As they passed the ones with doors ajar, she’d glance in. She’d expected only beds and dark walls, like the stereotype of a low-rent brothel. Instead, the first room was decorated in southwestern reds and blacks. The next looked like a dark Gothic nightmare. One resembled the deck of a pirate ship with wall murals of the sun setting over an endless expanse of ocean.
Most of the way down the hall, Ghost pushed a door fully open for her. “I thought you’d enjoy a royal welcome.”
The opulent, decadent décor was reminiscent of the reign of Louis XIV. Lavish red and gold tapestries hung on the right and left walls. A sofa was over to the right. The far wall held a…
“A throne?” Elaborately carved and cushioned with red leather, the throne stood on a raised dais in front of gilded gold wall panels. But the center of the seat was missing.
He made a guttural sound of agreement. “Mmmph, it’s called a queening throne. This is a popular room with female Dominants who like to be worshipped in a carnal fashion.”
As in the submissive would lie beneath the throne and… “Oh. Right.”
Great, now she was blushing again.
Everywhere in the room, there was gilt and gold, from the panels behind the throne to the wall of mirrors around the doorway to the candleholders.
A dark wood cabinet inlaid with gold and silver filigree stood open, revealing a myriad of BDSM implements.
In the room’s center, beneath an extravagant chandelier, was a luxurious spanking bench with extravagantly carved legs and padded with golden leather. The straps were gold studded.
A sensual floral fragrance drifted through the room.
One arm around her, Ghost turned to adjust a wall rheostat. The tiny lights in the chandelier grew brighter.
No, no, no. She didn’t have a twenty-year-old body. Turning, she put her hand over his and lowered the lights.
Tilting his head, he regarded her for a moment. “This time, I’ll allow you to have your way…with the lighting. Another time, it will be different.”
Her mind simply emptied at the casual authority in his voice. “Thank you.”
After closing the door and setting his bag down, he gripped her hair, pulling her head back for another kiss, molding her against his hard frame. He was all muscles and sinews, and a thick cock strained against his pants.
Smiling slightly, he said in Arabic, “Here we have the proper place to indulge in a spanking. Do you want to try being restrained on the bench, or should I put you over my knees?”
Oh gods, how could she ever decide?
* * *
Ghost smiled down at the little professor. So pretty with her flushed face and the silky hair he had mussed. He slid his hand under the open bustier. Her breasts weren’t the perky ones of youth, but instead, incredibly soft with large pink nipples. The best kind of nipples for clamps.
Her body quivered each time his fingers brushed over a peak.
This was going to be fun.
And frustrating. His throbbing dick would have to settle for a handjob later. This time around, it would be all about her.
Biting her lip, she looked from the sofa to the spanking bench. Her longing to try the bench obviously vied with her need for the familiar.
The Shadowlands was all about exploring limits.
“The bench it is.” He tried to smother a laugh as her shocked gaze shot to him.
“But…”
With one arm still around her, he led her to the bench and slid the bustier’s straps down to remove the garment. Standing behind her, he closed his hands on her lush breasts to keep her immobile as he nibbled on her shoulders. Her skin was like satin beneath his lips.
“Ghost…”
“Shhh.” Still behind her, he reached down to undo her black jeans, then bent and tugged them and her briefs down.
He squeezed her soft waist between his big hands, then slid his palms lower. He curved his hands around the beautifully full hips and squeezed. “This is how I’ll hold you in place when I take you,” he murmured and enjoyed the tremor that ran through her.
Lifting her, he laid her on the bench, belly-down. When she wiggled, he swatted her ass lightly. “Stay still, lass.”
Her face was turned to one side, and he saw the flush pinken her skin. And how she didn’t move a muscle.
“Very good.” Smiling, he tugged her jeans and briefs all the way off. Having the submissives shoeless in the club made stripping them so much easier. He wondered if Z had taken that into consideration when creating the rule.
Gripping her right knee, he set it on the horizontal padded board, then did the same with the left one. “Rest your forearms on the board here, too, pet.” He adjusted her breasts to dangle on each side of the top cushion.
She turned her head to watch him, eyes slightly wide, breathing fast.
Intending to reassure her, he bent and kissed her lightly. Her yielding response brought out the Dom in him, and he deepened it into an erotic possession.
Damn, she was intoxicating.
Straightening, he ran his hand down her bare back and up. Someday, her beautiful skin would serve as a blank canvas. Not today.
Control, Colonel.
Instead, he pushed her hair out of her face. “Are you comfortable, Valerie?” He traced the tiny frown line between her brows. “I want you comfortable before I beat on you.”
A snort of laughter escaped her. “I feel like an idiot.”
“Sex really is one of the silliest sports ever.” He touched her, learning her skin, the muscles beneath, the tiny quivers. Accustoming her to his hands. “You’d think someone could have come up with a better schematic for the human body. Breasts and balls get in the way and bobble during activities. Such a poor design.”
Her eyes closed when he didn’t do anything startling. Her frown was gone. “Good point.”
Oh, now, mustn’t have the pretty subbie get too relaxed.
He bent and cupped one of those beautifully heavy breasts…and her eyes popped open. And when he rolled her nipple between his fingers, her pupils dilated.
So very responsive. He was looking forward to seeing her all flushed and sweaty from pain and arousal.
First things first.
He restrained her right and left legs by running a strap over each calf.
After testing the restraints, she tensed as obvious worry set in again.
He almost grinned. She was a delight to his sadistic heart. But this was a balancing act—and in the beginning of this scene, the emphasis needed to be on comfort.
“Easy, pet.” He stroked her hair. “I’ll leave your hands free. If needed, you can always reach the straps.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
* * *
Valerie couldn’t believe she’d thanked him. For leaving her hands free. Her legs sure weren’t. She pulled at the calf straps again. There was no give.
With the tilt of the bench, her butt was slightly higher than her head and stuck out past the end of the table. He’d drawn her knees a short way toward her shoulders before strapping her legs down, and it felt as if he’d painted a bullseye on her ass.
His warm hand ran over her no-longer-taut bottom. The calluses on his palms lent an intriguing abrasion over her skin, as he kneaded and slapped her ass and thighs lightly.
Over hidden speakers came the faint sound of music—one of Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos, maybe—still in the slow build-up. Taking his time, he spanked her harder, then paused to run his palms over her thighs, her ass.
A burn started in her skin, echoed by the one in her core. She started to tremble in anticipation of where else he would touch.
“I love this, seeing you laid out for me, for my enjoyment,” he murmured. “You’re wondering what I’m going to do to you. Hang in there, little professor, you’ll find out soon enough. Remember, your safeword is red.”
When she shivered, he laughed—and his hand smacked down on her ass. Gently, at first, several times.
“You’re turning
a nice light pink. Do you bruise easily? Should I try to make sure you don’t have any lingering marks?”
“I’m pretty normal, I think, and I don’t care if there are some bruises.”
“Perfect.” He delivered several more slaps, and then…oh gods, he explored between her legs. His finger slid between her folds, up and around her clit.
She was quite wet.
“Nice, very nice.” The next set of spanks were harder and faster, and her bottom was burning. Somehow, each blow sent more blood to her pussy, making it pulse with need. After rubbing the sting away, he ran his hands up and down her thighs, then…there. Sliding over her clit with the lightest of touches.
She squirmed, wanting more.
After pressing his hand against her pussy, he wiped the dampness off his palm onto her bottom—and slapped that spot.
The sting was much more pronounced on wet skin, and she squeaked.
His deep laugh rang out in the room.
Moving forward, he stroked her hair and gave it a hard tug. “I intend to hear more of those squeaks,” he whispered, then kissed her hard and deep.
She sank into the bench cushions.
For a minute, he nibbled on her lips, even as he caressed her breasts, his hands gentle…then rougher. Squeezing and tugging. Taking possession.
Heat swept through her body, top to bottom, as everything grew more sensitive. As she fell into an abyss of desire.
“These are too pretty to leave unadorned.” He pinched her left nipple, making her gasp.
From his bag, he pulled out nipple clamps and fastened them on her lightly, then tightened the clamps, one, then the other.
The pain turned to liquid heat in her veins. She started to pant.
“There now, aren’t those nice?” His voice, despite the amusement, sounded deeper. Huskier. “Your breasts are perfect for clamps, you know.”
No, she had no idea but couldn’t find the words to say so. Her brain wasn’t working quite right. Only his voice and the sensations he created penetrated.
His hand trailed down her back until he reached her bottom again.
And he spanked her more. Softer, then harder. Slowing to play with her pussy, tease her clit, then spanking again. Sometimes, he used a cupped hand, making the sound explode in the room; sometimes, he struck the tender crease between her buttocks and her thigh, making her yelp.
His fingers touched her, so very intimately, and she heard a rumble like a big cat purr, as if he enjoyed fondling her as much as she enjoyed being touched.
Her clit engorged to a needy ache. When he pressed one big finger up inside her, her back arched at the burst of pleasure.
“Oh, ohhhhh.” The sound came from her, a long-drawn-out sound.
“Next time, sweetheart, you’ll get more than my fingers.” He pressed in another digit, pumping slightly as his other hand played with her clit.
Everything down there tightened as she neared an amazing peak—and then he pulled away. Her moan was drowned out by more smacks on her ass.
Her orgasm lurked, just out of reach, turning the pain into shooting stars of excitement.
“Let’s add to the fun.” As she tried to catch her breath, to protest, he picked up something from his bag and played with the nipple clamps.
She couldn’t see, but as he straightened up, something still tugged on her breasts. “What?”
“Weights, my dear. So, when I do this”—he smacked her bottom— “they’ll swing.”
And they did. Every time he hit her hard, she rocked enough to make the weights pull. Her attention became divided among her throbbing breasts, her burning bottom, and her aching, needy pussy.
He swatted her harder, lighter, varying the blows. Kneading her stinging skin, then teasing her clit until she teetered on the precipice of coming.
Each time, he’d back off again.
He was driving her mad.
“Pleeeeze,” she finally whined. “Why are you doing this?”
He chuckled. “It’s called edging, sweetheart, something sadists love to do to poor strapped-down submissives.”
“You are a monster.”
He laughed again. The next flurry of blows hurt enough to bring tears to her eyes. He pressed his fingers deep inside her, filling her, as he slid his other fingers over her slick clit. Over and over.
She held her breath as the exquisite pleasure grew, and this time, he didn’t stop, and oh gods, as the first incredible wave of pleasure bloomed inside, the world disappeared. She fell off the mountaintop into an ocean of sensation.
His low purr sounded again. “Mmm, that was nice. Again.” His fingers pressed inside, driving in and out.
The spasms of pleasure started up again, rolling over her like warm surf.
When he finally stopped, she lay limp, gasping for air, heart hammering.
* * *
Keeping one hand on Valerie to reassure her, Ghost used the other to undo the restraints. Her skin was slightly damp under his fingers, and her breathing still fast.
Damn, he hadn’t had so much fun in an exceedingly long time. Earlier, he’d wondered if the quiet professor would be too inhibited to climax, but once past her initial worries, all her responses were open. Genuine.
“Up you come, lass.” He lifted her off the bench, wrapped her in a blanket, and guided her the three steps to the gold and red upholstered sofa.
Steadily, he pulled her onto his lap, adjusting her so her right shoulder was against his chest, and her legs lay on the cushions. “Comfortable?”
She blinked at him, her cheeks still adorably flushed. “Um. Yes. Thank you.”
“So polite.” He removed one nipple clamp and waited for the blood to return to the abused tissue. “Let’s see if you know any curse words.”
“What?” Her light brown eyebrows drew together. “I don’t—”
Her eyes widened as the pain hit. “Owww. Ya Ibn el sharmouta, ayuha alwaghd!”
He grinned at the language a pissed-off, street vendor might use. “Oh now, lass, my parents were married.”
She glared at him.
“Good choice though. Let’s try for more.” Avoiding her grab for his hands, he removed the second clamp.
A hiss escaped her like an angry cat. “Ayreh feek, hemar.”
Laughing, he covered her breast with his hand, preventing her from rubbing the ache away. “A warning though. In here, cursing is fine. Downstairs, you might use caution about calling a sadist—or a Dom—a donkey. Or saying, fuck you. The Shadowlands can be fairly strict.”
Now, there was an adorable pout. “No one would understand me.”
His lips quirked. “I would.” He emphasized his warning with a pinch to her undoubtedly aching nipple.
To his delight, she not only squeaked—but color swept into her cheeks. She really did like pain. Sexual pain.
So, he massaged her tender breast—damn, but he loved the softness. Gripping her hair with his other hand, he kissed her deliberately hard, owning his territory in the same way he’d owned her ass.
Marked her ass.
Colonel, don’t get carried away.
Yes, the tug of desire was there, the urge to let this be more than an enjoyable scene and evening.
However, it wasn’t fair to ask a submissive anything after flooding her with endorphins. He could wait.
* * *
After a while, Valerie cleaned up in the tiny bathroom as her body hummed with satisfaction. She already felt the loss of Ghost’s rough, callused hands on her skin. How could his touch turn her willpower into jelly?
Was it the easy authority he wielded? Or the confident grip? Or the pain… She checked the mirror to see the red marks on her butt.
Was it utterly weird she wanted to show them off?
By the time she’d dressed, Ghost had wiped down the equipment and was stowing away the cleaning supplies.
“I could have helped,” she protested.
The way his smile lit his green eyes was amazing. “I’m use
d to it.”
“You’re a Dom. Shouldn’t the submissive do the cleaning?” Because she wanted to. Totally wanted to do something, anything, for him.
Tucking an arm around her, he guided her out the door, flipping a “check room” light switch.
“Not always. We sadists enjoy turning our victims into quivering messes who aren’t up to anything more demanding than sitting on the floor.”
Valerie stopped short. “Really? You didn’t do that to me.”
“We don’t know each other well enough, and you’re still new to pain.” His smile deepened. “I’m not sure if your expression is of hopefulness or worry.”
She wasn’t sure either. Her legs still felt like jelly, and her muscles like boiled noodles. What would she do if he gave her…more?
As they continued down the stairs, he held her close enough she could feel he was limping. “Are you all right? Did you hurt your leg?”
“I’m fine. The limp is nothing new. I lost my lower leg in combat, and the prosthesis I’m wearing today doesn’t flex well enough for going down steps.”
“I…I didn’t know.” Then she winced. Her words had sounded rude. “I mean—”
“It’s all right, lass. It’s hardly a secret and rather obvious when I wear shorts.”
“Oh.” She shook her head. What does one say to someone who’d lost part of a limb? “I’m sorry, Ghost. I can’t imagine the adjustment that must have taken.”
“Life is full of adjustments.” He tugged her hair. “If you get angry with me, don’t kick my left leg, or you’ll break a toe.”
Her mouth dropped open, and a laugh escaped. “Thanks for the warning.”
At the foot of the stairs, he paused. “Can I talk you into a drink?”
Sorely tempted, she hesitated, then shook her head. “I need to get home. I have grading to do tomorrow.”
He snorted. “My students complain about their homework. They should see ours.”
“Truly.”
He took his arm from her waist and turned her to face him. “In that case, how about meeting me for lunch on campus this week?”
The Effing List Page 10