sure as hell didn’t believe she could trust any man to lead her on that journey. Not after the one man she’d thought loved her had turned both of them into monsters. Mockeries of what a loving master and slave should be.
Chapter One
Of course there was Matt…
She pushed that thought out of her head immediately. No way would she try to resurrect a relationship with her high-school lover. He’d left her with a lot of beautiful memories she’d clung to for more than twenty years. But they were only recollections, albeit ones that had often kept her clinging to sanity when she was on the brink of falling into a hole so deep she could never claw her way out. It might hurt both of them terribly if she tried to rekindle the flame. No way could she drag him through the muck of her psyche.
But of course she knew why Matt had invaded her mind. She hadn’t stopped thinking about him—about the past—since Jared had mentioned him when he and Ninia had come to visit at the rehab center last Valentine’s Day. He’d moved back home, to the ranch adjoining hers. She understood that Matt came here occasionally to play. As a Dom.
Oh, God, if he were here tonight…
She couldn’t stop fantasizing about his strong hands holding her body, bearing her down, taking control.
No! Damn it, she was the one in control tonight. Tonight and always. Almost everybody in the lifestyle knew that hardcore subs and Doms did not switch. But she was going to do this. She had no choice.
Brad cleared his throat. “Here comes your sub, all ready to find release through pain.” Brad shrugged, obviously not able to fathom a man as wanting to be anything but the powerful Dom he was. He gestured toward the door to the dressing rooms.
The sub stood, his head angled down. He was a tall, slender cowboy type, completely naked except for a sound secured inside his cock by the PA ring that ran through its purplish head. She couldn’t fault his looks, all blond and pale skin and white, straight teeth. But he didn’t make her hot. “Oh,” Diana said, even less sure now that this had been a good idea.
“Come on, sis, male subs are scarce around here. I had to borrow this one from Ninia’s old dungeon in Cheyenne. Most folks who come here are Doms or female subs.”
For a moment Diana forgot she’d embraced the concept of staying in control. Looking at “her” sub, now kneeling at her feet awaiting instruction, she couldn’t help remembering the years when she’d serviced Gareth as a slave. Or the feeling of self-loathing that had grown from a tiny kernel to the point that she hadn’t been able to function. To the degree that she’d held onto her sanity by the thinnest of threads, if she’d managed to hold on at all.
Tightening her grip on the flogger, she forced herself not to toss it aside and run. She firmed her chin and held her head up high. She had to do this. Had to prove to herself that she could exert control over a man. That not all men were like her ex, determined to hurt and humiliate her for their own twisted pleasure.
Rising and placing her hands on the sub’s shoulders, she tried to summon up a voice that suggested control—authority. “Go in the playroom, slave, and bend over.”
Uncertain what should come first—Diana had never taken part in public BDSM scenes because Gareth had refused to allow it—she looked first at the fucking table. The St. Andrew’s Cross had possibilities. She shuddered at the sight of the new fucking machine that Brad mentioned had been delivered earlier this week.
How Gareth would have loved using the thing on her! Diana’s pussy ached at the thought of being restrained while the twin dildos pounded in and out of her pussy and ass. With Gareth at the controls, though, the machine would have produced unspeakable pain.
With someone not wanting to inflict hurt on his or her slave, she imagined it could produce incredible pleasure.
“Mistress?” Her sub sounded uncomfortable yet cooperative.
She knew she had to punish him. “I didn’t give you leave to speak.” A succession of thwacks with the flogger left his bare butt red, drew her gaze to his asshole, quivering already. With anticipation? “Is that your ass telling me it wants a fucking?” she asked, ringing the puckered opening with a finger before slipping one finger then two past his anal sphincter.
“Oh yes, Mistress.”
Why was it she got the feeling he was playing a game, not getting personally involved in this scene? Diana laughed at herself. Obviously this was a club scene between two strangers. There was no emotional connection on his part or hers. This was strictly sex, him submitting, her dishing out whatever pain and humiliation it took to bring him to a climax.
She stroked his slender, hairless body, trying to enjoy the power that came from being able to sample him, take pleasure from the simple act of sliding her fingers over his smooth, taut skin. It surprised her how his ribs were prominent when she explored him there, not padded with hard muscle the way she remembered Gareth’s. This sub was vulnerable, the way she’d been for so long under her ex-husband’s cruel control.
He moaned at her touch, the sound almost a purr. He shivered yet held the bent-over position she’d specified. Slowly, her fingers following a drop of sweat as it worked its way down his damp, slick back, she traced a path along his spine, over his buttocks and down the insides of his thighs.
Her nostrils flared at the distinctive aroma of arousal, the sweat and male musk mingling with the smell of her sexual excitement. None too gently, she dragged her hands up his thighs, finding and cupping his taut balls with one hand while she wrapped the other around his steely erection. “Lie down on the table, slave, I want to taste you.”
He rose. Apparently no stranger to being restrained, he placed his feet in the stirrups and his wrists in the manacles on either side of the table. His cock rose straight up, the sound drawing her attention as she clamped the manacles and strapped his knees and ankles. “Helpless. Do you enjoy knowing I can do anything I want with you, take you any way I choose?”