“No!” she screeched when the drops turned to a stream and the burn didn’t end. It got hotter and more painful. He stopped and she relaxed. He ran his free hand up and down her arm, soothingly.
“You did so well, Felicity, I want to do the same on the other breast.”
She tightened. She was so close to uttering her safe word, bringing it to an end. It had hurt so much that she wasn’t sure she could endure it again. Instead, she remembered a conversation from the day before.
“Amber.” She panted. “Amber, Sir.”
He nodded and continued to rub his hand up and down her arm. “You can do it, Felicity. I know you can.” Sir cupped her face, gently wiped his thumb across her cheek and gathered the moisture he found there. “God, I love watching you writhe. I’m so hard, Felicity. So fucking hard.”
She looked into his eyes—his blue, sparkling, eager eyes—and she found the strength to grit her teeth and let him carry on. His thrill was hers and now that the wax was cooling, it felt quite good, encasing her nipple, pulling it tighter, raising her desire.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded, not eager enough to speak.
“Okay, here goes.”
He straightened, dipped the candle again, and the pain bloomed. She forced herself to keep her eyes open, though, and watched her Master’s delight as he stared down at her tortured, puckering nipple. His smile widened as he smothered her breast in wax, entombed it. She had to close her eyes and scream out as the heat encased her sensitive nub, and she was so relieved when he stopped.
“Amazing.” He leaned away from her, putting the candle back before stretching down and releasing her ankle from its manacle “You’re so amazing, Felicity.” He stroked her ankle lovingly for a moment, then pushed her leg back up toward her stomach so he could shuffle past and kneel between her legs. He turned to release the second one, giving it a tender stroke too.
Sir leaned over her, then toward the cupboard holding the candles. She tightened and released a moment later when she saw the small square package in his hand. To her relief, he was going to fuck her. She closed her eyes and relaxed, paying attention to the thrumming arousal gliding over her skin, the deep-seated desire sank between her stomach and her clit. From the rustling, she knew he was putting on the condom and eagerly waited for his next move. Clenching her fists, she wished she could lift her arms and pull him toward her.
Sir shuffled forward until his cock pressed between her pussy lips. He was hot and vivid against her flesh but dulled where the wax coated her thigh. When he eased his erection into her, she gripped her legs around him and felt and heard the wax cracking. When he was fully seated within her, he reached forward and traced his fingers down her body while looking deeply into her eyes.
She would do anything for this man, she realized, when he moved within her, while their gazes melded as intimately as their bodies. Anything at all. She was his completely. He thrust into her once, twice then reached up to the center of her chest again. He dropped his gaze, he curled his fingers, and dragged his nails down her soft flesh, making her gasp, then he scraped through the wax, sending chunks and chips flying. Cracks radiated out and he made tracts down over each breast. His nails dug into her soft stomach flesh, then he dug them into the thick white wax before he stopped where their bodies joined.
He shifted his hands around and grabbed her hips. She gripped him tighter and he pulled his nails through the thick coating on her thighs, the sting of his nails even more painful on the overly abused flesh. When he reached the side of her knees, he encouraged her to lift her legs and pushed them back toward her chest.
Wax splintered and cracked with the upped pace. He held the backs of her thighs, squeezed the bruised flesh and made her wince and sigh with the pain. It melded with the pleasure and she found herself climbing ever closer to climax as his pelvis hit hers time and time again.
“Fuck,” he exclaimed, continuing to hold her legs back but pulling away, unlocking him from her. She groaned with disappointment. He took one hand from her thigh.
“Keep it there,” he commanded.
She strained against her bound hands and lifted her head to see what he was doing. She saw the destructive work of his nails—cracks crazed what wax was left on her body, other parts had broken away in huge shards. Between her thighs, she saw him stroking himself. He’d discarded the condom. Rubbing up and down his cock, he eased back the foreskin and ruffled it up again, revealing and hiding the soft, red tip in a blur of action. His face was screwed up in concentration. He looked down on her roughly opened body. He was inspecting her red, bruised thighs, the white, hardened wax and her wet, pink slit.
Was he imaging the scene she’d seen earlier? That the white wasn’t innocent wax but the lustful emissions of several men? Her cunt spasmed. He grunted. Her nipples tightened under their cracked glaze, and she fought to keep her eyes open through the assault of pleasure. She was glad she did as she was rewarded by seeing him climax, the trail of white, cum bathed her thigh. Warm, gentle liquid contrasted with the cooled, tightened wax.
He smiled up at her, winked cheekily and moved himself round to lie next to her. He then rested his head on her shoulder and snuggled close to her body. She wanted to wrap her arms around him but they were still restrained.
“Hmm, now that I’ve caught my breath, I need to get this wax off you.” He kissed her quickly then scrambled off the bed. She couldn’t see what he was doing, but when he came back into sight, he had the crop in his hands. She tightened in fear. She’d thought the punishment was over.
“I told you I had a special way of getting off the wax and this is it. Close your eyes, Felicity, and lie still. Stretch your legs wide.”
Felicity opened her legs a little, reluctant to show herself off so lewdly.
“I don’t want to have to re-cuff your ankles.” He tapped her left thigh with the end of his crop. “But I will if you don’t behave.”
Felicity gulped, spread her thighs wider and clamped her eyes shut.
“That’s better, good girl. Now stay still. Don’t move. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir.”
She heard the slash and whoosh of the crop and tightened, but it didn’t hit her. She relaxed. She was sure there were more effective ways to remove the wax, ones that wouldn’t involve more crop marks on her skin, but she was in her Master’s control and she would take whatever he wanted to give her.
The next time she heard the crop, she felt the smack on her left breast right above her nipple. She heard and felt the wax crack then felt the lick of the crop on her flesh. The strike was less sharp than she’d expected, but she still jumped at the contact. The next slap hurt more as the wax had broken away and Sir managed to hit the area where the most of her skin was peeking through.
He swapped to her other breast then, the crack and the force shattered wax and sprayed it all over her, a second impact shook more off and hit the tip of her nipple.
“Fuck,” Felicity cursed, the sting as unexpected and lasting as a paper cut, the ache radiating out and heating the whole of her breast.
“Felicity!” he barked, the crop fell again, a little to the right on another mass of wax that exploded, the slap on her skin heating and radiating immediately. “Watch your language!”
“Sorry, Sir.” She gasped, knowing better than to offer an excuse.
“You will be.”
The next impact of the wicked square of leather was on her left thigh, about halfway between her pelvis and knee, hitting on the inside where Sir had come moments before. Much of the wax there was already broken from their earlier joining so the crop seemed to slap the remaining shards into her flesh—her already pink and tortured flesh.
She yelped and fought the urge to flail her leg away. She wriggled her bum against the bed and bit down on her bottom lip.
“I wasn’t going to crop your thighs, but your language outburst deserves punishment. Ladies do not curse like that unless directed to by their Master.
Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, trying hard to lie still. She knew she was going to get at least another swipe with the crop. He wouldn’t leave one thigh untouched.
She was right. The crop whizzed, disturbed the air and impacted the opposite thigh in a similar place. The sting was as bad, if not worse, and she made the strangest, guttural squealing sound. She fought with her urge to scramble away and to scream her safe word at the top of her lungs. Yes, it hurt, but the remaining heat slipped into her core, and when the crop fell again, the shockwave ran from her right thigh straight to her clit. She convulsed with the terrible ecstasy of it.
He hit the left thigh, and as there wasn’t much wax left, it really hurt. She shivered and shook, groaned and begged for mercy.
“No more. Please, Sir, no more!”
She was on fire, very sorry for what she’d done and desperate for release.
One more impact shook her right thigh where a chunk of wax still lingered. She wanted to shout her safe word. If her begging hadn’t worked, she needed to do something to make it stop.
Thankfully, Sir dropped the crop then and sat on the bed beside her to unfasten her hands from the restraints. He kissed her when he leaned over her, and she wriggled her wrists as they were freed, but left her arms above her head in complete surrender as she drank in his kiss.
“Let’s get the rest of this off, Felicity. Come with me.”
He slipped off the bed, and Felicity sat up gingerly, shards of wax dropping away. Other bits cracked the moment she moved, and she disturbed a sea of multi-colored pieces as she shifted to the end of the bed and took his hand. He pulled her across the room to the only door on the top floor then through it into a honey-yellow bathroom. A huge chunk of the room was separated with a glass partition, and to one side sat a bright-white, deep sink on a polished slice of natural wood, the beautiful grain picked out by the varnish. Felicity noticed it when Samuel put a condom packet down on the edge of it.
“Come on, the shower should get the rest of this off.”
She followed him into the huge shower cubicle and seconds later, he pushed her under a powerful gush of warm water. She moaned at the massaging rush on her shoulders and gasped when he pressed his hands against her chest.
“Just stand still and I’ll get you clean. I’m so proud of you, Felicity.”
“Really?” she asked, not used to being so verbally appreciated.
“Yes, my love. You took that amazingly well and the way you twitched and writhed under the hot wax then my crop—well, I’m turned on just thinking about it. What did you think of it?”
“It hurt,” Felicity responded truthfully without pausing. “Sir, it hurt, Sir.”
“No need for Sir, now, Felicity. It hurt, but did you enjoy it?” He ran his hands down her sides and pulled her closer to him. His erection pressed into her thigh and she looked into his twinkling eyes and got swept away by the torrent of desire there.
“I think that I did. Yes, it turned me on, but oh, did it hurt.” She winced.
“Did it?”
“Yes, it did.” She nodded vigorously. “It really, really, did.”
He laughed and kissed her.
“But you liked it. I know you liked it.” He cupped her breasts, brushed the wax off and continued to kiss her.
She moaned. The mixture of the drumming water and the gentle brush of his hands dissolving and removing the wax, freeing her skin once more, was intoxicating.
His touch dipped lower, guiding the drips off her stomach then lower still. She parted her legs and he stroked down her thighs. A combination of torture and ecstasy flashed through her as the wax disappeared. His touch intensified, and the burn of her previous punishments coalesced.
Samuel rubbed and rubbed until all the wax was gone and she was crooning for more of his touch. He pressed in and kissed the noises from her lips, blending them with his own pants and trailing his fingers up until they split her pussy lips and bumped against her clit.
She wrapped her arms around him and held on tightly while hot pleasure bubbled up through her body, tightening her nipples, reddening her chest. Although that could have been the lingering effects of the wax, a pink pattern covered her skin where the wax had been and when the water hit it, or Samuel stroked his fingers over the pink, it stung like sunburn. She pushed harder against him and pressed her breasts against his chest. They tingled with the heat of the wax, still sensitive to the touch, each slick hair of his chest prickled her, adding intensity to the pleasure that covered her, filled her.
She hitched her leg up to his hip, and he used his other hand to hold it there, to hold her open. He continued to stroke her clit. Her legs shook as dizziness overwhelmed her. She felt like she was going to fall apart.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered against her lips. “Let it go, Felicity. I’ve got you. Come for me.”
She whimpered, groaned and, with a few more deft flicks of his fingers, she was undone, moaning and panting, shivering and shaking. Samuel held her tightly, and she felt safe and secure in his arms.
“Turn around,” he whispered. “Put your hands against the wall.”
He walked out of the cubicle. She knew where he was going—to pick up the condom. Or at least that was what she hoped. Pressing her hands to the wall, feeling like a criminal about to surrender, she wondered if she had done anything else wrong. Could Samuel be ready to punish her again?
She saw his leg come into her line of sight and, as she strained to look behind her, she was relieved when the rest of him moved forward and she could see the condom packet in his hand. She also noticed six pink spots on the tender flesh of his inside arm, slightly above the wrist, evidence of the wax he’d dripped on himself to check it was safe for her. She gulped back the wave of emotion. She didn’t want to blubber then and there. She was filled with a warmth and all the instances of his caring kindness came to mind—the comfort, the reassurance—and she realized just how lucky she was and how close she’d been to losing that.
“Good girl.”
He smiled, and she grinned back, wanting to tell him what she’d realized, but she was scared too, not feeling that brave.
He ran his hand over her hip as he stood behind her. The familiar crinkle of a packet made her tummy muscles tightened.
“Widen your thighs, Felicity,” he commanded.
She happily complied.
He pressed down on the small of her back and the resulting cold impact of the marble against her chest was sublime. He knocked her thighs even wider with his own, pushed his hand harder into her back to gain the right angle then entered her. There was no need for caution and he knew it. He gripped her hips and pushed deeply. She groaned as she squeezed around him, each throb reigniting the spark of orgasmic bliss at her center.
Each thrust brought more shivers, each move more ecstasy. She thought she’d never stop coming, that she’d die from the pleasure.
“Samuel,” she cried, “Samuel.”
“Felicity.” He groaned. “Oh, God, Felicity.”
It made no sense to her. Not one real sentence was uttered, but there was a depth of feeling that books of words couldn’t capture. There was an edge to this quickie in the bathroom. On the face of it, the coupling was all lust and passion, but Felicity knew it was something more. She had a new appreciation of her Master and their relationship.
“I love you,” he panted.
She wasn’t sure she’d heard him right, but then he repeated himself as he quickened the pace. He slipped his hands up and over her ribs to grasp her breasts. That meant he must feel it too and he’d just confirmed he felt the same way.
“I love you too.” She didn’t know quite what it meant in its entirety, having never being in love before, but it had to be the right label for the crazy tumult of emotion that filled her to overflowing.
What else could it be?
Samuel came as she spoke, moaning against her ear and gripping her tightly. They panted together for a whi
le, then Samuel reached out to switch off the shower and stepped away. He came back with a fluffy towel to wrap around her.
“I meant what I said.” He rubbed his hands up and down her body over the thick towel.
He looked into her eyes and she could see it written there, in amongst the same layers of fear and inexperience she knew he could see in her own eyes. It was the start of something new, something special—something that she hoped would last forever.
“So did I,” she replied with a smile, “and I think that’s the very bravest thing I’ve ever said.”
Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:
What’s her Secret?: Good Manors
Victoria Blisse
Excerpt
Chapter One
Dead, glassy eyes stared up at me from a face inhumanely pale. I recognized the corpse of Lord Mallard. On top of him a young, pert prostitute writhed, her long red nails set on his flesh above his unbeating heart. She was in the exact position she had been in when I’d snapped the lord in flagrante ten years ago.
There was a strange hum on the very edge of what she could hear and when I noticed the noise it grew louder and more recognizable. It was a human scream. I looked back from the prostitute’s face—her eyes flat and dark, her red-ringed mouth open in fake pleasure—to the body of Lord Mallard. Fingers of ice gripped my heart, my mouth dried, I felt an overwhelming dread and when my gaze ended on the face of the corpse I saw its mouth was opened and the scream was coming from him. His eyes snapped open, his visage full of pain and accusation.
“You killed me!” he yelled, and I woke up.
I didn’t have the nightmare every time I slept, like I had in the early days, but it still cropped up with regularity. Some details changed but the dead lord always accused me and I would always wake up in a cold sweat, heart thudding and my soul weighed down with guilt.
I shook my head and ran my fingers shakily through the tangle of brunette locks. It was six-fifty, ages before my alarm was set to go off.
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