by Joey W. Hill
She picked up the brush off the lounge chair and came toward him. The blue-green eyes became even more vibrant, watching her walk, the jut of her nipples through the thin suit. When wet, it clung to her pussy and breasts in a way that was pretty much indecent. He put out his hand for the brush, then motioned to her to turn, show him the back. She heard him let out a breath that made her glow. Then quake, because of his next words.
"Going to be extra hard on you today, girl. You're purposefully tempting your Master, and you're too damn good at it."
Her toes curled. He took her arm, guided her into the private changing room, closed the door and took a seat on the bench, reaching out to manacle her wrist with his strong fingers. "Everyone's in the house," he said, his tone dark and dangerous. "No one to hear you scream, especially after I gag you with this."
Instead of the ball gag, today he had a ring gag. There was only one reason a man would put a ring gag on his sub, and that was because he wanted her jaw locked open wide and her tongue pressed down so she was helpless to do anything but take the thrust of his cock.
He gave her a look. "Going to make it interesting, girl? Fight me?"
She thought about the pain of that brush coming down on her haunches. As if following her train of thought, he let his gaze slide that way. "Your ass is nice and wet. It hurts more that way, you know."
He increased pressure on her wrist and their gazes locked. In an instant, she understood what he wanted, the intense play he wanted to give them both. The pressure of the past two days obliged, her mind willing to play rabbit to his wolf. She twisted, broke the grip, bolted for the door. He caught her, moving much faster than she would have expected. The man was so unbelievably strong, catching her about the waist and swinging her toward the bench as she thrashed and fought him, trying to get away.
That strength also kept her from hurting herself, because though he was relentless, he put her down on her stomach on the bench as if she were an egg. Her knees pressed against the outdoor carpet as he straddled her, gripping her wet hair to bring up her head. She tried to worm away from him as he forced the ring into her mouth, strapped it on. Her struggles earned her a sharp slap on her thigh that quieted her, made her surrender. He cinched the gag around her head, then stepped back.
"Take your bottoms down to your knees. Your thumbs stay hooked into either side of them to keep those hands there."
Her stomach was on the bench, her breasts on the other side, and as she complied, he circled her, squatting before her to lift her chin. He gazed at her face, her mouth stretched wide with the ring gag, her fevered eyes upon him. His touch dropped so he could play in the cleavage the suit presented, then moved over the wet fabric clinging to her nipples. She whimpered, her fingers tightening in her swimsuit bottoms as he pinched her.
"You're a wet dream, girl," he said. "Looking at the way that suit pushes your breasts together, I'm getting some good ideas about the next time I tell you to put it on. I'll put my fingers in your pussy, collect some of your honey and lube up this sweet cleft"--his fingers stroked the channel between her breasts--"then I'll put my cock between them and fuck your tits until I come."
She swallowed, her gaze now pleading. He was making her insane. His next words suggested the feeling might be mutual.
"When you look at me that way, you rip my heart right out of my chest."
He rose. Moving behind her, he started on day two of her punishment. He was right. Wet flesh made the slap of the brush even more severe, such that she was screaming against the gag in no time.
After it was over, he laid the brush next to her, came back to her front and lifted her onto her knees with a firm grip on her hair and a steadying hand pressed against her chest. As she swayed there, waiting on his pleasure, he opened his jeans, revealing an enormous erection. He stroked it for a few agonizing moments, denying her as her tongue worked against the steel ring, wanting his taste, wanting to do that for him. Her hands were still bound by her swimsuit bottoms, fingers pressed against her thighs.
Finally, he moved forward, taking hold of her hair again and pressing his knees against the bench, his cock to her spread lips. Bound by his will, her mouth controlled by the gag and her hands by his imposed restraints, she could only close her eyes and savor the way it felt, being used by him in whatever manner drove his pleasure, which in turn heightened hers to an almost drug-induced euphoria.
He came quickly, reminding her of what he'd said, about a punishment for the slave testing the Master. She did her best to swallow all of his seed, though of course some escaped, along with the profuse saliva caused by the gag. He didn't seem to find it unsightly, though. After he tucked himself back in his jeans, he removed the gag and wiped her chin with his fingers, letting her suck on them before he cleaned her face up with another wipe. She stayed as he'd bade her, shaking like a leaf, while he put the gag and wipes back into a small bag he'd brought with him.
"Day two, girl. I'll call you tonight. Don't you go back into that pool. You've finished your workout for today."
--
And so it went. She dreaded and longed for the spanking each day, applied the lotion per his direction, grateful for it, and looked forward to his nightly call, despite the fact he'd leave her trembling on the peak of an orgasm. After the second night, she had an ice pack on standby at the end of the call. She'd hold it between her thighs until the throbbing subsided. That way she had half a chance of keeping her erotic dreams from making her come in her sleep.
She remembered how, at the beginning of the week of punishment, she'd felt like her mind was going in all directions. What amazed her was how those vacillating emotions started to spin into one braided rope as the week went on. As if, when all was said and done, all roads led to him. Her daily schedule became easier as she let go of worry about when he would appear, what he would require of her. She trusted him, she anticipated him, she longed for him. She wanted to fulfill her punishment so he could be her Master in other ways. She would never do anything to force his hand like this again. Of course when she told him that, he gave her an amused look.
Don't make promises you can't keep, girl. You have a stubborn streak and your own way of doing things. I like that about you. I liked it when you fought me. His eyes acquired that lazy, dangerous look that never failed to make her wet. I'll have to teach you some other maneuvers so we can do a little sparring.
She'd just arrived at her office that morning when the phone buzzed. Her body prickled with heat. Had Dale decided to come and see her this early? He was going to kill her. She had a demanding day ahead. Pulling the phone out of her purse, she read the text.
Day five, girl. No jewelry tonight, just your collar.
She nearly dropped the phone. Sometime over the past few days, a miracle had happened. She'd completely forgotten about the significance of the fifth day. Her mind had become so fixated on all he was doing to her, how she could comply with his demands.
Wear a sexy dress and heels, one of those tiny panty/bra combinations that make me want to fuck you in public so every guy knows you're mine. Tonight, I'll be doing just that.
Heat prickled over her skin. Everything about him she'd gleaned from Jimmy suggested he'd always kept it to oral or manual, not actual penetration with his partners. So if he did that, he would be making a statement. She wasn't just his sub of the evening. She was his sub, period. Sheila's sneering derision and Amy's look of dismissal crossed her mind again, as well as Jimmy's . . . lack of support. She didn't know exactly how to classify his reaction, except that it hadn't been positive.
She wished Dale would take her to another club, where their focus could simply be on each other. It had been too much to hope the worry would disappear entirely. As she tried to breathe through the mini-panic attack, she thought about how much calmer she might be if her Master would permit her One. Bloody. Orgasm.
She put it away to deal with her day. A phone conference, emails, a meeting at one of the plantations that would be hosting an upco
ming event for the company. When she came home late afternoon, she decided to take a second shower, additional preparation for tonight. It wasn't until she'd stepped out of the spacious stall and was standing before her closet she realized she'd put herself into a numb mode most of the day, and that wasn't where Dale would want her to be for this. It wasn't where or how she wanted to experience it, either. He had made it clear he wanted her to embrace her own desires, that that was what pleased him the most.
Well, if that was the case, she really didn't desire to go to this club.
She sighed, knowing that wasn't what he'd meant. She was fingering a dress but waffling over whether or not to wear it. She'd bought it a couple of weeks ago, thinking Dale would really like it, but now she was worried the garment would forever be tainted by what happened tonight, if it went as catastrophically as before.
Why was she letting them define her, have so much power? When Roy was alive, his approval and love had been enough. She had a justifiable pride in her accomplishments, of course, but there was a confidence underlying any victory or failure, fueled by her knowledge his love was truly unconditional. No matter what happened, he would support and help guide her when she needed counsel. As a result, she'd wanted to succeed, not just for her own satisfaction but as a reflection upon him. True love made a person want to be even better for their significant other. Wasn't that what tonight was about as well?
She was going as her Master's possession, his cherished sub. Her actions would reflect upon him, and yet, at the same time, by following his lead, she was showing her trust in him. The wall she felt about going to the club needed to be broken down. The best way to do it was face it. Only this time she wasn't facing it alone.
You never should have done it alone.
Remembering Dale's words, she resolutely pulled the dress off the rack, and started thinking about her hair, her makeup.
--
It was eight o'clock. She was on the second-floor landing, about to come down, when he punched in the key code, entered. She held on to the rail to balance her shaky legs, but she made an effort to put an extra sway in her step, knowing that the low cut of the dress would draw the eye to the movement of her breasts as she descended. The black lace edging of her bra was a tempting garnish along the neckline. The various slits of the above-the-knee skirt made it swirl around her legs like feathers. The bottom portion of the dress was sheer enough a man could see the outline of her hips and legs beneath it, the hint of the black thong she wore. Her black heels had thin ankle straps.
When she reached the bottom step, he was there to take her hand. He studied her as a Master would, no hint of warmth or affection yet. She could use a hug before doing this. Several in fact, but that expression kept her quiet, her eyes lowered before his intent gaze. Everything inside her coiled tight, waiting for his approval.
"I told you your punishment is for five days. Today is day five."
She thought about enduring the sting of that brush one more time, and she didn't think she could bear it. "You don't have your brush with you," he said in a mildly accusing tone. "Turn around, lift your skirt. Let me see how cruel I was to you."
She knew there was mild bruising, reddish abrasions, but not as much as she'd expected for how excruciating it had felt. Apparently that part of the body could sustain a lot of impact without reflecting the results. But she still quivered as he traced the marks on her buttocks, visible from the scrap of thong. "What does my girl think? Does she need one more spanking to help her understand the lesson?"
She imagined herself kneeling on the stairs, fingers digging into the carpet as he administered her punishment. She wanted to say no vehemently. But her body quivered, anticipating.
"That's for my Master to decide."
He was silent, then his arm slid around her waist. He stood on the floor level and she was still on the bottom step, so his jaw brushed the juncture of throat and neck, his lips finding the latter. She melted into the first openly sensual and affectionate gesture he'd given her all week. She hoped she had permission to touch him, because her fingers curled into his forearm, never wanting to let him go. Her sore buttocks pressed against his hard body, dressed in the club wear he'd worn the first time she saw him. Black dress jeans, heavy-weight black T-shirt, and his belt with the silver buckle. He wore the silver-tipped boots. "Good answer, girl. I think we're done with that part of things, for now."
Chuckling at her relieved sigh, he turned her in his arms, cradling her face in one hand as he held on to her with the other. "You look pretty enough to eat. I plan to do that tonight, too. I've missed tasting your pussy."
But he started with her lips, putting his mouth over hers. She would have expected the wild animal he'd kept stoked all week within her to come to life, tear him to shreds in the attempt to crawl all over him, crawl inside him, but instead everything went completely still. The knife edge of her arousal was so intense, it was paralyzing, locked with an equally strong emotional response.
She made a little noise, her arms limp at her sides, her body leaning into him as he framed her face, plundered her mouth, teased her tongue and lips. Her hands ended up on his hips, thumbs hooked in his belt, and when he lifted his head at last, he held her full weight against him. With a faint smile, he tightened his arm and brought her to the floor so she was looking up at him. He fingered her collar, sliding his finger underneath the Trident pendant. "You're wearing it."
"I've only taken it off for the shower. But I . . ." It was new to her, to ask for new structure, new rules, rather than just letting him set them, but she hoped that was part of what he wanted her to explore as well.
"I know I'll need to wear other jewelry at times, for different things. But I'd prefer it if . . . when I did, I had to ask your permission to remove it."
His gaze heated, his body rippling against her as he tightened his grip on her waist, fingers sliding over her tender ass to stroke with devastating gentleness.
"Agreed. You definitely don't have my permission to remove it tonight, Athena. You belong to me utterly. The moment we walk out this door, until we come back through it tonight, we're one hundred percent in scene. You understand?"
It meant every word he uttered was a command, that she asked permission if she wished to speak, and that she was completely his. Tonight was graduation for all the lessons of the week, to see if her trust had reached the level needed to handle tonight's . . . obstacle. She pushed the word away, not wanting to think of it that way, and that in itself was a heartening change. She was going somewhere her Master wished to take her. That was the beginning and end of it. The rest didn't matter.
NINETEEN
As they pulled up to Release, Athena's belly quaked. There were nearly forty cars in the parking lot. Maybe they were having a demo tonight, like the rope bondage. If so, that could be a good thing, because if the members' focus was elsewhere, it wouldn't be directed solely on the two of them.
Dale put the truck in park, cut the engine and then turned on the seat to look at her. She couldn't meet his gaze. Her hands were tight in her lap, her back straight, her breathing shallow. She stared at the doors and thought there was nowhere in the world she wanted to be less. Her resolve at the house had drained away with every mile.
"It's more than just Sheila and Amy, isn't it?"
He was so good at that, though in all fairness, anyone who knew anything about her would know this reaction had to be more than that. "It's not you. I don't want you to think--"
"Stop." The quiet command drew her attention to him. Dale closed his hand over the two of hers. "My ego doesn't need stroking. This moment is all about you, nothing else. You're not Roy's wife, his widow, Lady Mistress or name-your-mask. You walk in there as who you want to be, claiming something for yourself, a gift for you. There's nothing harder for a woman like you to do. That's what's scaring you so badly. Isn't it?"
As always, he waited her out, let her think it through. She nodded and felt a wave of sheer misery. "What if I can'
t do it? What if it feels wrong to me?"
"Then you make that choice." He stretched his arm along the back of the seat and played with her hair. He nodded toward the street. "There's a great Cantonese place a few streets over. We'll go get dinner, maybe--"
"You'd be okay with that?"
His body language seemed to answer that question, since he was relaxed, no censure in his tone. All this preparation, yet at this moment, he saw it as no more than a change of plans. "This isn't about me, Athena," he reminded her.
"Yes, it is. We're . . . together. You have needs as well. And I . . . part of who I am, what I want, has to do with your happiness. Truly."
"I get that. I know making the person you love happy will always be a significant part of what brings you joy. That's not just the sign of a natural submissive, but a generous and loving human being." He gave her a smile then, and they weren't Master and sub, just Dale and Athena. "But when I say something, I mean it. As long as I believe that what you want, what you truly want, is not to go into that club, but to explore what we need from each other in other ways, ways like we've been doing, I have no problem with that. I want you to be yourself. That's my desire."
He took both her hands again, rubbing her cold fingers inside the grip of his warm ones. "Whenever I master you, you open up and show me that deep, beautiful submission that's so much a part of who you are. I feel like a kid at Christmas, given every present he ever wanted. Yes, I want to walk through that door. I'm enough of a guy that I want to show off this gorgeous, smart woman who trusts me enough to let me be her Master. But more than that, I want your happiness. I want you to value that as much as you value my needs. I want you to realize, once and for all, they're the same thing. Those two things feed off one another, and become even more than either of us ever realizes." He moved one hand to her shoulder, tightened there. "Okay?"
"Okay." She looked back at the doorway again. He'd given her an image she liked. She imagined walking in there as his possession, with him as her Master. She thought of how often she'd brought Roy here, and the way he'd looked at her. There was another misconception about male subs, that the Domme was "the man" in the relationship, that it was a role reversal, but she'd never felt that. She'd always felt safe with him, physically.