Holding the Cards

by Joey Hill

  It was a fine line. When emotions got involved, judgment could become clouded, especially when emotions were tied up in shadows of the past. She intended to dispel those shadows, for the both of them.

  "Then why don't you cross that line, Josh?" she murmured, pressing up to him, sliding her arms around him. "I'm a little bitty thing, Josh," she crooned. "A man strong like you could overwhelm me in a minute, take your pleasure."

  She drew the word out, sliding it over her tongue like something edible. She nuzzled his neck, put the towel back into his hand. His eyes on hers, he brought the terry cloth to his nose, and weakened her knees. He inhaled her scent, closing his eyes.

  She was expecting anything. He might snap, lunge and be on her like a wild animal, take her over and leave her no choices to make.

  Instead, he opened his eyes, the gray irises brilliant in their intensity. "I'd like to put my nose in the real thing. Mistress."

  She ran her knuckles down the side of his face and he nuzzled them. He sucked one finger into the hot cavern of his mouth and swirled his tongue around it, reminding her vividly of his dexterity in applying the skill elsewhere. Lauren met the sudden mischievous glint in his gaze with a stern one in her own.

  "You may kneel, then, and put your nose as close as you wish," she nodded. "As long as you do not touch me in any way."

  He gave her a charming smile she immediately distrusted. He knelt, one knee, two knees as she hooked one leg over the pommel and spread her thighs for him.

  Marcus was still watching them from his chair, his attention rapt, a palpable presence that heightened the sexual tension in the room.

  Lauren looked down at the bare brown shoulders, the streaked mane of hair that lay over them. He had a small scar on the left shoulder, maybe from carpentry work. He leaned forward as she studied that scar, and his nostrils flared, taking in her scent. He made a soft, pleasurable sound, and she felt her response leak from her. The bikini did not have a lined crotch, and the bead of fluid slowly rolled down her inner thigh as he watched. He had done no more than breathe on her, heating her like a bellows to a furnace.

  "I'd be happy to clean that up for you, Mistress," he said, his gaze latched on its course over her skin.

  She swallowed, and her hands trembled at his soft tone, the need in his face. "Just the leg."

  She drew in an unsteady breath as his lips caught the bead just above the back of her knee. His hand balanced him on her thigh, his light touch eliciting a scream from her body for more, a scream that got more insistent as his firm lips traveled upward, following the bead's path. He took his time, sucking her dew off her heated flesh with the leisure thoroughness of a lion cleaning his mate's pelt.

  When he reached the upper part of her thigh, his tongue carefully licking just below her crotch, the curve of his skull brushed across her mound with every stroke. Lauren's body quivered despite her attempt at control. A soft whimper came from her lips.

  His fingers tightened on her knee, even as his raised gaze communicated understanding. He comprehended, as she did, the desperate need that lay beneath the surface of this game. That was the niggling worry that kept her stepping so carefully. They had no way of knowing if they were lost souls drawn together by desolation or destiny. She was terrified of the answer, but the only way to find out was to let go of fear and take the risk.

  He shifted his angle. Just a graze of teeth and lips over her quivering clit, his hands sliding up both her thighs. He was showing her what pleasure could be had, the little boy only being a little bit bad…

  She bit down on a groan and slid her hand down over his hair as his tongue gave her a stronger, more insistent lick through the fabric, the friction rubbing her aroused pussy. Her fingers dug in, held him still. He gazed up at her, playfulness warring with dangerous mutiny in his stormy eyes.

  If she had only seen desire there, she might have given in at this moment. But she saw the fear. He was scared shitless, just like she was, and he thought he could use her body's needs to shove her away from the shadows that lurked within him.

  At heart, people were animals, burrowing in holes with their hurts, never realizing they would die in those holes if they did not summon the courage to drag themselves out and let themselves be healed. A rueful smile curled her lip. Physician, heal thyself.

  "Back off," she murmured, shifting the smile into an amused disinterest as he obeyed with a reluctance that was echoed in every raging cell of her body.

  Lauren eased off the horse. Her knees were trembling. Josh reached up from his kneeling position, steadied her. His hand slid down her waist, over her hip, to her thigh, lingering. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss there. His expression was reverent, passionate, eager, fierce, and she had to stifle a groan of need. Did a Dom just know instinctively when the time was right? She hoped so; otherwise she was going to kill them both.

  "Stay there, on your knees," she ordered, and she put some space between them, gathering her composure. She was too good a Mistress to give away her state of mind, however, so her walk around the room to get a breather was a calculated saunter. She lingered by each sexual device, examined them, ran her hands over soft cuffs, the cold metal of steel bars, the polished wood of a bench. Marcus was watching her, too, his face impassive, but she needed no clues from him at the moment and did not look in his direction.

  It was a few moments before her body settled enough that she really began to see what was before her, and then she began watching Josh out of the corner of her eye. His gaze was following her, but she noted the tension in those fine shoulders grew more pronounced whenever she lingered at any type of restraint system, anything that would leave the sub helpless to defense against the Dom. A smile curved her lips. Of course. She stopped.

  "I want you here," she said.

  It was the dominant piece in the room, a device like a St. Andrew's cross, only modified into an H design. The shape allowed the captor full front and back access to the captive, with the exception of a couple wide cross pieces that could be adjusted up or down, wherever the captor chose to position them. She turned to face the kneeling man, and her heart broke a little as she saw the uncertainty, the desperation and fear, in his eyes.

  "Will you trust me, Josh?" she said softly. "Trust me to know when to be kind, and when to be not so kind?"

  Would he let her hold the cards until the game was over?

  She was upping the stakes, and they all knew it. She had crossed the line that was safe for both of their hearts. She was going to challenge him, push him, see how far he would submit to her. She couldn't look to Marcus for approval or disapproval this time. It was between the two of them.

  "I trust you," he said at last, his eyes on the ground, as if he was not brave enough to agree while looking at her. His voice was hoarse. "I don't know why. I hardly know you. But I do. Completely."

  Then, as if he had given himself a mental slap for cowardice, he jerked his head up, and looked at her.

  "I will serve my Mistress's pleasure," he said.

  Lauren swallowed a fist size lump of jagged glass, almost crying out at the pain, but an amazing thing happened to it once it cleared her throat. It lodged in her heart, where it was warmed by the simple sincerity in his eyes, the devotion in his voice, and every line of his body. The jagged edges melted, and she felt a complete, tender fulfillment. Someone who trusted her, believed in her, willingly gave himself to her to be cherished and who would cherish her in return. It was the Whole she had wanted to give to Jonathan, but the foundation for it had never been there. The rest of it was always hard work, but the underlying current to give it a chance had to be there. Josh and she had had it instantly. Now they just had to wade through the baggage to keep from fucking it up.

  "Then you should cast your eyes down," she reproved, and came forward. She kissed him on the top of his bowed head, nuzzling his hair. His fingers clutched her calves for a moment, hard.

  She clucked at him, correcting him, and he removed his hands, bracing
them into tense fists on the floor on either side of her feet. "You need to remember manners," she reminded him, and turned, though her heart had tilted at the sheer desperation of his grasp.

  "And what is the lady's wish, now that she has her slave's compliance?" Marcus arched a brow at her, rising from his chair.

  Lauren paused, and glanced back at Josh, taking him in from head to toe. The bare back, the tight ass, the pink undersides of his bare feet.

  "Put him there," she nodded to the St. Andrew's Cross. "I want him spread and cuffed, face forward. Strip him of all his clothes, oil him down." Her gaze watched the muscles knot across his tanned shoulders, in response to her silky words.

  "I really, really like her," Marcus sighed happily.

  "Turn around on your knees, Josh. Raise your eyes, and look at me," she said.

  He did, and he did not look as pleased as Marcus sounded. Lauren turned, walked toward the dressing room. She undid her swimsuit, letting it fall to the floor, and then turned, a Betty Gable pose, just giving him a hint of profile.

  "Will you obey me, Josh?" she asked. "All you have to do…” she raised a hand, cupped her breast and stroked its curve idly. "Is say…no."

  His nostrils flared, as if he caught the scent of her from across the room. "I'll obey," he managed roughly. "But I'd rather throw you to the floor, spread your legs wide and fuck you until you lose consciousness."

  She nodded, keeping her expression unruffled, though need tightened like a fist in her gut at the dark intent in those gray eyes. "Maybe you'll get that chance…if you're good." She smiled. "Or maybe, if you're bad."

  She surprised a grin out of him. It eased the tension in his shoulders, and that reassured her. The stress would come back, she knew, as soon as Marcus started following her instructions. She sensed something dangerous down in this dungeon. The setting was almost too perfect; too open to pushing past hard limits, and she hardly knew his soft ones.

  She put her hand on the dressing room door, then stopped, turned back. "Marcus?"

  Josh had just shed the shorts, and he was naked, vulnerable and beautiful, his back to her. She wanted to go kiss the soft skin between his shoulder blades, run her hand over the small of his back, smack that taut buttock. All in good time. Down, girl.

  "Yes, dear lady?" From Marcus's amused expression, Lauren decided he was repeating the question.

  "I want him blindfolded. A full head mask, if they've got one. Ears, nose and mouth open."

  She closed the door again on his nod, ignoring the alarm in Josh's face.

  Chapter 16

  "Keep your eye on the ball, girl," she told herself, repeated it in her mind, tried not to let the pain and worry in those beautiful gray eyes unbalance her, deflect her from her intent.

  Marcus had told her the purpose of the two rooms, how one was marked for Mrs. Salerno and one for Mr. Salerno, but she had not gone into either costume room when she first came into the dungeon. Now her jaw dropped in shock and sheer admiration for the quantity of choices. There was everything from queen to jungle girl, gun moll to waitress. She wondered if the Salernos ever left it to chance, each going into their respective costume room to choose, emerging to the fun of coming up with scenarios that meshed unlikely pairings such as Queen with rock star, or waitress with overseer.

  She turned and surveyed with quiet delight a wall of toys, including a selection of whips, supple and gleaming with regular waxing. She wondered if that was one of Josh's jobs; he and Marcus had seemed to know where the room was well enough. The variety of mechanisms, from the carousel horse to the automated suspension system, would certainly require regular repair and maintenance to ensure the machinery ran smoothly.

  She picked out a handmade braided whip, with an extended handle to increase control and accuracy. Silver rings worked into the seven-foot length gave it a liquid movement when she rolled it out. The balance was near to perfect for her, suggesting the whip had been custom made for Mrs. Salerno. A popper of a half dozen thin strips had been tied into the eyeloop at the end, and though the strips were soft to the touch, they were thin and resilient enough to deliver quite a sting. She ran her hands over the instrument and imagined Josh's long fingered hands waxing the plaited surface, rubbing, his brow creased in concentration, his soft hair falling over his forehead and along the curve of his neck, the smooth muscle in his biceps rolling with his movements.

  She was stroking the whip as if she was stroking him, and she stopped herself, surprised at the erratic tempo of her pulse, the pounding of her heart. How could he have affected her like this so quickly? But she knew. She knew when she saw his statue in the courtyard.

  She experimented with a few flicks, getting used to the feel. She had told Marcus and Josh that once D/s was in the blood, it was hard to shake. When she had been recovering from Jonathan's cruelty, sure that she needed to break her unhealthy addiction to the lifestyle, she had decided to invest in a nicotine patch, so to speak. She had taken bullwhip lessons from an expert who worked at one of the clubs. Her grandmother had always said that to get out of funk, try something different. Lauren was sure her grandmother never imagined the advice applying to her daughter's colorful sex life.

  Under John's tutelage, she had gotten quite skillful with the bullwhip. They practiced at his home; in a barn he had converted into a playroom, though it was not so elaborate as the Salerno's. One evening, a young man showed up, one of the subs who waited tables at the club. He was also a staff "Slave" that could be rented by the hour by Doms, if the staffperson felt comfortable with it. He made a good pretense of having just dropped by John's for a beer, but from the stillness in his eyes, and the shortness of her own breath when she looked at him, they had all known it was a lie. John talked her into taking a passing "test", practicing on a live subject. The boy had smiled at her as John spreadeagled and cuffed him.

  She had the boy sweating and painfully aroused after ten minutes, with tiny red marks striping his raised arms, straining buttocks, and quivering inner thighs. She had celebrated her graduation with a cold shower, a long session with the detachable multi-setting head, and a hard cry.

  The idea of Josh belonging to her, submitting to her so that she could bring him to peak after peak of pleasure, could hear him groan her name, beg for release and then come back for more…she trembled to think of it, and her palms were not the only part of her body with moist crevices at the thought. A man who would submit to her desires as willingly as Josh was a heady aphrodisiac.

  That was just part of it, though. The emotions she felt for him were not just interwoven with her physical desires. The physical desire was like a clutched fist of need, trying to grasp something that would last beyond the last vibration of the orgasm. She not only wanted to play with the lion; she wanted to take him home and keep him.

  Enough. She shook herself out of pointless reflection. There were other toys on the wall to examine, and she had to get dressed. There was a fine line between building his anticipation and making him wait so long he fell asleep.

  Chuckling at herself, she turned to the racks of clothes.

  * * * * *

  Her heels were sharp on the ceramic mosaic tile as she opened the door of the costume room. She leaned in the doorway a moment, flicking the whip idly around her feet, letting it make mysterious whispering noises against the flagstones. She felt the Goddess take possession of her soul, equally capable of cruelty or mercy.

  She found, however, that her less omnipotent self had to use the support of the door jam for a moment or two, as she reminded herself to breathe.

  It had taken her a half-hour at the makeup vanity to achieve the effect she wanted for herself, and Marcus had made good use of the time. She was hard put not to moan in sheer tortured delight at what lay before her, a piece of artwork better than anything the Salernos had paid five figures to own.

  Marcus had cuffed Josh on the St. Andrew's Cross, strapping three lines of restraints on each limb to severely inhibit movement. Straps bound Josh
at the ankle, calf and mid thigh for each leg, and the wrist, elbow and bicep for the arms. Another strap was around his throat, another at his forehead, holding his head immobilized against one of the adjustable cross pieces. Marcus had even added a strap at Josh's waist that threaded through another cross bar, moved to his lower back for support. The result was that he could move very little, if at all. He was totally, magnificently, at her mercy, his body gleaming with the light sheen of sandalwood oil Marcus had slicked onto every expanse of skin.

  The head mask was on, as she had ordered, covering all that beautiful hair and his eyes. His mouth was visible and open, nervous tongue darting out repeatedly to wet dry lips. His nostrils were flared, his body tense, straining with the remaining senses to detect her return.

  He was afraid, that was obvious, but overwhelmingly aroused. It was the ultimate state of vulnerability, when a Dom could bring pleasure and joy, or prey upon the sub's darkest emotions and fear.

  "Jesus Christ, you are fucking beautiful."

  It was a reflection of her own thoughts, but after Lauren blinked and focused on something other than Josh, she saw Marcus was talking about her. She had hardly noticed him once she saw Josh, but now she registered that he had had time to get into the spirit of things himself. He had paid a visit to the costume room and changed into the flowing white and gold robe of a pharaoh, open to show a tanned bare chest and loose silken white pants beneath, sheer enough to suggest the dark smudge of his privates and pubic hair. His feet were bare. If she didn't know his proclivities were not for her sex, and if her mind and heart were not so engaged to the man to his left, her mouth would water. As it was, he made an impact on her blood, which was already moving back from simmer into boil.

  He smiled, and it was slow, appreciative and feral, one alpha acknowledging the power of another. "You could make a man think about changing teams for a night or two, love."

  She laughed, a soft purr of sound, and strolled out, sauntered as if Josh could see her, let him imagine by her cadence the generous swing of her hips, the quiver of her breasts that resulted from the reverberation of her spiked heels with the stone. The ankle wrap she had tightened and left on beneath the supple covering of the boot was holding up well, as long as she kept her movements slow and deliberate.