“Dominant number two, you may begin.”
Someone neared, and the hair prickled on the back of her neck. This Dominant came much closer than Patrick. Shorter weapon? Or merely a trick?
A sharp blow landed on her buttocks. Crop, definitely. She’d know its biting cut anywhere. But was it Victor’s hand? Would he hand his trusty weapon of choice over to Mal, arguably his best friend?
Another blow landed, setting a slow but steady pattern, all to her buttocks. Victor certainly liked her ass, as the bruises testified. The blows weren’t as hard as what he typically gave, but he could be remembering the lingering soreness on her backside.
However, her body didn’t seem to recognize him. She didn’t feel especially aroused by the blows, even though the thought of Victor with that wicked crop in his hand, standing behind her bound and helpless body would normally have sent her into the stratosphere. The strokes felt shorter, less confident, less…Victor. He might try to fool her by tightening his grip on the hilt of the crop, forcing a shorter blow, but still, the rhythm seemed wrong.
The sense of command and power she sensed when he stepped into a room just wasn’t there. It has to be Mal.
When the Dominant shifted to Shiloh’s left, moving a bit closer, she knew without a doubt that the Dominant was Mal—unless Victor had started wearing perfume. “Mistress M.”
The blows stopped at once and Georgia applauded. “Very good, Gift. You correctly identified two of the three Dominants. By the process of elimination, Master V is the only Dominant left, so there’s no need to continue. You are indeed Master V’s Gift. But will you be top sub?”
Canned applause filled the room. Shiloh let her muscles relax, her head drooping. She’d done it. She hadn’t made a stupid mistake. Victor hadn’t been able to pull the wool over her eyes. She couldn’t help but smile with relief. She’d made it. She’d done everything possible to show him how much she loved him. She’d managed to yank his mask away and find the real Victor hidden beneath.
After he freed her from the bonds, they’d talk about the final round and make their plans. He’d need to punish her as long as possible, while Mal and Patrick tortured their subs. The last sub standing would be the winner, and she had no doubt whatsoever that she’d win it. She’d win it for him.
“Leave her bound like this.” Victor cupped her chin, his fingers hard on her face despite the hint of amusement in his voice. “We’re going to tape the final punishment round. Now.”
Victor paced while the other two submissives were bound as their Dominants wished for the final round. He slapped his thigh with the crop and made damned sure Shiloh heard every single blow, even though he had no intention of using the crop much at all for this round. No, that would be too easy. Too safe. He already knew how much she could endure, and that wouldn’t be a test at all. It certainly wasn’t top-sub worthy. Even though this show was their creation and set up from the beginning, his pride demanded that it be a true test.
He couldn’t call himself the Master of America’s Next Top sub if he knew deep down that he hadn’t tested her within an inch of her life.
The best test would be something that she wouldn’t ordinarily enjoy at all. When he’d decided to try a little hot wax in the last challenge, he hadn’t expected such a reaction from her; he’d just wanted to do something a little different. Would she understand the test, though, and forgive him later for using his newfound knowledge against her?
He squatted down before her and kept his voice low. It wasn’t a private conversation, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances. “Do you trust me?”
“It’s a little late to ask that question, isn’t it?”
He heard the faint tremor in her voice and noted the rapid thump of the pulse in her neck. She was nervous, definitely, and trying not to show it. She knew he wasn’t into bondage, so leaving her bound like this would throw her for a loop. The first loop. The next one would be a doozey.
“Can I trust you?” Solemnly, he brushed a damp strand of hair off her face. “Will you give me your safeword when you can’t bear any more, even if it means we don’t win?”
Her bottom lip trembled. “What are you going to do?”
“That’s for the Master to know. You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Victor, what are you going to do?” Her voice rose slightly, her pulse thumping frantically. “I created this whole show for you. Don’t you want to win it?”
“Of course I do.” He untied the blindfold. For this, there was no reason to keep her blind. He needed to be able to see her eyes so he could gauge her true level of pain and fear so he’d know whether he should continue or not. “But I’m going to win it honestly, and that means pushing you to your limit. You set this show up to prove to me that you could take whatever I choose to give you, right?”
She nodded, a short jerk of her head, and her gaze fell on the equipment set up beside him. Low-heat wax candles made an attractive Gothic decoration…and a very effective pain device.
“The title of top sub means nothing to me if you don’t go to the very limits of your endurance for my sake.”
“You have to tell me,” she whispered in a ragged voice. “Tell me you want me to do this for you as my Master. Ask me to suffer for you. Because I love you, I will.”
“I want to hurt you, baby. I want to see the fear in your eyes. I want to see how far you’ll really let me go, even if you’re afraid. But most of all, I need to know that I’ve done something for you that no other Dominant has ever done. I need to take you to your limits and hear your safeword given in ultimate trust that I’ll stop, even though I’m enjoying every single tear and pleading cry.”
“Yes, Master.”
A fierce surge of pride welled within him. She’d do this for him and him alone. Even something that made her tremble with dread at the thought. He pressed a quick, hard kiss to her mouth and then stood, taking his position at her side.
Mal had Andy in a similar cross, dressed in the rough trousers of a laborer and naked from the waist up. By the hard glint in her eyes, she was going to exact every single wretched lie from him, every single penny he’d cost VCONN by forcing them to scrap the show.
Patrick’s submissive knelt on all fours, complete in pony gear. With her reins looped about his left forearm, he stood several paces behind her, giving him plenty of room to work with his long-tailed whip. His pony girl shook her head and stomped her right hoof—hand.
Victor met Mal’s gaze and shook his head, a bemused smile on his face. He didn’t get that kink, but then again, he didn’t get Mal’s either. She liked treating Andy like a dog or a slave. She’d often made him sleep on the floor or eat from a dog bowl, and he’d obeyed without question.
All I want to do is make my submissive suffer for loving me. How sick is that?
But looking at Shiloh, he didn’t feel sick at all. For the first time in his adult life as a sadist, he felt…glad. She had a need that only he could meet, and he knew without a doubt that she was the only submissive that would ever meet his need. She loved him enough to endure pain and fear simply because he asked it.
Hopefully the cameras didn’t shoot too low, or his massive erection would be viewed all over Dallas. With the crop in his right hand, he waited for the signal to begin.
“Dominants, this is the final round. You’ve chosen your submissive after rigorous tests and challenges. They’ve proved their willingness to submit to your will alone. Now, one of you will prove your skill to Dallas and name one of these contestants as America’s Next Top sub, the submissive most willing to give his or her heart and soul simply to please the Master. Are you ready?”
All three Dominants inclined their heads.
“Name your top subs and ask them if they’re ready and willing to being this final test.”
Patrick gave a little jerk on his pony girl’s reins. “Peppi, are you ready for the final challenge?”
The girl whinnied and nodded her head in a very horsey ma
nner, which made Victor choke back a laugh. Mal wasn’t so lucky and actually snorted out loud.
“Are you ready for me to beat you like the dog you are, Beau?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Victor stepped closer to Shiloh and used the tip of his crop to push her chin up higher, straining her neck, forcing her to meet his gaze even though she was bound. “What are you going to give me, Gift?”
“Everything I’ve got, Master.”
He took the ponytail holder out of his pocket and pulled his hair tight. He needed the familiar pain to focus him and keep him in control.
“Let the final challenge begin!” Georgia cried out triumphantly.
Mal and Patrick had performed together often enough that they had a back-and-forth, give-and-take rhythm. She landed a blow to Andy’s back, and then waited for the sharp crack of the whip against Patrick’s sub before giving hers another. Victor provided syncopation, beginning with the crop and using enough force to make an impression on the audience. These blows were foreplay, warm up for the main endurance test. He wanted Shiloh feeling good and flying as high as possible before he turned to the real fear he intended to wield against her.
He kept the blows concentrated to her ass and the backs of her thighs, determined not to cut the more tender and vulnerable skin of her back. No, this time he intended to leave a mark of a different sort on her flesh.
Patrick’s whip whistled through the air and made an impressive crack. His pony girl squealed and reared beneath his stroke, and like any skilled horse master, he used his voice and soothing touch to steady her. Andy was moaning and mumbling beneath his breath, but Mal had no kind words for him. In fact, by the whites showing in his eyes and the frantic babbling, she’d begun confronting him about where he spent his nights and how much he’d gotten for selling her show. Of course he’d deny it, but Victor had a feeling they’d know by the evening news for sure.
Tension coiled in the room. He knew cameras were rolling, capturing every whispered curse and grunting cry, every grimace, every tear, every plea. The lights made them all sweat even worse, and his shirt was already sticking to him. He swore he could smell the musky scent of Shiloh’s desire, her need growing with every single blow.
She needed to please him, even if it meant pain or fear or humiliation. Him, not Patrick or her old mentor or any other Dominant.
Flicking his gaze over her, noting her breathing, her skin color, and the way she kept her back arched and hips lifted for his blows, he judged it time to take her to the next level. He slipped the crop through his belt and tore open the simple linen shift to bare her back.
Georgia gasped. If the camera guy was paying attention, he’d zoomed in for a good shot. Bruises covered Shiloh’s back. His marks, her badges of honor. Let everyone in Dallas see how much she loves me.
He picked up a lit candle with melted wax pooled around the wick. Looking at the camera, he smiled, a heavy-lidded grin of anticipation as he slowly tipped the candle and allowed wax to drip onto her left shoulder.
Her breath hissed and she jerked, arcing up against the bonds and fighting like she’d never done before. Her breathing was loud in the room despite the rising sounds of weapons hitting flesh and the deeper guttural cries of submissives in the throes of punishment.
“Give me your pain, baby. Give it all to me.” Shaking, she let out a moan that winched him to a fevered pitch. The sharp edge of fear and true pain fed his lust like nothing else. “Remember what I want. It’s my will to hear your safeword tonight, but first, I want you to endure as long as possible.”
He dribbled a thin trail of hot wax down toward the small of her back, spacing each drop, each pain, with deliberate precision. Not too much wax—he didn’t want to hurt her too much, too quickly. But he built the pain into a simmering volcano.
She shook, she sweated, she cried, and yes, she screamed, but she didn’t beg him to stop.
Not his Gift.
“Mistress!” Andy howled in a shrill, high voice. “Forgive me! I’m innocent!”
Mal only whipped him harder, sliding her blows lower against the back of his legs. “If you’re innocent, then why do you need forgiveness, boy?”
Evidently he didn’t enjoy strikes to the backs of his knees at all. He bellowed out a word—red, Victor thought, but it was too guttural for him to know for sure. Mal lowered her arm and turned her back on him.
“Mistress M, your sub has surrendered,” Georgia said. “He will not be top sub.”
Mal bowed to the cameras and took her place on the lowest step of the dais.
Patrick commanded his pony girl to her feet, and she ran around him like a horse on a lunge line. He flashed a challenging grin toward Victor. “Are you willing to trade blow for blow?”
“Sure, as long as I can count pain as a blow.”
“Works for me.”
Victor stepped around in front of Shiloh and ran a critical eye over her. The slight pause had let her catch her breath. Her eyes had a glazed fuzziness of a pain-induced trance. He stroked her cheek and whispered her stage name until she focused on him. “Are you ready for round two?”
“Did you finish the V?”
He couldn’t help but smile. She’d known exactly what mark he was putting into her back, even though she couldn’t see it.
Her voice sounded hoarse, so he gave her another drink of water. Patrick took the opportunity to do the same, although he’d made his submissive kneel and drink out of a plastic bucket that Mama would have thrown out of her stables in disgust. “Not yet. I’ll do the second half now, mixed heavily with the crop. I’m going blow for blow with Master P, if you’re up for that.”
Sharply, she said, “I haven’t asked you to stop yet, have I?”
He saw through her bravado. Her chin trembled, her eyes rolled white, and her pulse thumped frantically in her throat. “I’m proud of you, baby. You’re so fucking hot I can’t stand it. I’d give anything to be far away from these cameras right about now.”
She lowered her voice. “So you’re enjoying it?”
Smiling, he pressed against her thigh, letting her feel exactly how turned on he was. She groaned out a deep pleading sigh that fisted around his heart and tugged so hard he couldn’t breathe.
“Will you do one thing for me?”
“Anything,” he said intently.
“Take out the ponytail.”
She knew very well what that pain in his scalp meant. It was a barrier, a reminder for him to keep his control, a lock he’d often placed on his darker urges. No wonder she’d want him to take it out, in this, their greatest challenge yet. Leaning over her, he pulled the holder out so she could feel his hair tumbling down against her cheek. “I expect to hear your safeword very soon, Gift.”
Why did he have to bring her down from the haze just to tell her what the next nightmare would be? Shiloh knew all too well. He wanted her aware. He wanted her to let him do this with full knowledge of the pain that was going to come. Her left shoulder blade felt like a blanket of molten lava had coated it, melting her skin and bones, her body just slipping away, falling off her like a hunk of meat. She knew the burns weren’t that bad—they just felt like she’d fallen into a stew pot.
Patrick tapped his pony girl on the shoulder and she went to all fours before him. Eyes bright with excitement, he called over to Victor. “Ready?”
“Are you ready, baby?” He slid his hand down her unmarred shoulder. At her nod, he whispered, “I want your safeword, baby. I want it so bad I can taste it.”
The crop descended on her sore backside, immediately shooting her body with endorphins. Instead of the vicious bite of the crop, she felt a buzzing heat that sent her soaring. Distantly, she heard him talking with Patrick, egging each other on. The sharp crack of the whip, followed by the slash of fire across her backside, back and forth, until she could swear that she felt both weapons. She remembered the feel of Patrick’s whip dancing along her back, licking at Victor’s bruises.
Fire p
uddled on her right shoulder, a searing glow of heat that blazed in the darkness of her mind. That fire tried to tug her back down, coiling around her like a molten snake of flame. Pain intruded, jagged glass slicing at her mind. Another blow thudded on her buttocks, warring against the wax on her shoulder, but the burn was winning.
The crop descended again and she could hear Victor’s breathing, deep and labored. She smelled his raw heat, the masculine scent of a warrior after battle. No, the muddy, battered quarterback leading his team to victory. Only she was the one who felt battered.
Merciless, he drove her closer to that end zone, the place he wanted her to be. A place of endless pain. A place where she needed him to simply stop. To make all the pain, all the darkness go away with just a gentle touch of his hand.
And, oh, God, it felt so good. Too good. She hurt all over, the soles of her feet, the strands of her hair. She couldn’t take any more.
She didn’t want it to stop.
“Give it to me,” Victor growled, punctuating the words with another glob of wax at the base of her spine.
His V had branded her, seared into her flesh. His. He’d made her his and it didn’t take a collar. It didn’t take a ring. All it took was the pain surging through her, tying her to him forever. He’d branded her with pain, addicted her with his crop, possessed her with his body. If she lost him now, she’d simply wither up and die. She wouldn’t know how to breathe.
“I’m your Master, Gift, and I want you to give me everything. Give it to me!”
She sank into the red-hot core of pain and let it dissolve her into nothing.
He gripped her chin, his fingers drilling into her skull. “Give it to me now!”
She let the last of the air spill from her lungs on the word he wanted to hear. “Christmas.”
30
Shiloh didn’t have to open her eyes to know she was in Victor’s arms. His chest cradled her, his arms solid and safe about her, his body snug at her back. She was aware enough to know that she ought to hurt, but all she felt was heat. Perhaps because he held her, acting as a sort of soothing drug.
The Connaghers Series Boxed Set Page 48