by Jade West
“He’s a God, isn’t he?” Cara whispered. I could only nod.
He took Red’s breasts in rough hands, kneading her with brutal fingers. She had big nipples, dark and ripe, and huge areola, like chocolate saucers. She rocked into him, sucking in breath as he pinched her nipples. He twisted them, hard, and she flinched, biting down on her bottom lip as he twisted harder still. Finally she cried out and he lowered his head, sucking on her teat like a hungry baby. A hungry baby with teeth. She groaned and shifted in her chains, arching her back into him as he gobbled at her flesh.
“His teeth hurt so bad,” Cara said. “He’s a real biter.” I felt her eyes on me as I shifted again in my seat. “Does he turn you on?”
“I... um... I’m not sure.” I was lying and I knew it, a stranger to myself, compelled by alien desire.
“He’d do it to you, you know... I know he would,” she smiled. “Do you want him? His pain feels so good.”
Raven leant across, yanked at Cara’s hair. “Enough,” she hissed.
I focused back on the stage. Masque retreated behind the drapes, returning with a long length of cord which he hung loosely around Red’s neck. He took a breast in his hand, and proceeded to bind her, loops of cord cutting in until her soft flesh turned hard, swollen with blood. He repeated his efforts with the other, then bound them together where they turned darker still, jutting out like two pink warheads. He grunted his approval, teasing and flicking her thickened nipples until Red was twitching on the spot.
“That feels so good,” Cara breathed. “You wouldn’t believe how amazing he makes that feel. You can cum from that, you know, if it’s done right. A nipple orgasm. He’s done it to me.”
“Cara!” Raven seethed. “One more word and I swear you’ll be one fucking sorry bitch.”
I heard soft squelches from a couple to our rear, the scent of sex heavy in my nose. Cara leant against my shoulder, positioning herself out of Raven’s view. She whispered so quietly I could hardly hear her. “Play with yourself if you like. Everyone does... or we could do it for you.” She placed a hand on my knee and I clamped my legs shut instinctively, embarrassment burning my face.
Masque upped the ante on stage, brutalising Red’s swollen breasts. He slapped them hard, and loud. Hard enough to make Red whimper. She jerked under his assault, her head lolling back in pain, but she was smiling. He ceased his attack long enough to slide his hand between her legs, and she moaned like a whore, grinding herself against him. He played her for long seconds, and I saw his fingers disappear inside her, four of them. Four. I sucked in breath at the sight. More words in her ear, then she was nodding. A smile. Deep breaths, her chest rising and falling in anticipation of something. He retreated once again behind the drapes. I strained for sight of him.
“Here we go,” Cara breathed again.
When Masque returned, he came armed. A collection of implements like the ones I’d seen in Raven’s room. I recognised some of them, a flogger and a horse whip, and some wooden paddles that looked as thick as chopping boards. And a cane, a long, thick cane with a leather handle.
“The cane’s his favourite,” Cara murmured. “I can’t take it though, hurts too much.”
He brandished a flogger with long suede tails and knotted ends, flicking her back gently before starting up his momentum, big arcs over and over, building up speed until they connected. She moaned at the first hit, but relaxed into it, adjusting her weight to steady herself. I heard the swish as the tails hit, over and over. Sometimes they’d curl around her body to lash at the soft skin on her ribcage. She’d jerk then and hiss out all her breath. She began to rock in her chains, losing herself in the rhythm. She cried out as he changed target, whipping the flogger hard between her legs to bite at her pussy. She squealed when he caught her clit, clenching her legs tight against the assault.
He yanked her head back by her hair, his mouth at her ear. I caught his low bark, the most dangerous sound I’d ever heard.
“Your cunt is mine, Violet. Mine. Don’t you dare fucking hide from me.”
Her name ricocheted around my brain. Violet. She spread her legs wide again.
“I’m sorry, Master, I’m sorry.”
“Good girl.”
Another direct hit and this time she squealed like a banshee but didn’t clench. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the chains above her head, taking everything he dished out. He landed a particularly nasty blow and she really wailed, gulping in air like a fish as her knees trembled underneath her. Still she didn’t shield herself from him.
I felt heady, dizzy, reeling at both the scene before me and the pulse between my thighs. My hands felt clammy. I felt clammy.
Finally he stepped forward enough to soothe her with his fingers. She wheezed at his touch, murmuring words I couldn’t decipher. He asked her a question and she nodded.
“Please, Master. Please.”
He buried his fingers inside and this time he ploughed her rough. She loved it, moaning for more as he stretched her open, and moaning harder still as his other hand strummed her clit at the same time. He stopped as she began to peak, and she wailed out a groan of disappointment.
“Tears first, Violet,” he barked. “Cry for me.”
My stomach turned over itself, and there underneath the nerves was a primal need I’d buried for years. I checked either side to find both Raven and Cara engrossed by the show, and then, slowly and ever so quietly, I slid my hand between my thighs.
***
James
The beast raged, twisting through my muscles. It bayed for tears, and beautiful, beautiful pain. It bayed for Violet’s broken flesh. She strained her head as I swished the cane, eyes wide with anticipation, and fear. A gorgeous combination.
“Master... I...”
“Tears, Violet. You’ll cry for me.” I hardly recognised my own voice.
She took long, deep breaths and I took a moment to feel the room. It thrummed all around us, alive with sex. Violet tensed her shoulders. “I’m ready, Master.”
“Tell me what you need.”
“Pain, Master, please. I need pain.”
“Beg.”
I paced to her front, slow and deliberate. She couldn’t take her eyes from the cane, flinching every time I let it flick in my grip. I’d planned a long warm-up, priming her with both paddle and crop until she was floating on endorphins and ripe for the strokes, but no. The beast had his own plan.
Her tears would taste so much fucking better for it.
Her tits were colouring nicely, swollen with blood, long rubbery nipples jutting out at me. They made the perfect target for the tip of my cane. I flicked at her, mottling her skin plum with the early promise of bruising. They’d come up so fucking pretty. Shame I’d never see it.
“Please hurt me, Master.”
“More.”
“Please, Master, please. Hurt me, please. I need pain.”
I fought the urge to bury my cock in her dirty little asshole. I could punch-fuck her cunt at the same time, make her gush her filthy fucking juices all over the floor. Later.
I completed my circuit, taking up position to her rear. I let the cane rest high on her buttocks. Tap, tap, tap.
“Beg.”
“PLEASE, MASTER, PLEASE!” she yelled. “HURT ME!”
I landed the first blow before she’d even finished. It landed hard, and she jumped a clear mile, straining at the chains. I let her settle back into position. Her legs were already shaking.
“More,” I hissed.
“Please hurt me,” she wheezed.
“Good girl.”
I landed the next two in quick succession and she cried out, dancing on one leg like a wounded ballerina. Instinct took over as I read her movements, leaving her just enough time to regain her balance. Again, and again, and again. I savoured her stripes: savage white flashes of punishment on tender skin. Neat lines from a steady hand, a practised hand. Her ass looked so fucking pretty.
Her breathing grew frenetic, pa
in flooding her body with adrenaline. She started swearing, hissing out filthy obscenities. It only made me punish her harder. I increased the pace of my strokes and she started to flail, losing her fight for composure. She twisted and turned, howling like an animal until her throat was raw. I gave her a moment, moving close enough to finger the ridged stripes on her backside.
“Cry for me,” I whispered. “Let it all go.”
I hit her again and she wailed like a butchered pig, flapping her useless arms around in her cuffs. The next stroke buckled her knees, and she swung in her chains, wailing without breath, just one long, desperate wheeze. It sounded so fucking good. She got to her feet, knees knocking, and her shoulders began to bow, hunched. I ran the tip of the cane down her spine and she straightened.
“Ready for more?” I growled.
“Yes please, Master.”
“Good girl.”
She screamed through the next few. It’s that beautiful final stage, the one before they break. I love that part. Feral cries of torment, skin on fire. I eased up slightly as her chest began to heave. Tears. Beautiful fucking tears. I made sure to land two hard strokes in the same spot on her ass, and it sent her right over the edge. Sobs. Loud, desperate, gorgeous fucking sobs. I pressed myself against her back, wrapping my hands around to squeeze her poor, sore titties. She liked that, I could tell. They always like that. Sore titties make wet pussies.
“That’s right, Violet,” I whispered. “Let it go.”
She cried freely, resting her head back against mine. I nuzzled the tender spot at the nape of her neck and her breathing calmed, slowly. I turned her face in my direction, eager for my prize. She was even more beautiful than I imagined. Black rivers of tears ran thick down her cheeks, make-up spoiled so perfectly. I licked them up, all the way from her jawline, running my tongue right the way over her puffy eyes, digging for more. She groaned, straining for my mouth on hers. I gave it to her, wide open and wet, forcing my tongue in as far as it would go. When I pulled away her eyes were glazed, high on endorphins. She smiled at me.
“I’m going to really fucking hurt you now, Violet,” I breathed.
“Please, Master, please more,” she said, and she really meant it.
There were no more screams. Only tears. The soft yielding of a body hungry for punishment. She took it well, like the true pain slut she is, until I finally rewarded her with my whole fucking fist where she takes it best.
The beast inside savoured every fucking second.
***
Chapter Eight
Lydia
Masque. Sculpted from sin, and sex and sweat. His brutality, so measured. The beast on his chest, pain embodied. He was all I could think about. He was all I had thought about, through the early hours of Sunday morning with the taste of Explicit still ripe on my tongue, and on still through the day, all day, without reprieve. I had endless questions about the man in the mask, all to which Rebecca replied one damning phrase.
No, Lyds. Not him. He’s way too dirty-bad-fucking-wrong.
But she couldn’t know. How could she? She couldn’t possibly know the way I’d thrummed to his darkness, the way his body had called mine across that room, the way every part of me ached for liberation in his chains.
I jumped in my seat as a thwack boomed loud. Metal on wood. A metal ruler slamming onto a desk, more specifically.
“Jesus Christ, Lydia. Are you even here today?”
James Clarke didn’t look happy. His brows were heavy with annoyance. His jaw set in a grim line.
“Sorry, I am listening.”
“So, answer the question.”
Shit. “Sorry, what question?”
He sighed. “Get with the plot or take the day off, I’ve got no time for this.”
I thumped back to reality. “Sorry, James. I’m listening now.” I watched him place his metal ruler back in position, unable to avoid the observation that James Clarke’s hands were big and strong, and ripe for brandishing implements – or for sitting on. Like Masque’s. Thoughts of what he did with his fist made me shudder, I could almost feel him inside me. Goddamn it, I was actually screwed. Masque, Masque, Masque, everywhere I looked. I shoved chimera-man and his strong hands back in the closet and forced my eyes back to James. “What was your question?”
“Are we fully prepped for the phase one sign-off visit? We’re going on Thursday, unless you’ve been sailing so high in fairy-land you haven’t checked your email this morning.”
“Thursday? To Brighton?”
“Well, that answers my question,” he groaned. “Yes, Thursday, yes, Brighton. Another overnighter, returning Friday evening. If it goes well we can begin your phase two project plan next week. It was good, by the way.”
Suddenly I was right back on planet Earth. I couldn’t help but smile. “You read it? Already?”
“Finally, some sign of intelligent life. Yes, I read it.” He slid the file across the desk to me, careful not to disturb his pen alignment. “There were a couple of typos on page thirty-nine, you should run spellchecker on the next one.”
My pride took a knock. I could have sworn I’d used spellchecker. “But it was good? Apart from that?”
He fought back a smile that twitched at his mouth. “It was excellent. I don’t even want to know how much time you spent learning WHM’s case-management processes, but it paid off. You did well, Lydia Marsh. Gold star for Cat’s eyes.”
I flicked through the file, at his pencil notes in the margins, all positive. “I didn’t think you were going to read it yet.”
“I’m pleased to surprise you.”
“Thank you,” I grinned. “And yes, we’re ready for the phase one sign-off visit. I spoke to Trevor White this morning and he was very happy with how we handled their accounts migration. Fantastic was the word he used.”
“Trevor White is calling you now, is he? I thought he’d gone a bit quiet at my end.”
“On my direct line. I think we’ve developed a good working relationship.”
He gave me another of his unreadable looks. “I’m sure he’s very impressed by you, Lydia.”
“Thanks.”
“Enough of this love-in. You need to be on your game with WHM, and this morning you haven’t been. Anything I should know about?”
“Anything... like?”
“You tell me. It’s not like you to be so... distracted. I need you on point.” His gaze was razor-sharp. “Is it Stuart? Has something changed?”
I tried to fight back a smile but my mouth wouldn’t listen. “No,” I said. “Nothing’s changed with Stuart. I’m sure he’s happily hanging out in Babies-R-Us choosing rattle-toys with Carly.” And I’m happily hanging out in Freaks-R-Us with Rebecca, my brain added. “Everything’s good.”
“Then I’ll put this morning down as a one-off. Keep focused, Cat, I need you with me.”
“I’m with you,” I said. “You can rely on me, James.”
His smile was all genuine this time, tension forgotten, and all over again I noticed how fine a cut James Clarke made in a suit. Musk and linen and dark, dark eyes, brooding and smoky and goddamn gorgeous.
Masque, James, Masque, James. Between the two of them my sanity stood no hope in hell. I never recalled singledom feeling this damned crazy before.
***
“Cara said she’s been with him, and she’s not got a high-tolerance. You said it yourself, a slap and tickle. He hasn’t fucked her up, has he?”
“Fucking hell, Lyds, not this again.” Rebecca fake stabbed me with dramatic hand gestures, scowling like a lunatic. “Seriously, Masque is NOT for you! There are a shitload of men out there who’ll give you a slapped ass and a fucking good time.”
“But I want him.”
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about or what the fuck you’d be up against.”
“I’m not asking you to set it up, I’m just asking that you take me there again.”
“Sign up if you want, it’s a free country.”
&n
bsp; My heart dropped. Four hundred a month, not likely with Mum’s track record of emergencies. “You can take me as a guest every month, you said so. Or Cara could.”
She sighed. “So, I take you back to Explicit. Then what? You’re going to march up to him and say ‘Hey, Masque, I saw you beat the fuck out of some redhead on stage the other week, how about you slap my pretty little ass and tell me I’m dirty?’ Is that your plan?”
“I dunno,” I admitted.
“You have no idea who the hell that man is. He’d eat you for breakfast, Lyds. He gives Cara a slap every now and again as a favour to me. Do you want to be a favour, too?”
“No. I don’t want to be a favour.” I choked back the irritation. “Do you think I’m too ugly for him? Is that it?”
She got up in my face, eyes deadly serious. “No. I don’t think that. That’s ridiculous.”
“What then?”
“I’ll slap you myself if you keep going on, Lyds.”
I brushed her aside and put the kettle on. “There’s something in me. I can’t explain it. I need this, I need him.”
“You don’t need him.”
“The way he was with that woman, it did something to me. I’ve never felt anything like it.”
“He’ll hurt you, Lydia. Bad. Really bad. Dirty fucking bad.”
“Maybe that’s what I want,” I snapped.
She took the coffee mugs from my hands, placed them on the counter and dragged me from the kitchen, right the way through into her bedroom. My insides tickled at the sight of her torture implements, but it wasn’t them she was taking me to see. She fired up her laptop, plugged in an external hard drive from her desk drawer. “Have you ever seen proper marks, Lyds? I doubt it. This is what Masque does. This is what he’d do to you.”