OnlyatTheCavern

by Anna Alexander

  “I understand this is new to you. You’re just learning. But my expectations are high. Think of this time as the same as when you were a rookie in the police force. In fact, I think that’s what I’ll call you. Rookie. You see, here at The Cavern, you have to earn the use of your given name.” She leaned forward and her bustier gaped, giving him an excellent view of the curve of her breasts. A few inches from his nose, a heavenly spice scent rose from her warm skin and he swayed, ready to pitch forward into her cleavage. Her lips brushed his ear as she continued. “You have to earn the right to hear me scream your name when I come. Do you understand, Rookie?”

  “Yes, Mistress,” he answered with a puff of his warm breath against her bare shoulder.

  “Good.” She pressed her nose against his neck and breathed in deep. Her tongue flicked out to lick the pulsating vein before she straightened with a satisfied sigh. “Now stand and let me get a better look at my new toy.”

  He climbed to his feet and stood straight and tall. As she circled him, he sucked in his gut. He had gotten a little soft around the middle, otherwise he was proud of his build, and from the slight smile on her lips, she liked what she saw.

  In her four-inch heels, she still only came up to his chin. He could easily overtake her physically, but the power she had over him with just a look made him weak in the knees.

  She came to a stop behind him and placed her palms against the back of his neck. She smoothed a line down his back, her thumbs pressed deep along the channel on either side of his spine. When she reached his ass, she said, “Bend over. Keep your legs straight.”

  Great. He bit back a moan as he did as he was told. Dear Lord, please don’t let him pull a hamstring. He knew he should have done some stretches when he arrived.

  His fear for his hamstrings diminished when she gripped the cheeks of his ass and spread them apart. For a long while he felt the heat of her gaze on his ass and flames erupted across his face. Humiliation and desire waged a war in his mind with both sides putting up a hell of a fight.

  Vulnerable didn’t begin to describe how he felt with his butt cheeks held wide open and the cool air kissing his puckered hole. Embarrassed? Yes. Exposed? Of course. Completely depraved and ready to fuck anything that held the slightest bit of resistance? Absolutely.

  “You may straighten,” Jasmina said with a pat on his butt and gestured to the padded table. “Lie down on your back.”

  Goose bumps erupted as his hot skin hit the cool leather. He didn’t fail to notice the stirrups attached under the tabletop and the restraints at the sides and near his head. His imagination exploded with the possibilities of the wicked things she had planned.

  Mistress stood at the head of the table and gazed down at him from above. Her hands lifted and she placed her thumbs on his forehead. Over and over she smoothed the line of his eyebrows and down under his neck. Man, he loved the way she massaged his scalp. His eyelids grew heavy, and he swore he was floating on a cloud. Her touch extended to his shoulders and the cap of his arms. He hadn’t realized how tense his muscles were until she dug with her fingers into his sore spots.

  She moved around the table and lifted his right hand. For a long time she studied his palm before pushing her thumb into the center. Oh so slowly, she brought his hand up to her face, nuzzling his palm with her nose before resting it against her cheek. His breath caught as he watched her eyes close on a sigh. She was so soft and delicate in his hold, her skin like silk against the light caress of his fingers as he cupped her face.

  So sexy. So sensual. So… “Beautiful,” he breathed out. “You are so beautiful.”

  She smiled against his hand. “Thank you.”

  Before he blinked, her hand shot out to twist his nipple. “Ow.”

  “That was for talking. And this,” she twisted the other, “is for touching me. I did not tell you to curl your fingers.”

  Right. Damn it.

  He sucked in his lips to refrain from any more outbursts and concentrated on studying his Mistress as she continued to work him over.

  As she examined the almost-healed wound on his chest, her eyes narrowed and for half a second he saw her doctor expression as she turned her head to the right and left. When she caught his gaze she nodded as if she read his mind, “Looks good.”

  The tips of her fingers scored his ribs and he flinched. She did it again, and he squirmed, resisting the urge to laugh. She tugged on the fine hair across his belly and again, he bit his lip.

  “Stop it.” She latched on to his nipple and pinched it tight, pulling the bud higher away from his chest until his eyes watered. “You’re holding back your responses. If it tickles, then laugh. If it feels good, by God I want to hear it. Understand?”

  “Yes, Mistress,” he panted.

  “We shall see.”

  And with that, she dragged her fingernails in deep grooves from under his armpits down to his flanks. His hips bucked and he about shot off the bed with a shout.

  “Finally,” she huffed and went to work on his thighs.

  With her nails and fingertips she scored, scratched and pinched his lower body. She pushed her knuckles into the bottoms of his feet, tickled the sensitive area behind his knees and ran the flat of her hand up the inside of his thighs as he bucked and moaned on the table. All the while she left his cock alone to bounce with his movements and trail a fine line of precum across his belly. He gripped the edge of the table until his fingers ached to keep from reaching for his dick and stroking himself to completion. This was by far the best and worst massage of his life.

  By the time she stepped back, he was covered in sweat and heaving as if he had run after a felony suspect. Jasmina too was breathing heavily. Her hair was mussed and the tops of her breasts glistened with a fine sheen of perspiration. Excitement glittered in her gaze as she eyed his cock with hunger.

  “Good boy,” she cooed. She reached under the table and the hum of a motor kicked up. The side of the table his torso rested upon lifted until he reached a sitting position.

  She knocked his legs apart to rest down on either side then pulled another chair up to the foot of the table. From the sidebar she collected a glass tumbler then rejoined him.

  “Take your dick in your hand and stroke it.”

  He jerked as if she poked him. What was it about her talking dirty that got him so hot?

  A moan rolled up from his gut as he gripped his cock and began to move his hand up and down.

  “That’s right.” Her breath ghosted across his shoulder as she whispered in his ear. “When I give the order, you will fill this glass with your cum.”

  She pressed the glass into his left hand, then sauntered over to the chair and took a seat.

  Having her sitting there, watching him masturbate with rapt attention brought him to the edge much too quickly. He tried to pull back and make it last until she gave the order, but she kicked the end of the table with her foot. “Make it feel good, Rookie. I want you in tears.”

  Done and done. He held his breath and clenched his jaw, pumping his cock until his forearm ached. Mistress Jasmina watched his hand and studied his every stroke, her breasts rose and fell with bated breaths. Her lower lip fell open followed by the tip of her tongue peeking out to sweep the plump little pillow as if she could taste him on her palate.

  “Ah, God,” he gritted out. A tear slipped down his cheek and his body tightened to the point of breaking.

  Jasmina’s head tipped back and she moaned as if she were inhaling his torture. Then she snapped forward and nailed him with a hot stare. “Come.”

  Fire erupted out his cock in great bursts of energy. He barely remembered to catch the milky fluid in the crystal glass before he shot all over his legs, and stuffed the head of his cock into the opening.

  “Keep going.” Jasmina jumped up and rushed to his side. Laying her hand over his, she continued to stroke his dick. “Every drop, Rookie. Every drop belongs to me.”

  On and on his orgasm went, leaving him too weak to do anyt
hing more than moan and lie there in his own sweat as more cum dribbled into the glass. Just as well, he still hadn’t been given permission to speak.

  When his cock had nothing left to give, Jasmina took the glass from his hand and held it up to the light. It shocked him to see how much fluid he had produced. Truthfully, he didn’t think he had that much in him.

  Way to go, you.

  She tipped the glass, this way and that, even going so far as to sniff the rim. Holy hell, was she going to drain the glass? That would be as hot as fuck.

  Instead she lowered the glass and dipped her finger into the cream. She rubbed the tips together as if testing the texture. She dipped again then proceeded to rub his cum onto her wrists and the base of her neck as if it were perfume.

  Knowing that she was marked in his cum sent a primal surge of lust through his depleted body, and to his surprise arousal stirred anew. Dear God, she was going to kill him.

  Yeah, but he’d have the biggest grin on his face when they laid him in his grave.

  Once she was painted to her liking, she went to the bar and set the glass to the side. Through sleepy eyes he watched her take out several white towels from what looked like a crockpot then retrieve a bottle of water from the mini-fridge.

  “Drink.” She cracked the top open and handed it to him.

  He guzzled the water so quickly, he suffered from brain freeze. “Ah.”

  “Easy there, Rookie.” She wiped the sweat from his brow with the warm towel then continued to swab his chest and legs. Before the cloth had a chance to cool, she swapped it for another.

  A monster orgasm and a sponge bath? He definitely could get used to this.

  “Lift forward,” she said and worked on his back. “How do you feel?”

  “I don’t know,” he sighed. “I can’t explain it.”

  “Try.” He heard the grin in her command.

  “I feel…alive.”

  Yeah. It could have been minutes or hours since he walked through that door. He felt as if he’d been dragged over hot coals, shot to the heavens, electrocuted, enveloped in a warm hug, torn apart at the seams and sewn back together all at the same time. Only once before had he experienced such an extreme range of emotions. The night he almost had Smithwick. But that night had ended in bitter disappointment. This euphoric feeling was completely unknown.

  “I didn’t know.” He paused to wet his lips. “I didn’t realize…”

  “Letting go does that to a person. You did well, Rookie. I have hope for you yet.”

  Thank you, Mistress.

  He wanted to tell her. He wanted to do a lot of things, like reach out and touch her arm. He wanted to remove the towel from her hand so that her bare palm was stroking his cock and not through the textured cotton. He wanted her kiss. He wanted to know what she tasted like, how her lips felt on his skin.

  He wanted Jasmina.

  The plastic bottle crinkled in his grip as he restrained the urge to sweep her up and take her to the floor. That wasn’t their deal. She controlled him. And so far, he loved it. He hungered for it. And he was ready for more.

  “Drink up.” She guided the bottle back to his mouth. “I don’t want you fading from dehydration.”

  He did as he was told and watched her walk to the phone attached to the wall and pick up the receiver. “You may enter,” she said to whoever picked up on the other end.

  What was his Mistress planning now? He jerked up from his seat and bit his tongue to keep from asking.

  A moment later the lock to the door disengaged and a woman walked in. With a fuchsia-pink bobbed haircut and matching pink lace bodysuit, she looked like an X-rated version of a little girl’s doll. From the way she stood with her spine straight and her gaze aimed at the floor, he figured her to be another sub. Who was curious about his cock if the way she snuck a peek at his lap was any indication.

  “Don’t you dare.” Jasmina slapped at his hand as he moved to cover up. “Rookie, this is Pixie. Her master has loaned her to me for the moment. She will dress you and see that you can walk without falling over. You’re still dealing with a huge rush of endorphins and I don’t want you to crash on your way out.”

  His Mistress was leaving him? Alone with another woman?

  Disappointment cooled his lust. Just a week ago the idea of being fondled by two women on the same night would have been an epic fantasy, but now the thought left him cold. Mistress Jasmina had branded him as hers, and her touch was the only one he craved.

  Wow. He closed his eyes and drew in a breath to help clear his head. He had fallen. And fallen hard.

  The brush of fingers on his cheek had his eyes flying open in alarm. When he realized it was Jasmina, he relaxed.

  “Will I see you on Tuesday?” she asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Good.” She brushed the hair off his forehead and softly bade him goodnight.

  The click of her heels on the floor as she walked out the door made his chest go tight, and that scared the hell out of him.

  Not even his infatuation with Brett made him want to drop to his knees and crawl after her to beg for one more touch. And to think, they had only had one session. A session when they really hadn’t done anything all that kinky. Damn, emotionally he not only jumped into the deep end of the pool, he’d done a frickin’ cannonball and was drowning.

  “If you are able to stand, I will dress you now.”

  With his Mistress out of the room, the girl looked him up and down with a hungry gaze that said she couldn’t wait to get her hands on him.

  “Pixie. Is that your real name or do you still have to earn it?”

  “It’s my sub name.”

  Right. “Look, Pixie, I am perfectly able to dress myself. You can turn around and it will be all good.”

  The ends of her pink hair flicked her cheeks as she shook her hair. “Mistress Jasmina said for me dress you.”

  “I understand. But with all due respect, I’d rather dress myself.”

  “If she finds out, she’ll punish me and then my Master will punish me, and he hits hard.” Her hand went to her backside and rubbed up and down.

  “How about a compromise? I’ll put on my pants and you can help with my shirt. That way, we’re both happy and no one has to know the truth.”

  She popped her hip out and shot him a grin. “You’re brand new, aren’t you? The truth always comes out.”

  “That’s why we’re going to keep our mouths shut. Or else I’ll tell Mistress Jasmina you tried to do more than just dress me.”

  Her mouth dropped into an “O” and she sucked in a breath. “Are you a switch?”

  “A switch?”

  “Yeah. Both Dom and sub? ‘Cause let me tell you, you just got me hot and subs don’t do that to me.”

  Well, that wasn’t something he’d thought about. He shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Well, don’t be. Mistress Jasmina is in no way a submissive. If you want to keep her happy, I’d squash that instinct.”

  “I think I’ll do just fine being myself. So are you turning around or not?”

  “Not. I’ll let you put on your underwear. But I get to watch.”

  Hey, if all she wanted was to take a peek, he’d take the concession.

  He turned to the side to keep her in his peripheral vision while he reached for his clothes and slipped on his boxers. Pixie beat him to the rest of his garments and knelt on the floor, holding open his pants. She took too much pleasure drawing them up his legs and pulling the tag over his cock.

  “Nice undies,” she cooed.

  “Just get on with it or I’ll dress myself,” he bit out.

  “I’m working on it.” She winked then worked his t-shirt over his head and smoothed the cotton over his chest with swirling motions of her palms. His white button-down was treated with the same extra attention.

  “She mentioned nothing of the shoes,” he said and took his loafers from her hand. “I got it from here.”

  “Ooo, you are a feisty one. I
hope our Masters put us together in a scene sometime soon.”

  His heart stopped. “Does Mistress Jasmina share her subs a lot?”

  “Rarely. But it’s been known to happen.”

  Then he was going to have to do his damnedest to make sure she wanted him all to herself, for Mistress Jasmina belonged to him and no one else.

  Chapter Seven

  Jasmine nodded at the doorman and swept through the entrance to the sanctuary of Amaryllis’s private suite. In actuality the inner lair wasn’t all that private. There was always someone doing something to someone within the penthouse loft, and most of the time the persons involved weren’t Amaryllis. Ever since she married Lucian, she spent more time in their apartment, and Jasmine didn’t blame her for wanting to keep such a tasty morsel all to herself.

  Tonight was ladies’ night in the suite, with Mistresses enjoying the peace and quiet away from the noise of the dance floor or party rooms. Some had their subs at their feet or chained to an apparatus while others, like herself, were solo.

  She spotted Madeline resting on a couch, using her sub as an ottoman while watching a Mistress play tic-tac-toe with a riding crop across the back of a man suspended from the ceiling. On her way to join them, she stopped by the bar and asked for a bottle of water and a ginger ale, which she received with a smile from the cute bartender.

  At last count there were about twenty Masters and Mistresses who utilized The Cavern’s facilities, but only a few were considered permanent residents, and she was lucky enough to be counted as one of them. The title granted her the use of her own playroom and the ability to come and go as she pleased. Invaluable freedoms in her opinion.

  She loved it here. Within these walls she was not alone in her desires. She was respected and admired. There was always new knowledge to be gained and interesting people to talk to. She could lose herself in the sway of the crowded dance floor or find clarity when focused on one person. Sure, the club was dark, and at times the stench of sweat and sex was overwhelming. But that’s what she liked best. The teaming mass of humanity who said “fuck it all” and lived for the moment. In a word, The Cavern was heaven.