by Pam Godwin
“Before I text Van, you need to memorize the requirements. A perfect little slave could recite them verbatim.” She curled her fingers around the pulse between his legs, massaging him to hardness. “And you need to do it while I distract you.”
She grabbed his nipple and twisted it to unholy hell, sparking pain through his chest. The rope between his arms and thighs halted the bow of his back.
“Arruugh!” He moaned for long seconds after she released him.
“What is requirement number one?”
He ground his teeth, reeling from the lingering bite of her fingers. “Slave can only have sex with felonious men—”
She yanked on his other nipple with a brutal pinch, and let go. The sting thrummed through his body, and his groin heated, stiffening to the point of pain.
Her hand clenched around his erection. “Slave has never experienced sexual intimacy with a woman. Slave is heterosexual but hates women. He desires only his Master.” She arched a slim eyebrow.
He repeated the requirement. “How would anyone know if I’ve slept with a woman?”
Those gorgeous eyes roamed his face. She trailed her other hand along his hairline, around his ear, and down his neck, watching the path of her caress. “Experience. Skill. Confidence. These things surface in a man’s eyes when he regards a woman.” Her gaze flicked to his, the hand on his penis sliding up and down. “Don’t gape at me like that.”
“Seriously?” He released a ragged breath. “You’re stroking me.”
“When we’re in the presence of others, don’t look at me at all. You need to practice that now.”
If he was going to be tied up or naked around Van or the buyer, he wouldn’t be looking at her with anything but panic.
“Tell me requirement number two.” She added a second hand between his legs, fondling his balls while she twisted her wrist along his length, her heavy-lidded gaze clinging to his.
“Slave must—” A shudder rippled over him, his biceps flexing against the rope. “Service the Master. Slave’s body is prepared and—” His release coiled, tightening, threatening. “You have to stop.”
She leaned in and bit his lip. Hard. Consuming. The pang snapped his control, the build up tumbling over in a powerful wave of heat and sighing relief. His head dropped back on his shoulders, his body shaking in the constriction of rope.
As the bliss of his orgasm drifted from his muscles, he realized he’d closed his eyes. When he opened them, she stood above him, her cute little nose wrinkled in annoyance. He wanted to kiss it. His lips twitched. “Um. I guess I need to work on requirement seven.”
“No. Number seven is kneeling, one of the only fucking rules you haven’t broken.” She rubbed her eyes and glared at him. “Number three. Eyes down. Four. No clothes.”
“I’ve got number four covered.” He tried to check his smile, but his cheeks were persistent.
“Good job.” Her monotone response matched her disapproving stare.
Hard to believe he’d considered her vicious. With the set of her stubborn jaw and her lips in a plump flat line, she looked decisively non-threatening. “You’re adorable.”
She spun, striding to the locked cabinet where she kept her crops, whips, and paddles. “You’re patronizing me, you little prick.”
Oh, he’d really ticked her off. Her aggravation vibrated with the slap of her feet on the floor. He peeked at his lap, and the sight of his come tightened his chest with guilt. Dammit, he needed to try harder.
She unlocked the cabinet and returned with something he knew existed but had never seen in person. Shaped like a cone and made of black rubber or plastic, the phallic shape sent a shiver of dread down his spine. “No. No way. Go get the flogger.”
“I could beat you until you’re bruised and bleeding, but it’s ineffective.” She squatted before him, her pretty features etched in thought. “You know why?”
The ropes suddenly felt tighter, scratchier. “Because I’m a terrible slave.”
“The worst.” Her free hand drifted to his ball sac, reawakening his bottomless well of arousal. “How often did you get a woody after a hard hit at football practice or during an excruciating exercise?”
He shifted his weight on his knees, her question poking at experiences he’d never spoken aloud. Feelings he’d wanted to express but never had a tolerant ear to whisper them to. Until now. “On the farm…” He coughed, unable to loosen the discomfort tightening his throat. “Some of the grueling chores worked my body pretty good.” His muscles would burn with exertion, his penis would rub against his jeans. He met her eyes.
“It made you hard.”
As the room filled with weighted silence, he examined the expression softening the peaks of her lips and rounding the depths of her eyes. He knew her features wouldn’t harden and twist with judgment. “Yeah.”
She dipped her head, her breath tickling over his cheek, lifting her hand from his balls to toy with the hair behind his ear. “You get hard every time I punish you.” She kissed his jaw and nibbled on his ear lobe, whispered, “Kinky pain whore.”
Her teasing tone and the playful bite of her teeth on his neck exposed the girl she kept tucked away. His already excited heart hammered against his ribs.
“The problem is—” she turned her head to glower at him “—the whip lost its thrilling danger after the first time I used it. It takes you to an out-of-body place, and all that’s left is the thrill.” She held up the plug. “But this—”
“Is not going inside me.” His pulse accelerated, and his rectum contracted.
“It is.” She smiled, soft at the edges, but no less determined. “It’s up to you if I’ll lube it, if I’ll be gentle, if I’ll prepare you.” She licked the tip of the plug, wetting it. “Requirement number ten.”
His heart rate redoubled. Sweet mother, he didn’t know that one. Sweat beaded on his nape, and his pecs twitched, ready to fight.
“Shh.” She brushed a kiss on his chest between the crisscross of rope. “This is a new one. Slave will show gratitude for punishment and discipline.”
His lungs sighed in relief. “Thank you, Mistress.”
And just like that, their roles reverted. He understood why she rose and stripped down to her panties, why she tied a black kerchief around her nose and mouth, and why she gathered her composure into the unnatural stillness of dominance. It was her masked persona, the Deliverer who performed without mercy or emotion. To enforce the training. To deliver the punishments. To protect those she cared about.
But who protected her? Now he was one of the people she would come to defend. This certainty was a visceral grip of faith, and it filled him with a new sense of purpose. Her hidden expressions, costumes and nudity, and penchant for restraints were meant to disarm a slave. It was her cross to bear, and he would help her carry it.
As she repeated the rules over and over, he kept his eyes down with respect, his mouth shut in obedience, and his mind focused on memorizing her words.
Liv sent the text to Van, and thirty minutes later, she walked to the door and put her hand on the keypad. Josh was ready. As long as he didn’t look at the yet-to-be-used butt plug she’d left on the mattress.
She glanced back, her shadowy gaze peering over the kerchief. “You can guess why I’m only in panties.”
He raised his eyes, swallowed. The test with Van would be sexual in nature. Since she wasn’t asking a question, he kept his guess to himself and drew a deep breath.
“I don’t know what Van has planned, but he will test your limits.” With her chin tilted up, she faced the keypad.
As she punched in the code, he knew she would do what was necessary for her family. He returned his attention to the floor and girded his spine.
CHAPTER 24
The aroma of greasy food followed Van into the room. Josh’s mouth watered. He couldn’t stop the growl escaping his stomach, but he kept his lips clamped, his eyes down, and his knees on the floor.
A takeout bag dropped within grabbing distance, not l
ike he could steal a lone French fry. The rope-entwined straight jacket held his arms firmly around his torso.
Van’s ratty sneakers paused in the space between Josh and Liv, and the toes turned toward hers.
Without moving his head, Josh strained his upward line of sight, marking the tension in Van’s legs as they flexed against the denim.
The man’s broad shoulders curled forward, his hand lifting her chin gently. “Liv.” His whisper was strained, presumably from the sight of the bruises on her neck.
The distraught reaction set Josh’s blood afire, considering the yellow-purple marks around her eye still lingered.
“Don’t.” She stepped back and turned away. Good girl.
Van stood motionless for a moment. Then he reached for her hand. She pulled it away before he made contact.
“What can I do to fix this?” Van gestured between her and himself.
She was impossible to read with her body turned away and her voice so damned wooden. “You could’ve warned me what he was planning before you left me unconscious, bleeding, half-strangled.”
Van kept his back to Josh, his fingers flexing at his side. Seconds passed, indicating some kind of deliberation. “You’re right, Liv. I fucked you over, and I hated every fucking minute of it.”
As much as Josh didn’t want to believe him, his voice cracked with soft-spoken guilt.
Eyes on the floor, Josh held his spine straight as Van shifted and sat before him.
He pulled a paper-wrapped burger from the bag. “Sorry about the gun thing last night. That was a dick move on my part. We cool?”
Was this guy for real? If he glanced up, he’d probably get nicked by the sharp silver gaze of crafted bullshit.
“She’s starving you, isn’t she?” Van held the burger beneath his nose, taunting him with the heady fragrance of grilled meat and ketchup. “Go ahead. It’s yours.”
Not gonna lie. It was going to chafe like hell to eat from that hand, but he needed energy more than his pride. He opened his mouth.
“That pleasure belongs to his Mistress.” Liv’s bare feet moved into his periphery.
God love her. He would thank her later. With his mouth. On her satiny skin. Something to anticipate. His penis jerked.
Van lingered, the burger hovering before Josh. The hesitation produced a burgeoning hum that dragged beneath the skin. Unable to see their expressions, Josh was excluded from whatever unspoken communication passed above his head. Not peeking was torture.
At last, Van relinquished the food and traded places with her.
The soft curves of her bare breasts filled Josh’s view. The impulse to reach out and run a fingertip over one of those pink nipples was consuming. Good thing his arms were restrained.
She took two bites for every one she gave him. From the unhurried offerings she placed on his tongue to the possessive hand curled on the juncture between his shoulder and neck, she radiated an aura that compelled lowered eyes, humbled gratitude, and an unquestioning desire to please her. No wonder the girl, Kate, had fallen so spectacularly into her subservient role.
But he was not a terrified slave, crawling to compliance to escape the bite of her whip. Initially, he was supposed to be emasculated, hopeless, empty. Mr. E changed the game when he threatened Liv. Now he was supposed to be the slave so consumed with fear that he would risk his life to make sure nothing happened to his Mistress. Instead, his heart drummed with faith in the power of God, in her courage, and in his ability to save her.
As she fed him, Van perched behind her on the mattress, hands clasped between his bent knees. “How did you get him to hold still for rope bondage?”
She brushed a thumb over the corner of Josh’s mouth. “You may speak. Tell him how I did it.”
They had discussed how the questioning might go. Since their plan didn’t extend beyond surviving the buyer’s meeting, they’d agreed honesty was the best approach.
He swallowed the fry she’d placed in his mouth, savoring the fried, salty taste. “I trust her.” Oh, how he wanted to meet Van’s eyes when he said that.
“Really?” Van’s voice punched in disbelief.
“And I don’t want to see her harmed again.” His words, though rehearsed, came from an empowered place inside him. She’d already been hurt so much, but she was not beyond saving.
“You and me both, buddy.”
His veins heated with rage. Did the hypocrisy burn Van’s mouth as it huffed out?
The conversation fell quiet as she kept the food coming, brushing his lips under the guise of catching crumbs. With the hard floor grinding into his knees, he wanted to remove the distance between them, wanted to strip the kerchief that covered her nose and mouth, and plunge into her eyes. He wanted to be alone with her. Hell, he yearned to speed forward into the future. A future free of shackles. A future with her in it. He dared God to challenge his desires.
Two burgers, a cola, and a bag of fries later, his stomach settled.
Van lifted a foot and nudged her back. “Let’s see what he’s learned, Liv.”
She stuffed the trash into the bag and set it aside. “Say the requirements in order with an eagerness and accuracy that will please your Mistress.”
While Van made a decidedly sucky buddy in this ridiculous game, he seemed to have his temper under wraps. In fact, he was shockingly passive. Why?
Josh’s shoulders stiffened with realization. If he messed up the buyer’s meeting, if Liv was killed, Van would suffer the loss. The volatile bastard had just as much at stake.
He exhaled, “Yes, Mistress,” and recited rules one through ten slowly and carefully, imagining himself performing each one for her, trusting her not to use his obedience against him.
Her finger caressed a warm path over his knee, her body blocking her affection from Van’s predatory eyes. She removed her hand.
“Impressive.” Van rose. “Show me how he will service his Master.”
A flinch jerked Josh’s insides, but he remained outwardly still on his knees. He knew this moment would come and told himself if she could endure Van’s touch, he could, too. He waited for her command.
She reached back toward the mattress, but he couldn’t see what she grabbed. She touched his jaw. “Look at me.”
With pleasure. Connecting with her, by any means possible, would make this more bearable. As he raised his head, he leaned forward, subtly, into her personal space, inhaling the peppermint and lavender scent of her shampoo. Peering over the black kerchief, her magnetic eyes pulled him in further. Her pupils widened with an indiscernible emotion.
She held up the butt plug. “Requirement number eleven. Slave will wear and accept toys Master chooses to adorn him with.” She paused, seemed to wrestle with her words. “You can open your mouth to Van’s kiss or spread your ass for the plug. Both prepare you for your Master tomorrow, but which would please your Mistress now?” The movement of her mouth paused beneath the cloth as if she were considering the answer, but he suspected her diabolical mind had already choreographed the proceedings from beginning to end.
Van crouched behind her, his eyes alight with interest, his toothpick seemingly forgotten as it lolled in the crook of his lips.
Josh’s breaths quickened, his eyes searching hers. One flawless eye, one bruised, the surrounding skin furrowing as her eyebrows drew together. In the complexity of her gaze, he saw concern, a sense of responsibility, and maybe even possessiveness. If he read her correctly, she didn’t want Van near him. Or maybe he was just projecting his own desire.
The kiss would be the least intrusive, and if it were with any other man, it might’ve been his preference. She’d warned him the plug would be used eventually, and he’d resolved to accept it eventually.
“The plug for now.” Her tone was bored, bordering cruel, but the gentle look she shared with him helped smooth the tumble in his gut. Meanwhile, his nerves were shrieking in horror.
With a strong voice and an open expression, he embodied his consent. “Yes, Mistr
ess.”
She and Van rose, and she angled her mouth toward Van’s ear. Whatever she whispered sent him bolting to her cabinet of tools.
Minutes later, Josh lay face down on the mattress, knees on the subfloor, arms roped around his torso, backside in the air. Shifting into his line of sight, she squirted gel from a tube over her fingers, making sure he saw her apply it to the plug.
He wished he had the tennis ball to slam against the wall and distract his impulse to scream and fight. Instead, he focused on something more soothing. Like the tender touch of her hand as it eased between his crack. The measured caress around the entrance she’d only ventured in the one time. And the fact that it was her pressing against the barrier and not the man climbing onto the mattress and reclining beside him.
Face-to-face, Van stroked the back of Josh’s head. “Relax your rectum and push against the plug. I know it’s scary, but you’re in good hands.”
He flinched inwardly, burning to crack the guy’s skull. The cold hard tip of rubber pressed against the ring of muscle. He tensed instantly then forced his butt and legs to loosen. It must’ve been the work of God that kept his heart from tearing out of his chest.
The plug inched in, stretching, burning, building a terrifying pressure. He slammed his teeth together, his breath hissing, loud and fast.
Van released a long exhale. His eyes glazed over, and the torment etching his face was startling. “I bled a lot my first time. I was young. He was…huge.” His hand cupped Josh’s nape, twitched, his gaze refocusing on Josh. “My mom didn’t keep good company. She was too blitzed to notice her companions’ interest in me.” His voice was soft, horrifyingly serious.
A sudden burn sparked in Josh’s anus, followed by a dull fullness. She rubbed his gluts as his body adjusted to the intrusion. Breath by breath, his muscles relaxed.
Her footsteps retreated, and the bathroom faucet sputtered on. His legs trembled. With relief that it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. With Van’s revelation.
Josh met his eyes and willed himself to listen if the man wanted to talk about it.