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by Desiree Holt

  Graceful and debonair, Stephen settled himself into one of the armchairs facing the hearth. His eyes never left her. Maya stayed where she was, feeling stupid and uncertain. “Would you like something to eat?” she asked finally, gesturing at the elegant spread on the sideboard.

  “Maybe later,” he replied with a grin. He still made no move, gave her no instructions. Nervous sweat gathered under her arms and beneath her hair, where he’d licked her.

  “You didn’t bring any toys?” She grimaced at the disappointment she heard in her voice. She’d half expected him to show up with a bag heavy with whips, handcuffs and dildos.

  “I figured I could borrow anything I needed from you, Mistress Maya.” The emphasis on her honorific made her fume. “For example—would you happen to have a crop?”

  “Yes, of course… Sir.” She started for the door but his barked command halted her in her tracks.

  “Wait! Did I tell you to go get it?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “Tell me where you keep the tools of your trade. I’ll go pick out some likely implements.”

  She described how to find the locked chest in her office and, with reluctance, shared the combination. She could change the numbers tomorrow, but she hated the idea of a stranger rummaging among her things.

  Stephen rose from his chair. His fluid energy made Maya ache to touch him again. She couldn’t help it. It was a purely animal response.

  “In the meantime, I want you to strip.”

  Maya had known this was coming. Keeping a sub naked while the dominant remained clothed reinforced the submissive’s inferior position. Nakedness meant shame, weakness and vulnerability. It also allowed the dominant to better assess the sub’s physical and psychological state. Maya understood the power dynamics. Still, the act of pulling her single garment over her head to reveal her body was far more difficult than she’d expected.

  She stood naked before the fire, well aware that a practiced top like Stephen could read the message in her erect nipples and sticky thighs. The flames from the hearth toasted her back and buttocks. The rest of the room felt chill in contrast, tightening her tawny areolas to nubby circles and turning the wet streaks on her inner thighs to cold fingers of lust. She tried to summon a defiant glare but she couldn’t meet Stephen’s eyes.

  “Wait for me here.” His seductive voice was an auditory caress. “Don’t move.”

  Footsteps echoed on the polished wood of the stairs. Maya struggled to moderate her heartbeat and slow her breathing. Pull yourself together, she scolded herself. Remember who you are.

  He returned before she’d expected him. Although she kept her eyes on the Oriental carpet like a good submissive, she sensed his closeness as he circled behind her.

  “I’m going to blindfold you, Maya—to take away some of your shame and to heighten your sensitivity to non-visual stimuli. Do you agree?”

  Maya breathed her way through a spike of panic. “Whatever you wish, Master,” she finally managed, aware that she’d severely punish any sub who answered her with the sarcasm she’d heard in her own reply.

  Stephen just laughed. “Good girl.” A cool swathe of silk brushed her eyelids. She felt a small tug as he knotted the scarf in the back.

  The instant blackness descended, her other senses snapped into focus. The crackle of the fire and the metallic tick of the old clock. The mingled smells of wood smoke, Stephen’s cologne, and her own musk. The wiry strength in Stephen’s fingers as he grasped her arm.

  “Step out of your shoes.” The velvety nap of the rug felt heavenly beneath her bare feet. “Over here.”

  Warmth retreated as he led her away from the hearth. “Too bad you don’t have your own dungeon. Just have to improvise, I guess.”

  She stumbled. He stabilised her. She fought against the rush of desire his strength provoked.

  “Trust me, Maya. I won’t let you fall.”

  But she was falling as she let him guide her, falling back into the sweet depths of helpless lust she’d left behind when she’d rejected her old Master. As Stephen arranged her on her knees on the brocade chaise, the old feelings flooded back, threatening to drown her.

  Pressing between her shoulder blades, he signalled that she should lower her chest to the cushion. Polished fabric grazed her taut nipples. New moisture gathered in her already soaked pussy. “Spread your legs.” He cuffed her ankles to a spreader bar he placed between them, then stretched her arms back to fasten her wrists to the bar on either side as well.

  She worked to focus on his method. Not a single fumble. He must be familiar with her brand of cuff—those fastenings tended to be tricky… Then he stroked her raised buttocks with a warm palm and every rational thought fled.

  “Are you comfortable, pet?”

  Of course I’m comfortable, trussed up like a pig with my ass in the air. The impertinent reply died on her lips as he trailed his fingers down into her gaping cleft and her moan overrode any other possible reaction.

  “Just relax now. I’ll take care of everything.” Some part of his hand brushed her clit. She couldn’t stop herself from arching back, trying to prolong the contact.

  Stephen released an evil chuckle as he continued to tease her. “You’re extremely wet, Maya. You’d have a hard time convincing anyone that you don’t enjoy being bound.”

  Maya remained silent. The bonds terrified and thrilled her. She was in his power now. Until he saw fit to remove the cuffs, she could scarcely move.

  She rested on one cheek, her blinded eyes turned to the centre of the room. Stephen gathered the hair that had tumbled into her face and arranged it in a loose plait off to one side. His cool fingers played over her lips. She resisted the impulse to kiss them.

  “Are you ready?” The gravelly voice came from further away now, behind her. She cringed at the unmistakable whoosh of a crop slicing through the air.

  No, no, I’ll never be ready—I can’t do this again—it’s too much, too much… Maya summoned her Arctic image, to freeze and neutralise her panic.

  “Speak up. You must give your consent. Are you ready for your whipping?”

  I can do this. I’m stronger than he is. “Yes, Sir. I’m ready.” Her plaintive voice was barely audible.

  Stephen heard it, though, and didn’t wait any longer. The crop swooped down with a tell-tale whistle and landed with a snap on her right buttock.

  Sharp pain bloomed at the point of contact, then rippled outward. She sucked in her breath as the crop fell again, this time on her left cheek. The burn seemed double that of the first stroke—had he hit her harder? The crop slashed her right buttock a second time, more painful still. She stopped paying attention to his technique. The fierce cuts of the crop claimed her full attention.

  At first she could distinguish the sting of individual blows, but before long her whole ass was on fire. She bit her lip, trying not to cry out, as Stephen picked up his tempo. I just need to get through this. Then I can show him what a real beating feels like. The thought seemed trivial—silly. Despite her best intentions, each of Stephen’s strokes made her hungrier for more.

  Her juices streamed down her thighs. Her clit was a glowing coal, ready to explode into flames. Dimly she realised that Stephen was beating her far harder and longer than one normally would in a first scene with a new sub. That didn’t matter. She could take it—he knew she could. She would accept whatever he dished out.

  When he paused, a whimper escaped her throat—not of pain but of desire. The sound of clothing rustling replaced the whoosh of the crop. “You’re really making me work, Maya,” he commented. The intoxicating scent of masculine sweat mingled with the odour of her own arousal. “But I think it will be worth it. You haven’t had enough, have you?”

  “No—no, Sir.” How could she lie? Her body betrayed her.

  “Perhaps I need a more—um—persuasive implement.” His voice receded, then returned. She cringed as she recognised the swish of her rattan cane.

  “Ow!” Fire stitched a li
ne across her already battered flesh. “Ow—oh, oh, oh God…!” The cane sliced her open, or so it seemed. She wasn’t bleeding—she trusted Stephen not to break the skin—but that wasn’t what her senses told her. She imagined her ass, criss-crossed with the crimson evidence of Stephen’s mastery. The image brought her to the very edge of climax.

  Whoosh! Thwack! “You’re gorgeous, Maya.” Despite the ferocity of his assault, Stephen hardly seemed winded. Whoosh! “You should see your pussy. It’s so swollen and wet. I’ll bet you want to come, don’t you, pet?” Whoosh! Rays of agony erupted from each stripe he carved into her skin. “Go ahead, then. Come, Maya. Come for me.”

  She wanted nothing more than to obey. The cane clattered to the floor. She felt his clever fingers probing her, drawing the pleasure from her depths to the surface. “Come now,” he murmured, stroking, kneading, irresistible, unavoidable.

  Her climax gathered like thunderclouds before a storm, heavy with promise. His touch—oh, it was exquisite, perfection, exactly what she craved. He played her body with the knowledge of a long-time lover, coaxing out sensations so intense she could scarcely bear them. Writhing in her bonds, she clutched his fingers with her inner muscles, straining towards the release that beckoned on the horizon.

  She reached the edge. She teetered there, terrified, unable to let go.

  “You’re mine,” Stephen whispered in her ear as he plunged four fingers into her streaming cunt. “I order you to come.”

  The scream tore itself from Maya’s throat. “No! Oatmeal! Oatmeal! No!”

  At the first utterance of her safe word, Stephen pulled his hand from her sex. Maya burst into sobs at the loss. He knelt beside the chaise.

  “Maya, pet, what’s wrong?” The tear-drenched blindfold tangled in her hair as he tore it off. She blinked at the sudden brightness. Even with her blurred vision, his concern was obvious.

  “I’m so sorry… I couldn’t…” Maya buried her face in the cushions.

  “It’s okay, Maya.” He ran his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp. “That’s what safe words are for. When it’s too much. When you can’t bear it. What I don’t get is why you happily submit to the hardest caning I can manage, then safe word just when you’re about to come.”

  “It—it isn’t you. You’re great. You were right. I enjoyed giving myself to you, much as I hated the notion at first. But this is something from a long time ago…”

  “Tell me,” Stephen ordered, as he set about loosening her bonds. “I want to know.”

  “You were right. I used to be a sub—when I was in law school. My professor initiated me, showed me what it meant to surrender. I loved every minute of it, even the pain and the fear…” Maya sniffed, trying to stop the flood of tears. Stephen helped her to a sitting position on the chaise, then settled beside her at a respectful distance. He’d removed the tuxedo jacket and pleated dress shirt. Celtic knots twined across his bare chest, from one shoulder to the other. She wondered what she could do to make him move closer.

  “Roger and I were together for nearly two years. Our games became more and more extreme. But he—he thought he knew what I needed better than I did myself. I’d told him I had a fantasy of being gang-raped. He arranged a scene, in some derelict warehouse, inviting some of his friends to come and abuse me. I was fine when they roped me up and suspended me from the beams—it was a thrill—but when those other guys, those strangers, started to paw me—when I saw their swollen cocks and their leers and realised what I was in for—I chickened out.” Maya shuddered at the memory.

  “You used your safe word. That’s not ‘chickening out’.”

  “Anyway…” Another rush of tears prevented her from continuing.

  “Roger didn’t stop it, right?” Maya was glad the fury in Stephen’s face wasn’t directed at her.

  “Right. They went on with the scene, while I screamed and tried to fight them off. They fucked me, every hole, just the way I’d imagined. I hated every minute of it.”

  “But you came anyway.”

  “Once. Roger made me. One guy was in my ass, another in my mouth, and Roger started playing with my cunt. He knew me so well… He told me that, if I was really his slave, I’d come, and I did…”

  “Bastard. Now I understand.” Stephen crossed the room to pick up her robe. “Here.” She took the caftan, but made no move to put it on. “I’m really sorry. I should have known better, that you had good reasons for being the way you are.”

  “You mean, being the Ice Queen?” Maya’s giggle hiccupped into a sob. “Yeah, I swore that nobody would ever make me do anything, ever again. Including come.” She leaned against the back of the chaise, arching her back a bit to display her breasts. Her coffee-coloured nipples hardened under his scrutiny. “Stupid, huh? Punishing myself when I should have been punishing him.”

  “I apologise, Maya. I’m an arrogant ass, just like you said.” Stephen gathered his discarded finery and began to don his shirt.

  “No.” The authority in Maya’s voice was unmistakeable. “Don’t go. We have a bargain, after all…”

  “Forget about that. I really don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have.”

  “But I liked it when you hurt me.” She favoured him with a grin. “I’m sure you realised that.”

  “That’s not what I mean, and you know it, Maya!” Stephen objected. However, he’d paused in his process of dressing.

  She rose from the chaise to capture him in her arms, crushing her breasts against his naked chest. “I think you were right about me. I need the kind of surrender you were offering. I want that.”

  “Are you sure, Maya?” His cock thickened inside his fancy trousers—she could feel the delicious bulk against her pubis. She cupped him through the satin and was rewarded by his shudder of pleasure.

  “Absolutely. Come upstairs to my bedroom. I have a fabulous, antique four-poster bed. And, you know, nobody has ever been tied to it. Seems like a real shame, to me.”

  She raised her face just as his mouth descended on hers. The kiss was both a challenge and a promise.

  Chapter Five

  Master Shark surveyed the results of his handiwork. Maya lay splayed face up upon the bed, wrists roped to the headboard, ankles to the posts at the foot. Wicked steel clamps bit into her engorged nipples, rising and falling with her anxious breathing. A fat purple plug was embedded in her anus. At the juncture of her thighs, the Egyptian cotton sheets were soaked. Her pink labia gaped open, her scarlet clit protruding at the apex. He leaned over to blow warm air across the sensitive nub. Maya writhed in her bonds, an unbelievably lascivious sight.

  Her eyes followed him as he crossed to the bureau, where a variety of toys were arrayed—a cat, a single-tail whip, a hunter’s crop, a rubber paddle. Which would bring her most effectively to ecstasy? He wanted to use them all. In time, in time.

  He hefted the paddle, knowing already how she’d squirm if he applied it to her meaty thighs. The whip would let him tweak the clamps as he lashed her breasts. Then again, the cat might be a bit gentler. She’d already endured a great deal…

  “Which should I use, pet?”

  “That’s up to you, Sir.” The trust in her luscious voice made him harder than ever. He turned his back on the implements of discipline.

  “I don’t think I want to beat you at all, Maya. What I really want is to fuck you.”

  “I’m yours to command, Sir,” she answered, her meekness a bit overdone. “You’ll find condoms in the drawer of my vanity.”

  He didn’t waste time. In less than a minute he was kneeling between Maya’s thighs, his latex-enclosed cock playing at her entrance. He rubbed the knob across her clit, watching her face all the while. She bit back a moan.

  “You’ve got to ask for it, slut. Beg for it.” The twinkle in her eyes told him she approved of his new role.

  “Please fuck me, Sir. Give me your big, hard cock.” She arched her back, trying to impale herself. Despite the immobilising ropes, her slick labia
made contact with his swollen prick. His balls tightened at the sweet sensation.

  He slapped her inner thigh hard, knowing the sting would take her higher. “Lie still, slut! I’ll do what I please. I’m your Master, after all.” He wondered for an instant if that was the truth.

  The magnificent woman beneath him obeyed, settling back into her bonds. His gaze locked with hers. “Open for me, Maya,” he murmured, and slid into her tight, wet depths.

  They moaned in unison. She clamped down on his bulk, muscles rippling along his length. She was perfect—soft as silk, hot as hell. Her flesh clung to him like a second skin. He pulled partway out, then drove deeper. Maya gave a wild cry as his cock grazed her cervix. She strained against the ropes as he drew back for a third stroke, her pussy clenching to keep him inside.

  As he rammed his cock into her again, he fingered her clit. He felt the tension gather in her body—and her resistance. “Let go, Maya,” he urged, jerking his hips to spear her again. He slammed into her again and again, keeping his thumb on her clit the whole while. He sensed her excitement climbing with his own. She writhed beneath him, her spine arching with each thrust as though electricity shot through her. Still she held back. “You’re mine!” he growled, grabbing her hips and battering her with his hardness. “Come for me, damn it! Come.”

  An instant of stillness seized her. Her eyes grew wide, then unfocused. Her ripe body convulsed beneath him and his cock was bathed in new heat. “Aye…” Maya wailed, thrashing on the bed, overcome by pent-up pleasure.

  Stephen paused to savour her shuddering climax. Only when she’d sunk back into the pillows did he start again. Her eyes flew open as he fucked her harder than ever. “Mine. Mine. Mine,” he chanted in time with each stroke.

  Yes, her eyes told him. I’m yours.

  Fierce exultation surged through him. He’d done it. He’d taken the Ice Queen and made her his slave.

  His climax erupted with the force of a volcano. He ground his cock into her as wave after wave of cum spurted into the condom. Then, as his cataclysm subsided, Maya convulsed again around his rod and more spunk surged out of him.