Natural Law

by Joey W. Hill

  It was an effective method of restraint, because with his arms crossed nearer to the elbows than the wrists and his arms pulled up at the uncomfortable angle to his shoulders, he could not move back. The lack of slack kept him from moving forward.

  "I want you uncomfortable, but not in pain," she said, testing the ropes, drifting her hand across his back. "You'll tell me if you begin to hurt. Answer me."

  "Yes, Mistress," he said roughly.

  "Good." She moved around to his front, stepped back five paces and then simply stood a moment, enjoying him. "You've got a beautiful chest," she noted. "Those incredible shoulders, the cords of muscle at the neck. Long thighs, impressive cock."

  Standing in the shadow of his body with her spike heels, she was a bit taller than she wanted to be. She bent over, her back to him, to lift the hem of her short skirt and take down the back zipper of the first boot, well aware that he was seeing her thighs all the way past the top of the thigh high. The posture revealed the elongated almond shape of her pussy in the green satin thong, the base of her ass cheeks.

  The rings clanked as he tested how much slack he had, and she hid a smile when he came up just short, as she knew he would. She unzipped the other boot, stepped out of them and kicked them out of her way, turning before he could get the bright idea to try to use his legs to rub a knee up the seam of her thighs. She wouldn't put it past him to be so impudent.

  Taking up the brush with stiffer bristles again, she ran it down the center of his chest, tugging the bristles through the curly hair there, down the abdomen, tickling the waistband of his jeans, her fingers playing in the area between denim and hard muscle. She placed the brush at the juncture of his shoulder and neck area, and this time brought the brush down over the nipple. The area drew taut immediately, and she felt his muscles clench against the pain as the hard bristles scraped over the sensitive skin. She alternated as she had before, going down one side, then the other, letting her fingers trail behind so the harsh scratch was followed by the soft caress of her fingertips, soothing him.

  It also allowed her to note the increased rise and fall of his chest, the thunderous pounding of his heart beneath her palm, the instinctive moistening of his lips, the shift of his body to relieve the pressure between his thighs.

  "Be still," she commanded. "Keep your eyes down."

  His lids flickered. "But I like looking at you, Mistress."

  She ran a hand along his jaw, the smoothly clipped line of his beard, wondering how it would feel against her most sensitive areas of skin. "I'm glad to hear it, but I'll decide when. Are there things you're not comfortable doing I should know about?"

  "With respect, same answer as before, Mistress. I'll do all you ask of me, or I'm not worthy to be your slave." His gaze briefly flicked up to hers, then quickly back down before she could chastise him. "You choosing me to serve you, bring you to the highest level of pleasure, those are my only desires."

  It was so close to what she wanted to find in a lover, she barely managed to control the shiver of reaction that went through her vitals at his words. She knew of subs who would let a Dom do anything to them. Most clubs revoked their memberships once they found them, because the wrong Dom would push them past physical and emotional endurance, and could cause them serious physical harm. But Mac didn't strike her as that type. He had limits in there somewhere, he had just somehow managed to keep Mistresses from running up against them. The strength of her concern surprised her, as did the wave of protectiveness that barbed her words.

  "That's stupid, Mackenzie. If I have you gagged and decide to ram a railroad spike up your ass, it's going to be a little hard for you to change your mind."

  "I trust you'll do what's best for me, Mistress. Whatever you feel is appropriate."

  A good kick in the ass for being that unsafe. However, she suspected now was not the time for a lecture. Maybe if they spent more time together.

  Whoa, hold on, girl. This might be just a one-night flirtation for him. She knew subs who played 100% in the dungeon, but once they walked out, they didn't look back. They had no plans to pick out curtains with their Mistresses. Ever.

  "Well, I'm giving you a safe word. Water. You ask for water, I ease off."

  "I'll die of thirst first."

  This time he met her gaze square on, and she felt the impact of it to her toes. He didn't just look at her; he ravished her. She'd always thought it was a cheesy word, but the way his attention moved over her, dragging her into him, making her weak, made her picture Victorian heroines swooning in a lover's eager arms. Ravished was exactly the right term for it.

  "You've been a sub for a lot of women, haven't you, Mackenzie? No, I don't want an answer to that." She placed a finger on his mouth, held it firm there for only a moment, so he'd get the message, but she wouldn't be putting her sensitive knuckles within prolonged proximity of those clever lips. "But I don't think you've ever had a true Mistress. You're still setting the rules, holding up the shields. Let's start by removing some. The rest of your clothes first."

  That surprised him, she could tell. He hadn't expected her to move that quickly, and truth be told, she had not intended to do so.

  "Your shoes," she said coolly. "Toe them off. You don't expect me to remove your shoes."

  "No, Mistress." He awkwardly managed it, using the leverage of the tethers binding him, grunting a little at the increased pain on straining tendons.

  "And the socks."

  He stepped on the toes of his thin dress socks, worked them off his feet. More bare skin. She was eager for all of it, but she kept the pace slow, teasing, as she approached him. As she stepped directly in front of him, she saw the angle would give him an excellent view of her cleavage. There was an incentive to keep his eyes lowered, she thought with satisfaction.

  Violet forced her fingers not to tremble as she reached for the button of his jeans. She deliberately let her touch slide over the hard length of him, nearly groaned at the steel heat she felt. "I hope you're not one of those who can't hold back," she observed. "You're pretty hard now. I'm not sure you've got the stamina for what I have in mind."

  Mac brushed a smoldering glance over the top of her breasts. "You're hard to resist, Mistress, but I think I can please you."

  The taunt was there. Oh, he had pride. She delighted in it. She firmed her lips. "We'll see," she said indifferently.

  She slipped the button, took the zipper down. Slow. She was hyper-cognizant of his breath on her neck, the tight tension of his body, the muscles pulled back to restrain his movements. She reached in, slid her hand beneath the waist of his dark underwear, leaving the jeans open in front but otherwise unadjusted, and closed her hand around him.

  He made a noise, a catching of his breath, but she had closed her eyes, inhaling him through all her senses. The powerful organ in her hand, pulsing against her palm, the wetness at the tip like a tiny kiss against her wrist. She was aware, even if he was not, that he had moved impossibly further against his restraints, straining toward her, toward her grip.

  She had small fingers, and she used them to good advantage now, sliding them down his length, finding the base where the curve of his testicles began, her fingers tangling in the soft hair on them. Then back up, caressing him, stroking him, easing her grip, tightening it.

  "Violet..." he said. Her head lifted, tilting at an angle because they were so close now, her thigh pressed against his, her lips no more than a finger span apart from his just above her. He had cut himself shaving this morning, she noticed, just a tiny nick on his neck.

  "Don't move," she said. "Not an inch." She rose up on her toes, placed her lips there, sucking on the closed cut gently, kissing him. Her grip on his cock tightened as she did, and his body quivered against hers, holding back, when she could tell all he wanted to do was disobey.

  Violet took her lips away.

  "Don't hurt yourself like that again. I'll have to shave you," she warned. "I expect you to take care of what's mine." She dug her nails into him
, just a bit, and he flinched, but did not twitch under her tight grasp.

  "What do you want, Mac?"

  "Whatever my Mistress wants."

  She tightened her grip. "Don't patronize me. Tell me what you want."

  "To make you come."

  "Try again." She worked her hands beneath his waistband, took the jeans and underwear down to his thighs, freeing his cock and giving her an unimpeded view of his bare, muscular ass. She ran her nails over it, scoring him lightly, then reclaimed his cock, starting a slow rub, up and down his thick, long length.

  "Mackenzie," she measured her tones, matching them to her strokes. "I'm going to make you come in my hand, and it's going to be very messy and displeasing to me, if you don't stop the bullshit and tell the truth."

  He shifted. She might not have caught it, except her knee was pressed against his leg and she felt it, that subtle attempt to change the effectiveness of her strokes with the angle of his body so he would sustain himself, resist her pressure.

  She made the same minor adjustment, followed him, and brought her thumb into action, stroking the tight vein beneath the base of the head.

  "Violet, stop."

  "I'm sorry, Mac. That's not the safe word. You'd die of thirst, remember? But you don't have to die of thirst. Just ask for water."

  In a movement so quick she couldn't follow it, he dipped his head and fastened his teeth on her throat. "Why waste it, sugar?" he muttered around his grip. "It could be jetting into you, or I could be attending to your pleasure, eating out your pretty cunt."

  His jaw had the strength of a pit bull in truth, and Violet felt a moment of panic when she could not immediately jerk back.

  Making her decision, she hoped it wouldn't bring security into the room. She swung her head and smacked it against his cheekbone. He let her go with an oath and she tried to focus, because she had hit one of the harder bits of his head with the softer ones of hers. Barring that, she'd been forced to put some power behind it. She was proud that her hand did not pause in its motion, working him even more intently. Despite the pain she knew she'd caused him, his body was responding to her demand, focusing on the pleasurable goal happening below his waist.

  He tried to twist away, but with his shoulders raked up, he was limited in how fast he could move, and she stayed easily with him, sensing victory in her hand.

  "You'll come for me now, Mackenzie. Spurt yourself into my fingers like a teenager unable to control his hard-on. I can feel it coming. Let go."

  She pulled a kerchief from the top of her stocking, just under the lace top, and hooded him with it as his body began to buck. His seed thickened the vein beneath her fingertips. As a warm trickle of blood slid down her neck where he had bitten her, her own reaction wet her thighs.

  His body lunged forward, the ring bolts clanging harshly against the pull of the tethers. He snarled, his semen shooting forth into the doubled square of cloth. Some of it jetted past the cover, dampening her wrist, and the potent, erotic smell spurred her desire. Violet couldn't take her attention from his face, watching the battle of a powerful man against his own body, against the emotional vulnerability she had pressed on and forced from him through the uncontrolled physical release.

  The orgasm was fast and intense, and left him shuddering, the wide chest expanding to take in air. "Whoa, there," Violet leaned her body into his to give him some support. He was double her weight in muscle, but the leaning worked, and gave her the excuse to hold him in her arms. She liked the way he felt there, and caressed the line of his back just above his waist, the firm, damp skin. She gave herself a moment, because she liked it so much, then she made herself do what she had to do.

  She released him abruptly. She folded the kerchief over and dropped it on the chair seat. Moving behind him, she loosened one wrist cuff enough that he could free himself. "We're done," she said.

  "What?" he straightened.

  "You can get yourself loose from there."

  "But, Violet, what--"

  She stopped him with a level look. "You look me up when you want a Mistress, Mac. Instead of someone to jerk you off, or someone you can jerk around. I'm not interested."

  "What the hell game are you playing?" he said, his brows drawing over his eyes in a way she was certain would intimidate the hell out of most people. She merely lifted a brow.

  "I'd ask the same of you, if I cared. You're good, Mackenzie. You're very, very good. You'd make almost any Mistress within these walls think you're playing the game the way it should be played. A little rebelliousness mixed with the charm, the subservience. If I'd wanted a trained pony, I'd have gone to the circus."

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Of course you don't." She turned away, picked up her boots and the kerchief. One step to the door. Two steps. Three. Brisk, no dragging, her intention obvious.

  "Wait." She stopped at the door, but did not turn. She just waited.

  "Don't leave. Tell me what I'm doing wrong."

  She closed her eyes to compose herself, to conceal the quick surge of triumph and lust that the rough, angry confusion in his voice roused in her. There was more to him than met the eye, as she had suspected.

  Rotating on her heel, she faced him, sweeping his delectable body with an expression that did not reveal a trace of how she felt looking at him standing there, the jeans and underwear shoved down to his thighs, his chest bare, the wrists still held in restraints. "That's part of what you're doing wrong. You're so worried about right and wrong. You're trying to control the situation, Mackenzie. Who controls this situation?"

  "You."

  She laughed. "You're saying what I want to hear, not what you believe. You, what?"

  "You, Mistress."

  She took a step forward.

  "Let me tell you what I expect, Mackenzie. I'm not a dabbler. I'm not a casual one-night trawler. I'm looking for a solid bond, a total commitment. I don't expect to find it in every man I bring to these rooms. In fact, I don't expect to find it in most of them, but I choose men interested in finding out. Once I find it, I don't expect to take it outside this club right away, but it's what I intend when I do. I want to be some lucky man's Mistress, and you're just wasting my time if you're going to hide." She stepped back up to him, until that large body was just over her again, the fury and desire in his eyes cloaking her roused body in heat. "I want to flay off every inch of your shields, your emotional skin, so I see and know everything you are, every part you hide from the rest of the world. I'm fully capable of it."

  "I don't know...if I can let you. Get that close."

  A soft sigh broke free, and now she did soften, cupping her hand under his jaw with gentle fingers. "Bingo. That's who I'm looking for. The man who tells me what's happening in his head, what I'm doing to him. Who trusts me, or is at least willing to try. The man who can completely let go to pure sensation and feeling. That's it, Mackenzie. That's what I want. You want to run from that, you can. Just don't waste my time with your act if you're just here for the turn-on."

  "I've got to think about it."

  "So think." She turned away from him, though moving back toward the door felt like moving through deep sand, all the muscles of her body screaming in protest. "I'll come back here tomorrow between nine and eleven. If you want me, you'll be in this room, stripped. Nothing on. You put on one of the cock harnesses, tether yourself to that ring in the floor, the minimum amount of slack necessary between it and your cock, your knees spread as wide as you can get them, your hands laced on the back of your head. You stay straight upright in that position until I decide to come down here."

  She looked over her shoulder, cocked a brow at him, stifled a groan of need as she saw his cock hardening again at her words. "Can you hold a position that long, Mackenzie? How badly do you want to have a Mistress worth having, rather than a playmate?"

  Chapter 5

  He wanted to run, to turn his back on The Zone and pretend, at least for twenty-four hours, that it, and Violet, did
n't exist. That the shameful moments had not existed.

  But he made himself stay, made himself talk to other club members, find out more about his fiery little Dom. Everyone knew Violet. She went to many of the outside private parties, where D/s couples got together in their latest pairings. Here several times a week, she often interactively played.

  She was perfect.

  She also terrified him, and he didn't know why. Why was she different? He'd had Mistresses do all manner of things to him. He'd tolerated it, and most of it turned him on. She had overwhelmed him, shot him up and over a pinnacle with her clever fingers before he'd even had a chance to catch a breath. Her sultry voice teased his mind, the faint smell of lavender still on his body from where she pressed against him.

  He didn't go home. He went to the office. Nodding briefly to the dispatch officer, he went back to his desk, switching on the lamp. There were several new reports on his desk. Psych profile, forensics for the last victim, the latter not telling him more than he already knew. He knew the method of restraint, how a bullet tore through flesh. The profile was disappointing, a generic analysis.

  It is possible the subject was traumatized by a sexual betrayal or rejection, and has had to pretend the betrayal or rejection does not exist, therefore leading to suppression of an enormous anger... by calling the parent, the person they perceive as responsible for their pain, they are likely punishing the authority figure.

  He didn't blame the Psych department. Likely very accurate, it was a standard evaluation of motivation for crimes of sexual violence. Most serial killers weren't terribly original in that area, just in their methods of expressing that pain. It was her way of killing that would lead him to her.

  His gut told him the frustrating truth; that he only had one piece of the jumbo brand 10,000 piece puzzle. There was something odd about this murderess, a secret she hadn't yet revealed with her actions. He lifted the list of regular Doms provided by The Zone in exchange for a confidentiality agreement. They hadn't forced the issue of a warrant. Connie had been visibly impressed when she relayed the manager's message to Mac: "If our people are getting hurt, we want to protect them. If that gets someone's nose out of joint, their snit isn't worth someone's life."