As she tied the scarf on the knob, Lance removed his shoes and socks.
“Undressing already?” she asked, not displeased.
“Just the shoes and socks. This is your private dungeon, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Then it deserves to be shown respect.”
“Lance, I like the way you kink.” She opened the door and stepped inside. She loathed artificial light so she lit her oil lamp. Lance set his shoes right inside the doorway. Everything he did endeared him more and more to her.
“So,” Nora said as she ushered Lance into the room, “welcome to Hell. Like it?”
He gazed around the room with unabashed appreciation. She did have nice digs, very French bordello style. Kingsley told her to decorate however she wanted. He probably regretted that once he saw the place. Bed—four-poster bed, of course—with a gold-and-red brocade bedspread, erotic artwork on the walls, a few oil lamps and candles, and condoms and handcuffs in every drawer.
“If this is Hell, I can’t wait to see Heaven.”
“Heaven’s in this room.” She snapped her fingers and waved her hand. Lance raised an eyebrow before entering the second room of her suite.
He let out an impressed whistle.
“My playroom. Isn’t it pretty? We have twenty different styles and lengths of rope.” She put her hand on her hip, doing her best Vanna White strut around the room. “Floggers of every style. Single-tails. I’m very good at whipping if you like whipping. St. Andrew’s Cross, of course. Medical bed. This little case here has the violet wand. And my cabinet...well, I’ll leave it to your imagination.”
The cabinet housed most of the sex toys, the vibrators and butt plugs and cock rings, that sort of thing. But inside one could also find her edge-play toys—razor blades and other cutting implements.
“This is amazing, Mistress. Not sure I can afford you.”
Nora came up to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
“I’m not planning on charging you. You wanna know why?”
“I’m that handsome, Mistress?”
She gave him a broad grin. Handsome, funny and a little cocky—she liked that combination.
“I’ve seen worse, but no client is so handsome he gets a freebie. No, the reason I’m not charging you is because I don’t fuck my clients. And I fully intend to fuck you tonight.”
“I fully intend to let you, if it pleases you, Mistress.”
“I think it pleases me. Now let’s talk. What would please you?”
She pulled away from him and took a seat on the big wooden bondage throne. It took nothing more than a nod to get Lance to kneel on the floor at her feet.
“Nothing pleases me more than pleasing a powerful woman,” he confessed. “I’d love to make you come over and over again.”
“Good boy. Anything else? Do you like pain?”
“Do you like giving it, Mistress?”
“Yes. Very much.”
“Then I like receiving it. Very much. You do have some beautiful whips.”
Nora stroked her bottom lip as she studied him. Time for the little dance she did with the male submissives. They were so desperate to please their Mistress that it took a full-blown interrogation to get them to admit to her what their own desires were. Some male submissives who hated pain would agree to take it if they thought the Mistress wanted to give it. But Lance had mentioned the whips and called them beautiful. Masochistic streak in him. Good. She might have to keep him.
Keep him? Where had that thought come from? She’d never collared a sub before, never kept one as her personal property. It was too much like having a boyfriend or, God forbid, a husband. But...she got a very good feeling from Lance. The man must have been six feet tall in shoes, solidly built and muscular. He looked like he could break her in half if he had a mind to, but she felt safe around him. Wouldn’t be any sort of torture to have this guy in her dungeon as often as possible.
“You like whips. See anything else you like?” she asked.
“Nice cross. Very nice.”
“The wrist cuffs on it are adjustable. I’ve had tiny little girls on there and men even taller than you. Anything else you like?”
“You have an amazing crop collection, looks like.” He nodded toward a wall where at least twenty different riding crops hung.
“I do. Go get one for me. Any crop you like. I’ll show you a trick.”
He rose and went to the wall of riding crops. Nora watched him as he scanned the options.
“Do you mind if I...?”
“Be my guest.”
He pulled a crop down and held it in one hand flat on his palm. Then with both hands he gripped either end and bent it. He hung it back on the wall and did the same thing to the next crop. Interesting. He was testing them for their give. The looser the crop, the less it hurt when struck with it. The tighter the crop, the less yield to it, the more it hurt. She had some crops that were a step up from a wet noodle and others that were barely a step down from a rattan cane, a toy that could split the skin and put a sub in the hospital if used incorrectly. Not that she would ever do that. Not unless someone prepaid for it.
“That black one with the white braiding has a steel spine under the leather,” she said. “Hurts like fuck. So does that solid red one. Both of them are vicious.”
“I like vicious.” He pulled down the solid red one and tried to bend it. It had almost no give to it.
He brought it back to the throne and sat again at Nora’s feet.
“My lady,” he said and handed her the crop.
“Lady? In here? No ladies allowed in my dungeon.”
She took the crop in her right hand.
“I would never argue with the Mistress,” Lance said, watching her twirl the crop like a baton over the right arm of the throne. It had taken her three solid months of practice before she mastered the twirl. “But I do see a lady in this room, the most beautiful lady I’ve seen in a long time. She’s strong, smart and completely comfortable with who and what she is. She also understands the men who want to serve at her feet.”
“I’m going to beat the shit out of you tonight and fuck you. And then probably fuck you again, and you call me a lady?”
“Yes, Mistress. Nothing unladylike about any of that. Not in my eyes.”
Nora caught her crop and let it slide down between her fingers until she caught it by the handle.
She leaned forward and put the end of the crop handle under Lance’s chin, forcing his mouth to meet her mouth. Their lips hovered only an inch apart.
“You know what, Lance? I think I like your eyes.”
Just to be sadistic, Nora stayed there for a few unnecessary seconds, letting Lance feel her breath against his lips before she moved forward, closed the gap between them and kissed him. The kiss started soft and careful but quickly turned passionate. She slipped her tongue into his mouth and bit his top lip. Even as the kiss deepened, grew hungrier, Lance stayed on his knees and kept his hands to himself. He wouldn’t touch her without permission. Someone had trained this man and trained him well.
With reluctance she pulled back from Lance. She’d almost forgotten how much she loved kissing a man. She had sex mostly with women lately, a nice break from the male clients she dealt with all day long. When was the last time she’d even kissed a man on the mouth? A month ago? Two? It would have been Kingsley, right? The last man she’d kissed? And he hadn’t had a session with her in weeks. Kissing Lance, she realized how much she missed the feel of soft stubble on her skin, missed the sense of power restrained. If she didn’t stop kissing him now, they’d end up making out all night instead of doing what she really wanted to do.
“Take your shirt off,” she ordered. Lance hesitated. “Shy?” she asked.
“Not really. But I have some scars.
Fair warning.”
“I don’t mind scars. Show me, Sailor. That’s an order.”
He sat back on his heels and with one easy tug pulled his shirt up and off. Any other man would have simply tossed it on the floor, but he took the three extra seconds to fold it neatly before setting it at her feet like an offering. If she hadn’t known he was military before, that would have done it.
“I don’t see many scars.” She looked and saw only a few random healed cuts here and there.
“Wrong side,” he said.
Nora raised her eyebrow. She gripped him by the back of neck and pulled him forward. At the base of his spine she saw a thick mass of scar tissue.
“Damn. Bullet wound?” she asked.
“IED. Got hit with shrapnel. Looks ugly but it didn’t hit the spine.”
“Does it cause you any issues I need to know about?”
Lance narrowed his eyes at her.
“The scar doesn’t bother you, Mistress?”
She shrugged. “One of my best clients is riddled with bullet wounds. I just need to know if it gives you any pain or other issues that would impede or change our play.”
“Just a little nerve damage in that area.”
“Understood. I won’t play anywhere near the scars then. Easy enough.”
“I’m glad you’re okay with the scars. I haven’t really been...it’s been a while.”
“You have a gorgeous body, Lance. I don’t say that to everyone. Just people with gorgeous bodies. I am a little shocked by one thing, however. Where are your tats? I can’t believe I have a seaman in here with no tattoos,” she teased as she caressed his bare chest with her fingertips.
“I don’t need ink to advertise my service, Mistress. I know what I am. The Navy knows what I am. You know what I am. No one else needs to know.”
She raised her eyebrow at him.
“Well, damn,” she said.
“Something wrong, Mistress?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
The caress turned into a scratch as she ran her fingernails over the sensitive skin of his upper chest. She dug in a little deeper and left four red trails in his flesh. As she scratched he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, offering more of himself to her touch.
“Stand up. Go to the cross. Face it.”
His years of military service had turned the man into an order-obeying machine. He came right to his feet, swiftly but without unnecessary or graceless expediency. He walked to the cross and stood facing it.
“So obedient...I need more of you boys in my life. I only have a couple military clients. One Air Force pilot. One Marine. Some kind of officer. Nice guy. Loves getting his balls flogged.”
“Sounds like the definition of being in the Marines to me.”
“I need a Coastie. I haven’t done nearly enough boat kink.”
“I have a friend in the Coast Guard. I’ll get you his number.”
“I’d rather have your number, Lance. Pick a number between one and one hundred. Take your time to decide. I need to pick a whip.”
Nora left him standing in front of the cross as she perused her single-tail collection.
“You’re not going to tell me what I’m picking, Mistress?”
“Nope.”
“Fifty.”
Nora smiled as she picked out one of her heavier single-tails.
“Smart. Split the difference. I might be having you pick out how many minutes we play in my bed tonight or I might be forcing you to choose how many lashes you get with this nasty bitch.” She let the whip flick the cross about six inches from Lance’s shoulder. She missed on purpose, hoping to see if he’d jump. He didn’t.
“Seemed the smart choice,” he said. “But I’ll change my answer if you want me to.”
“No...fifty is perfect.” She reached into a drawer and pulled out a stopwatch. “Fifty is how many minutes I’m going to make you wait until I let you inside me. Starting...now.” She programmed fifty minutes into her stopwatch and hung it on the wall by the cross.
Nora stood behind him and pressed her corset-covered breasts into his back.
“Do you wish you’d picked a different number? Maybe one?” she asked him as she wrapped the whip around his chest and pushed him back against her.
“One part of my body wishes I’d picked one. The rest of my body can live with fifty, Mistress. I’m a man with a good appreciation for foreplay.”
“Foreplay. Good way to think of it. Ready to play?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Good.” She curled up her whip again and sat it on a table while she pulled out wrist cuffs. “Got a safe word?”
“I do. Semper Fi.”
“Semper Fi? Isn’t that the motto of the Marines?”
“It is. Why do you think I equate it with surrender?”
“You know, my father was a Marine,” Nora said, cuffing Lance’s left wrist to the cross. She had to get on a step stool to reach high enough.
Lance winced. “I’m sorry, Mistress. I have nothing but respect for the Corps. I’ve served with them, and they’re all brave and honorable men and women. It’s all good-natured rival—”
“I’m just fucking with you. My dad was a lowlife, two-bit crook who never made a legal cent in his life.”
“You’re the devil, Mistress.” Lance sounded impressed.
“I might have forgotten to mention that. Glad you noticed.” She cuffed his right wrist and picked up her whip again. Pausing, she took a moment to study his back. The scar tissue ended about six inches above his back belt loop. That tissue was tough, but she didn’t want to fuck with surgical scars. Dominatrixes hurt but they didn’t harm. She pictured landing the lashes from shoulder blade to shoulder blade and down to the second-to-last rib of his rib cage. With his arms bound high up on the cross, she could see all the taut muscle of his back and arms and count his ribs. The man had a beautiful back. All it wanted for was a few dozen welts.
“We use the red-yellow-green-light system down here.” She unfurled the whip and held it by the handle in her right hand with the tip in her left. “At any point, call out any of those colors as needed. You say green and I’ll give you more. You say yellow and I’ll pull back the pace. You say red and I drop the whip and we play with a new toy. Got it?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Good. Also, if you want, you can say ‘Ouch.’ And that won’t stop anything at all.”
At that she let the whip fly. She struck the dead center of his back between the shoulder blades. He flinched then—everyone did—but he didn’t say “yellow” or “red.” He didn’t even say “Ouch.”
She let the whip fly again and dusted his broad back with red welts. Like a good pain-artist, she let the whip dance over his skin, not landing in the same place twice in a row. That way he would never know where the next blow would land, would never be able to brace himself. She counted in her head as she whipped him—ten, twenty, forty, sixty. By sixty she started hearing “Ouch.” By seventy it’d turned into “Fuck.” At seventy-five she hit a sensitive spot hard enough for a genuine cry of pure pain. But still she heard no red, no yellow.
“Green?” she asked as she gave him a minute to breathe. “I won’t think any less of you if you say yellow or red.”
“Still green...” His breathing had turned ragged. “I just need a minute, if it pleases you, Mistress.”
“It pleases me. Read me how many minutes we have left.”
Lance craned his neck to look at the stopwatch hanging next to the St. Andrew’s Cross.
“Thirty-seven.”
“Goodie. I stopped at seventy-five. Let’s make it an even hundred. Then we’ll play a new game. And maybe get rid of some more clothing. Yours.”
“Anything you desire, Mistress.
”
She desired to give him twenty-five more lashes. Again the whip danced over his skin. She focused on his sides now and his shoulders. By the time she hit twenty his back had turned bright red. One welt even oozed a small amount of blood.
“Stay there,” she said as she put her whip in the pile of toys needing to be cleaned. “We have breakage.”
Lance peered back over his shoulder.
“Much blood?” he asked, seeming entirely untroubled at the idea she’d broken the skin.
“Not much.” She snapped on a pair of latex gloves and cleaned the small wound with Betadine and ointment. “Okay, we have two Band-Aid options—Snoopy or Sesame Street?”
“Snoopy,” he said.
“Perfect.” She applied the Band-Aid, tossed her gloves, and dropped a quick kiss onto the center of his back. The beating had left his skin burning. She felt the heat against her lips.
“You’re good, Mistress.” Lance turned back to face the wall. “I’ve never been with a Domme who plays as hard as you.”
“I appreciate that. I trained under the best sadist in the world.”
“Interesting. What do you consider a good sadist, Mistress?”
Nora tapped her chin as she thought about the question.
“Talent is part of it. Takes a lot of talent to hurt someone without injuring them. A baseball bat can inflict pain, but it also breaks bones. How do you inflict real and serious pain but without causing harm? The sadist I learned from is amazing at that. He knows all the pain pressure points on the human body so he can cause you acute agony without leaving a single mark.”
“We learned a lot of those in training. Good for self-defense.”
“Good for kink,” she said. “But it’s more than talent. True, the man can kill a fly with the tip of a whip. But he can also break someone down in a way that...I don’t know.” She stopped and shook her head. “I don’t know anyone who can put someone back together by breaking them apart like he can. You leave him with your body limping and your heart soaring.”
“Is that what you’re doing to me?”
The Last Good Knight Part I: Scars and Stripes (The Original Sinners) Page 2