When she leans into the cross, I start to lash harder, watching carefully for signs of discomfort. When her body’s glowing a delicious shade of pink and I’ve got her into a state of complete relaxation, I decide to change things up a bit.
Putting down the floggers, I go to my toy bag and take out the most innocuous of objects. In the right hands, however, it could have been invented by the very devil himself. Wooden clothes pegs. I quickly return to her so she doesn’t think I’ve left her, though to be honest, I don’t think she’s realized the flogging has ended yet. I smooth my hands down her pinkened body, loving the touch of her satin soft skin against my hands. I’ve missed her. Which is a strange admission since, normally, I never had thoughts about a sub once I ended a scene. But I hadn’t finished with her. I hadn’t had enough time to get her out of my system.
“Jasim,” she says softly, sounding slightly drunk. Her back, bum, and legs are flushed red from my attentions. She’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.
“Here you call me Master.” A title I’ve not let anyone call me before. Oh, they can call me Master J, but with just the one word, it signifies a commitment, identifying me as her sole Dom. My hands stop moving involuntarily as I think about any other Dom playing with her. She’s mine. Another strange claim of ownership that feels right, but is an odd thought to strike me. She’s mine, for now, I silently amend.
I shake my head to clear it of all these bizarre thoughts, and continue exploring her body with my fingertips. I hadn’t noticed she’d felt bony before, she seems to have lost weight. I’m having trouble finding skin to … ah, there. I attach a clothes peg. She gasps and struggles, trying to detach it.
“Hush, take it for me.”
“What the hell is it?” She wriggles again.
Another slap to her arse, “Keep still! Remember the nipple clamps? Breathe into it and relax.” I give her a moment, and see when she stills. Undeterred by her protest, I attach another one. And then another. Soon there’s a ladder of pegs running down each side of her torso. I run my finger along her slit, she’s soaking wet. She’s enjoying this. The little bites of pain enhancing her arousal. And her suffering certainly increases mine. I take a moment to breathe deeply myself, willing my cock to have patience.
“You look fucking beautiful taking the pain for me.” And it’s true, she does. My cock lengthens almost uncomfortably.
I move around to her front, unable to prevent myself stealing another kiss and then take advantage of my new position. Her breasts are amazing, I cover them with my hands. She hasn’t lost weight here. And her nipples are protruding nicely, ready and waiting for my clamps, looking a little larger than I remember. Using my mouth, I tease them even more, adding a little nip which gets her squirming.
Then I take out the clamp and fasten it on.
She squeals and tries to back away.
“It’s alright,” I try and soothe her, “It’s no tighter than you wore before.”
“Jasim, no. Yellow. No, Red. Please, take it off,” she yelps out.
Taken aback at her vehemence and the unexpected utterance of her safeword, I honour her request quickly, giving a brief nod to the dungeon monitor who’d heard her sharp cry. He lifts his chin, seeing the distraught expression on my face and that I’ve got it under control. My aim had been to cause a slight pain to arouse her, I have no desire to really hurt her.
What seemed to her to be a device of torture removed, I soothe her sore nipple with my tongue, sucking that hard nub into my mouth. Looks like it’s a no to clamps today. Shame, I would have enjoyed taking them off. “It’s alright, habiti. We don’t have to use them.” Gradually tension leaves her again.
Carefully, I examine her. Her breathing is shallow, her skin covered with a light sheen of perspiration, “Give me a colour, habiti.”
There’s a slight pause while she processes my request, and before she gives me her answer. “Green,” she breathes.
“And how are you feeling?”
“Turned on.” Comes the reply. “Jasim… Master, I…”
“I’m in charge.” I tell her firmly, noticing the rippling of her skin as a shiver runs through her. I touch my hand to her pussy, not surprised to find it’s become sopping. I smile, even though she can’t see it. Putting my fingers to my mouth, I suck on her sweet essence. “You’re so beautiful, pet. So responsive. Just a few moments more. Will you take it for me?” I don’t tell her she’s got no choice, there’s one thing that has to be done, despite any protest she might make. As her head moves up and down, my cock swells even more, knowing she’s taking everything for me. Well, everything except nipple clamps that is.
When her muscles loosen, I step around to her back, eyeing the pegs I’ve placed down her sides. A cruel grin comes to my face. There are two ways to remove them, and either will hurt. The first is to thread a line between them and then pull them off together, or… I pick up the crop I’d gotten ready, and hit my target.
The first peg comes off.
“Ouch!”
Yup, that would smart. “Breathe, habiti, take a deep breath.” Without giving her any more warning I start to lash right then left. The clothes pegs ping off, going in alternate directions. Her protests get louder with each one as blood rushes back. Her body will be tingling and throbbing all over, not dissimilar to the painful churning in my balls.
And then the last one hits the ground. I move swiftly to her, my chest pressed against her back. Thrusting my fingers inside her, I curl them around to stroke her g-spot, accurately finding it the first time. Twisting my hand, I press my thumb to her clit, and gently massage her breast with my other hand, a very soft tweak to her nipples.
She’s wet, swollen, and ready. Her body pulsing with the sharp tingles from having the pegs removed, her brain confusing the signals of arousal and pain. She’s still glowing from the flogging. She comes quickly and hard, with a cross between a scream and a wail. I continue my assault on her pussy, wringing a second, then third orgasm from her. Waves ripple through her body, her muscles contracting and releasing, time after time. When she collapses forward, her weight hanging from the cuffs, I quickly support her, releasing her immediately, holding her as I unfasten her ankles and rub rapidly on her skin. Then, grabbing the blanket I’d left ready, wrap her and hold her tightly in my arms. When I remove the blindfold, she doesn’t even notice.
“Wow, she reaches subspace so spectacularly. She’s beautiful, Jasim.”
I hadn’t realized Ryan’s been watching, and his words send a rush of pride through me.
“I’ll clean up. You look after her.” He pauses before adding with a grin, “Room three’s available.”
I thank him profusely, then carry her out of the main club and into the hallway, kicking open the door of the appointed room. Taking her to the bed, I sit down, easily taking her weight as I lean back against the headboard, an almost comatose woman in my arms. Ryan was right. She responds to me so beautifully. Only to me.
The room, like all the private rooms, has been well prepared. Bottles of spring water are within easy reach on the bedside table. Taking one, I open it and put it to her mouth. She drinks automatically, then, bottle finished, she snuggles against me, fitting so well in my arms I start to believe I’ve found the perfect sub. Have I been a fool? Kidding myself this was only temporary? Stupid to ignore what my possessive feelings have trying to tell me? I’ve shared women before, I’m never going to let another man touch her. Watch another send her into subspace? Or even lay a hand on her soft skin? I’ve been conning myself. An unfamiliar sensation grabs me, an emotion I hesitate to name. Why didn’t I chase after her? Why did I leave it so long?
Gently, I smooth my hands over her body, rubbing the places where the pegs pinched. As I softly massage her, slowly she comes back to her senses, her face turns up to me, her eyes bright and shining, her lips turning up.
“Jasim, that was incredible.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Like my whole
body is alive and tingling.”
“Here?” I sweep my hand down to her clit, circling it gently.
“Oh, yes… There.” She jumps as she’s so sensitive.
“Need my cock inside you, habiti.”
Her heart beat speeds up, I don’t need words to tell me she’s ready. Standing, I quickly strip, then reach into the well-stocked drawer and take out a condom, smoothing it on over my rock-hard dick. Turning her over, I press her hands to the headboard and pull up her hips so she’s resting on her knees. I can’t wait to be inside her, her body might be tingling, mine’s tight as a drum, her every reaction to the scene we’d just played ramping up my arousal so I won’t be able to string this out.
As my cock probes her entrance, she pushes back against me. Her pussy’s so swollen it’s difficult to press in.
She gasps at my intrusion, “Jasim, please…”
She doesn’t need to beg me. With a sudden thrust, I press home. Home. This is what she feels like to me. I’ve missed this. The feeling of perfection, as though she was made only for me. As though being the one to take her virginity has moulded her only for my cock. The possessive revelation incites me. I withdraw, then plunge in. Christ, this woman! Her muscles are squeezing me, little moans coming from her mouth. She’s holding tight to the headboard, following my instructions. Has anything ever felt this right before? I drive in again, and again, repositioning her slightly so I hit her sensitive nerves time after time. Her thighs lock, signaling she’s close.
“Come for me!” I shout, and as her muscles start contracting, squeezing my cock, I lunge in one last time, pressing tight against her cervix as cum floods the condom. With little stabs, more bursts follow until my balls feel drained and empty.
I’d started this night with no expectations. No hopes we’d end up like this. Yes, the invitation had been a ruse, an excuse to see her again, but as soon as she’d stepped into the limousine my cock had started to harden, and I knew exactly how what I wanted for the evening’s finale. I didn’t expect her to agree to come to the club, never hoped to see her tied to a cross. And yet it had happened.
And now I admit just how much I’ve missed her. And that she’s making me reevaluate my stance on monogamous relationships. I don’t want this to be the last time we play, and my desert blood stirs, telling me any other man who touched her would fast meet his death.
Moving my weight off her, I roll onto my side, pulling her against me, her back to my front. I can’t keep my hands off her, they wander over her ribs, feeling her bones protruding more than the last time she was in my arms, again reminding me she’s lost weight, and for a second I wonder why. Has she missed me? My fingers trace her skin, her breasts do seem larger, but perhaps it’s my memory, or the weight loss elsewhere creating the illusion they’ve increased in size. My palms cover them as if to check them, she wriggles as I squeeze gently, her hands cover mine as though to still them.
“Sensitive?” I ask.
“A bit.”
My heart rate which had started slowing, now begins to speed up. I start to tense as I tentatively ask, “You’ve lost weight, habiti. Have you been ill?”
She stretches her limbs, “I’ve been a bit out of sorts. The change in the climate, I expect. And the band’s working so hard now. We’re having to turn gigs down.”
“You’ve been sick?”
“A little.”
I’m silent as I think it through, little signs that a man other than a trained and experienced Dom might have missed. I still as things start to add up. As I reach my conclusion I force all emotion out of my voice. As casually as possible, I ask, “Are you pregnant?”
Her body goes rigid, “What? No.” She replies firmly. “Of course I’m not.”
But her denial has come too quickly.
“Janna, habiti. Your breasts are bigger and more sensitive, and you’ve lost weight. And you’ve just admitted you’ve been nauseous.” I glide my hand across her still flat belly. “Are you close to your period? Have you been on a diet?” I reach for explanations which aren’t so extreme.
She struggles as though to pull herself up, but I imprison her to me. “I’ve just had no appetite.” She shrugs my observations off.
I’m a Dom, I can read her. I sit up, pulling her around so I can look straight into her eyes. As I get her full attention, I ask again, “Could you be pregnant?”
She stares at me, then her eyes flick away. Again, she tries to evade my hold.
“Janna,” I start.
But she interrupts me, “There’s been no one else. And you always used condoms. It’s not possible, Jasim.”
I close my eyes briefly, and take a deep breath, “Condoms are not always one hundred percent effective.” I know she’s telling the truth and she’s not been with another man. She’s not the kind of woman who’d rush from my bed to another’s. And if she had been, there would have been tell-tale signs, a slight difference in the way she reacted to me if she’d been taught to respond to another man’s touch. No cock has been where mine has been. I would have known it. And I remember everything. I’ve been with no other woman since her.
“I can’t be pregnant, Jasim. I can’t.” There’s moisture leaking from her eyes.
I try to think rationally, and keep my voice calm, betraying none of my feelings. “Janna, have you had a period since we’ve been together?”
“Yes!” A pause, then, “Well, a light one but…”
She could be, but she’s in denial. If she is, she’ll already be three months along. The weight-loss concerns me, she’s not been looking after herself. That my first reaction is concern for her health, and that of the possible baby, surprises me. I have none of the adverse feelings I would have expected, I’m not dismayed I could be caught in a trap. If she’s having my child, there’ll be no divorce. And she’ll be mine. Forever.
I grasp her arms, “Janna, look at me.” Those glorious dark eyes turn to meet mine, but the sparkle is missing. “We need to find out. We’ll find out for sure in the morning.”
She frowns and shakes her head, “I’m certain I’m not.”
We could go around in circles all night. “Come, get dressed. You’re coming back to my place tonight.” Telling myself it’s just because I’m concerned she might be pregnant, but knowing I’m inviting her back for a myriad of reasons I don’t want to think about right now. First and foremost, that I’m unwilling to let her out of my sight.
Huffing, she pulls away and starts collecting her clothes, “You want me with you because you’ve got this stupid notion. Jasim, I’m not pregnant. I can’t be. It’s best you just let me go home.” She slides on her knickers and squeezes her oversized boobs into her bra. “Please, Jasim. This,” she points her hand around the room and then toward the door, “Coming to the club tonight was a onetime thing. I know that.”
Was I too emphatic when I explained the limitations of our relationship? Does she not believe I could have changed?
“I want you with me and I want you in my bed. I want to hold you.” And, I want to find out whether we’ve got a problem to deal with or not. If I let her out of my sight, I don’t trust her not to continue ignoring what’s happening to her body. She’s right, it should be impossible, but I wouldn’t be the first man to be let down by a faulty strip of latex. “I’ve missed you, Janna. I’m not ready to let you go.” And there. I’ve told her the truth.
Chapter 33
Janna
I’d felt utterly overwhelmed from the moment I stepped into the limousine with Jasim. Just being back in his presence reminded me of why I left him, and why I shouldn’t have allowed him back into my life. His aura, his presence. He lights up my body, even when he’s not touching me. No other man could ever come close to affecting me the way that he does.
I’d played the part of dutiful wife at the embassy, being polite and staying by his side, finding it easier than I’d expected to settle into my role. I thought he’d take me straight home afterwards, leave me to minister to mysel
f in my own lonely bed. But completely unexpected, he’d allowed me this insight into his lifestyle and what makes him tick by bringing me to his club.
My emotions tied to the cross, swinging like a pendulum between elation and fear, while knowing he would never really hurt me or force me beyond what I could take, had only served to increase my arousal. And those orgasms? My body still burns from his touch.
I can’t be pregnant. His question out of the blue, asked in my post-orgasmic haze, forced me to think about something I hadn’t wanted to consider. It’s not possible. There must be another reason why the smell of coffee makes me feel sick. I’ve had mild food poisoning since I returned from Amahad, which I can’t seem to shake off. That must account for the nausea I’ve felt. I can’t possibly have a child growing inside me, an alien predator leeching life out of me. I refuse to believe it. He always used protection.
I know my breasts have grown heavy and painful, but it must be down to something else. My trip abroad simply upset my cycle, I’m probably due for a period anytime now.
Automatically, I reach for my clothing, knowing that Jasim must be as horrified as me at the idea. But he’s acting so calmly. If I am… No. I’m not.
If I continue to refuse to go back to his apartment I know he’ll take me home. But he’s dangling that carrot I can’t quite refuse, the chance to sleep in his arms once again. And it might be the last time. Once this night has ended, and tomorrow we put an end to his crazy speculation, who knows when or if I might see him again? Will he call me up requesting I show my face at another diplomatic function? Or invite me back to his club, just to play? Or, having had this scare, will he stay as far away as he possibly can? Does he think I’m trying to trap him? But there’s no way I could have become pregnant. He took charge of protection. Oh, stop it. I’m not. But the risk raising its head might be sufficient to keep him away. No man wants to be trapped. Particularly him. He’s made that very clear on any number of occasions.
Dark Horses: (Blood Brothers #5) Page 31