Domination

by Lyra Byrnes

  The heat radiating from his body, his dark scent and his black-honey voice turned her brain to mush. “I… Maybe. I do want something. More, I guess. But it’s all so—”

  “Yes or no.” His tone would brook no more babbling.

  “Yes.”

  “Good girl. Consider this a starter kit, our little play dungeon. You lost your mojo so suddenly last night I’ve had blue balls ever since.”

  “Are you going to punish me for that?”

  His hands slid over her curves, across the globes of her ass, up her bare thighs. “No need. Do you want me to punish you?”

  “Y-yes. I want to—” She glanced at the manacles before she could help herself.

  “Ah, the student outpaces the master. Remember, Josie, you can always book a flight to Romania.” His thin smile gleamed in the low light.

  Transylvania. A stupid safeword but she hoped she’d have no need of it. She trusted Bram even as he trusted her. Or used to.

  How long she could retain his trust remained to be seen.

  She put the thought out of her head and concentrated on his large, warm hands as they caressed her body, brushing across her breasts until her nipples began to tingle.

  “I know.”

  “Take this off. Eyes on me.”

  Undoing the tight dress was awkward. She longed to look down but focused on his bright, strange blue eyes, filled with desire.

  Desire for her. Yes, she could do this.

  She stepped out of the dress and shivered in her black panties and heels. She reached toward her face but Bram stopped her.

  “Leave the specs on. I always wanted to fuck Velma until she screamed.”

  “Daphne was the hot one.”

  He grinned evilly. “I’m not like the other boys.”

  That was true. Never mind his bulging shoulders, flat belly and lickable ivory skin. Never mind the way his black hair hung across his cheekbones. Never mind that his rough, low voice was the very sound of seduction. All that was window dressing—steamy, hot window dressing but not the source of his magic. It was just…Bram. The man she saw when they were alone. No other man could inflame her body the way he did.

  He lifted her arm and clamped a cuff around her wrist. The clank of the iron made her suck in her breath with pleasure and anticipation. Good god, she was already wet and ready and he had only touched her through a carapace of cloth.

  He affixed the other manacle and stood back to regard his work, his eyes devouring her.

  “So beautiful. You are the sexiest woman I have ever seen. I’m going to rip those panties off your sweet body with my teeth.”

  She longed to touch him, to taste his body with her fingers as he had done to her. Cuffed and helpless, she writhed in her chains. Do it. Rip them off or they’ll fucking melt off, she thought.

  He leaned over and chose a lash from the pile.

  “Transylvania!”

  “I just want to hold it, Josie. I like the feel of the leather in my hand. You won’t get whipped until you beg for it. Do you trust me?”

  She eyed the whip dubiously. “I do.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  It was medium length and not too thick, with a pommel on the handle like a sword hilt. Bram weighed it in his hands.

  “You can’t use your arms but you’re welcome to kick. I want you to move, Josie. Writhe, twist. I like to watch your body in motion.”

  He took her thighs in his hands and bit down on the black lace, tearing the fabric into pieces like a ravenous wolf. The cool air hit her pussy and she gasped.

  “Like that, yeah. Eyes on me.”

  That was a lesson she had a hard time learning. She lifted her head and watched him spit out the shreds of her expensive panties. She wondered what would come next. The whip twitched in his hand and looked so avid, so hungry. He moved forward and pressed his body against her helpless one.

  To her surprise he kissed her, long and deep, probing with his tongue, running it across her teeth, sucking her lush top lip. He tasted like mint and meat, musk, danger and desire. The laces of his leather trousers scraped her belly. It felt unbelievably naughty to be restrained, naked but for heels with a fully clothed sex god pressed against her. You’re welcome to kick, he had told her but she felt no urge to drive him away even in pretense.

  His thighs nudged hers apart, his hard cock grinding into the buzzing place at her center.

  He clawed at her back, blunt nails scraping the skin. “I want to fuck you so hard, Josie. Just like this—you helpless and chained, writhing like a wildcat.”

  Before she could blink his pants were down, cock rearing toward its target. She wanted it in her hands, her mouth, her pussy, but could only thrash against the chains.

  “Fuck yeah, keep moving,” he panted. He stroked himself with one hand, the other twitching the lash.

  Touch me, her mind screamed. His lips, hands, cock were so close but she was helpless.

  “Do it. Fuck me.”

  “You’re not ready.”

  “Oh god.” She watched the long fingers swallow and embrace his cock, growing the beast until it glowed an angry red, a delicious drop of pearl at the tip. She licked her lips.

  “Do it!”

  “I told you, girl…”

  “Whip me! Please, please, I want it.”

  His eyes widened. A light sting cracked across her thighs. It burned but not unpleasantly.

  “You can stop anytime.”

  “Again!”

  Another stinging blow a little higher up ignited new nerve endings, sent her into spasms. Her body was no longer hers, all sound faded to silence. He struck her again, a lash across the breasts, and she felt as if her head had floated to the ceiling and hovered there, watching the writhing, panting slut in the iron cuffs.

  “That’s enough, Josie.”

  “More,” she managed to choke out.

  “Fucking hell…” He threw down the whip. “That’s the last time you give me orders, slut.”

  He pulled a condom packet from his pocket and rolled it on. Like the spanking, the sting of the lashing had melted to a warmth that spread to her fingertips. She tried to concentrate on how cold the cuffs felt against her wrists but Bram strode toward her, took her hips in his hands and thrust deep inside her pleading pussy. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back hard.

  She felt as helpless as a puppet, her arms immobile, her head gripped hard, pinioned by Bram’s pounding cock. He thundered inside her, drawing out a fresh gout of honeyed juice with every thrust.

  “You like that?” His voice was hoarse.

  “Unh, yes. Oh god…”

  “Scream my name when you come, slut.”

  It was almost too late. His cock filled her, hot and strong, and she wanted to feel his slim hips pumping against her forever but her feet began to tingle. She ground into the pubic bone bashing against her aching clit.

  “Oh god, don’t stop! Bram!” she screamed, shuddering in a spasm of pleasure. “Bram!”

  His cock thickened and pulsed and he came, growling like a wildcat.

  When her vision cleared, Bram was stroking her red marks gently, pressing his palm against the burning skin like a balm. He unlatched her, easing each numb wrist down, and turned to pull on his pants.

  “How’s the food up there?” he asked.

  “What?” Good Christ. She had just been banged half to death in a wax museum and he was talking about canapés. “I’m not going back up there.”

  “I have to make an appearance or there’ll be sniggering that Bram Hunter was too high and mighty to show up to his own party.” He unlocked her. “The high part is true. I’m drunk on sex, myself.”

  “I know the feeling,” she said, still lightheaded. She frowned at the red stripes on her breasts and thighs. They looked good—right, somehow—and now that she had crossed that threshold she wanted more.

  “Then we’ll find a quiet place and see what’s in my suitcase,” he offered, nipping at her earlobe.
“Or not. The submissive is the one who’s truly in control.”

  “I’m learning that,” she smiled.

  Fuck Warren and his threats. She would never do anything to betray Bram Hunter, not after what she had trusted him with. Even if it got out, no one would know who the girl was.

  “Let me send a text real quick and I’ll see you back at the guesthouse.”

  She hunched over her cell and began to punch in letters.

  Do what you want, Warren, you rat fuck. I can’t be bought that easily.

  She hoped Bram wouldn’t give the party too much of his evening so he could speed back to the hotel and open that suitcase. What’s in it? More whips, another set of cuffs? A rope? Her wrists were a bit sore and the lash-marks beneath her dress burned like a delicious secret.

  He’s mine. Mine, mine, mine, her heart sang. It was the best night of her life.

  Thirty minutes should suffice. She checked the time and started a new Adventures in Submission post in her head, adding to it with fantasies of what they would do when they got back to the hotel. The windows along Bourbon Street plastered with pictures of naked women and men, women and women, threesomes and more posing as if to prove what delights the live sex shows offered had disgusted her at the time but now she thought about what it would be like to be naked and on all fours onstage, rings of male viewers pulling on their cocks as Bram fucked her mercilessly. Her pussy juiced up at the idea.

  Is that what I really want, public sex?

  It wasn’t. The attraction was anonymity. It was only a fantasy and she had always been shy and squeamish about fantasies before. But it was all in her head. It turned her on and no harm done. Being with Bram had given her the freedom to indulge herself sexually, in her body and her mind. She didn’t want to be witnessed to prove she was with the great Bram Hunter but solely for the naughty, faceless thrill of it.

  And what was he getting from her in return? Trust, she supposed. That thing that had so long eluded him. She hoped to god she would be able to maintain that trust. She had so much to prove to him.

  Forty minutes had gone by while her head whirred. She pulled in a deep breath, stuffed her hair back into a semblance of an updo and straightened her back.

  On the pavement lights flashed, blinding her. A handful of reporters and photographers were massed on the sidewalk in front of the low building on a French Quarter side street, all shouting and snapping pictures. A cacophony of voices roared in her ears as if from a distance but she could make out the words.

  “Rock Slut! What’s it like to have sex with Bram Hunter? Will there be more posts from your blog? Rock Slut, over here! Let’s see that famous ass!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  She spent the night locked in her room, not daring to turn on her laptop. Melanie had sent about a hundred text messages, all of them asking what the hell had happened and claiming she had nothing to do with it. Poor Mel. Josie should call her back and tell her it was okay but she felt too sick and listless to bother.

  Warren Conrad—ambitious, heartless, vengeful as a snake—he had made good on his threat, released Adventures in Submission to the press and tossed what was left of Josie’s career onto a funeral pyre.

  Someone knocked but she didn’t bother looking through the peephole. No one who could be on the other side of that door would be able to make this go away short of handing her a time machine. The thought that it could be Bram made her miserable. A few hours ago there was no one more welcome in her room, her life, her body, even her heart. She poured another slug of Scotch into the water glass from the bathroom.

  He trusted me and I betrayed him. There was no coming back from that.

  Her room overlooked the street. She watched through half-closed curtains as couples walked hand in hand, laughing, pointing up at the ornate balconies or stopping to take pictures. They looked normal and happy. She had forgotten what that felt like.

  The room telephone blinked red. It had been ringing all night but now she steeled herself and played back the messages. Golden State Gossip, Industry Insider, Celebrity Secrets, various sex-focused websites—they all wanted an interview or a comment. “Josie Arrington?” most of the messages began. The others started, “Hey, Rock Slut.”

  Yeah, everyone would know who the girl was. Bastards had tracked her down the way dogged journalists do. Like she used to do.

  The truth was, if this had happened to someone else she’d be the one on the other end of the line, shocked and titillated maybe but coldly trying to get a quote. She’d never wanted anything but to be read worldwide, to make a name for herself as a writer. And just as she let that dream go and another, sweeter one took its place, the universe swooped in, handing her the tattered old desire on a silver platter and crushing the other into dust.

  Be careful what you wish for.

  *

  She must have fallen asleep because her eyes were crusty and she was in the same dress from the night before. Josie blinked awake, trying to process the sound.

  Knocking, shit. Bucky throwing her off the tour or Bram stopping by to tear her head off? Or worse—no Bram at all? For all she knew she was dead to him.

  It was Jet, mischievous angel smile intact.

  “There’s a good girl,” he sang as he walked in. “You can’t hide forever.”

  “I can try,” she said mulishly. Her mouth felt gummed up.

  “Get fluffed and folded, ducks. A manicure will set you up right.” He flung open the curtains and she winced like a vampire.

  “I’m not going out there.”

  “Are we hungover?”

  “Little bit,” she admitted. Aside from the marching band clamoring through her head and the churning in her belly, she felt just great. Some gremlin had emptied half a bottle of minibar Scotch, apparently. She hadn’t drunk all that. Probably.

  He tossed a towel at her. “Shower. Now. I know how much you like taking orders.”

  “Not funny,” she muttered but at least someone didn’t seem to think her predicament was the end of the world.

  The shower helped clear her head. She pulled on her last clean pair of jeans and a white peasant blouse. Dressing like a good girl helped her feel less like an Internet come-dump. Oh wait. No it didn’t.

  When she emerged Jet was busy tidying. “Lamb,” he said, “this thing’s not going to go away.”

  Josie hadn’t thought of the possibility of it going away but now she saw that Jet was wrong. It felt as if this would be her life, her situation, for all eternity but she knew better than most people how mayfly-short the arc of a scandal was. She felt…not cheered exactly but less tragic. “There’s such a thing as a news cycle.”

  “Not without a resolution. Apology, retraction, what have you. You’ve fed red meat to the ravenous public but you won’t let them swallow.”

  She sat on the freshly made bed. “Have you talked to Bram?”

  “Haven’t seen him. No one has.”

  “Okay.” That was what she had expected to hear but it still made her uneasy. Even if he stormed in to yell at her and call her names, at least she would know where she stood. That would be better than the chaotic silence of his absence.

  “Put him out of your mind. Have the last word and let the jackals move on to the next morsel.”

  “Move on to what? I’ll never get hired again.” It hadn’t occurred to her until now that even the sex blog was history. Without even knowing it she had literally written her final word.

  “Didn’t say there wouldn’t be some housekeeping to do. But you don’t have to rebuild from the ground up. ‘Rabid grizzly bears have more civilized table manners than Kraxis, but the ham-handed hairball of a drummer has an enthusiasm for life unmatched in the animal kingdom.’ Heh. You can write, ducks. Talent’s not something they can take away from you.”

  “You read that?”

  “It were right funny and true besides.” He sat next to her, his light frame barely denting the covers. “You’re bloodied but not beaten, Miss J. Chin up
and carry on.”

  Whatever that meant—continue touring with the band, she supposed, face Bram, craft some sort of response that would shut down the scandal. Maybe Warren will even let me keep working, doing the real blog, that is. He said it was a huge success.

  “I suppose it is time I get back on that horse,” she answered.

  “Love, we leave for Atlanta tonight,” he said gently.

  She took a deep breath. “It’s gonna be so hard.”

  “To say goodbye? Yeah, but better this way.”

  “What do you mean, ‘say goodbye’?”

  “It will be easier on everyone if you’re not on that bus. Not saying I won’t miss having my squirrel-friend on board, but…” He shrugged. “Time you think of your own future, not ours.”

  After the door closed she sat for a long time, too numb to move. It made her sick to think of never seeing Bram again. But maybe she had no choice.

  *

  Bucky did not look surprised to see Josie report to the curb that afternoon. He was impeccable as usual in a seersucker suit, clipboard in hand.

  “Miss Arrington, finally attuned to the joys of punctuality, I see.”

  “I just came to tell you I’m leaving the tour.”

  “Must I remind you that you signed a contract?”

  “Call it unforeseen circumstances.”

  “Accurate to the spirit but perhaps not the letter of the law.” He pursed his lips. “Come. You’re riding with crew and equipment. And me.” He led her to the giant black vehicle that transported the band’s support system.

  “Bucky, please. When this bus stops, I’ll still have to face…what I’ve done. Don’t make me go through this.”

  If she got inside she would be rolling toward the inevitable confrontation. She had turned the possibilities over in her head endlessly. One choice was to lance the wound and draw out the poison before it festered.

  But then what? she wondered. How could things possibly be any worse?

  Which left only choice number two—escape.

  He went on as if he hadn’t heard. “Circumstances can be changed but I’m going to need your cooperation.”