“Do you know where you are?” A rough male voice I don’t recognize barks in my ear.
Instinct makes me sway back. I hear the whistle one quarter of a second before the cane hits between my buttocks and thighs. Ouch! Godsdammit. It hurt like hell, but is already mellowing into a radiating heat. I frantically shake my head as any good slave in a role play would do.
“That’s better. You’ve been kidnapped, and you’re at a slave auction. There is no escape, and the bidding for you is between two masters. They each want a final look at the goods before the bidding begins. From this day forward, you’ll only speak when given permission, and you’ll do exactly what you’re ordered. Do I make myself clear?”
It sounds like Francis, kind of, except in a lower register and without the Scottish brogue. The cane whistles down on my ass twice before I have time to react, making my eyes water. What the fuck have I let myself in for? I nod frantically.
“That’s better, slave. What’s your new name?”
“Slave.” I rush to answer before another hit of that damned cane comes. And now we know I’m not what they called pain junkies at the event in Seattle. But I do like how the pain is turning into deep throbbing pleasure between my legs.
Then he’s gone, and I’m left hanging with a stinging butt and full bladder. And the urgent need for an orgasm.
Enough time passes that I’m chilly, and my excitement’s morphing into irritation when new footsteps sound. I straighten up and strain to get a bead on who came into the room—Francis or Bob—and I don’t get a read on either. Before I can land on another thought, pain shoots through my upper thigh as the man pinches the tender skin hard. Then he pulls a thick leather hood over my head. I thrash desperately. “Keep doing that, bitch, and you’ll pass out from lack of air. I can beat and fuck you either way.” A thick finger slides into my mouth. “This is the only breath hole. Stay still, and you’ll be able to breathe.”
I stand as still as I can as those rough hands slide up and down my body, pinching and prodding while he mutters about what he’s going to do with me. My mind races around, trying to identify him, when the man delivers three more blows from what feels like a wooden paddle and leaves the room.
Minutes later, Francis slides up behind me. The sense of him hits me before his faint scent makes me yearn for him. He slides the sensory deprivation hood off my head, leaving the blindfold in place. I choke back huge gulps of air. Francis stands behind me and slides his hands up and down my naked sides, gently cupping the swell of my breasts as his hands travel down my body. I lean into his touch.
“Awch, ye like that do ye, mo nighean dubh, my dark-haired lass.” His brogue is thick and unfettered as he speaks into my ear. “My colleague is half mad with drink and more than a little bit of a sadist. I’m wondering if ye’d care much for such attentions.” He glides a finger between my wet folds. “Ah, mayhaps ye prefers the sting of the lash.”
A wet finger touches my lip. Despite the temptation to suck that finger in my mouth, I twist my mouth away as any kidnapped slave would do.
He pulls my head back, exposing my neck. His teeth graze my carotid artery, and I wait for the sharp puncture that doesn’t come. “You have a choice to make, mo nighean. Make no mistake, I want ye to be mine, but only if you’re willing.” His fangs slide back up the side of my neck, and I damned near swoon. “I don’t believe in force. Come with me, and you’ll always have a choice except for one thing. Do you know what that is?”
“My freedom?” Excitement makes my voice shake.
“Ah. A clever one. But maybe you’d prefer my colleague, prefer the pain.”
I shake my head frantically, well, as frantically as I can with him holding my head back. “So, are ye saying you’re willing to do as I say? Obey me in all things?”
Oh, yes, please. I nod. He yanks my head back. “Speak.” The word snaps out like the crack of a whip. I shake with adrenaline and pure, feral need.
“Yes.”
He kicks my legs apart and cups my sex. Hard. “Yes, who?”
“Yes, master.” I gasp the word out as he slaps my clit, lightly but enough to sting. It feels as if he magnifies the vibration of the slap as he cups my pussy.
Suddenly, I don’t want all the long slow niceties. Sometimes, a woman just wants a good fuck. I plant the thought in my mind that gives him the green light—not that he needs one. Take me hard.
15
— Francis —
Take me hard!
Tate’s mental shout reverberates through my head and straight down to my cock. Our Tate is wet, dripping wet, and primed for the night ahead as she stands suspended, breasts thrust forward and begging for attention. She moans as I reach around and pinch one of her hard nipples.
As agreed, Robert watches from the corner of the room, bristling with tension and anticipation. I strengthen the shield blocking his emotions from Tate. If she feels his uncertainty, she’ll lock down. Tonight’s goal is to unlock that tight chain of control she has wound around her sexuality.
At the start of our scene, I masked my identity just enough to make it feel real, to help Tate sink into the fantasy. I gave her just enough pain to focus her thoughts on the sensation she so desperately needs. I hadn’t been able to ignore how she’d mentally screamed for more when Nameless spanked her in front of the Tribunal. She craves that edge just as our Gianna did more than four hundred years ago. It was that need that had left her and Robert vulnerable to my seduction.
Robert had been unable to fulfill her sexual needs for two reasons: with his sensitive nature and deep love for her, he’s too afraid to hurt her, too tentative, and he’s never fully opened himself to his own sexuality. Time enough for that later. Right now, Tate’s cunt calls. Time for the next step.
Tate circles her wrists in the cuffs when I release her arms, but she stands still with her head bowed. I can feel Robert’s unease. He’s likely worried about her discomfort, but the cold bite of the metal will help keep Tate grounded in the scene.
I lead her to the spanking bench, specially designed to fit Tate’s body. Pushing her onto her knees on the padded bench, I secure her ankles. And then, I stalk around the front, grab her manacled wrists, and draw them forward until her upper body lies across the top tier of the bench. There, I secure her cuffs with two audible clanks and am rewarded with the most delicious arching of our Tate’s back. She likes this, indeed.
Robert draws in a sharp breath as I move to expose the beauty of Tate’s elevated backside while I let the sounds of my belt buckle loosening and zipper teeth opening heighten Tate’s anticipation yet another notch. As I step behind her, she arches her ass again, showing me she’s primed and ready.
Tate’s moan damned near takes off the top of my head as I slam into her. I take one very brief moment to luxuriate in the feel of her tight warmth surrounding me. The prodigal dick returns home.
“Now, master.”
I pull back and slam into her again, slow and steady, knowing each push rubs her clit against the leather surface of the bench. Oh, yes. I sync with Tate, letting her desire drive me. I block out everything but Tate—her sweet sounds, her heady scent, her exotic beauty. I’m damned near driven to distraction as her G-spot swells against my cock, further proof of her need. Mo chridhe. She coaxes her orgasm with quick little thrusts as she tries to increase the pressure on her clit. If Tate’s body still responds the way it used to, she’ll need constant, direct stimulation to bring her to climax. I’ve left her enough contact to excite but not enough to push her over. She wriggles and moans in her desperation, damned near driving me mad in the process as the climax I’ve held builds and threatens to erupt. And then it hits me, we need to come together. We need our ether to mingle to complete our unity brand. I meld my mind to Tate’s and let her pull me into the sea of sensation that bathes her.
I feel her need build until she’s ready to erupt. Her muscles and mind tense as she tries to cross a plateau for the orgasm just out of her reach. She’s playi
ng a good slave, but in her mind, she roars, frantic with need, and her thoughts flick through images of Robert and me in wonderfully naughty positions. I get a split-second image of my pointed tongue rimming her perfect rosebud, but it’s enough to steer me in the right direction. I run a finger through the pool of moisture that continues to build between Tate’s legs and run the moisture around the tight pucker. Tate’s moan turns to a feral groan as her mind continues to scream.
“Do you like this, slave?” I dip the tip of my finger just inside her sweet ass, enjoying the feeling as her muscles clamp down. She moans again, but says nothing. I pull back a little and slap her ass. “Speak, slave.” She moans again and arches toward me, her mind a constant mantra. Please, please, please. I slap harder, damned near erupting again as I read her reaction to my blow—it hit the sweet spot low on her ass and sent vibrations through her lust-engorged tissues. I swipe my thumb through her juices again and hook it into her ass, pushing down, increasing the bench contact with her clit as I pound into her.
The gold filigree twining through Tate’s unity brand turns to a needle of platinum light as Tate screams, “Francis!” The contractions of her orgasm grip me with a force greater than any of my memory. As my balls pull tight, the platinum light arcs from Tate’s wrist and blasts into mine, and I come, roaring with the violence of my release. Gianna, mo chridhe. My mind sings those words over and over.
Tate’s orgasm seems endless before she collapses on the bench underneath me, panting. I want to drape my body across hers while I bathe in her heat, and joy, and pleasure pulsing through her body. But the throbbing heat in my right wrist and Robert’s worry penetrate, and I pull myself together.
A quick glance at my wrist shows the crimson flower beating in full bloom, signifying my bond with my Gianna, with Tate, is finally complete. I drop a kiss on Tate’s bare back before I pull out and quickly unbind her. I crouch down at her head and tip my finger under her chin. She slowly opens those gorgeous eyes, and her smile warms my hard vampire soul. I hear Robert moving behind me.
“Please don’t tell me we’re done.” Her words are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. And precisely what Robert needs to hear. Our Tate remains clever even mid-coitus.
“You’ll pay for that, slave. Why don’t you take a moment and decide just how you’d like to be beaten for that infraction.” Without ceremony, I pick up her limp body and deposit it in the corner of the padded room. I send the bench to another corner and motion for Robert to follow me out.
As soon as the door closes, Robert pounces. “What the fuck are you doing? We are not leaving her in there like that. She’s hurting. I can tell. You hurt her.” The accusation in his voice is clear and surprises me a little. I expect angst because he hasn’t had his turn. Instead, he’s agitated about Tate’s well-being. I pull on a pair of lounge pants and turn to face him, not because of my discomfort but in deference for his. I pour myself another drink. The return of such sensory pleasures may be temporary, so I’m going to enjoy every minute. I offer a glass to Robert, but he shakes his head and drums his fingers on the bar. How best to handle this? I take a sip and turn to face him.
“What makes you think I hurt her?”
“I could feel her pain every time you rammed into her.” Robert’s face has the hard set that signals his mind is made up. “We’re stopping this now before it goes any further.”
I give him a speculative look. “So, you’re calling red?”
“I’m calling red.” He moves toward the door. “Let’s get her out of there.”
“Before you do, ask yourself one question. Is this about you or about her?” That, at least, stops him mid-stride, but he doesn’t turn around. “Tune into her again. Is she in distress?” I wave a hand to the one-way window set in the door. Tate sits cross-legged on the floor, alternating between massaging her wrists and examining the right one where my unity brand blooms bright beside Robert’s. She pumps her small fist in the air and then leaps up, yes, leaps to her feet, and does a couple of circuits of the room, executing a series of stretches. I step back from the window.
Robert slowly pivots and joins me at the bar. He downs the contents of the brandy waiting for him before raising speculative eyes to meet mine. “She wants more.”
16
— Tate —
Oh, my gods. Oh, my gods! That’s all my mind keeps singing as I work out the kinks from holding that delicious position on the bench for so long. Reuniting with Francis is up there as the second most thrilling thing that’s happened in my life, or should I say, lives, right behind finding Bob again. Although I can’t remember him in my mind, my body definitely remembers him just fine . . . and it craves more. And since I’m reasonably sure neither Francis nor Bob would dump me and run after such an intense encounter, I assume we’re still in the scene. I eagerly stretch in anticipation for the next round while thanking the gods Francis gets me—only the stern guidance of a strong alpha can turn off my mind long enough for my body to take over. A flash of guilt bolts through me. How can I be so disloyal to Bob? I quickly push that thought away. Time enough to think of that later.
“It’s time.” That thought plants itself just long enough for me to drop to my knees before the door opens. But not enough time to get the blindfold back on. Francis’s tsking almost makes me smile. I snatch the blindfold and slide it over my head.
“What have we here?” His voice is almost conversational. “Five days of training, and she still doesn’t know the rules. What should we do about that, Master B?”
“I believe another spanking is in order.” My heart sings at the rich tones of Bob’s voice, firm, strong, and true . . . and most unlike him in cases like this. My Bob is careful to make sure whatever he’ll do will please me. He always asks, always checks in. As reliable as clockwork.
“I believe you’re right. Over the knee or bench?” Francis sounds as if he’s chatting about the next grocery purchase.
“That pert little body should fit quite nicely over my knee. You say she’s fresh meat?” Bob sure as hell sounds as if he’s gotten over whatever usual trepidation he suffers from.
“Just about as fresh as they come. She’s only ever been with her beloved vanilla husband.”
I almost snort at Francis’s description. His strong arms lift me to my feet and guide me across the room as I hear chair legs slide. A moment later, I’m laid over Bob’s thighs, naked ass once again in the air.
“Ah. Excellent.” Bob runs his hands over ass cheeks still stinging a bit from Francis’s attentions. “Do you like getting spanked, little slave?”
My body is so tight with anticipation that I choke out my response. “No!” Yes!
He increases the pressure on my ass as his hand roams my curves.
It’s everything I can do to stop from spreading my legs and begging. Not something a kidnapped slave would do, and I’m all about staying in role.
“Is she telling the truth, Master F?”
“Not one bit. As you can see, I’ve warmed said ass just for you.”
“Is that a fact? So, you’re lying to me, little slave?” The pressure from Bob’s hand increases as he speaks. I say nothing but wiggle my ass in anticipation. Let’s move this along. I need more orgasms.
Just as Nameless had, Bob spreads his legs so my weight is evenly distributed over his thighs. Unlike Nameless, he doesn’t brush the breasts screaming for attention.
Several swift slaps rain down on my already warm ass, pushing my excitement back to overdrive. My muscles tense in anticipation until my brain gets the belated message that this doesn’t hurt one bit. That, in fact, my pussy pulses, begging for more. I almost scream in frustration when he trades the swats for soothing caresses.
“Are you lying to me, little slave?” That edge of danger he adds to his tone almost makes me come on the spot. What have you done with my Joe Bob? I shake my head more enthusiastically than the situation demands and am promptly rewarded with ten sharp slaps. This time, Bob aims most o
f them on the sweet spot that sends aftershocks reverberating through my core. Just as abruptly, they stop, but his hand cups the spot, highlighting the sensation.
“Let’s try this again,” Bob says. “Do you like getting spanked?”
This time I nod. “Yes, master.”
“Spread your legs.”
I hesitate just a second as my full bladder makes its miserable presence known, and I wiggle in delicious agony. “Please, master, may I go pee?” Since Bob always responds to my wishes, I prepare for him to set me on my feet. Make it quick, bub.
“Who gave you permission to speak?” I damned near burst as more sharp slaps rain down on my now throbbing ass. The agony is exquisite: stinging laced with pleasure, adrenaline lighting up my nerve ending because Bob is doing something so unusual for him. Tears well in my eyes. This time, a cool hand joins Bob’s hot one as it soothes my butt cheeks.
“Ack. Methinks mo nighean needs to come for us.” He slides a firm hand between my legs, which part like the Red Sea. Only the hand on my back keeps me from shooting into space when his fingers pinch my clit.
My traitorous legs inch farther apart with a will of their own. Several fingers puncture my cunt as another orgasm starts a fast climb up the mountainside. Shortly thereafter, a finger fills my butt, and another punishing orgasm rips through me, my full bladder adding to the delicious torture. I come to awareness feeling like a puddle of lava spread wide over Bob’s knees, panting with exhilarated exhaustion. I’m nearly comatose, yet my body yearns for more.
Strong arms lift me and deposit me on the throne in a candlelit bathroom, holding me in position. After several agonizing minutes, my bladder finally releases, and I slump forward into waiting arms.
“Oh, no you don’t. We’re not done with you yet, slave.”
Tate's Task Page 11