by Lacey Kane
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The Bet
Copyright © 2012 by Lacey Kane
Cover Design by Adrienne Thorne
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.
For more information: [email protected] or www.laceykane.com
Warning: This book contains sexually explicit material and adult language, and might offend some readers. This is for adults only.
Disclaimer: The sexual practices contained herein are of a fantasy BDSM nature. Do not try any new sexual practice or any of those described within this book without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Many of the acts described within this book are figments of the author’s rather abundant imagination and might, therefore, not be possible, legal, and/or advisable. Neither the publisher nor the author will be responsible for any loss, injury, harm, or death resulting from the use of the information found within this or any other title.
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About the Author
Other Lacey Kane Titles
“You haven’t forgotten our little bet, have you?” Dustin squeezed my hand and chuckled, looking down at me—or rather, down at the valley between my breasts enhanced by my strapless, black cocktail dress.
He guided me past a white van marked Bradford’s Bond Services and up the marble stairs out in front of the mansion where his annual company holiday party was taking place, never slowing his stride long enough for me to do more than wonder why a bail bondsman might be parked outside.
“If Marina, The Bitch remembers your name, you win and I’ll be your sex slave for the entire weekend, doing anything and everything you want, whenever you want.”
Marina, The Bitch was Dustin’s pet name for his a coworker, if you could call it that. The same woman had been tormenting his life and that of everyone on his team for the better part of three years with her crazy demands and me-first mentality.
“And if she’s forgotten it, like I know she will—”
“Then you’re in charge all weekend,” I interrupted with a slow, seductive smile. “I’ll go along with whatever you’ve got planned. Yeah, I got it, babe. Me, your personal sex slave.”
“My own little fuck toy.”
I laughed at that, because it sounded so ridiculous. It didn’t really matter to me who won, honestly. Either way, it meant a weekend full of wild, crazy, monkey sex. We’d been planning it for weeks. Dustin had reserved some swanky cabin in the middle of nowhere at one of those “glamping” sites, out far enough that our cell phones wouldn’t get any service, so there would be no interruptions. I’d scheduled the time off at the hospital, volunteering for the holiday rush in the ER, while he’d be busy with the company end-of-year insanity that happened every year, so I could get the whole weekend now.
And, just because it was the perfect excuse for it, I’d gone to Candy Cane’s Adult Supply and stocked up on everything I imagined we’d need—flavored lube, glow-in-the-dark ribbed condoms, a pair of fuzzy handcuffs, crotchless panties, and (just for shits and grins) a set of black, leather floggers. I doubted we’d use the floggers, but I was dying to see Dustin’s reaction to them. He was always telling me I was too uptight, even though I loved a good fuck as much as he did.
When we walked through the main entry into the ballroom, he pulled me off into a little alcove and shoved my back up against the cold, hard wall. “Good,” Dustin whispered into my ear, just before he nipped at my lobe with his teeth, leaving me a shuddering, gooey mess. “Game on, Jenna.”
It was a miracle I could keep standing in those heels, since my legs had turned to Jell-O. Just that little bit of his teeth on my skin was all it took to send a flood of heat between my legs, and it was all I could do to keep from wrapping my legs around his long, lean frame and dry humping him then and there.
I thought that would be it, that we’d head out into the crowd and make nice for the party. I shouldn’t have tried thinking. Not while my mind was so clearly on anything other than rational thought.
Dustin pulled back from me a bit and grinned, that wicked grin that brings out the dimple in his right cheek and means all sorts of delightful, naughty things are in our near future. His blue eyes twinkled as he moved both hands up from my waist to grab onto my breasts and squeeze the mounds through the satin fabric.
“God, I love your tits,” he said.
He leaned down and kissed me, his pepperminty tongue forcing its way inside my mouth to sweep along the insides of my cheeks. Just as he angled his head to take the kiss deeper, he found my nipples with his thumbs and fingers, pinching the ever-loving life out of them so hard and so suddenly that I screamed in shock and pain. The sound was muffled in his kiss. It would have been lost on the noise of the party, anyway, what with the Santa hat-clad DJ blaring Christmas music so loud you could barely hear yourself think.
Not that I could think, anyway. I was too busy squirming to try to get away from Dustin’s punishing grip on my tits, but the more I tugged, the harder he pinched.
He kept kissing me, his tongue working like a piston, in and out of my mouth like his cock does when I blow him. By the time tears came to my eyes from the pain from his fingers, he was grinding his hips into mine, and the pressure of his hard dick rubbed over my aching clit through my dress inexplicably turned my screams of pain into whimpers of blinding need.
How the hell had he done that to me?
Dustin wedged his knee between my thighs and lifted me, my back still pressed hard against the wall, until I was riding him and writhing over his leg, panting for release. With one hand, I grabbed onto his shoulder to steady myself for the ride, locking my other in his short, wavy brown hair. The super-short skirt of my dress rode up until my pussy was bared to his leg, other than what my thong covered. I started bucking my hips, desperate for the biggest damn orgasm of my life, just as he changed from using a pinching, vise-like pressure on my tits to acting like he was trying to twist them off my breasts entirely.
That was it. I screamed out and exploded from the inside out.
The fat lady, my friends, had sung.
Slowly, Dustin lowered me down the wall until I was standing on my own two incredibly shaky feet again. His lips left mine, and I let out some incomprehensible, wobbly sound—more animal than human—something like “Gahnnhggn.”
After a few minutes, he finally let go of my nipples, and I almost screamed out again as the blood rushed back into them. Not that it would have mattered. Nobody could have possibly heard me. Probably not even Dustin.
His normally blue eyes were almost black with the need for a good fuck, but he straightened my skirt, pulling it back down to cover my pussy and ass. Just when I was beginning to think he was done torturing me for now, he slipped one hand up under my skirt. Two fingers dipped under my thong and deep into my insanely wet pussy, finger-fucking me into a quick frenzy while his thumb pressed down hard on my clit.
I let out three sharp, short little “Ah,” sounds, and then came on him again, collapsing back against the wall for support. Christ on a cracker, I’d never been multi-orgasmic before. Not so easy like that. He’d always had to work so hard to get me to come again if we fucked twice in a night, and it had never, not even once, happened even the fir
st time without his tongue on my clit.
Dustin pulled his hand free, then stuck his fingers into my mouth. My eyes went wide from the taste of my own juices.
“Suck them clean for me, Jenna.” His voice was gruff and commanding. He always sounded like that a little bit when we fucked, but this was more intense. More authoritative. A hell of a lot sexier.
I sucked. And I licked. And I marveled at what was happening. This was so not us as I’d ever experienced us before. I couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
When his fingers were clean, he pulled them free from my mouth, tongue-kissed me again and groaned, and then tweaked my tits as hard as he had the first time.
Finally, he released me. “Turn around and straighten yourself in the mirror.”
Mirror? He had to be joking. I spun around, and instead of the marble I was expecting, it was a massive, floor-to-ceiling mirror that spanned the entire wall.
My wavy, blonde hair was a fright, my lips were red and swollen, my light green eyes looked dazed, and my tits were standing at attention under the satin fabric like I’d never seen them do before. There was no way I could hide that. I could only pray they would go back to their normal size and flatten out in the next thirty seconds or so. In short, I looked like a sex doll, all ready for a good fuck. Smelled like sex, too. Which, granted, I was ready for a fuck. But I was also at his damn company Christmas party.
I tucked a few stray curls back into place, but that was about as much good as I was going to be able to do.
Dustin chuckled. Reaching around from behind me, he tweaked my tits again, holding and twisting and pinching until I was shoving my hips back into him. “Not right now, babe.” He picked up a towel from God only knew where, used it to dry off the wetness I’d left on his pants, and then took my hand, tugging me along behind him.
I guessed it was time to go meet Marina again. I said a quick prayer that she’d remember me, because all of a sudden, my nerves had gone into overdrive about what a weekend of doing everything Dustin wanted me to do might entail.
He led me to her without stopping to speak with any of his friends or coworkers first. Marina stood before the massive Christmas tree in a stunning, red silk cocktail dress. Her red hair was in a tight updo to match the tight-ass way Dustin said she ran things.
She held out her hand as we got close. She didn’t look at my eyes, but instead kept them trained on my tits. As had every other person in the mansion as we’d walked through the decked-out ballroom.
“Dustin. Glad you could make it. And nice to see you again, Carla.”
Carla? Fuck.
My mind swam with ideas of what this upcoming weekend would consist of, all of them leaving my knees weak even as my pussy got wetter. I tried to pay attention to the obligatory small-talk between Dustin and Marina, but all I could think about were his hands and my tits, and getting the hell out of there so we could get started. The sooner we started, the sooner it would be over, right?
Finally, Dustin’s hand was on my back again, guiding me away from Marina and the rest of the crowd. “Go back up to the mirrored alcove,” he said in my ear, loud enough that I could hear him but not enough for anyone else to hear. All the while, he kept moving my feet forward. “Stand in front of the mirror and knock three times. I’ll see you shortly.” Then he took off, out the door we’d entered through, without looking back. This could not be good.
On wobbly legs, I went back into the darkened alcove he’d taken me into when we first arrived. I stood in front of the massive mirror, my whole body shaking. I still looked just as sex-crazed as I had before going to talk to Marina. If anything, my nipples seemed to be even bigger than before. That might have just been my imagination, since I couldn’t stop thinking about them.
With way more caution than I use in almost any area of my life, I reached out my hand and knocked three times on the mirror.
A door opened up that had been invisible to the eye before, and two hooded men in black flooded out through it and grabbed me. I screamed, but it didn’t matter. My voice couldn’t possibly cut through the noise coming from the ballroom.
One grabbed my hands and twisted them behind my back, locking them into place with some sort of cuffs. The other shoved a ball gag into my mouth and latched it behind my head. By the time the first bent to secure my ankles, I realized I could have been kicking the whole time, if not for my shock.
I whimpered, but that sure as hell wasn’t going to do any good, as one of the men lifted me over his shoulder and carried me into the room like a sack of potatoes.
He sat me down in a chair, my bound hands pressed hard against the chair back, then pulled my head up by the hair and pointed to the wall, which wasn’t really like a wall at all. I could see everything out in the hall through it, particularly in the spot where Dustin had pinned me up against it and made me orgasm, because of the lighting just there. “See what that is, princess? A two-way mirror.”
The other man knelt down beside me, pulled off his hood, and started tweaking my tits like Dustin had done, only harder. Tears flooded my eyes as I looked at this massive man, easily over six feet and two hundred pounds of solid muscle, and I cried out against my gag. Fuck, that hurt.
“Yeah, that hurts so fucking good, doesn’t it, baby?” he said. His voice was deeper. Meaner. That went along well with his face, with a square, stubbled jaw and a long, white scar running down one cheek. Laughing, near-black eyes bored through me. “We saw that whole show your boyfriend put on for us.”
For them? What the hell was he talking about?
“Yeah,” the first guy said, pulling off his hood, “we saw how you like it rough. How you like having someone else take charge.” He was younger than the other one, and just slightly smaller, with sandy hair and a goofy grin that belied the things he was doing to me.
I’d liked it rough with Dustin. That didn’t mean I wanted anyone else to treat me like that. Hell, I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted Dustin to treat me like that again. It had surprised the hell out of me, and I hadn’t had time to process it all yet.
But the dude with his hands on my tits kept twisting them tighter, and then the other man, the one still holding a tight fist in my hair, reached his other hand down under my skirt, between my legs, under my thong, and started rubbing frenetically against my clit.
I didn’t know what to do. My body was on fire with the most insane combination of pain and pleasure and I couldn’t move for shit. I wanted Dustin. I wanted him to be the one touching me and making me feel these things, so that I’d know it was all okay.
And just like that, his voice sounded from somewhere behind me. “I hired them, baby.”
I jerked my head, trying to see him, but clit-boy would have ripped my hair out of my head before letting me move it an inch.
“It’s okay. Let them do what they want to do with you. Remember, you lost the bet. This whole weekend, you’ve got to do what I want you to do. What I want is for you to submit to Bradford and Jones.”
Tighter squeezing. More pressure. Faster frigging. Every nerve ending in my body was screaming for release, electric tingles shooting through me. I moaned into my gag, and a stream of drool flooded from my mouth onto my breasts.
“You’ve got a submissive streak a mile wide, baby.” Dustin sounded like he’d moved closer. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted him inside me.
Two fingers moved into my pussy as though in response to my unvoiced need, thrusting a frantic beat to match the other torture going on all over my body, but it wasn’t enough. My hips thrust up off the chair to meet the fingers in my cunt, and a third was added, stretching me, filling me, fucking me. I pressed my shoulders into the back of the chair for support.
“That’s right, baby. You’ve just been so fucking scared to let it out. Bradford and Jones are going to teach you to embrace it this weekend. And so that you won’t worry, I’ll know exactly where you are at all times. They have cameras filming you and will non-stop, and I can watch
the whole damn thing. I won’t let them hurt you. You trust me, right? Trust them.”
I moved my eyes all over, everywhere, trying to see Dustin because I knew I couldn’t last more than a few more seconds. I wanted to see him when I came, because as crazy intense as my earlier orgasm was, this one had the makings of world-ending power. I needed to see him. But I couldn’t find him.
“Look at me,” tit dude growled at me, using his fingernails to bite into my nipples through the fabric of my dress.
“Do what Bradford tells you, Jenna.” Dustin’s voice was faint, like he was moving farther and farther away from me.
I whimpered into my gag.
“Do it. Listen to Bradford and Jones, both.”
I obeyed. I locked my eyes onto the tit torturer’s cold, mean eyes just as the world shattered. He released my nipples and I released my grip on reality, all at the same time.
Fuck me, this was surreal. I’d had three mind-blowing orgasms involving more pain than I’d ever experienced in my life, and I hadn’t even been properly fucked.
What on earth was I in for?
I guess I’d passed out, because when I came to, I was in a world of hurt. I was still on the chair of torture, but my arms had been resituated to where they were locked behind the back of the chair. My shoulders ached, and I tried to sort them out, but it was a no go. I couldn’t move my arms an ever-loving inch.
My legs, too, had been put in a new position. They’d been separated, spread wide, and were shackled by the ankles to the legs of the chair in some sort of spike stilettos. I tried to pull my legs together, but it was no freaking use. They weren’t budging, either.
For that matter, my waist had a restraint around it as well, some cold metal that almost bit into my skin, but not quite.
My skin? Fuck me. I looked down. Sure enough, my dress was gone, my thong was gone…the only thing left on me were metal and leather restraints, and those crazy ass stilettos. Well, and the ball gag. Yeah, still drooling. Gross.