by Brooks, JB
He was dressed in a similar manner, his vest displaying the blatant power of his body, but he frowned at her.
“Don’t you have anything else to wear?” he asked.
“Only some ultra-warm thermal stuff. All Owen brought was my backpack. Do you think I packed a bloody ball gown to climb Kilimanjaro in?” she snapped, instantly annoyed by his double standards.
“Don’t be so touchy. I just mean…” He gestured at her legs. “Those shorts are so damn short. Surely you weren’t going to run around in Africa dressed like that?”
She couldn’t let him discover that she’d modified her clothes for his benefit!
“Er… I made a mistake when I was packing. I was in hurry, you see, and I have hiking shorts in exactly this color. I thought I’d packed them but…” Her voice trailed off. He was staring at her feet. “What? You can’t possibly have a problem with my shoes! They’re proper hiking boots.”
“There’s no problem. They just look damn sexy on you. Better than stilettos.”
His unexpected compliment disarmed her and she smiled at him. “You’ve never seen me in stilettos. I have this killer pair at home that you’d love. They’re—” She stopped, suddenly upset. “Never mind. I only have what’s in the backpack. If I can make do, so can you.” She pushed past him into the hall, tears clouding her vision. If only he’d let her go home! She was doing all of these things with him to make him trust her, but she had no idea if she was getting any nearer her goal. Not that she minded the sex, of course. Now that she wasn’t frightened of him anymore, she could admit it was quite the most exciting thing she’d ever done. But it was sex for a reason—scheming, manipulative sex, and she felt guilty for enjoying it as much as she did. The sooner he let her go, the better. She’d gone through a lot of pain to free herself from controlling, domineering men, and she wanted her life back with a vehemence that surprised her.
***
Mason followed Evelyn down the hall, through the kitchen, and out the door. He’d heard the little catch in her voice when she spoke about her possessions at home, and from the tight set of her shoulders, he could see she was upset. The familiar stab of guilt soured his stomach. He didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to bear keeping her here as a prisoner.
Although she said that she didn’t want to leave, that she had feelings for him, it was obvious that she wanted to return to her life, her family and friends, her home. He didn’t expect miracles. He just hoped that, when she left, she would have forgiven him enough not to go to the police.
Of course, it would be different if she wanted to stay here, and could come and go at will, as a girlfriend, or a partner. His mind shied away from the thought. It was too much. Relationships were not for him. Nothing was worth the pain of betrayal that inevitably followed when you let somebody get that close, when you loved them. He pushed the deviant thought firmly out of his mind and concentrated on the event ahead.
He wanted to push Evelyn to her limit, sexually. He needed answers, assurances, and this was the only way that he could think of to get them. The equation was very simple: if she let him do what he wanted to do, if she trusted him, then he would trust her. But for the first time in his life as a Dom, he felt nervous.
They walked out into the sun, the gravel of the driveway crunching under their boots.
“We’re going in the Rover,” he said, and she turned to the big, black vehicle, waiting patiently while he opened the passenger door for her with a chivalrous flourish, hoping to make her smile. Once she’d settled, he made his way around to the driver’s side and climbed in. He’d already packed everything they would need.
He drove them up the road, past George and Edna’s house, and on toward the stables.
“I thought the road ended at the stables?” said Evelyn.
“It does. We’re going cross-country.”
He steered the Range Rover over the turf that surrounded the stable building, and onto a narrow dirt track that ran parallel to the fences of the paddocks beyond.
“George uses this track to take food to the horses,” he explained as they bounced along the uneven path. “He has a quad bike with a trailer. That way, he can get all the horses fed in under an hour, even the ones in the far paddocks.”
When they reached the end of the paddocks, the track split to the left and right, following the white fences, but Mason kept going straight. Now the trail was barely discernible, just two narrow paths for the wheels to follow while grass and small bushes scratched at the underbelly of the car. He drove with confidence; he was taking them to an old favorite spot of his.
They crested the top of the rise and the path became rocky. He fought the wheel, holding the heavy vehicle steady as they descended into the valley of a small river. The house and paddocks were no longer visible behind them, and the bush now dense and pristine. They followed the river for some distance then turned aside to go up a hill. The track ended when they were almost at the top, and he parked in the shade of some large-leafed trees.
“We’re here,” he said, opening his door and climbing out. “Come and see.”
He took her hand, and they walked the remaining distance to the top of the hill. A beautiful old white-trunked tree crowned the summit, its sweeping branches providing a wide circle of shade at any hour of the day. Around its spreading roots, the ground was open, and covered with fine, pale sand. A cool breeze rustled through the leaves and, far below, they could hear the river racing between its stony banks. They turned slowly, looking out at the view.
“Wow,” said Evelyn. “This is spectacular.”
“Yeah, it’s a bigger hill than you’d think. Look, there’s the house.”
She looked where he was pointing. They were higher than the intervening ridge, and she could see Brady Ranch like a miniature in the distance. In all directions bush stretched for miles, dotted here and there with lakes, gleaming in the sun.
“The ocean is that way, but you can’t see it.”
After a few more moments he went to unload the Range Rover, making two trips to lug the heavy Esky and a bulky black tog bag to the top of the hill. Evelyn helped, carrying some of the smaller items and the picnic blanket.
“Spread it out under the tree, between those two big roots,” he suggested. She arranged it then lay on it, looking up at the sky through the leafy branches.
He took two Cokes out of the Esky then sat on the blanket at her side. He opened the tins, holding them at arm’s length in case they spurted after the rough drive, and handed one to her. She sat up and sipped gratefully. The day was heating up. She looked lightly flushed, her hair escaping from its hair tie, and her breasts straining against her vest, begging for release into his palms. He couldn’t wait to get her out of her skimpy clothes. Unobtrusively pressing his Coke tin against the ridge that was forming under his shorts, in the hope that either the cold or the pressure would alleviate his urgency, he pondered how best to proceed.
“Evvy?”
“Yes, Mace?”
“Tell me more about Stockholm syndrome. Does it just make you want to have sex with me, or does it have other symptoms?”
A wary expression crossed her face, and she fussed with her Coke, making a production of finding a level place to put it down.
***
Damn, thought Evelyn, what was he after now? She’d let her guard down, seduced by the magic of this beautiful place, but now she must tread carefully. If he’d looked up Stockholm syndrome on the Internet, which she was sure he had, he’d know about the other effects. In fact, she was counting on it, because those effects should help convince him to let her go.
“There are other symptoms,” she answered slowly. “The victim bonds with the kidnapper on various levels. He or she usually feels empathy toward the perpetrator and adopts and supports their point of view.” She spoke stiffly, as if quoting from a textbook. “That’s why you can trust me not to go to the police. I totally understand that what happened was a mistake, and not your fault at all.�
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She stared at him, wide-eyed, willing him to believe her.
“Hmm. So you’re saying that I can trust you because you have Stockholm syndrome?”
“Not just because of that, but because I genuinely believe you and I’ve already forgiven you.”
“And does it work both ways? You say that I can trust you, but do you trust me?”
She stared at him, perplexed. Where was this leading?
“Er… Yes. I do trust you. Obviously I do, I mean, look what we’ve done together. And I’m out here alone in the middle of nowhere with you. Need you ask?”
“Yes, I do need to ask.” He was smiling at her now, and alarm bells were clanging in her mind. “I want to fuck you again, Evvy. But I want to fuck you my way.”
“What do you… Where? When? I don’t understand,” she trailed off lamely. Her heart pounded in counterpoint to the throbbing between her legs. How was it possible that he excited her so effortlessly, time and time again? A word, a look, a touch—that was all it took.
He stared into her eyes and enunciated each word with precision.
“I want to fuck you now, here, in this beautiful place. But I’m a Dom, Evvy—a Dominant. Do you know what I’m talking about?”
She was visibly shocked. “Umm, yes. Well, I mean I’ve read about it, at least. But you don’t seem… I don’t really know about it, you know. I’ve—” She fell silent abruptly when he laid his thumb gently over her lips.
“Shhh, Evvy. You’re babbling. You shouldn’t be so shocked given how we first met.”
The image of him in that sinister mask, all dressed in black, flashed into her mind. He’d looked terrifying. An echo of that fear swept over her, chilling her skin.
“You know me better now.” His voice was low and urgent. “You know that everything I do is strictly consensual. But you also know that I like to play games.” He stroked his thumb slowly over her lips.
“Games can give a lot of pleasure, Evvy. I can give you more pleasure than you’ve ever experienced.” The rhythmic stroking continued, a light, sensual touch, and his voice became persuasive.
“If you trust me, I can make it very good for you. You want me to trust you, don’t you? Well, I want you to trust me too. Will you, Evvy?” He lowered his thumb across her lips, pulling the bottom one open slightly and brushing the sensitive inner skin as he stroked down, then withdrew his hand from her face. She drew her lip into her mouth and sucked on it.
“What do you want to do?” she whispered at last, fearful although his simple touch had aroused her again.
“I want you to submit to me. I’m going to tie you up and do certain things to you. I will not hurt or harm you, but if you agree then you cannot argue about things, or question me. You have to give over the control of your body to me, and trust me to see to your needs.”
His pale eyes were hypnotically green. He was so unbelievably tempting.
“What things will you do to me?”
“That is for the Dom to know and the sub to find out.”
“Will I like it?”
“Yes. It will be different, and you might find some of the things uncomfortable at first, but you will like it.”
“What if I don’t?”
He stared at her, considering. “I’ll give you a safe word. If you say it, I’ll stop, no matter what.”
“Oh. What’s the safe word?”
“Exit. That was the safe word used for The Chase.”
“There was a safe word that night?”
“There’s always a safe word.”
She remained silent as she considered the implications of that statement.
“So what’s it to be, Evvy? Will you give me your submission?”
The certain formality to his question made her pause. This was important to him, so if she did it, it would mean a lot to him. It would help her plan along. In fact, it might just tip the odds in her favor. Besides, the conversation had left her wet and needy, aching to be filled—she could use some of that pleasure he kept going on about.
“All right. I give you my submission.”
His body visibly relaxed, but at the same time, his demeanor seemed to change. He rose to his feet and stood next to the picnic blanket, towering over her.
“Good girl. Stand up and take off your clothes.”
She opened her mouth, but he cut her off sternly before she could speak.
“Remember, no questions, no arguments. You may only speak if spoken to. Disobedience will earn you a punishment. Now get undressed.”
She scrambled to her feet and removed her clothes. She didn’t try to hide from his heated gaze, but stood naked before him, the breeze like gentle fingers caressing skin that was usually covered. It was strangely liberating to be nude out in the bush; a sense of physical freedom swept over her and she took a deep breath. She could do this.
Mason cupped her breasts, squeezing and weighing her flesh, sending warm, tingling sensations across her body. He held her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, observing closely as the areolas crinkled and contracted under the light pressure.
“So beautiful,” he murmured gruffly.
Her juices flowed in a hot rush, soaking her pussy.
“Does that make you wet?” He rolled her nipples, increasing the pressure until she gasped, hot bolts of desire twisting the inner muscles of her cunt.
“When I ask you something, you must answer me, even if you’re embarrassed. Does stimulating your nipples make you wet?”
“Yeah, damn it,” she groaned.
“Oh, little drama queen, we’re going to have to work on your manners. That’s not a respectful answer. Come stand over here.” He indicated a spot on the picnic blanket under a soaring branch. “Keep your hands at your sides, unless I tell you otherwise, and don’t move.”
She stood as he directed while he went to get the big black bag and placed it on the blanket close to her feet. He unzipped a side compartment and withdrew a length of rope and some broad cuffs that looked like truncated mittens.
“Give me your right hand.”
She held out her hand, and he fitted the cuff over her slender wrist. It also covered the palm and back of her hand, and buckled snugly tight. It had a large metal ring attached to the palm.
“These are suspension cuffs. They spread your body weight, and they don’t cut into your skin because they’re very broad and thickly padded. Don’t look so alarmed, I’m not going to suspend you. It’s just a precaution in case you lose your balance…or go weak at the knees.” He grinned. “Left hand.” He worked the buckles with the ease of long practice.
Evelyn looked at her fingers protruding from the strange cuffs. She wanted to ask him so many things, but he frowned at her and she held her tongue.
“Good, you’re learning.”
He tossed the rope over the thick branch above her head, positioning it in front of a leafy offshoot so it couldn’t slide toward the trunk. Then he secured one end to the metal ring on her right cuff with a few deft moves. The man knew his knots. An erotic shiver ran down her spine. There was something incredibly lascivious about these deliberate preparations, and her arousal was building rapidly.
He threaded the rope through the metal loop on the left cuff. Before securing it, he pulled on it, raising her hands above her head. She grew alarmed as he tugged it higher and higher, until her arms were stretched upward, but to her relief, she was still able to stand with her feet flat on the ground when he tied it off, an easy task for him, because he was so tall. He stood back to inspect his work.
“Mmm, there’s something quintessentially dissolute about tying a woman to a tree and having your wicked way with her.” The rich tones of his voice set off resonating, stimulating vibrations deep within her. Scattered rays of sun filtered through the leafy canopy above her, dancing warmly over her skin, and the feeling of freedom and lightness inexplicably intensified.
He turned back to his black bag of tricks and pulled out a shiny chrome bar with lea
ther loops on either end.
“This is a spreader bar. I’m going to put it between your ankles to make sure that you can’t close your legs while I’m busy with you.”
Her cunt spasmed wildly at his words, a shock wave of lust racking her body. Oh god, she was already so helpless, and now he was going to render her open and vulnerable, exposed to the world here on top of the hill. Exposed to him.
He knelt at her feet and strapped the loops to her ankles, forcing her feet outward until she was standing on tiptoe. When he was done, he rose and walked slowly ’round her, reaching out to caress her stomach, fondle a breast, squeeze the cheeks of her ass, and run his fingertips up and down her spine. She squirmed and panted, helpless under his knowing touch.
“I think you need one more thing, little sub. The icing on the cake, so to speak.”
He looked in the bag again, and drew out a small velvet pouch. Upending it over his palm, he shook the contents out. She glimpsed some sort of chain. Was it jewelry?
“Nipple clamps,” he stated, coming to stand in front of her again. “There is no way that breasts like these can be left without nipple clamps.” He touched a nipple with his fingertip as he spoke, and it promptly hardened into a tight peak.
“Look how responsive it is. Now don’t be frightened, I won’t hurt you too much—just enough for it to feel good. Look, these are adjustable.”
He showed her the tiny rubber-capped clips. They had little screws which could be tightened or released to control the tension, and they were joined together with a delicate, jewel-embellished chain, but they still looked alarming. She raised anxious eyes to his, and blinked at the taut, lustful expression on his face.
He positioned the first clamp around her right nipple. He didn’t clip it from the front, as she’d expected, but attached it sideways with the little handle angled downward. She cried out as the clamp bit into her sensitive flesh.
“Shhh, little sub. It’s not set too tight.” He clipped the second one into place, and excruciating pleasure-pain shot from her breasts directly to her pussy.