by Pam McKenna
Erik stood in front of Kay, hands tucked into his front pockets. Somehow she managed to maintain Standing Position as he dipped his head and slowly inhaled, tracing the curve of her throat from clavicle to earlobe, his nose less than a millimeter from her skin. Her nipples tightened and so did her pussy. She glanced nervously at John, now strolling over to them. Could he tell? Would he be angry with her for responding to another man? She didn’t mean to—her body seemed to have a will of its own.
Erik stroked her flushed cheek, his pale green eyes locked on hers. His tone verged on the flirtatious as he said, “Tell me, slave, is your owner mean to you?”
She frowned. “I thought he was supposed to be.”
Erik chuckled. “She’s adorable, John. Where did you find her?”
“She just washed up onshore one night.” John gave Kay a small secret smile, his expression achingly tender. Something swelled in her chest.
“Here’s what I mean by ‘mean’,” Erik told her. “‘Mean’ is an owner who doesn’t love his slave enough to put a handcrafted steel collar around her pretty neck.”
“Ka-ching, ka-ching,” John said, an unsubtle reference to Erik’s unsubtle sales pitch. “Not every Dom goes in for collars. But you know that.”
Erik ignored him. His bold gaze traveled down her body. “‘Mean’ is an owner who doesn’t love his slave enough to put his mark of possession on her. No ink, no piercings. Nothing to brand her as his.” He leaned around her for the full view. “No stripes—not so much as a pink tush. A devoted owner gives his slave frequent and strict correction.”
“I told you,” John said, “we’ve been apart for a while.”
Erik pretended not to hear. “If your owner turns out not to be the strong, challenging Dom you were hoping for,” he stroked her sensitive inner arm, making her shiver, “you know where to find me.”
John wore a long-suffering look. “Remind me again why I haven’t cut off your nuts?”
“Because I’m such a talented motherfucker.”
“Is this talented motherfucker going to measure my slave for that belt or do I have to take my business to the competition?”
“What competition?” Erik lifted Kay’s breasts in frank appraisal. “I’m the best.”
She was startled by the artist’s abrupt move and by his blasé attitude, as if he fondled strangers’ bodies every day. Well, maybe he did. But she was even more startled by his gentleness. Erik’s hands were huge, his fingers rough and calloused, yet he touched her as carefully as if she were made of spun glass. Her breath caught as he inspected her stiff nipples. The contrast between his calloused fingertips and the delicacy of his touch sent a deep shiver through her. His next words made her heart leap into her throat.
“Think how sweet these nips would look with jeweled barbells through them, John. Better yet, rings. That’s where you’ll attach the leash, since you’re no fan of collars. Did you check out the nipple jewelry in that case over there?”
Belatedly Kay realized the studs and rings she’d spied in the display cases weren’t intended for earlobes. She tried to imagine how different it would feel being led by a leash attached to piercings as opposed to the clamps she’d already experienced. Just the thought sent an arrow of heat straight to her pussy. She dropped her eyes, struggling to school her expression.
That was when she noticed a dark patch of ink on Erik’s muscular forearm. She squinted at the tattoo—an eagle clutching an anchor, a trident and a pistol. The design looked vaguely familiar, and after a few seconds it came to her. It was the insignia of the SEALs, the special operations forces of the United States Navy.
So. The descendant of Vikings was an elite warrior in his own right. She supposed it must be in his blood.
Erik released her breasts and slid the measuring tape off his neck. “The piercings can be temporary.” His words weren’t directed at Kay. Although he was discussing the painful modification of her intimate body parts, he was doing so not with her but with the person who owned those parts—John. “See how you like it. You can always let the holes heal over.”
John’s gaze lingered on her breasts and she knew he was giving the suggestion serious consideration. Meanwhile Erik slipped the measuring tape around her waist and noted the number. The plastic-coated tape felt cold and she flinched—then gasped when he passed it between her widespread legs, pulled it taut and measured the distance from her waist down to her crotch and up to the small of her back. She assumed that was all the info he’d need to craft a custom chastity belt. She was mistaken.
Erik squatted and pressed the tape to her belly, measuring from her waist to her labia, then repositioned the tape to measure the swollen petals themselves. She emitted a whimper of alarm, reflexively jerking back as his knuckles brushed her famished pussy.
“Be still!” John barked. She bit her lip, struggling to obey.
“These measurements have to be precise,” Erik said, his warm breath tickling her drenched sex, “especially regarding size and placement of the slot. Her inner lips will protrude through it, and they swell to about twice their normal size when she’s aroused. If your slave hadn’t already been ‘in this condition’, as she so delicately put it, I’d have had to do some serious pussy-licking before getting out the measuring tape.”
“Oh you would have done the pussy-licking, huh?” John asked.
The artist grinned up at him. “No extra charge.”
John said, “Just make sure the belt’s tight enough to keep her from masturbating.”
“She won’t be able to get her fingers under it, but there’s still that slot.” Erik stood. “I can make a separate shield that fits over that section.”
John shook his head. “No, I’m looking forward to seeing those rosy cunt lips squeezed by cold steel. And teaching her to exercise self-discipline.” He gave Kay a dark look. “If I catch her trying to make herself come with the belt on, her punishment will be memorable.”
“Speaking of cold steel, check this out.” Erik crossed to a display case and lifted out a shiny metal dildo. “You’re looking at over two pounds of solid medical-grade steel. My latest design. What do you think?”
John hefted it in his palm. It was a stunning object, graceful and curved, with wavelike ridges and sleek knobs at both the thick and thin ends. “Not bad.” He looked at Kay. “But I want to make sure it’s right for her before I plunk down…Christ, I don’t even want to know how much this thing’s going to cost me.”
“Good, then I won’t tell you. Have a seat.” Erik indicated the inviting overstuffed chairs in the center of the room. He crooked his finger at Kay, wordlessly commanding her to join them there.
One chair didn’t look so inviting. Instead of thick cushions and ergonomic styling, it was all flat planes and hard angles, made of dark wood partially upholstered in black leather. The back was narrow, perhaps eight inches wide, and two arm-length crosspieces projected from it at shoulder height. Heavy steel rings studded the edges of the chair at intervals.
The hardware was for restraint, Kay realized with a start, attachment points for cuffs, collars and belts. The same rings adorned the edges and legs of the person-sized, leather-upholstered coffee table—or rather, what she’d assumed until now was a coffee table. Would you like cream and sugar with your flogging?
“You can put your arms down,” Erik said, and Kay gratefully complied, shaking the stiffness out of them. “Sit.” Naturally he pointed to the creepy bondage chair. “Nice and straight,” he added. “I want to see excellent posture.”
“Yes Sir.” This wasn’t too bad, she thought as she settled on the buttery leather seat, especially when Erik turned a knob and reclined the back a little. She felt less exposed than she had when standing. Her legs were only slightly parted and the tingle from the oil had subsided. Maybe now she’d finally be able to get herself under control.
“Will your slave sit still for this,” Erik asked John, “or do I bring out the cuffs?”
“No cuffs—the
y’d make it too easy.” John gave her a pointed look. “She needs to learn the meaning of perfect submission.”
“Too bad.” A devilish gleam lit Erik’s green eyes. “I’d love to see this one strapped down and begging.”
“Put your hands behind the chair,” John ordered her, “and link your fingers. Don’t move.”
John sat in front of her and a little to one side, long legs crossed at the ankle, totally at ease. Watching her. Erik pulled up a hassock directly in front of her and sat on it. Leaning forward, he took hold of the chair between her knees and pushed outward. She yelped as the entire seat split in two, opening her legs in a wide V. Her thighs and buttocks were supported, but there was nothing under her gaping pussy but cool air. She’d noticed that the seat was upholstered in two sections but had given it no thought. So much for feeling less exposed.
Erik scooted the hassock closer still until his denim-clad legs pressed on her inner knees, preempting any attempt on her part to bring them together. “Oh yeah,” he said, “these yummy labia definitely need jewelry.”
“Inner or outer?” John asked.
“Inner to start.” With no warning, Erik reached between her legs and parted the slick folds, ignoring Kay’s startled gasp. His touch was gentle but in no way tentative as he examined her intimately. “Two piercings on each side. That gives you options as to what kind of labia spreader to use. I have a new circular design—I’m telling you, John, your slave has the perfect pussy for it.”
Kay looked down and tried to see her private parts as the artist saw them. Labia spreader? She’d never known such a thing existed, but now that she did, she had to admit the idea kind of turned her on.
As if she could be any more turned-on than she was right then, with this big, sexy Viking handling her hungry pussy as if he owned it. She glanced at the man who did own it, at least in this particular place at this particular point in time. John appeared unconcerned that Erik was taking such liberties with her body, and somehow that aroused her even more.
“Later we’ll do the outer lips. A nice sturdy ring, a sturdier little padlock,” Erik pinched her sex closed, “you’ve got yourself an alternate chastity device.”
She shot a panicked look to John, who nodded thoughtfully as he studied her pussy, clearly imagining how it would look with a padlock dangling from it.
“But for today,” the artist continued, “I’ll just do a VPH. Both beautiful and practical.” He noticed Kay’s confusion and explained, “A piercing through the hood of your clitoris—vertically.” His rough fingers plucked the part in question and she let out a shrill gasp, unconsciously arching into his touch. To John he said, “A nice little barbell rubbing her clit all day, reminding her who she belongs to. Plus it’ll ramp up her orgasms when you fuck her.”
Is he kidding? Kay thought. If she came any harder when John fucked her, she’d have a stroke.
“You can always swap out the barbell for a ring,” Erik said, “attach a little chain and pull the hood out of the way, leaving the bud totally exposed.” He demonstrated with his fingers, causing Kay to grit her teeth against the inexorable climax building within her. The trickle of moisture from her pussy maddened her.
“Sir,” she rasped, “may I ask a question?”
“Go ahead,” Erik said.
“You said you’ll do the piercing. Of my, um, hood. You really mean you’ll do it? Right here?”
“I’ll do it but not right here.” He pointed to the open doorway she’d peeked through earlier. “Right there.”
From where she sat Kay now had an unobstructed view into the next room. She spied a box of sterile gloves, a red medical-waste container for needles, and most disturbingly, an exam table like the one in her gynecologist’s office, complete with stirrups.
So. Not a drawing studio after all. A piercing studio.
She felt the blood drain from her head. “Will it hurt?”
Erik laughed as if she’d just told a knee-slapper. “No, no, not a bit. Why would it hurt to get stuck right there with a big-ass needle?” He turned to the other man. “Seriously, John. She’s cute as a kitten. Are you amenable to sharing her?”
“No.” John pinned the artist with a look that said the subject was closed. Erik just laughed again.
Kay dared another question. “Are…are you going to do it today?”
“I sure am,” Erik said. “Right after we finish up here.”
“No,” John told him. “Not today. I don’t want to wait several weeks for the piercing to heal before I can fuck her.”
His words brought a sigh of relief on two fronts. There was the temporary reprieve from the needle, of course, but more important, if she had to wait even one more day for John’s cock, she’d probably throw herself off the Empire State Building.
“Next time then,” Erik said. “For now, let’s make sure that hideously expensive dildo is a custom fit.” He stroked her drenched opening then pushed two long fingers into her. “Time to play ‘Find the Sweet Spot’.”
Kay moaned long and low—she couldn’t help herself. She also couldn’t help squirming against Erik’s thrusting fingers, try as she might to remain perfectly still.
“Remember the rules, Kay.” John fixed her with his blue-smoke gaze. His voice was a refined, lawyerly baritone despite his conspicuous erection and coarse words. “Your cunt is mine to do with as I choose. At the moment I choose for Erik to fit it for hardware that’ll make it more fun for me to play with and to fuck.”
Kay swallowed hard. What did a proper submissive say to a statement like that?
“I can see how close you are to coming,” he continued. “Never forget—like everything else about your body, your pleasure is mine to command. If I decide to keep you on the brink of orgasm with no relief for hours or days, you will yield. If I decide to make you come twenty times in a row, you will yield. Gladly and without question.”
His words were an electric jolt racing straight to her throbbing clitoris. She barely managed to utter, “I understand, Sir.”
“You will come when my cock is inside you,” John said. “Not before.”
Erik’s skillful finger-fucking had her gripping her hands with crippling force behind the chair back, struggling to keep her impending orgasm at bay. He released a low rumble of satisfaction as her greedy pussy squeezed his retreating fingers like a fist.
“Think you’re being thorough enough with this ‘fitting’?” John drawled, one dark eyebrow cocked. “Don’t forget to measure her spleen while you’re in there.”
“It’s a process.” Erik gave him a silky half smile. “You don’t rush art.”
John rolled his eyes.
“So I got distracted. So sue me.” Erik crooked his fingers upward and slid them along her interior wall, probing carefully. What was he—?
“Oh!” Kay started at the burst of sensation right there where he was pressing.
“Bingo.” Erik continued to massage the area, more boldly now, as her mouth fell open and her eyelids drooped. She released a long, shuddering sigh.
“Do you play with your G-spot at all?” The artist drummed his fingertips in a rapid tattoo that had her half lifting off the seat and whimpering in pure, high-voltage pleasure. “I guess not.” He turned to John. “I’m telling you, she’s—”
“I know. Cute as a kitten. So the dildo…?”
Erik slid his fingers out of her, but not before giving her clitoris a nice friendly thumb-salute. He lifted the steel toy off the not-a-coffee-table and assessed its dimensions in light of what he’d just learned about her internal architecture. Apparently dildos, at least handcrafted artisan dildos, weren’t one size fits all.
“I’ve got a good feeling about this,” Erik said. “And if I’m right, your slave’s going to have an even better feeling.” He parted her folds and introduced the smaller, more dramatically curved end of the steel toy to her slippery opening.
Kay gasped—it was cold! She tensed for a moment but then gradually relaxed as he slow
ly pressed the smooth, heavy device into her. The chill of the metal, far from dampening her arousal, somehow made it flare hotter still—as did the solid, unyielding weight of the thing.
“Nice?” Erik’s smiling eyes missed nothing. She could only offer a ragged moan in response. He said, “Nothing beats steel. You can chill it, you can warm it. And? It’s dishwasher safe.”
Kay flashed on an image of her father opening her dishwasher and lifting out…
It’s a meat tenderizer, Dad, I swear!
She forgot all about the pots-and-pans cycle with the next exquisite thrust of the dildo. Erik partially withdrew it and nudged her “sweet spot” with the curved head while the ridges teased her clitoris. He seemed to know precisely where and how hard to press for maximum effect. Well, he had spent an inordinate amount of time getting acquainted with her inner self, so to speak.
Kay was perilously close to the edge. If he kept this up, she wouldn’t be able to keep from disobeying John, no matter what punishment awaited her.
On the other hand, when she thought about her last punishment and how it had resulted in the most intense orgasm of her life, disobeying her owner didn’t seem that shabby an idea.
“Your turn.” Erik withdrew the dildo and held it out to her. “Take it.”
“What?” Kay blinked at him. “Me?”
“You. It’s your pussy.” He pulled on her arm, breaking the death grip between her fingers and wrapping them around the weighty chunk of steel, now warmed by her body and his big hand. “Go to work.”
She shook her head. “I can’t.” It was one thing to sit there and passively submit while this hunky sex-toy designer did all kinds of dirty things to her, but to do dirty things to herself while he looked on?
Erik turned to John. “This slave’s going to wear out your whipping arm.”
“She’s still raw and inexperienced,” John said. “Doesn’t know what to do with her fear.”
“She’s not going to learn without prompt and rigorous correction.” The artist looked her up and down. “I said it before, John. You’re too soft on her.”
Yeah, you’re too soft on me, John. Kay looked at the bondage-bed coffee table just a few steps away. She fantasized about being forced facedown onto it, her wrists and ankles secured by leather cuffs. About lying helpless and immobile while John strolled to the display case and selected a paddle…