Tony finally stopped the stinging tip-flogging and shifted to the full, thuddy strokes Marissa loved. He was hitting her hard, as hard as she’d ever been flogged, but Cam’s hand on her cunt and her throat, and his steady, loving gaze into her eyes made the flogging not only bearable, but perfect. It was what she needed. It was what she was born for.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” she began to chant, only aware she was speaking when she heard the word bursting from her lips again and again. “Yes, yes, yes, yes…”
The pleasure became nearly unbearable, and the hard leather turned her skin to fire, while Cam’s perfect touch reduced her to shuddering jelly. Her head fell back, her chant fading into steady, slow breathing. She sagged hard against her wrist cuffs, a low moan emerging from somewhere deep inside her. The first wave of a powerful orgasm crashed over her, leaving her momentarily stunned. Several more waves followed, one after the other rolling through her as the flogging continued, consuming her in its fire.
“That’s it,” Cam said from somewhere far away. “You’re nearly there. Go. Now.”
His word was her command, and Marissa let go of the last vestiges of her control. She tumbled into a deep, welcoming silence, as her spirit left her body and soared in a pure, perfect place that surely must be heaven…
When awareness returned to her, Marissa was cradled in Cam’s arms on the floor. “You did good, baby,” he crooned in her ear. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”
Marissa leaned back in Cam’s comforting embrace as she basked in his praise.
From somewhere to her left, she heard Dana say, “Hey, Tony, remember that movie When Harry Met Sally? I want what she’s having!”
Chapter 10
Marissa filled her cup and added enough cream and sugar to mask the bitterness of coffee left too long on the warmer. The staff lounge was empty, and she moved toward the window to watch the traffic below as she sipped the tepid brew.
She heard the sound of someone entering the room behind her and for one delighted second she thought it might be Cam, coming in early before his evening shift to surprise her. But when she turned, it was the handsome, smug face of Phil Mitchell that greeted her. “Well, well,” he said, opening his arms as if he expected her to come running into them. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Hello,” Marissa said brusquely. She moved toward the sink and dumped what remained of the coffee, quickly washing her cup and placing it in the rack. She would have thought after the dreadful confrontation they’d had at the happy hour and her later undisguised annoyance at his intrusion into her office that the guy would want to steer clear of her, but it almost seemed as if he sought her out.
Until now she’d managed to avoid speaking to him since she’d come upon him snooping around in her office, but she’d seen him a number of times skulking around on the unit, when, as far as she knew, the software installation was complete on her floor. Several times she caught him staring at her in a way that made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck rise, but this was the first time she’d found herself alone in his presence.
Turning from the sink, Marissa started to move past Phil. He was standing between her and the door, hands in his pocket, a strange, unpleasant expression on his face. He shifted as she did, almost as if he were trying to block her from leaving. “Hey, Doc,” he said, his smile edging into a leer, “where you off to in such a hurry? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to avoid me.”
Marissa frowned and looked at her watch. Could the guy really be that clueless? Or had he been so drunk at happy hour that he didn’t remember how horribly he’d behaved? She had half a mind to tell him exactly what she thought of him, but she quickly thought better of it. With that kind of guy, it was better just to cut and run.
“Excuse me. I have an appointment.” She pushed past him. She would be glad when the software installation and training were complete and she never had to set eyes on the asshole again.
That evening Marissa arrived home exhausted as always, but looking forward to Cam’s arrival around midnight. Though they didn’t get to spend much time together at the hospital, save for their professional interaction, Marissa hated the days when Cam had the evening shift, and didn’t come on duty until her day was nearly over. Cam had been hinting it might be a good idea to move in together, and so far Marissa hadn’t said yes or no, but she had to admit, she was definitely leaning toward a yes. The thought was at once exciting and a little scary. It would take things to a new level.
In their D/s relationship, each time Marissa had wanted something Cam offered, and at the same time been afraid, he had taken her by the hand and led her with such dominant confidence, respect and love to a new, better place. She knew in her bones she could trust Cam with her life. What more did she need to know?
She would tell him tonight. When he arrived, she would wrap herself around him and whisper in his ear that she was ready for the next step. Invigorated by the prospect, Marissa groomed herself carefully in the shower and put on the pretty new satin camisole and tap pant set she had recently bought, thinking with a grin how nice it would be when Cam removed it.
It was around nine when her doorbell rang, startling Marissa from the novel she was reading. Why was Cam so early? Did something happen at the hospital? And why wasn’t he using his key?
The doorbell rang again, followed by a brisk knock. Marissa realized it probably wasn’t Cam at all. It was probably Mrs. Baxter from down the hall wanting to borrow a cup of sugar or something.
Marissa slipped off the bed and reached for her robe, pulling it around her. She tied the sash as she headed into the living room. She put her eye to the peephole. Whoever was standing there was obscured by a huge bouquet of roses wrapped in green tissue paper.
Marissa smiled. Cam must have traded shifts, or gotten off early for some reason. How like her darling man to surprise her with flowers. He was such a romantic. Heart skipping with happiness, Marissa turned the deadbolt and reached for the doorknob. She pulled the door open and stepped back, her entire body alive with anticipation.
It wasn’t Cam.
The man standing there was dressed in black T-shirt, black jeans and heavy black combat boots. Marissa’s mind was clicking and stuttering in its effort to place the familiar but unwelcome face of the too-handsome blond. Meanwhile, her body was sending signals of its own. Her mouth had gone suddenly dry, and ice water had replaced the blood in her veins.
“Phil,” she finally managed. She clutched her robe at the throat. “What are you doing here? How did you get in the building?”
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” he said, gesturing toward her with the flowers. “I got these just for you.” His mouth twisted into an unpleasant smile.
Marissa’s brain finally kicked into gear. There seemed to be no end to this asshole’s unmitigated gall. “Look, Phil,” she snapped, letting the anger show in her voice. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing. After the horrible way you behaved, I can’t believe you have the nerve to just show up at my door like this. I didn’t invite you here. I don’t want your flowers. Please go away.” Heart hammering, she was pleased at least her voice had come out firm and commanding.
As she spoke, she moved to close the door, but Phil shoved forward with his shoulder so hard that Marissa stumbled back as the door flew open. Phil came into the room. His eyes still on Marissa, he reached behind himself to shut the door, his fingers finding and turning the deadbolt.
His eyes were glittering, reminding Marissa of the crack addicts she’d treated during residency. “What’s the matter?” Phil demanded. “Don’t you like roses? Oh wait, I get it.” He narrowed his eyes, his face twisting into a leer. “You prefer the thorns, am I right, you sick bitch?” He grabbed a rose from the bunch, dropping the rest of the bouquet to the floor. Marissa watched, horrified, as he ripped the flower from its stem and dropped the petals to the floor. He brandished the stem like a weapon as he advanced slowly toward her.
Marissa b
acked away, her heart beating so loudly she could barely hear Phil’s bizarre words over the pounding in her ears. The phone. Call 9-1-1. Her phone was on the bedside table. She just had to get to the bedroom, lock the door, make the call.
She turned sharply from the intruder. She felt the tug on her robe and jerked away, allowing it to be pulled from her body as she made the dash toward the bedroom. She had nearly made it to the door when she felt him on her. His fingers dug into her shoulders as he spun her around. “Where do you think you’re going, huh? You belong to me now. That faggot nurse isn’t going to save you.”
He mashed her face against his chest. Gripping a handful of her hair, he jerked her head back and pressed his lips against hers. He reeked of alcohol as he thrust his slobbery tongue into her mouth. Marissa tried to wriggle out of his hold, but he was too strong, one arm like steel around her waist, his fingers tugging so hard it felt like he might yank her hair out by the roots.
Finally he let her go, but only long enough to grab her shoulders and force her to turn around. Moving behind her, he propelled her into the bedroom. He kicked the bedroom door shut and threw her onto the bed.
Terrified but determined, Marissa scrabbled for her phone. Clutching it in a shaking hand, she pushed the button to activate the voice command. “Call nine-one—“ she began, but before she could complete the words, Phil leaned over the bed and whacked her wrist with a karate chop that made her whole arm go numb. The phone fell from her grasp. Phil grabbed it and threw it across the room. It hit the wall with a thud and landed on the carpet.
“What are you doing,” she gasped, tears of pain and fear nearly blinding her as she grasped her throbbing wrist.
“Exactly what you want, you twisted little cunt.” He laughed cruelly as he loomed over her. “And to think, I actually bought that outraged prim and proper bullshit you spouted at that happy hour. Oh Phil,” he said, his voice rising suddenly in a falsetto that was supposed to approximate a woman’s voice, “I’m not that kind of girl.”
Marissa glanced toward the phone, now out of reach on the ground, desperately trying to think how to convince this nut job to get the fuck out of her apartment. He was obviously drunk, maybe high as well, on god knew what. Was he going to rape her? To kill her?
Don’t let him see your fear.
Scrunched as far from him as she could get, still holding her wrist, Marissa strived to make her voice calm but firm. “Phil. Listen to me. I have no idea what you think you’re doing, but it’s obvious you’ve made a mistake. You seem to be confusing me with someone else. I didn’t invite you here. You need to turn around now and go.”
Phil shook his head and snorted. He pulled the messenger bag from his shoulder and tossed it onto the bed. “I didn’t make a mistake. You did, babe. Your first mistake was leading me on at the bar, batting your eyelashes and shoving your tits in my face like a regular little cock tease.”
“I didn’t—” Marissa began, but Phil sat abruptly on the mattress and leaned toward her, grabbing both her wrists, his face close to hers.
“Don’t talk back,” he snarled. “Slave girls don’t talk back to their Masters.”
Marissa realized her mouth had fallen open in her shock. Phil lifted an eyebrow and smiled an ugly smile. “That’s right, I know all about your dirty little games, you filthy slut. I know all about the sick shit you and that pervy male nurse get up to, so you can cut the outraged innocence bullshit.”
Marissa tried to swallow, but her tongue and throat muscles seemed to be paralyzed. Phil was gripping her wrists so tightly she was afraid he might actually break the bones. “Please,” she finally managed to croak. “Let go of me. You’re hurting me.”
To her relief, he let her go, though he made no move to rise from the bed. Reaching for the messenger bag, he dumped out its contents. With a horrified glance, Marissa saw a ball gag, a set of metal handcuffs, several braided hanks of thin white rope, and a riding crop. What was this deluded monster planning?
Still hoping to somehow get away, Marissa slid toward the edge of the bed and tossed her legs quickly over the side. She would grab the phone and dash into the bathroom. She would lock the door and—
Drunk or not, Phil was faster than she was. His arm shot out and he easily pulled her back down onto the bed. As they struggled, Marissa frantically tried to knee him in the groin. “My boyfriend will be here any minute!” she shouted. “You better get the hell out right this second or—“
“Shut up, twat,” he grunted, slamming her against the bed. “I have access to your hospital’s entire data management system. You think I don’t know your boyfriend’s work schedule? I’ve got a couple of hours before he shows up. That is, if he shows up at all. Are you sure he isn’t headed for that S&M game room you two like to hang out at?”
He reached almost lazily for the handcuffs with one hand, grabbing both her wrists in the other. How was this even happening? How did this maniac know the things he seemed to know? Marissa felt suddenly sick. Bitter bile rushed into her mouth and she had to swallow hard to keep from vomiting.
As she watched in horror, Phil placed one of the metal cuffs around her wrist and clicked it closed. She tried to jerk her other arm away, but she was no match for the strong man. He clicked the second cuff into place and grinned at her. “Panties wet yet, slut?”
Marissa was shaking like a leaf. “Why are you doing this? Please let me go.” The enormity of what was happening finally hit her like a punch to the gut. Her voice rose to a squeak. “Please don’t kill me!”
“Kill you?” Phil barked a laugh. “Why would I kill you? Don’t you get it? I’m doing this for you. I’m playing to your kink, bitch. Don’t pretend you don’t love what’s happening. This is what you fucking live for. Save the bleating little protests for someone who buys your lily-white holier than thou bullshit. We both know the real deal, Doc. We know what a cunt you truly are.”
“Let me go! Let me go!” she shouted.
“Shut up!” Phil snapped. He reached for the ball gag and dangled it in front of her. “See this? If you make any more fucking noise, I’m going to shove this in your mouth, got it?” He smiled and shrugged, adding in a frighteningly reasonable tone of voice, “After all, we don’t want to disturb the neighbors.”
Marissa stared at the ball gag and pressed her lips closed. She had to reach this guy somehow, even if he was high as a kite. She knew who he was—how did he possibly think he was going to get away with this?
Unless… No! He’d said he wasn’t going to kill her. She had to cling to that hope. Soon Cam would be here, and this nightmare would end…
Phil stood and reached for her arms, hauling her roughly to her feet. Holding her tightly, he glanced around the room, his eyes settling on the hook on the back of her closet door. He moved in that direction, dragging Marissa stumbling along with him. He reached for the nightgown hanging on the hook and tossed it to the ground. Grabbing Marissa’s arms, he yanked her shackled wrists over her head as he pushed her back against the door. He forcibly guided her wrists back until the chain between the cuffs looped over the hook, effectively tethering her to the door.
“Don’t move,” he said sternly. “If you try to take down your wrists, I’ll make you very, very sorry, you understand me?” As he spoke, he curled one hand around her throat. His grip was nothing like Cam’s sensual touch, and instead of responding with a melting sigh of submission, Marissa gave a yelp of fear and squeezed her eyes closed, her mind a white, hot blank of terror.
I’m going to die. I’m going to die…
All at once the pressure eased and Marissa opened her eyes, weak with relief. Phil was staring down at her legs, disgust twisting his handsome features. “You filthy little pig,” he sneered. “You pissed yourself!” His lips lifted into an ugly smile. “Oh my god,” he said in a voice dripping with disdain, “don’t tell me you’re into golden showers too. Do your perversions have no end?”
Marissa glanced down at the wet satin of her new tap pants.
She could feel the urine rolling down her legs, and tears of mortification and rage pricked against her eyelids. “You fucking bastard,” she hissed, anger for a moment obscuring her terror. “Can’t you see you’re scaring me to death? Let me down, now!”
Phil shook his head. “Who’s going to make me, hmm?” His hand shot out and, flinching, Marissa instinctively jerked her head to the side. As a result, his open palm cuffed her hard on the ear, which rang from the force of the blow. She sagged against the hook that held her aloft. She kept her eyes closed, silently willing Cam to come and save her, though Phil was right—Cam wasn’t due for at least two hours.
Phil crouched in front of her and yanked down her tap pants. Marissa didn’t even try to stop him, not that she could have. He used the soiled pants to roughly wipe the urine from her legs and then tossed them aside.
“Nice,” he said, drawing out the word. “I like a bald cunt. No nasty pubes to get in the way. Spread your legs so I can see what you got.”
Marissa didn’t move. He slapped her thigh hard. “I said spread your fucking legs, bitch.” Miserably, Marissa obeyed. The position caused the handcuffs to tighten and she winced with pain as they pinched her skin.
“Holy shit, what is that?” Roughly he fingered the tiny, precious golden ring Cam had placed there. Marissa tried to slam her legs closed but he held them apart, digging his fingers into her thighs. “You really are one twisted bitch, you know that?” He tugged again at the ring.
“Stop it! You’re hurting me! Don’t touch me!” Marissa cried, tears of fury and embarrassment stinging her eyes.
BDSM Club Series Box Set Page 38