by Lila Dubois
“Shhh, Vivi baby,” he soothed. “Just a little clamp.”
“Hurts,” she whimpered. “A…weight?” It wasn’t just the pinch of the clamp but the way it pulled down that was causing those little lightning shocks of pleasure-pain to rip through her.
“Not a weight. A chain and strap.”
Cool leather slid around her thigh, like a garter.
“Spread your knees wide. Wider.”
As she obeyed she felt the chain between the garter strap and the clamp first pull taut and then pull on her pussy lip, spreading her open.
Solomon made a pleased noise. “That’s a pretty sight. Now for the other side.”
This time she was ready for the bite of pain as he applied the clamp, and without the distraction of the surprise, the pain was perfect. He added the strap to that thigh.
“You tell me if you start to feel lightheaded,” he ordered. “And I want you to rest your hands on your stomach so they don’t start to hurt.”
Carefully she moved her hands, aware of just how helpless she was, bent backwards over the barrel—and now that she thought about it, there was an expression in English about “over the barrel” being a bad thing.
She wouldn’t call her current situation “bad” but it certainly made her feel vulnerable.
“Spread.” He barked the command, shocking her into opening her thighs.
The chains pulled tight, her pussy lips stretched. She felt flushed with both need and embarrassment at being so lewdly spread.
“Stay like that. I’m going to take my time on your pussy. Your clit.” Something tickled the inside of her calf. “With this.”
She raised her head until she could see what he held aloft. A single black feather. It wasn’t a fluffy plume, but simple and straight, the type of feather that would have in the past, been turned into a writing instrument.
“I’m going to play with you until you come. But I’m not going to make it easy on you.” He brushed the tip of the feather back and forth over her knee in little sweeping motions. “And as soon as you start coming, I’m going to start fucking you. I expect you to come on my cock. It was one of the things Nerio added to the contract. That we come together, with my cock in your pussy.”
“Yes, Master.”
“And then, when we’ve both come again, I’m going to put you in bondage so tight you’ll never get away.”
He was leaning in, she could tell from the sound of his voice. She held her breath in anticipation.
“And then, Vivi baby, there are some things I’m planning to say.”
That sounded rather ominous, but his words were forgotten the moment his tongue touched her sex. He licked her, slow, languid strokes from her entrance all the way up to her clit. He licked her like an ice cream cone, and she wanted to wrap her legs around his head the way she had when he’d had her against the wall, but she couldn’t. He ordered her to spread, ordered her to keep not only her legs but her labia parted, which she did by virtue of the clamps and chains he’d applied to her most intimate flesh.
He pulled back and blew on her wet sex. It felt shockingly cold, and her fingers clenched together atop her abdomen.
“Cup your breasts,” he commanded. “But you’re not allowed to touch your nipples. I want your nipples to poke out between your fingers, so I can see them. But when you need to, you squeeze your tits.”
“Yes, Master.”
Cupping her breasts without touching her nipples was wildly frustrating. It also made her aware of how uneven her breathing was, how each time he touched her, she first gasped, then held her breath, and finally moaned as she exhaled. The cello music was still playing, the low, rich notes a counterpoint to her porn-soundtrack breaths.
A feather-light touch to one nipple made her open her eyes to find that he’d risen to his feet, and was, in fact, teasing her nipple with the feather. He petted her with the very tip, his gaze wicked and teasing.
“Please, Master. More.”
“More? Oh, I plan to do more. Do you want to know what I’m going to do to your clit?”
Arousal left her lightheaded and she begged him, unashamed of her need for this man. “Yes, Master, please. Tell me how you’ll play with my clit.”
“I thought about using the soft part of the feather to stimulate your clit, but you’re so wet I don’t think you’d feel it. You need something firmer.”
He raised the feather aloft again so she could see it, and then reversed his hold, so the bare quill end was facing her. Holding it like a pen, he brought it down, then dragged the hard tip across her nipple, as if he were drawing a line.
The quill felt almost sharp, and the precision of the touch was nearly painful. She yelped and covered the abused nipple with her palm.
Solomon snarled at her, jerking her hand away. “Don’t hide from me, Vivienne. I can’t take care of you if you hide.”
“I’m sorry, Master.”
“I’ll let it go, this time, because I don’t want to stop and punish you. But I expect you to hold still while I use this on your clit.”
“You’re going to do that to my clit?” She couldn’t stop the tremble of fear from shaking her voice.
He dropped back to the stool. “Keep your legs spread. I expect you to keep yourself exposed for me.”
Vivienne held her breath, but she wasn’t prepared. If she hadn’t known what he was using on her, she would have sworn it was a needle, the touch was so sharp and precise. He ran the tip of the quill around the circumference of her clit, then directly over the tip. The nerve endings, used to the more blunt touch of fingers, tongue and cock, lit up, sending wildly conflicting signals of pain and pleasure to her brain.
He used the quill to push back the hood of her clit, and she sobbed. If she hadn’t been such a masochist, it would have been nearly unbearable.
“Shhh,” he murmured. “Don’t fight it. You can’t stop me. Not unless you safe word out, but I don’t think that’s where this is going. You have no control right now. I’m going to torment your pretty clit however I want. For as long as I want. You can’t change my mind. Can’t stop me. Let go, Vivi baby. You’re not in control here.”
At his words something inside her relaxed, finally fully yielding. Her body was still tight with tension, and her thighs were starting to quake in response to the intense stimuli. Every time she felt the urge to close her knees, to hide her clit from his focused attention, she instead spread them wider, feeling the pull of the clamps on her labia. Her body was overwhelmed but her mind…her mind was at peace. She was safe here, safe but in danger. That wonderful dichotomy of existence that seemed perfectly sane in moments like this, and perfectly insane the rest of the time.
“Master,” she whimpered. “Please, please.”
“Are you ready to come?”
“Yes. No. I want to, but I don’t know if I can.”
He traced the quill delicately over her clit with a light touch that she felt with aching clarity. Her whole body jerked spasmodically in reaction. She was spread and helpless, suffering and elated.
“You can.” He breathed the words against her skin before his tongue replaced the feather. A single soft stroke of his tongue was all it took.
She screamed, eyes flying open, hands clenching her breasts so hard that her nail beds went white. Pleasure wasn’t a strong enough word, nor was pain. This was bliss, in the most monumental sense. Every muscle in her body went tight as if she’d been hit by an electrical current and she stayed there, as tense as a drawn bow string. The cello music reached a crescendo, and as if he were moving in time with it, Solomon shoved to his feet, grabbed her hips, and slammed his cock into her.
She was full—his cock in her pussy, the plug in her ass, and that broke the tension. Her muscles released and she let out a sob as pure pleasure flooded through her body. His cock slammed into her, the penetration prolonging her orgasm. His hands on her hips were the only thing that stopped her from sliding helplessly to the floor.
She heard h
is breathing change, knew he was close.
As Solomon’s own orgasm claimed him, he jerked her up, so she was sitting atop the barrel, his cock still buried in her pussy. And as he climaxed, he fused his lips to hers in a kiss.
Vivienne kissed him back, and held on to him, knowing that this moment was something special, something life changing.
Though what the change would be, she didn’t know.
Solomon carried her to the aftercare room they’d been in yesterday, except this time they were there to actually use it. He lay her facedown on the bed and gently removed the plug. He’d taken the clamps off in the dungeon, and massaged her labia to help ease the ache. The satisfied little noise she made as he worked the plug free was enough to make his cock twitch, despite how fulfilling and passionate that scene had been.
He used a warm washcloth to wipe the lube from between the cheeks of her ass, and a second one to clean between her legs. She’d have bruises in the morning from where he’d bitten her, so he applied some Arnica gel to her neck, since they were a bit too old to find hickies attractive. He didn’t put any on her breast or the inside of her thigh. He wanted her marked there, in places only he would see.
Vivienne lay quiet beneath his hands as he took care of her. She obligingly turned when he nudged her, and made happy little sounds as he removed the bracelets and rubbed lotion into her forearms and wrists where the straps had left small patches of irritated flesh.
When he was done, he brushed her hair back from her face and kissed her forehead. Vivienne turned into it, her lips sliding against his. He was tempted—very tempted—to simply gather her in his arms and take her across the hall to their room, though they’d have to go around the long way thanks to the lack of doorknob.
Coward.
That word, repeated over and over in his head, stopped him from taking the easy way out. He returned Vivienne’s kiss, but then pulled back. As he did, he tugged on her shoulders, forcing her to sit up.
She frowned at him as he walked to the foot of the bed.
“I want to talk to you.”
Her spine stiffened, tension tightening the line of her shoulders, and he realized how that had sounded.
“Not like that. Not exactly.”
“Solomon, whatever it is you have to say, perhaps this would be best—”
“Come here.” He deliberately used a deep voice, his Dom voice.
Her eyes widened in surprise.
“I need you to listen to me, and our conversations have a tendency to go…sideways. Not this time. So come here. Sit on the end of the bed.”
Vivienne hesitantly scooted down, propping her heels on the bed frame, her toes pointed to the floor, her arms folded over her bare breasts.
Solomon opened the drawer he’d stashed supplies in earlier and pulled out three long black satin ties. He felt Vivienne watching him as he tied the ends of the first two around the bedposts at the foot of the bed. He looped the third one around his neck to keep it out of the way as he grabbed the first one and drew the long, wide band of silky satin towards her.
Vivienne said nothing as he grabbed her arms and looped the tie twice around her wrist and tied it in a simple knot. It wasn’t even a double knot, and the moment he let go the slick fabric started to come undone.
“This isn’t about physical bondage, it’s about making sure we can have this conversation.” He tied her second wrist.
She was no longer covering her breasts with her arms, her hands now resting on the bed, and he saw her shiver.
“You think I will…run away?” Her gaze slid to the corner of his mouth. “Or that I will do something unforgivable again?”
He sighed and slipped the third tie from around his neck. “You had every reason to hit me. That was a fucking doozy of a fight.”
“No, there’s no excuse for physical violence,” she replied softly. “I was scared.” Her lips quirked in a sad smile. “My life was falling apart.”
The words ripped at him, and Solomon closed his eyes. “Vivi baby, I… No. I have a plan. We’re sticking with the plan. Open.”
She blinked at him, then opened her mouth. He had a feeling she’d been about to say “Open what?” when he slid the satin between her teeth. She jerked back, but he followed her, quickly wrapping one end around the back of her head, sliding a second pass into her mouth and then tying it off. This time he used a quick double knot.
“If I weren’t such a bastard, I’d be able to do this without gagging you. But I need to tell you something and I can’t trust either one of us.” He stepped back, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. “I read this book that says most people listen to respond, they don’t listen just to hear. I think we do that. I think when we talk to each other, sometimes all we’re thinking about is a witty reply. But we can’t do that. This is too important.”
The decidedly pissed off look faded from Vivienne’s face. She nodded once.
Solomon inhaled, put his hands on his hips, exhaled, and crossed his arms again. It was only when he saw her expression soften that he realized he was fidgeting.
“I should have tied myself up, too. Okay, here goes.”
Solomon knelt at her feet, grabbing the bed frame on either side of her heels.
“I love you, Vivienne Deschamps. Actually, I more than love you.”
Vivienne’s expression softened and she leaned down towards him.
Solomon took a breath and kept going. “Love wasn’t enough, isn’t enough, I think. For some people loving just means you can hurt each other. And we know how to hurt each other. But after our night together in my dungeon, I realized that I don’t just love you, I need you, and I’m willing to make sacrifices to be with you.”
Vivienne had gone utterly still. That had to be a good thing. She was shocked by what he was saying, but in a good way.
“I’m going to move to Paris. I’ll be there for you…whenever you can be with me. I’d like every weekend, but I understand that’s not realistic. And if you have to leave to deal with your family—” The words were like acid but he forced them out. “—all I ask is that you allow me to provide aftercare at some point.”
He dropped his focus to her knees. He didn’t want her to see how hard it was for him to say these things.
The words had sounded better, more eloquent, in his head. He’d considered and then dismissed telling her she was his soulmate, telling her that she felt like home, but that was too amorphous. This was a practical discussion about what he was willing to do to be with her.
“It will take me a while to actually move, but after this, I’ll head back to Paris with you, maybe start looking at real estate.”
He forced himself to smile, though it felt a bit hollow. He reminded himself how it had felt to lie beside her that night on Luca Cay. Reminded himself how she’d come apart in his arms.
“I want to take care of you. I will take care of you.”
I’ll love you until the day I die. I’ll do anything for you. I couldn’t five years ago, because I was too proud, too hurt, but now I’ll compromise.
He opened his mouth, but all that came out was, “That’s…that’s all I have to say.”
Finally he looked up. Vivienne’s face was flushed, her cheeks two bright spots of pink. Their gazes met and instead of happiness or relief, both of which he’d expected, he saw rage.
She jerked her wrists free of the restraints and raised her hand. Solomon instinctively jerked back, falling onto his ass.
Vivienne yanked her hand to her chest, as if she hadn’t realized what she’d done. She tore the gag from her mouth, pulling it down so it hung limp around her neck.
“Comment oses-tu. Connard égoïste .”
How could you. Self-righteous bastard.
She swiped at her cheeks with both hands, brushing away the tears.
“Fuck, Vivienne. No, I didn’t mean to—”
She snarled at him, soundlessly, and scrambled backwards on the mattress. Before he could get to his feet, she
’d rolled off the side of the bed and dashed out the door, back into the dungeon.
Solomon stared at the empty doorway, wondering vaguely how he’d managed to fuck that up. He hadn’t thought it would be possible to feel worse than he had after that last fight, the one where she’d given him the scar, but the current sick feeling in his stomach overshadowed what he’d felt back then. Then he’d been heartbroken, but the feeling had been insulated by anger.
Now he was hollow, as if the life had been sucked from his body.
Solomon thunked his head back against the wall and covered his face with both hands.
Chapter 8
Paris—six years earlier
* * *
Vivienne dropped her bag and stepped out of her shoes, leaning back against Maison Delphine’s tall, ornate front door. Looking at the stairs made her unexpectedly teary. It had been a terrible day, and somehow having to climb all those flights of stairs seemed like unnecessary punishment.
Leaving her bag, which included her laptop, beside her shoes, she gave into the weariness and headed for the small elevator that had been installed sometime in the 1930s.
She latched the door and hit the button, leaning back against the wall, while pressing her hands over her eyes. It was Thursday night, but she’d worked last weekend, and the weekend before that. Eighteen days straight of work, most of those sixteen-hour days, and there was finally a break. She’d been looking forward to tonight, looking forward to collapsing in Solomon’s arms and not have to get up again at five the next morning. She wasn’t going into work tomorrow, or over the weekend. She could sleep, and once she’d finally rested, she could get on her knees for Solomon and he’d touch her, make her forget everything that was wrong.
She’d get to be his submissive, and in doing so, find just a little bit of peace.
That thought—the promise of his touch, of being in his arms, and kneeling at his feet—was what had kept her going.
The elevator stopped and she wearily opened the door, heading barefoot into the little living space they’d carved out of the otherwise ridiculously huge mansion.