Enlightened [Sexual Magic 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Jennifer August

  “Are you doing that?” she asked Mason.

  He winked and notched his head toward her rear. “Nope.”

  The wash grew stronger, and her legs trembled. God, they were both so fucking horny. She felt their desire for her, how much they wanted to be buried inside of her. Wanted to be taking her and using her.

  An orgasm welled.

  “No, Emma,” Griff said.

  “Oh, fuck, not fair,” she complained, but fought it back anyway.

  “Count them out for me. Fast and hard, okay?”

  She jerked her head, teeth still gritted against the need to come. Hell, maybe she would when he whipped her anyway. Maybe she was some kind of hardcore pain slut.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  The first blow took her breath with its stinging ferocity. This was no slap on the ass. This was a serious smack. She tensed, and the plug slid deeper and she cursed. It was starting to become uncomfortable. The sensual edge threatened to wear off.

  “Emma?”

  Just her name, nothing more.

  She shifted again, and her nipples scraped along the soft velvet beneath her. They still throbbed from the clamps. The slight pinch felt good, so she did it again. This time a little jolt ran down to her clit.

  “One,” she said.

  Griff administered four more blows in quick, hard succession. She choked out each stroke as it fell and continued to slide her tits along the velvet. For whatever reason, the soft touch seemed to alleviate or maybe enhance the leather slaps. Her pussy was wetter than she’d ever remembered it being, and her ass throbbed greedily around the plug, all discomfort gone.

  “Good girl, only five more,” Mason whispered. He moved close to her head, and once more his luscious cock bobbed in her face.

  He smelled of sex, sweat, and satisfaction.

  “You like it, don’t you?” he said.

  “Six,” she grunted. “Not really. It hurts like hell. Ah, damn it! Seven. Eight. Nine! Ow.”

  Amusement rolled over her front and back.

  They were really enjoying this.

  “Ten, eleven, twelve! Twelve!”

  She panted and collapsed to the bench, letting it take all her weight. She was covered in sweat, her thighs coated with cum and her ass glazed with lube.

  Griff returned and tapped her nose, a gentle smile curving his delectable mouth. “You did very well, little one. How do you feel?”

  She took stock of each body part, shocked to realize that she was still aroused, still aching and ready to come. Her ass actually adjusted to the plug, and her butt stung like she’d sat in a pile of fire ants.

  “Fine,” she said.

  He chuckled. “I think we’ll take a break right now. I’m going to take the plug out of your ass then we’ll untie you, have something light to eat, and then Mason will show you why he’s a Shibari master.”

  Her gaze flew to Mason who grinned wickedly. “Oh, I am going to love tying your sweet little body up.”

  Chapter Five

  Griff studied Emma as she sat at the bar, curled gingerly on the padded seat, swaddled in his gray bathrobe. It swallowed her, and she constantly shoved the sleeves up, but she looked good in it.

  Hell, she looked good in the house, for that matter.

  “So, Emma, do you like your job at Graphix?”

  She swirled the spoon in her chocolate milk and gave him an open, wide smile. “I do, actually. Don’t get me wrong, I’d much rather be making money as a photographer, but since that’s not happening yet, I’m content at Graphix.”

  “What exactly do you do?”

  “I’m a designer. I talk with the client and find out what their vision is, who they’re targeting, and what platforms they intend to use the campaign in, and then I build something.” She chuckled and leaned against Mason, who stood behind her, massaging her neck and shoulders. “Mm, that feels wonderful.”

  A surge of jealousy startled him, and Griff looked down at the antipasti tray he was making. Emma was a job. Mason was just being himself—considerate, charming, and cavalier.

  “We do a lot of charity work as well,” she said. “A few weeks ago, I went out to meet with some victims of domestic abuse at a facility downtown. I’d expected them to be broken and downtrodden, but most were very positive and upbeat. The facility uses its resources to give them back their lives, basically. Self-esteem, new or improved job skills, financial assistance. I gave a course on getting started in computer graphics. It was very uplifting.”

  “Sounds like an excellent place.”

  “It is.”

  She took a long sip of her milk. A thin sheen glossed her lips, and he wanted to kiss the sweetness from them.

  Griff set the platter on the bar and slid a glass of red wine across the way to Mason. He picked up his own beer and joined them at the stools. A companionable, comfortable silence descended as they ate, which surprised him, though he didn’t know why.

  This was the first time they’d ever actually fed a client. Emma was a new experience in so many ways, he didn’t have the faintest clue what was really going on.

  “My mom was abused,” Griff said.

  Mason choked on his wine and leaned so far on his stool he almost fell off.

  Griff felt a bit sheepish and took a long draft of his beer. Emma turned to look at him, concern and sympathy playing across her sweet face. The emerald depths of her eyes glittered with compassion. “I’m so sorry.”

  He shrugged, not even sure why he had brought it up. “My dad died when I was almost twelve.” He shuddered aside the painful memory. “Mom thought I needed a male influence, so she married some jerk she knew from her work. Within a few months she was sporting bruises and black eyes. I was a kid, but I knew what the hell was going on.”

  He cleared his throat. “It took me a good six months more to convince her to leave the bastard. She found a place like the one you talked about. They helped us get away, helped her file for divorce. Found her a job.”

  Emma cupped his cheek and kissed him softly. “How terrifying that must have been for you. And for her.”

  Warmth flooded him. Her touch, her words, the deep empathy in her eyes, all conspired to soothe his past hurt. “It was. I won’t lie. We left almost everything we had to get away. I lost all the pictures of my dad and almost all the stuff I had from my childhood with him.” He looked into the darkened hollow of the living room where what few items he’d salvaged were carefully displayed. Maybe he’d show them to her and explain their significance.

  He jolted himself from that line of thinking. She was a job. Nothing more. He needed to remember that. Didn’t he?

  “But it was worth it. Mom got a good job, we moved, and that ass-hat never came near us again. Hell, I don’t even know if he’s still alive.”

  She cocked her head. “What would you do if he were? If he walked up to you today, what would you say?”

  Griff froze. It was like she saw into his deepest mind. That damn what-if game was one he played regularly. He hoped by now he was man enough to just walk away, but he wasn’t sure. Some memories never faded. And his mom’s battered face was one of them.

  “I don’t know,” he said finally.

  She nodded and gave him an impish grin. “For a minute there, I thought you were going to lie.”

  The reference to their earlier scene broke the tension, and they all laughed. He raked a hand through his hair and gave them both a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know why I said all of that.”

  “It’s okay,” Emma said, her smile sweet and encouraging. “Everyone is an onion.”

  “Uh, an onion?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Surely you’ve heard the ogre’s explanation of people and onions and layers?”

  “Nope.”

  “Sigh,” she said. “I can see you need some education.”

  Griff rose, wiped his hands on a napkin and towered over her. “Do I hear some sass in your voice?”

  Emma tipped her head back, eyes and f
ace now alight with mischief. “That depends.”

  “On what?” he said with a growl.

  “On what kind of trouble I can get in for it.”

  Mason hooted. “Okay, little girl, rest time is over. I think you need to be trussed up and fucked before you find your ass too sore to sit on for the next week.”

  Emma pushed a lock of brown hair back behind her ear, and Griff caught a hint of nervousness. “Uh, what exactly is this Shibari?”

  “It’s more accurately known as Kinbaku,” he said. “It began as a way for the Japanese to inter and restrain their captives during times of war. Now, it’s used in our community as a way to enhance the experience of the sub and her need for absolute submission. Mason is the real talent in this realm, but I can make do when necessary.” He tugged on the robe’s belt, pulling it free of the loops. “This won’t be exactly accurate, but you’ll get the idea. Put your wrists together, palms together, fingers pointed down.”

  She did and he looped the strip of fabric over and under a couple of times until he achieved a modified two-column cuff. He cinched the belt, which drew her wrists together, and tied the cuff off with an overhand knot

  “Try to get free.”

  She did.

  Nothing happened. She tried again, this time wriggling with a bit more vigor.

  Griff cupped her wrists. “There is no escape from the knots of Shibari, Emma. That’s what makes it so alluring. Even more than the bondage bench, D-rings, and wrist straps, the rope will bind you in whatever position we choose. You will be held tight in ropes of intricate designs and knots from which you cannot escape.”

  A swirl of excited anticipation caressed him. She liked the idea of being bound. A lot. He exchanged glances with Mason then smiled as he released Emma’s wrists.

  She rubbed them and studied the belt. “That was interesting. I never knew.” She lifted her pretty green gaze to him, a devious smile on her lips. “My goodness, I am certainly getting an education with you two, aren’t I?”

  “Definitely, darlin’.” Mason snatched the belt from his hands, looped it over her still-raised hands, and jerked her off the stool. He caught her against his lean, muscular chest.

  Emma’s swathe of chestnut-brown hair barely reached Mason’s shoulder, and her fair skin looked luminous against his darker tanned flesh. She’d caught herself by splaying a palm over his chest, and Griff noted how her fingertips kneaded his muscles.

  Yeah, she fit right in.

  His cock roused as he looked at the two of them. He rose and stepped behind her, clasping her hips and pulling her butt to his hardening cock. Her soft moan drifted up to him. He liked the sound, liked the sensual excitement he heard in it.

  Griff swept another glance down at her, now sandwiched between him and Mason. Damn, she looked right. Perfectly at ease nestled within their bulk.

  He tugged on her hair, forcing her to look at him. “Ready for round two?”

  A flush bloomed in her cheeks, and excitement sparkled in her eyes. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Let’s go.”

  * * * *

  Still gripping her fabric leash, Mason led the way and felt her rising thrill with each step. Griff’s driving lust also pummeled at his psyche, and he struggled to erect a wall between them that would give him some breathing room. Crafting just the right kind of pattern from the jute took some concentration, and the way these two were brewing, that would be hard as hell right now.

  As soon as the door closed on the play room, Mason removed the belt and headed for the sideboard. He scooped up two lengths of the blue rope Griff had laid out earlier, slung both over his shoulder, crossed his arms, and nodded brusquely at Emma. “Robe off.”

  The girl was learning. She shucked the terry material without hesitation, folded it, and laid it on the chair with the rest of her clothes.

  His dick bobbed in appreciation of her healthy beauty. She had nice, firm tits that swayed and bounced with her movements. Her tummy, a particular weakness of his, was softly rounded in a womanly way that made him hot. He liked to tie up women with some meat on them. The juxtaposition of peaks and valleys created by the jute and the woman’s body was infinitely more attractive to him than the stick figures Hollyweird found so enticing.

  Mason let his gaze rove over her curvy hips and long, elegant runner’s legs. Her thighs were toned and silken, the perfect vehicle to take the rope.

  She stood, hands behind her back, just watching him. Griff prowled impatiently behind her, checking out her ass with each pass.

  The man wanted her in a bad, bad way. But he would have to wait. Proper Shibari took time to create.

  Knowing her limitless boundaries, Mason had to reel in his own sudden whoosh of lust. He could put her in any position. Hanging, kneeling, spread-eagled. God, just thinking about the various ways made his sac draw up with fervor. “Griff, how should we tie her up?”

  His friend made a soft humming sound. “How are you with heights?”

  Her eyes widened, and she whipped around to face him. “Uh, how high?”

  Griff pointed up. “Not too high. The ceilings in here are only about 12 feet.” He walked to the left corner of the room where they’d installed a heavier padding on the floor.

  Inflicting pain was one thing, but subs with scraped skin or raw and sore joints that put them out of commission were unacceptable. Better to pamper them a bit than lose them for a day due to concrete knees.

  He urged Emma to Griff. Several securely bolted hooks were in the ceiling. He directed her attention to them.

  “What are they there for?”

  “The better to suspend you with, my dear. Have you ever seen any pictures of women in rope bondage?”

  “No.”

  “Hm.” Mason scratched his chin. He was itching to get started, but she should have some inkling of what was about to happen. The trepidation was half the fun.

  “How’s your bladder holding up?” he asked.

  The sudden change of topic apparently threw her. She stammered and blushed delightfully. She shuffled her feet together and looked down with a mumble.

  Griff’s hand snaked out and landed on her butt with a resounding crack.

  She jumped with a yelp. “I need to go,” she said forcefully.

  “Speak up, Emma. A Master isn’t going to always give you such leeway. Remember, you are part of the safe, sane and consensual equation as well. Your voice is as important as his.”

  “When you’re allowed to use it,” Griff said and chuckled.

  “Go to the restroom, clean up, and come back here.”

  As soon as she left, Mason went to the computer hidden inside the sideboard. He killed the movie and brought up the website of Katsumi Iwate, an internationally known bondage artist whose models were all photographed in various Shibari positions.

  Griff joined him, propping a naked hip to the sideboard. “She’s looking forward to this. I think that’s the most excited I’ve felt her.” He cocked his head. “Unless you’ve been suppressing her emotions?”

  “Nope,” Mason replied. He went into the gallery section and studied the images. As a camera artist herself, he had a feeling she would admire the art Iwate created. Mason already knew which position he really wanted to put her in, but he didn’t know if she would go for it. At this stage, though he could force her into any of them, he wanted her to try it willingly. But if she chose something simple, he’d just have to override her.

  He turned to Griff and ran a finger down the hard plane of his chest, down to his belly button, and circled the stalk of his semi-erect cock. “Why’d you tell her about your mom?”

  Griff’s heart rate increased, and his breathing hitched. Mason batted the sensations away.

  “Hell, I don’t know.”

  Mason squeezed a little, pulled his hand along the smooth dick. “Yes, you do.”

  With a low grunt, Griff pushed himself deeper into his grip. “It just came out, that’s all. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

 
; He stroked a couple of more times, gripping the sweet spot just below the head. Emma’s appearance in their lives had thrown Griff for a loop, and Mason could feel the confusion in him. For his part, Mason was attracted to her beyond the physical. It’d taken just one touch from her, and he was very much afraid he’d fallen. Hard.

  The restlessness he’d been feeling, that had sent him to the Pleasure Isles, was immediately soothed by her presence. Hell, if he’d met her before he’d gone, then he would never have run afoul of that demon dominatrix Krista.

  “Emma’s special,” he said.

  Griff palmed his shoulder and squeezed, nostrils flared and eyes hooded. But he didn’t say anything. A surge of anger hit Mason. His friend would fight this to the bitter end.

  He sped up his hand and heard the door click open behind them and her soft gasp. He held Griff’s eyes and continued to jack him off. This was a part of their lives. If she could handle this, there might be a chance for them all.

  Never breaking his hold, he moved behind Griff and watched Emma’s fascinated gaze as she watched them. Griff’s back bowed, and his head dropped to Mason’s shoulder.

  Emma’s arousal ramped up hard and fast. She walked across the floor and stopped just a hair’s breadth away. If he extended his fingers on the up-stroke, he’d caress her tummy.

  Her riveted, intense gaze helped flame his own desire higher.

  “Do you like watching?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said softly. She reached out and flattened her palm to Griff’s tight stomach, fingers inching into his soft pubic curls. “I like touching better, though.”

  She joined hands with him, and after a few false starts, she caught his stroke-squeeze-twist-stroke rhythm and soon they were both masturbating Griff.

  He groaned and thrust back and forth into them, touching each with his cock, his hands, his body.

  “Don’t stop,” Mason ordered Emma as he let go of Griff and moved behind her.

  He pulled one of the ropes from his shoulder and tapped at the inside of her leg. “Spread your legs.”