by Joely
“Come on out, sugar.”
He gave one last, lingering look at himself in the mirror, searching his face for any trace of indecision or regret, but he saw only a dark gleam of eager hunger shining back at him. Opening the door, he did pause a moment to drink her in. She wore another unexpected gown, this one made of a light, thin white material, still very old fashioned looking, with ribbons and ruffles and buttons, mostly left undone down the front to bare the soft, paler skin of her full breasts. He’d thought Mistresses wore black latex and corsets with thigh-high boots. And yeah, maybe he ought to ask for that, because Mal would look hot in anything. But right now, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the outline of her curves in that gown.
“You like?” She asked softly, giving him a slow twirl. “Vicki made it, inspired by Victorian shifts and petticoats.”
His tongue felt swollen in his mouth, making his voice sound strange. “I didn’t know you liked Victorian clothing.”
“I didn’t either, until I saw it. Vicki did a million sketches to distract me while you were in surgery. I’m going to ask her to design all the costumes for Pony Games, if she’s up to it. I think it’ll be fun.”
She came toward him, a slow, sexy stroll that hypnotized him. If he hadn’t already been hard, he’d have probably passed out from the blood rush to his groin. He fisted his hands at his side, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her. His fingers burned to see how far down the buttons ran down the front, and how far he could get before the whole nightgown just slipped right off her body to puddle on the floor.
“You remember what I told you that first night at the restaurant?”
Like when she’d given him those first orders, to eat his food. Or when she’d asked him why he was there. But he had the feeling that she meant… “You said you’d get to be the woman to break me.”
She didn’t reply or move a muscle, but stared back at him, silent and firm and he knew what she wanted.
The dog sat at his mistress’s feet, because that was where he chose to be. Not because she forced him.
It was easier than he’d ever dreamed to bend his knees and sink to the floor as he stared up at her. The wood floors were cold beneath him, but her smile warmed him to the core.
“How do you feel? Truthfully?”
On his knees, it was harder to mouth back a cocky response full of male ego, which was probably exactly why she’d put him here. He listened to his body, feeling for any internal twinge or pain. “Good. Tender, like I wouldn’t want to take a punch to the stomach. I wouldn’t want to run too far or too hard. Unless you were waiting at the end.”
She frowned, biting her lip, as if she didn’t think he could take whatever she’d planned. Risking punishment—which alone should be enough to reassure her that he felt fine—he leaned forward and rubbed his face against her stomach. Her arms came around his head, her fingers stroking over his skull and shoulders. “Are you sure? The last thing I want to do is hurt you, let alone put you back in the hospital, on our honeymoon, no less.”
Rolling his eyes up to see her face, he lipped the thin linen of her gown, playfully tugging at it.
“Hmmm. I think you should have dessert first.”
Happily, he muzzled his way toward the vee of her thighs, but evidently that wasn’t what she meant at all.
“Stand up and come over here, sugar. I’ve got dessert set out for you.”
She offered a hand to him, which he took as he stood, any excuse to touch her without risking the Mistress’s wrath. He followed her to the kitchen. At the bar, she’d scooted the two stools out of the way and set out the pan of blackberry cobbler.
“Hands behind your back.”
He crossed his wrists in the small of his back and she bound his hands. Good. Maybe she was going to feed him. Even better, maybe she’d just scoop a big pile of cobbler onto her pussy and let him eat it off her. Double the dessert.
She must have read those thoughts on his face because she chuckled softly, shaking her head. “I’m not a fan of food mixed with sexy times. For one thing, someone’s gotta clean up the mess later, and another, I just want to eat my food and enjoy it.”
“I’d still enjoy the hell out of it.”
She arched a brow. “Maybe. Until I got an infection because of food where it shouldn’t be.”
He grimaced. “I didn’t think of that.”
“A man wouldn’t.” She scooped out a nice helping onto a dish and set it before him. But no silverware. Eyes narrowed, he watched her as she walked away, back toward the bed. She picked up something but kept it behind her back as she returned. “Do you trust me?”
“With my life.”
She brought her hand forward, holding what looked to be a medieval flail. Long leather straps cascaded off the end.
Instinctively, he tensed, but probably not for the reasons she might suspect. He didn’t really think she’d hurt him. But by God, he didn’t want her to use something on him that she’d used with that red-haired submissive on the show. The one who’d punked her.
“I don’t need this. I’m not a sadist. I don’t need your pain to find satisfaction. But I like to warm up a sub’s skin with a little light punishment. It makes the pleasure all the more explosive when we get to it.”
“You like it, then you’ll have it.” he growled out. “But answer me one thing first. Did you give this to Andy?”
Her eyes flared. Holding his gaze, she lifted the flail up to his face. A test of trust? He wasn’t sure. But he could smell the leather, and it brought back that visceral memory of his childhood. Riding horses. Peace. Finding beauty in the sunrises and the gentle lowing from the cattle.
“To my knowledge, no one’s skin has touched this, other than me petting it. Certainly never Andy. Patrick is a consummate horse master who uses only the best. He had this custom made ages ago but never used it, because he fell in love with his whip.” She trailed the leather straps over his shoulders. “Once I saw how soft the leather is, I couldn’t resist. Usually I’d go for a velvet flail on a beginner, but this is soft enough I think it might break you in real gentle like.”
The suede was butter soft and smelled so damned good. “I’ll let you do anything you want to me. I mean it. As long as whatever you use is for you and me alone.”
“Possessive,” she drawled, dragging the straps across his chest to the other shoulder. “I like that in a sub, to a point. So we’re going to play a little game. I want you to eat your cobbler while I lightly and playfully spank your delectable ass. And when you’ve finished your dessert, I’ll untie you and you can have your wicked way with me, any way you choose. Deal?”
“Deal,” he said immediately.
“No worries, no hesitation?”
“None. Not if I get to make love to you when you’re done. I’ll eat it so fast you won’t get more than a handful of strokes in.”
“Fair warning.” Though she didn’t sound concerned or disappointed at all. “Remember you can always tell me red or blackberry and walk.”
He waggled his eye brows, making her laugh. “And we still get sexy times?”
“Of course. But I’d really like you to try.”
Try? Fuck that shit. He’d conquer anything and everybody for a chance to make her smile. He leaned down, mouth hovering over the cobbler. “I should probably warn you that I was first runner up in the pie eating contest at the county fair two years in a row.”
She pressed against the backs of his thighs, draping herself over his back so that his bound hands touched her stomach. She leaned harder against him, giving him time to adjust his stance beneath her to take her weight. Leather trailed light over his skin, her fingers over his flanks. The strokes blended together, become one. Leather slid over his dick, making him shudder.
She let out a husky laugh that made his balls tighten. His dick twitched, already leaking. And she hadn’t even started hitting him yet.
“I should probably warn you, too.” She shifted to his left side, pres
sing against him so she could whisper in his ear. “Seeing you bent over like this is putting some very dirty thoughts in my head.”
“Yeah?” He ground out, squeezing his eyes shut as if that would stop the images from filling his head too. But it was too late. Having her against his back like that…
She squeezed his ass, the firm grip of her hands, her strength, making his stomach quiver. Leather strands tickled the back of his legs. He couldn’t help but remember the box of pony gear. The tail. Though it wasn’t a fake tail he was thinking about inside him.
“I’m not biting your hand or running away yet.”
“Eat your pie, soldier boy.” Her breath hot in his ear, she gave him the first stroke of the flail. He jumped, but it didn’t hurt. He’d just forgotten about it. “But know this. Someday, this ass is going to be mine.”
Every submissive she’d taken over the years, every scene she’d played, paled in comparison to this. Her fierce, protective soldier boy, tied up, willingly planting his face in cobbler while she spanked his ass. After giving her his vow and his name. After going to his knees. For her, and her alone.
She wrapped her left hand around his cock and gave him another stroke from the flail, slightly harder. Nothing that would truly hurt him, or even make him flinch, for fear of hurting his stomach. Lifting his head, he breathed hard, neck corded with effort of holding back his desire.
“Same rules as before, sugar. Don’t you dare come before that cobbler’s gone and I’m finished with you.”
Each time he started to make a dent in the cobbler, she distracted him with a good, hard pump to his cock. Or a slightly harder stroke to his ass. His skin was starting to turn just a hint of pink. New sensations would be flaring through his skin, nerve endings more sensitive and alive than ever. He wasn’t into the pain itself, but the thought that he’d endure it… That he’d allow her to tie him up, bend him over, and stick his ass up for her to play with…
That he’d be open to letting her peg him…
It was almost enough to send pleasure cascading through her at the thought alone.
Then he fucking begged, and she couldn’t find it in her stone-cold Mistress heart to refuse him.
“Mal, please,” he forced the words out around a mouthful of berries. “I’m this close to blackberrying out just to get inside you.”
She loosened her grip on his dick a little and glanced at the plate. “You’ve got one bite left, sugar. Surely you can manage that for me.”
He groaned. “For you.”
Watching him lick the plate clean, she wanted his mouth licking her as diligently. Her nipples rubbed on the linen, painfully hard. It wouldn’t take more than a few strokes to send her skyrocketing with him, which was exactly as she intended. She didn’t want him thrusting too hard, straining, for fear of injuring himself.
“Done,” he panted, tilting his head to turn those baby blues to work for him too. “Mal, please.”
Taking a firm grip on his cock, she put the flail down and jerked the knot loose so the could free his hands. She backed up, literally leading him by the cock, refusing to let go. Because if she did, she had a feeling he’d try to scoop her up in his arms and burst open those fragile scars. Purple juice stained his face, bits of berry globbed on his chin, but she didn’t care. She had no intention of making him wait long enough to wash his face.
As soon as she bumped into the bed and felt the mattress against the backs of her thighs, she let go of him and started the tug the shift over her head. His hands joined in, urgent, his breathing loud. But instead of tossing the nightgown aside, he buried his face in it.
She sat back on the mattress and scooted to make room for him. “The real thing smells better than the nightie.”
When he threw it aside, his face was wiped clean. “I know. But I wasn’t only smelling.”
He grabbed her knee, hauled her back closer to the edge of the bed, and quickly buried his face between her thighs. Fisting her hands in the sheets, she threw her head back and allowed the stroke of his tongue to carry her into the stratosphere. He came up onto the mattress on his knees, scooting her higher on the bed. That cut through the bliss in a hurry. She gripped his nape and scowled at him. “No lifting.”
“Just a little.” He sank into her like he was sliding into home plate, head first, all in, and groaned, deep in his throat.
He shook, already climaxing, and she held him close, stroking his back, her mouth at his ear, whispering nonsense. “That’s it, sugar, let go, I’ve got you. My soldier boy. My husband.”
Breathing hard, he lay still against her a moment, and then shot up like that fake horse tail had goosed him. “Oh fuck!”
She sat up too, her fingers immediately seeking out the wound on his stomach to make sure he wasn’t bleeding. “What? Are you hurt?”
“Condom,” he whispered, his eyes wide. “I forgot.”
Relieved, she tossed herself back on the bed. “No worries. I’ve been on the pill most of my adult life.”
He stretched out beside her on his elbow. “I hear accidents can happen, though.”
Surprised, she searched his face, trying to tell if he knew about Vicki’s news. He didn’t seem to have first-hand knowledge. “It can,” she agreed, watching his reaction. “This is something we probably should have discussed before we got married, but how do you feel about kids?”
“Bring ‘em on. The more the merrier. Or take ‘em and leave ‘em. I don’t really care.”
“No really. I want to know if you’re open to having kids, maybe even sooner than later. I’ve got a few years on you, you know.”
He kissed her, evidently sensing a bit of insecurity in her words. “I honestly don’t care. I love kids, but I’ve got a new baby nephew and Amelia to horse around with already. I want you to be happy. If that means having a baby, then let’s go for it. If that means you want to spend all your days at work and nights torturing me, that’s fine too.”
His choice of words made her laugh in protest. “I don’t want to torture you.” He flashed her that cocky-bastard grin and she amended her words, “Well, okay, just a little.”
“That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” He stroked her cheek, his brow drawing up with his own concern. “As long as I’m enough for you, that’s all I care about.”
“Oh, sugar, why would you even think that? Of course you’re enough for me.”
“I know you’ve played a lot of Mistress games, but this is all new to me. I don’t know how far you can lure me, even with blackberry cobbler.”
She laughed and pulled him down to her, tucking his face into her neck. “I have played a lot of Mistress games, and most of the submissives I’ve played with have known exactly what they wanted and needed in the scene. I mean, if they needed punishment, they were bratty and broke the rules on purpose. If they wanted to be humiliated, they’d playact right into being ashamed and naughty. They knew what they wanted from me, and because I’m a damned fine Mistress, I made sure they got what they wanted while figuring out how to pleasure myself too.”
He hummed out a pleased purr against her skin. “You are a mighty fine Mistress, Mal.”
She kissed the back of his head. “But you know what I’ve learned? Those submissives were there in the scene to get what they wanted. That was their primary goal. And there’s nothing wrong with that—that’s why the clubs exist. So people can find others who share their secret needs that maybe society frowns upon. But not a single one of those submissives came to me with the sole intention of making sure I got what I wanted. Except you.”
He lifted his head so he could scowl down at her. Sweet cocky fool. “You’re the Mistress. You’d damned well better get what you need first.”
“Which is why you made sure I came first tonight, even though I had your cock begging for mercy.”
“Of course.”
“And that, soldier boy, is why I love you so much. You can protect and serve me anytime you want.”
“Marines don’t p
rotect and serve. That’s the police, and I’m not a cop any more.”
“You know what I mean.”
He rubbed his lips against hers. “I feel like I ought to be apologizing.”
She threaded her fingers in the short hairs at his nape, giving a little bit of a tug. His nostrils flared and his cock stirred against her thigh. “Now what?”
He grinned, sitting up enough to snag her nightgown. “I’m pretty sure I ruined your fancy Victorian nightgown.”
Blackberry cobbler was smeared all over it. She took it from him and tossed it back on the floor. Then with a very firm hard look in her eyes, she planted her palm on his chest and pushed him toward the mattress, flat on his back. “I think I’ll have to punish you if those stains don’t come out.”
Eyes heavy lidded, he stared up at her and without her request, slid his hands up over his head, searching for part of the bed frame to hold onto. “Yes, ma’am.”
The Billionaire Submissive
If you love femdom, check out Billionaires in Bondage, re-releasing from Entangled Publishing August 21, 2017.
The Billionaire Submissive Excerpt
Since his picture was readily available in all the media stories covering his acquisitions and success, she’d known he was a gorgeous man of the tall, dark and handsome variety. She hadn’t expected to be affected by him. Pretty, svelte, arrogant men weren’t her type.
He was pretty, and yeah, he was damned svelte in that impeccable suit. He stood behind his desk, arms crossed, shoulders wide and feet planted, aggressively defiant and proud. It almost made her laugh. She couldn’t resist a wide smile, even if he didn’t know the cause. She hadn’t even opened her mouth yet and he was chomping for a fight. This’ll be fun.
“Miss Harrison.” He spoke in a clipped, hard voice echoing with disapproval. No wonder his secretary had looked at her with such disdain. She’d already picked up on the alpha’s opinion. “Do you have a portfolio?”
Not at all. The large leather thing she held in her hand was merely a strange saddle she’d used on the jackass she’d ridden into town. Of course she had a portfolio. What artist would ever go to a prospective client meeting without a single example of her work?