The kid sat up straighter in the leather seat. “Well, hell, yeah.”
Marc’s smile widened. He’d known bringing Orlando’s machismo into question would rile him up. Being Italian, Marc knew all about machismo. He’d been weaned on it.
“This place is fairly strict—no penetration except oral, no alcohol other than beer and wine. I know the owner, though. A Navy vet. Jerry served in Vietnam. He’ll make sure we deploy with enough carnal memories to last us for eight months of lonely nights in Iraq. I called and he said he’d find us a fem-sub interested in a threesome.” Marc’s only hard limit over the phone was that she not be Italian.
“I’ve never…”
“Hell, Orlando, we’re headed to a fucking war zone. What better time to try a threesome than now?”
Less than two hours later, they were seated in the social area of the club having beers with the petite redhead Jerry had sent over to get acquainted. Bianca seemed to have a thing for Orlando’s forearm. She kept tracing her sharp red fingernail along its length, then she’d bat her eyes at Orlando, who for some god-damned reason couldn’t quite make eye contact with her.
Come on, kid. She’s interested in you, for Christ’s sake.
She sighed and looked at Marc. “So, what kind of kink are you boys into?”
Marc brushed a burnished lock of hair back from her forehead to get a better look at her green eyes. “Whatever kind of kink you need, pet.”
Her pupils dilated. Marc smiled.
“Well, um, Jerry says I can trust you—or he’ll whup your asses.” She smiled sweetly to belie the threat. “So, how about leather flogger? St. Andrew’s cross? Cunni and fellatio?”
Marc’s cock throbbed. She had him at flogger, one of his favorites. Jerry knew and had probably planted the idea. Fucking patriotic of him.
“Mind if I warm up your backside on the loveseat first? The kid here needs to see how erotic spanking is done.”
Orlando glared at him, but didn’t speak up.
“Sure. Let me go change into something more…appropriate.” She smiled and flounced off toward the dressing rooms.
“We’ll be waiting!” Marc called after her.
“You don’t have to make me sound like a fucking virgin.”
Marc turned to smile at Orlando. “Good, then don’t act like one. When we restrain her on the cross, I’ll let you have first crack at her. Her ass will be pretty sore by then. You can work on her tits and pussy.” Marc glanced down to see the bulge in the kid’s pants. Yeah, he was coming around.
Fifteen minutes later, as he polished off his beer, Marc looked toward the dressing-room entrance to see Bianca strutting toward them in a short, short plaid skirt and a schoolgirl’s white blouse. She held a wooden ruler between her breasts.
Holy shit!
Marc adjusted himself surreptitiously to keep from strangling his cock and stood up.
“You’re late, young lady. Mr. Jerry sent you to me for your punishment thirty minutes ago. What do you have to say for yourself?”
Her pupils dilated again as she caught her breath, and then she cast her eyes down to the floor. “I’m sorry, sir. I was with my friends and just lost track of time.”
Marc took the ruler from her and laid it on the table. He had raided Jerry’s private toy stash while Bianca was dressing and picked up one of the leopard-print cuffs lying beside the ruler. He handed it to Orlando, then picked up Bianca’s hand and extended it to the kid, whose hands shook as he wrapped the cuff around her wrist and tightened it.
“Is that too tight?” Orlando asked.
“No, Sir.”
The kid’s pants tented at the title. Marc grinned, then he turned her around and pulled her cuffed hand behind her back while he secured the right wrist and clipped the two together. She kept her head bowed, causing his cock to throb even more. He couldn’t wait to turn her over his knee. He picked up a borrowed necktie and blindfolded her.
Grabbing the ruler almost as an afterthought, he motioned for Orlando to take one arm and Marc took the other as they led her to a darkened corner, keeping her from running into any obstacles along the way. He pointed to the far end and Orlando sat down, then Marc lowered Bianca over the armrest at that end until her head rested in Orlando’s lap. He wouldn’t be able to smack her as hard with his left hand, but the ruler would sting enough.
Marc lifted her short skirt. Oh, yeah. No panties. Her round globes were white and begging for some color. “Tell me why you’ve been sent to the principal’s office, Bianca.”
“Because I was talking in class, Sir.”
Marc reached out and rubbed her ass cheeks vigorously to get the blood to the surface. Then he indicated for Orlando to do the same. The kid’s hand reached behind her to gently stroke her ass. Well, it was a start. At least he was touching her. He motioned Orlando’s hand away with the ruler.
Smack!
She gasped in the most sensual way. His cock strained against his khakis. Her left cheek soon displayed the mark of the ruler, holes and all. “Tell me what your mouth should be used for instead.”
“Fucking, Sir.”
“Good answer.” She visibly relaxed.
Smack! The right cheek soon bore a matching welt.
Marc nodded to Orlando indicating her head. The kid moved his hand up past her cuffed hands and traced a path up her arm to her hair.
“Tell me how you want to please us with your mouth, pet.”
“By sucking your cocks, Sirs.”
Smack!
Smack!
Smack!
“Oh!” The pain and frustration were evident in her scream. The last blow landed across her upper thighs, causing her to squirm. Enough of the damned ruler. He needed to feel his hand against her ass, between her legs.
“Stand!” With his and Orlando’s help, she was lifted onto her feet again. The disappointment written on her face told him she thought her discipline had ended.
Not even close, pet.
Marc led her to stand in front of the dividing center cushion, facing her toward the social area where they’d negotiated the scene. He sat down, then reached up and took Bianca by the arm, pulling her off balance.
“Oh!”
“We have you,” Marc assured her. Yes, she definitely hadn’t expected more. Good. He liked to surprise subbies.
He wrapped his arm around her waist while motioning for Orlando to do the same in front of her thighs. Together they lowered her over both their laps, careful not to overstrain her arms. Bianca was positioned so that her abdomen was over Marc’s thighs and her ass lifted in the air, giving Orlando a perfect view. Her calves were across the kid’s lap and he reached out to stroke her legs with his right hand.
“How are you doing, pet?”
“Fine, Sir.” Her voice had gone up an octave to a high squeak.
“What’s your safe word?”
“Red, Sir.”
“Use it if you need to.” Not knowing how much pain she could take, it never hurt to remind her, before the spanking continued in earnest. Hoping to give Orlando and himself better access to her pussy—he reached down and put pressure against her right knee until she spread her legs for him with some hesitation.
Slap!
He brought his right hand down hard against her pink lower right cheek.
Slap!
Then the left.
Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!
Continuing to alternate cheeks, he delivered the blows in quick succession until he heard her gasp. “Ow! Oh, please, Sir.”
Marc stopped and rubbed the reddened cheeks, watching her flesh jiggle beneath his hand. His cock pressed against her abdomen. “Please what, pet?”
“Please…more, Sir.”
“Are you topping me?” He’d had enough of that shit in Aspen.
She stiffened. “No, Sir! I…forgot my place. Please, Sir, do whatever you wish to do to your pet.”
“Good girl.” He moved her right leg until it slid off their laps and her foot went
to the floor, opening her pussy to them nicely. Orlando’s hand was making its way closer to the juncture between her thighs. Marc’s next blows went directly to that vulnerable area.
Slap!
Slap!
“Oh, God! I mean, thank you, Sir!”
He slid his finger between her folds. Wet. They had agreed that fingers wouldn’t break the club’s no-penetration limit so he moved down to slide two fingers inside her. Then he pulled out and his wet fingers pressed against the sides of her clit. She moaned. When he touched the swollen nubbin standing erect from its hood, she bucked against his hand.
“Remain still!”
She groaned and he moved his left hand to her lower back to keep her still. Then he delivered his hardest blow yet, against her pussy.
Slap!
“Ow! I…um…thank you, Sir.”
Marc decided he shouldn’t be having all the fun. He moved his hand away and encouraged “Master Pleasure,” sitting like a lump on a log next to him, to take the reins and give Bianca her first orgasm of the evening. The young man surprised him by extricating himself from under her thighs and kneeling on the floor in front of the loveseat. Marc shifted her body to give Orlando better access.
His buddy lowered his face to her pussy and wrapped his arms around her thighs. Marc waited for him to make contact with her sensitive core; then at the same moment, pinched her swollen nipple.
“Oh, my fucking God!”
Marc pinched her harder.
“Sir! I mean, oh God, Sirs!! Please don’t stop!”
He pinched her again. She was forgetting her place. Slap! Her topping annoyed him. “You will ask for permission to come.”
“Yes, Sir! I’m sorry, Sir!” Orlando’s tongue must be torturing the poor woman. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” Mark grimaced. Her fevered gasps and writhing body sent his cock into conniptions. Shit, he wished he could bury himself to the hilt inside her pussy to get some relief.
“Oh, please, Sir, may I come?”
Marc heard Orlando sucking at her clit, then he pulled away, releasing the swollen nubbin. The kid nodded before taking the tiny erection in his mouth again.
“Yes, you may, pet.”
Orlando’s head returned to her pussy, shaking back and forth in tiny movements as he tormented her clit.
“Ohhh! Ohhhhhhhh, fuck! Yes! Please…” She moaned, bucking her red ass into the air. Marc’s hand landed on her sweet globes. Slap! Slap! “Please, yes, there! Oh, God! Oh, God, Yessss! Yessssssss!” Her screams filled the room and Marc had no doubt she’d turned heads throughout the club. Slap! Slap! Slap! “Ahhhhhhh! Yessssssssss!”
Her body convulsed on his lap as she went over the top. Orlando’s head movements slowed, but he must have continued to lick her clit, because she bucked a few more times against his face, milking every last drop out of her orgasm.
Shit, she would have made an interesting subbie to train. Getting rid of her tendency to top would have been a challenge he’d welcome. But he didn’t know when he’d be stateside again. Not fair to make her wait. Someday he’d find the woman who would complete his Dom side.
But, for now, he and Orlando had needs to be taken care of by one smart-mouthed subbie. Orlando leaned back with a pussy-eating grin on his face and a whole lot of her juices glistening against his lips, chin, and nose. Marc nodded and watched Orlando’s chest swell.
Well done, man.
Section Four
The Unbreakable Bond Forms
November 2004, Fallujah, Iraq
Damián hunkered down, awaiting orders. Sergeant Miller signaled for Grant and Wilson to cover the south-facing wall, while he and Sarge took the east. The insurgent weapons fire seemed to be coming from the east, which made sense based on their recon, but he was beginning to think there was more than one enemy stronghold holding this rooftop in its sites.
Despite being in country four months, this was his first real battle since arriving in Fallujah. Sure, there had been some roadside bombings. Those happened almost every day—and still scared the shit out of him. Never could predict or prepare for them. But his battle training really kicked in today. Now, if only they could get out of here with the unit intact.
Damián preferred the earlier days of this battle for this city, when they’d let him use his sniper skills against the insurgents. But the shaky truce limited him to firing only in defensive situations. He knew the insurgents had placed a bounty on Marine snipers. And for good reason.
Their latest intel indicated there was a prime target in a building a thousand yards away and they’d continue to wait until they had a chance at taking their shot. They’d taken turns watching for hours today. Nothing.
Unlike most Marines, Orlando saw the faces of his targets clearly. His high-powered scope homed in on their faces, their eyes, their weapons. And when he hit center mass, even saw the expressions on their faces as they fell dead. One shot, one kill.
But sometimes he replaced their images with those of the Jerk-off who pimped Savannah’s body out. Or the two sadists who tortured her. Even her sugar daddy.
Damián sighed.
“He’s gone to ground,” Sarge announced after getting the latest radio transmission. He ordered everyone on the rooftop to take advantage of the lull and grab a Meal, Ready-to-Eat from their gear. At first, he had appreciated being able to eat a hot meal on the run, but if he saw another beef stew MRE as long as he lived, he’d barf. They ate in silence, each of them probably wondering if they’d manage to complete this mission.
Damián’s mind wandered back to what had gotten him to this rooftop in Iraq. After being fired from the hotel, he’d tried for weeks to find another job. Nothing. He’d sold his Harley, but not for nearly as much as it was worth. After a few months, when he could no longer make rent, he’d been evicted from his apartment. The only option he could see was to join the Marines.
It hadn’t been a bad gig. He liked being a Marine. He’d been afraid it would be like being in juvie hell again—but the discipline and structure here were different. He wasn’t just out to survive on his own. He had his buddies to look after, too. He knew they were looking out for him, too. A band of brothers. Well, Grant wouldn’t take kindly to being called a brother, but she was as tough as the rest of them.
He’d also met some good friends he expected to keep for life. Sergeant Miller, the blunt African-American from East St. Louis, had fought alongside him on recon and sniper missions since Damián had been in Fallujah.
Lance Corporal Grant, sitting against the other wall, had become a great friend, too. She was easy to talk to. Hard-edged, but honest. He didn’t usually have female friends, but she was a Marine first—just one of the guys—and a damned good listener. He’d even told her about Savannah. Damián admired Grant’s kick-ass strength. Maybe, being a woman, she had to come across even tougher just to show her worth among the guys.
Grant sure made it clear from the start she wasn’t here to be a Marine Mattress—having sex with any and all Marines interested. He liked that about her, not that he hadn’t noticed her physical attributes. Blonde, five-nine, muscular build. She just wasn’t interested in anything more than friendship with the men in the unit. Said she preferred to top anyway and that she couldn’t picture any of them tied to her bed. Hell and hell no! So, the two of them were just going to remain buddies.
Then there was Doc. Damián smiled. The Navy corpsman he’d roomed with back at Pendleton sure did keep things interesting. At first, the guy had pissed him off royally. Arrogant. Privileged. Driving a freaking Porsche. What the hell was he doing in the Marines? But over the months since that night at the sex club, the man had grown on him. His unit couldn’t ask for a better corpsman. He’d patched up just about everyone at some point or other. Luckily, only for minor injuries. He hoped that remained true today.
Damián still remembered Doc dragging his ass to that fetish club, where he’d learned BDSM wasn’t all about violence and inflicting pain. That was just plain wrong. It was about a conse
nsual exchange of power. Having control over another—and yourself. Making sure her needs were met before thinking about your own. He could understand that. Definitely something he might be interested in trying when he got stateside again.
Damián wondered when he’d ever get the chance to be with another woman. He’d sure enjoyed himself with that redhead. He smiled.
“What’s so funny?” Sarge asked.
“Just thinking about what a fucking great life I have in the Corps.”
Sarge grunted. “Yeah, right. I’ll bet you were thinking about some sweet pussy waiting for you back in California.”
Damián’s smile faded.
Ah, Savannah.
He’d replayed the scene at Thousand Steps Beach over and over in his head. He and Savannah had connected so perfectly that day. He’d never been with a woman who turned him on as much or responded to him as well as she had. He thought it had been good for her, too. So, why had she ignored his attempts to contact her? He was in the phone book. She could have called him. She knew his name. He regretted not exchanging phone numbers, but the best he’d been able to do was leave printed messages in the mailbox at her gate. No response.
Well, he’d also staked out the hotel in La Jolla for a few weeks. She hadn’t returned, at least not while he’d waited for her there. What had become of her? Had she continued to let men abuse her for money? He gave his head a mental shake. He didn’t like to think she’d returned to that life.
No, he preferred to picture her going to college, getting her degree. Maybe she’d go on to become the social worker she’d wanted to be. Help kids who needed her. That’s what he hoped…
The rocket-propelled grenade came over the wall and rolled to land mere feet from Sarge’s hip. Damián froze. No one fucking moved. He looked over at Sarge, who just kept eating. He didn’t fucking see it. Grant and Wilson kept talking, oblivious, too. After what seemed like an eternity, Damián shoved Sarge to move, shouting, “Take cover!” Sarge bolted up and grabbed Damián’s arm, propelling him in front of him. Damián’s body felt like it was moving through thick mud. Everything happened in slow motion. He couldn’t move fast enough.
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