by Pam McKenna
“Leave her here for a week,” Erik said. “She’ll be a different slave when you pick her up, I guarantee.”
Wait. What? Kay looked from one man to the other. Did he say a week?
John shook his head. “I’m a hands-on kind of Dom—you know that. Slave training’s not something I outsource.”
Kay couldn’t help herself. “Slave training?”
“‘The Fourth Floor’.” John nodded toward the ceiling. “That’s what they call it in the BDSM community. Best-equipped dungeon in New York. It’s legendary.”
“So is the personalized training I do there,” Erik said. “Just take her clothes and leave me her safe word.”
“Okay,” John said, “her safe word is ‘not in this lifetime, buddy’. I’ll punish my slave myself in my own way.”
Now they were getting somewhere. Kay tried not to let her excitement show.
John asked the artist, “Can you spare a few drops of that arousal oil?”
“For such a good cause? No problem. I assume it’s going on her clit again?”
“Clit, nipples and asshole.” John turned to Kay. “You want to know what I’m going to do to you after that?”
“Yes Sir.” She squirmed restlessly, imagining the delicious torment of that wicked oil in all those places at once—and how John might choose to take advantage of her ultrasensitized state.
“One thing you might not know about that arousal oil—friction intensifies the effect,” he told her. “So I’m going to tie a nice tight crotch rope on you. Shaped like a chastity belt but made of rough jute with a couple of big knots positioned right where I’ve applied the oil.”
Erik nodded in approval. “That’s an attention-getter right there.”
“Then I’ll bind your breasts just as tightly, with special attention paid to your nipples.” John watched her closely, obviously gauging her reaction. “I’ll tie your arms behind your back and connect all the ropes so that every little movement, no matter how slight—even your breathing—will magnify the sensations.”
Kay swallowed hard. Just imagining the scenario he described made her pussy drip. And then…? she thought.
“And then I’ll make you stand over there.” John pointed to a corner of the room. “Facing the wall.”
She waited. He said no more, just sprawled on his nice cushy chair as relaxed as you please.
“Wait a minute.” Belatedly she added, “Sir.”
“You may speak.”
“Um…how long will I have to stand there?”
“As long as it pleases me to punish you,” he said. “It might be fifteen minutes, it might be hours. And make no mistake, they’ll be the longest hours of your life. The combination of the oil and the ropes will be maddening—intense, unrelenting stimulation with no possibility of orgasm.”
She stared at him slack-jawed.
“Needless to say,” he added, “you won’t be getting any cock for the foreseeable future. Certainly not today.”
She failed to restrain a whimper of dismay.
John said, “That’s the punishment that awaits you if you don’t start fucking yourself with that dildo as Erik ordered you to do. You have three seconds.” He looked at his watch. “One—”
Kay pushed the curved head of the device into her starving pussy. She moaned at the rush of pleasure and drove it deeper.
“Aim for that G-spot.” Erik rose from the hassock and resettled himself on one of the comfy chairs. “Just like I showed you.”
She complied, shuddering as sparks flared in the vicinity of her clitoris but deeper. The sound that escaped her was somewhere between a sigh and a groan. How long could she keep this up without coming? Not long, that was damn sure. And then what? The oil and rope? John had made it clear—somehow she had to keep from climaxing until his cock was inside her, though she hadn’t an inkling when he planned to get around to that.
Just the thought of being fucked by him again spiked her arousal to dangerous levels. She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut, heedless of the desperate-sounding cries erupting from her, heedless of the spectacle she presented as she pumped the steel dildo between her widespread thighs.
In the next instant the dildo was wrenched from her grasp. Her eyes flew open to see John hurling it onto his chair, his gaze as predatory as she’d ever seen it. He scooped her off her seat and carried her the short distance to the bondage bed, where he dumped her with ungentle urgency. He freed his cock even as he mounted her, kneeing her legs wide and forcing her into position.
His first savage thrust was all it took. Kay screamed as her long-delayed orgasm ripped into her. Her body convulsed in an explosion of sensation, her senses on overload—the hard, hot length of his body pinning her, his thick cock filling her to bursting, his powerful fingers manacling her wrists, providing purchase for her to snap her hips and meet his hammering thrusts.
Hoarse cries rang in her ears, in a voice she barely recognized as her own. Veins bulged in John’s temple and throat. His wild, hot eyes burned her. This was a rough, brutish fucking and she couldn’t get enough, knew she’d never in her life get enough of this ruthless, complex man. He was a narcotic, and she a willing addict.
Her second climax gathered with stunning speed. She tossed her head, hair whipping, as prayers and curses flew from her lips. He fucked her harder, watching it happen, making it happen, his eyes alight with primitive male satisfaction. Her orgasm pounced like a jungle cat, thrashed her, tore into her, pushing John over the edge. He came with a ferocious roar, his face contorted in a rictus of ecstasy as he spilled himself deep within her.
They clung to each other, lungs pumping, hearts slamming. At last Kay turned her head and pressed her lips to John’s salty throat, trembling in the aftermath of their violent coupling. He leaned up on his elbows and let his gaze wander her features, his expression one of such unalloyed devotion she felt her eyes well. He pressed into her one last, lingering time, triggering an answering flutter from her satiated core.
The presence of an audience filtered through the hormonal haze. In unison they looked over at Erik, who’d watched the whole thing from the comfort of his overstuffed chair. The artist offered a wordless military salute, letting the bulge in his jeans broadcast his appreciation of the show.
John helped Kay get dressed while Erik packed up the dildo and the fancy vibrator he’d promised her in custom-crafted wooden boxes with form-fitting, silk-lined interiors. The vibe was ergonomically shaped and packed a wallop in a variety of speeds and percussive settings. It was, as the artist informed John, “perfect for forced orgasms”. She’d thought that “twenty orgasms in a row” business had been hyperbole. Now she wasn’t so sure.
John also purchased a spreader bar with ankle cuffs, a wooden yoke to immobilize head and hands, and a steel butt plug with, of all things, decorative crystals embedded in the flared base. She couldn’t even guess how much these artisan-crafted BDSM toys were costing him. The custom chastity belt alone had to run well into the thousands.
John brought her to the display case of punishment devices. “Choose a paddle.” He opened the glass doors.
She stared at him wide-eyed. “Me?”
Erik joined them. “Something that goes with pink.” He fondled her bottom through the fabric of her dress.
I get it, she thought. Because that would be the color of her buns after a good solid ass-whupping.
“Umm…” Kay knew to avoid the ones with holes. She reached for the most innocent-looking paddle in the case, the one with the narrowest striking surface.
John stayed her hand. “Honey, I feel duty-bound to warn you—”
“Jesus. You’re no fun,” Erik griped. “Let her pick whichever damn paddle she wants. She’ll learn soon enough.”
“BDSM Physics 101,” John told Kay. “Wider paddles hurt less—the force of the blow is spread out over a larger surface.”
She hesitated, but only for a second. What was it he’d told her that first night? While you belong t
o me, I’m not going to let anything terrible happen to you. She lifted the narrow paddle down from the case.
“Hoo-wah!” Erik crowed. “You don’t deserve a slave this feisty, you lucky prick.”
John gave her a dubious look. “Are you sure?”
She held his gaze. “I trust you.” They shared a silent communication more eloquent than words. The trust went both ways. John was letting her into his life and his heart, risking far more than a bruised butt. They remained lost in each other’s eyes until Erik interrupted.
“Okay,” he told John, “here’s my offer. One full week of slave training—half price.”
John answered with a look that said, Dream on, buddy.
“I cannot believe you’re not jumping at this.” Erik spread his hands, incredulous. “I never give discounts.”
“This is ridiculous.” Kay didn’t wait for permission to speak. “I can’t spend a week here. I have a job.”
Erik shrugged. “Call in sick.”
“Kay’s job is important—more important than mine, that’s for sure.” John looked straight at her as he added, “She’s indispensable. People are relying on her.”
A lump crowded her throat as she realized he meant every word. This was one man who didn’t undervalue the teaching profession.
“All right, you drive a hard bargain. No charge. An unprecedented offer.” Erik’s expression oozed sincerity. “Because you’re such a valued customer.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s why you want to spend seven days training Kay in the finer points of sexual servitude—not to mention fucking her every which way in the process. Because I’m such a valued fucking customer.” John gave him a humorless smile.
“Do you know what people pay me for slave training?”
“I do,” John said. “That’s quite a racket you’ve got going.”
“Tell that to all the subs who’ve passed through here, and their satisfied Doms.”
“Give it up, Erik.” John cut off the artist’s next words. “And before you throw in today’s purchases to sweeten the deal—thanks but no thanks. Send me a bill.”
Kay could tell from Erik’s expression that was precisely what he’d been planning to do. She supposed she should feel flattered that the city’s preeminent BDSM trainer—a man who must have had every possible kind of exotic sex with countless sexually submissive women—wanted that badly to get her alone.
Moments later they were in John’s Jaguar, pulling into traffic. It was already getting dark. Kay loved summer nights in the city—people milling on the streets, meeting up with friends, congregating at outdoor cafés. The excitement, the lively spontaneity. Why didn’t she come in to Manhattan more often? It was as if she were seeing the world, seeing herself and the things that animated her, with fresh eyes.
She said, “Sir, may I ask a question?”
“You may.”
“Are we heading back to the Island?”
He shook his head. “I have an apartment uptown. I promised to begin your training tonight, remember?”
A surge of sensual heat spread deep and low as she wondered what inventive training techniques he had in store for her. “Yes Sir.”
“We’ll begin with the punishment I owe you.” He glanced at her perplexed expression and added, “The panties? The ones you put back on without permission? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”
Ah yes. The panties. Kay smiled, thinking about the lovely new paddle in the car’s trunk. “I remember, Sir.”
“Of course, it was a minor infraction,” he said, “and my instructions on the note could have been clearer. I suppose I could be lenient and let it slide.” He looked at her again. She was no longer smiling. He gave an elaborate sigh. “But then you’d start thinking I’m too soft on you like Erik says, and you’d go running to him, and then where would I be?” He paused and she realized it wasn’t a rhetorical question.
“Out one perfectly good slave?” she asked.
“There, you see? That’s precisely what I was thinking.” He honked at a taxi that cut him off. “So I am going to punish you, Kay. I’m going to bend you over the side of my bed and give you the good hard paddling you deserve. There will be tears, I have little doubt. I’m looking forward to tasting them.”
Now why on earth should a statement like that send her arousal into overdrive? She must be pretty far gone, she reflected, but it was okay because wherever the brave new Kay had taken her, John was right there by her side.
“Your sweet pale ass will be a scorching pink by the time I’m finished with it,” he added. “I want you to think about that all the way there.”
Oh she was thinking about it, all right. “Sir, may I ask one more question?”
“Shoot.”
“Do you know any shortcuts?”
About the Author
Pam McKenna has been an avid storyteller since she was old enough to put pencil to paper. Her number-one passion is the written word, though if you read her stories, you might conclude that her true passions lie elsewhere. And you’d be right. Pam loves erotic fiction and has never been shy about pulling out the stops and treating her readers to five-alarm fantasies. Pam McKenna is the pen name of an award-winning, multi-published romance author.
The author welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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