by Kitty Thomas
“Great, we both remember each other’s names. We’re off to a fabulous start. Join me.”
Nolan wasn’t wearing swim trunks. They floated forlornly in the deep end of the pool like a tragic accident. His erection was visible even from above the surface of the water. He made no comment on the bikini or the fact that she was getting into the pool with him still wearing it.
He handed her a piña colada when she reached him.
Saskia took a sip. “Wow. That’s strong.”
“It’s a lot of rum, very little mix. I imagine that was for your benefit.”
As if drunk drowning in a pool could ever be to her benefit.
“So, how’s the honest reproduction business?” he asked. “Or are you done with that now that you’ve landed a sugar daddy?”
Saskia cringed. He’d seemed genuinely interested in what she did the night of the party, or was he only interested in getting her out of her gown? She gestured to the upper corner of the building at the security camera over the pool. “You know he’s watching this, right?”
“Our host is a bit of a freak,” Nolan said, already forgetting the topic of reproductions. “But then, you knew that already. How did he ever convince you to get in the box at the party? Or are you a bit of a freak yourself?” He winked.
She felt the heat come into her face and took another long sip from her drink. An alcohol buzz rippled over her face, slipping down over her shoulders, wrapping her in a warm hug of slight inebriation.
Nolan’s fingers slid beneath her bikini bottoms, pushing slowly inside her. She let out a gasp, not prepared for things to move so quickly, despite knowing the reason she was there.
“I’ve dreamed about what it might feel like to touch the inside of this pussy with my fingers instead of a glass toy since that night.”
A tear slipped from the corner of her eyes, but Nolan didn’t seem to notice. He was too wrapped up in fulfilling the fantasy he’d paid good money for.
“I say we move this party to the hot tub,” he said. “Even under our host’s watchful eye, I feel safer in shallower water. And I’m sure you’ll find you’re wearing too much in the heat.”
He helped her out of the pool and the few yards over to the bubbling hot tub. If anything, the camera here gave an even better shot of things.
The door to the main house opened and closed with some force. Saskia and Nolan looked up to find Quill striding toward the terrace like he was on a mission. When he reached them, he pulled up a patio chair and sat beside the hot tub.
“Something wrong?” Nolan asked. He was already submerged under the hot bubbling water. He pulled Saskia onto his lap, spreading her legs so Quill could watch his fingers crawl under the fabric again. The water was lit from below, spotlighting Nolan’s every movement.
“I haven’t decided yet,” Quill said. “Saskia, come here.”
She waded over to him. He helped her out and took her out of Nolan’s range of hearing.
“You don’t want to fuck him, do you?”
Saskia shrugged. “I just don’t understand why you want it.”
Quill stroked the side of her face and then wrapped a nearby towel around her to stop her shivering. “I enjoy watching you get fucked by other men. I enjoy them paying me for the privilege. It’s just one of my many kinks. You’ve had a taste of my kink, Saskia. Why should this surprise you? All these cameras? You know I like to watch.”
More than he liked to do?
“But, you were weird about Marcus.”
“Marcus lives with us. Marcus belongs to me. As you do. Marcus was reaching beyond his position to play in ways I didn’t authorize. He wanted that whipping. Trust me.”
Saskia wondered if Marcus had gotten the memo that he still belonged to Quill. Everyone at this house must know it now except for Marcus.
Quill continued. “I want you to submit to Nolan. Spread your legs for him. Let him lick and touch and fuck you in any hole he desires. I’m going to stay out here and watch. I want a front row seat for a live show. Can you handle that, Miss Roth?”
She nodded. “Y-yes, Master.”
It was the most intensity he’d shown her in days, and she found herself drawn into it like a vampire’s compulsion.
He pressed an intercom button on the outer wall and ordered a drink, then he escorted Saskia back to the hot tub where Nolan waited.
She got into the water and waded back over to him. She glanced back at Quill as Nolan pulled her back into his arms. Would he have stopped things? He’d come storming out of the house almost as if he’d meant to rescue her, but such a thing seemed impossible after the words that had come out of his mouth when they were alone. Still, he’d asked what she wanted, and he’d seemed willing to deliver whatever it might be.
“Everything all right?” Nolan asked.
“Everything’s fine,” Quill said. “Saskia, were you aware that Nolan plays the cello? I believe you heard some of his music when you were with Phillip.”
Nolan raised a brow. “Phillip, huh? How was that? Did he do the opera glove thing?”
The question was aimed at Saskia, but Quill answered instead. “Of course he did the opera glove thing. I’ve thought of sending him a case full of opera gloves for Christmas. Sometimes I think he might be more attracted to them than the women wearing them. A store mannequin might please him just as much. So long as she wore the gloves.”
Lacy appeared out of nowhere like a phantom and pressed a glass of scotch into Quill’s hand. Then she retreated back into the main house as quietly as she’d come out.
Quill took a sip of his drink. His eyes were dark, focused, and intense as he watched the two of them in the water as if they were animals expected to breed in captivity. Nolan seemed to have no real problem with this, and it struck Saskia that he’d probably done this sort of thing with a girl of Quill’s before—one of the ones “on probation” that had never reached any full status with him. There was a certain choreography to the night.
Saskia touched the edge of her collar as if making sure it was still fastened in place. She was only the second woman he’d put a collar on. At least he’d committed to having her in his life, unlike the ones on probation, but if he wouldn’t really let her in, what difference did it make?
“So,” Quill said. “I’ve seen you play the cello. Now I want to watch you play Saskia.”
Nolan laughed. “You’ve waited a while to use that line haven’t you?”
“Maybe. I wasn’t aware of your musical talents the last time we did this.”
Nolan shook his head but obliged. He pulled Saskia back against him, stroking her throat as if she were his instrument.
“What kind of sounds do you think I can get out of her?” he asked.
“You’re the expert,” Quill said. “You tell me.”
Nolan stroked every inch of her, while Quill sat there, drinking in both the scotch and the scene before him. Nolan’s fingers played across her collar bone, down her arms, lingering for several minutes on her breasts. He removed her bikini top and pinched and twisted her nipples until she writhed on his lap and moaned. With one quick flourish, he ripped the bikini bottoms off her and let them float on the surface of the water.
“That was Lacy’s swimsuit you just ruined,” Quill commented.
“I’ll buy her another one.” He gripped Saskia’s waist, raised her up, and then pushed her down hard on his cock. She let out something between a whimper and a gasp as she fought to regain her breath.
“Good girl, just ride me,” he said, stroking her back as she raised and lowered herself over him.
When she looked up, Quill was riveted. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him quite like that, and once again the hope renewed in her that he’d somehow open up and let her in, that he wouldn’t forever hold her at this distance.
It only took Nolan a few minutes to come with the way she grinded on him. He held her firmly in place as he emptied inside her. Quill rose to his feet, kicked off his shoes, and unbuttone
d and dropped his pants on the terrace. He unbuttoned his shirt and laid it across the chair, then he sat on the edge, with his legs in the water.
“Come here, Saskia,” he said again.
She waded over to him and found herself standing directly in front of one of the jets. If she moved just a few inches, the water would pulse against her clit. From the look in his eyes, Quill knew this. He nodded at her, and she moved those few inches, then he scooted closer.
Her mound pressed against the pulsating jets. Her mouth was mere inches from his erect cock. She didn’t have to ask what he wanted her to do next. Saskia ground against the jets while she licked and sucked him. Nolan came up behind her, kissing and biting the side of her neck. His pressed a finger against her ass and she jumped in surprise at the contact.
He chuckled from behind her.
Saskia clenched around his finger as she came from the jets, having nearly forgotten about the cock in her mouth.
“Miss Roth? Don’t disappoint me.”
Such a statement from Quill carried with it the promise of the most dire consequences. She turned her attention back to her master’s cock and didn’t disappoint him.
And yet, she slept in the gallery.
“Get dressed, we’re going out,” Quill said as he breezed into the gallery dressed in all black. Marcus had left her hours ago to go back to the main house to sleep, but Quill hadn’t been in yet.
Saskia searched his face for any sign of weirdness from the previous night with Nolan. Quill’s friend had fucked her a few more times before he’d retired to the study with Quill for some brandy and cigars, leaving her sore and wrung out from the demands of the two men. She’d wondered if they’d compare notes. Marcus had come out to the pool for her and taken her back to the gallery. Then he’d had his turn with her, albeit a tamer version, given Quill’s parameters and rules.
“Where are we going?” Saskia asked.
“Out.”
She didn’t know why she bothered asking. His answer was always the same.
“Where’s that thing you wore to the club that first time?” Quill asked.
“It’s in the house.” In the room that had become her storage locker because she’d long given up hope that it could ever be her actual room. Even if she never made it into Quill’s bed in a permanent way, she’d held out hope for a time that at least she might earn her way into sharing space with her own things. But no.
“So we’re going to the club?” she asked.
Quill sent her a withering look. “Just put it on. Have you eaten?”
“Yes, Master.”
Lacy had brought her a plate earlier when Quill hadn’t summoned her to the dining room for dinner.
“Good. Be ready to go in twenty minutes.”
The main house felt strangely foreign when she stepped inside it—like it had forgotten her already. But she shook the feeling off and went to the room with her things and put on the outfit he wanted.
She heard a low whistle behind her and spun to find Marcus standing in the doorway slouched casually against the frame. He looked as if he’d just gotten out of the shower. His hair was wet and he wore only jeans. The dragon twisting around his torso seemed to be craning to get a look at what had caused Marcus to whistle.
“Are you coming with us?” Saskia asked.
“Coming with you where?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. The club maybe. He won’t say.” She wondered now if Quill hadn’t come to her because he’d been with Marcus.
“Then it’s probably the club. He acts as if acknowledging its existence aloud will break some sacred trust. But no, I’m not going. I’ve been given the night off.”
Saskia let out a long slow breath. If Marcus was being given the night off, it either meant she’d sleep in Quill’s bed tonight or whoever he was leasing her to wanted overnight privileges.
She met Quill out by the Bentley twenty minutes later. He glanced at his watch but made no comment. He simply opened her door for her and then got in on the driver’s side.
They traveled in silence out of the city and into the desert as before. Saskia felt no less self-conscious in the short skirt and boots than she had the last time she’d worn them.
When they reached the gate of Mr. Fizzy Pop Bottling Company, Quill input his code, and the doors swung open again. He parked in the same handicapped spot as before, as if it were his special reserved parking. Without a word, he got out and came around to Saskia’s side.
She started to open her mouth to speak, but Quill pressed a finger against her lips and shook his head. He took a black silk tie from his pocket and blindfolded her. Then he pulled the black cami top off over her head.
“No bra. Good girl,” he said. Quill slipped a hand under her skirt between her legs to find that she wasn’t wearing underwear. “Very good girl.”
He’d wanted her dressed the same as the first visit, and she wasn’t about to irritate him with feigned ignorance about underwear.
Saskia felt her nipples harden in the cool night air.
“Turn around.”
She turned, and a moment later, a piece of tight leather with stiff vertical pieces was being wrapped around her. A corset. There were no hooks, no easy fastenings or buttons or zippers for those who just wanted the “look” without the fuss and muss. No, this was a real lace-up corset.
She drew in a sharp breath as Quill cinched her up like he knew exactly what he was doing. And it struck her as kind of odd that he’d never done this before. He’d painted a few other women in corsets, but he’d always painted Saskia nude.
The corset stopped just under her breasts, leaving them pushed impossibly high and exposed for the viewing pleasure of anybody inside the warehouse. Next, she leather cuffs were placed on her wrists. A metal chain clinked as it was attached to a connecting ring between the cuffs.
Quill tugged on the leash. She tottered in the heeled boots briefly, then got her bearings and followed him. He led her into the building, through the loud, grinding industrial beat, through the secondary doors where the beat faded into a hum, then he held her hands and helped her down the treacherous spiraling stairs to the underground level. Even through the pulsing beat, she heard the staccato rhythm of her heels clicking against the hard floor until Quill halted her with a hand pressed lightly to her stomach.
She waited.
He unlocked one of the cuffs, repositioned her arms behind her back, and recuffed her.
There was a grinding sound as something creaking and metal settled against the ground. When a metal door swung open, Quill helped her inside.
“Kneel and spread your legs.”
She obeyed, and the door shut. She felt herself rise in the air as the creaking metal—which she realized was one of the bird cages—rose a few feet in the air.
The volume of the music seemed more muted now as a small crowd gathered around the cage. A din of speech surrounded her—deep male voices—but she couldn’t pick out a single strand of conversation. Different men’s words bumped up against each other as they seemed to circle and prowl around her cage like a pack of wolves.
Hands stroked her spread thighs, pushing between her legs, massaging and caressing her breasts, stroking the side of her face.
“Give yourself over to it,” Quill whispered from just behind her, his voice the only one she could piece together with clarity.
A hand slid into hers, and she knew it was her master’s.
Saskia began to move her hips, grinding against the strange hands. Multiple hands stroked her thighs now, as two—possibly from two different men—rubbed between her legs. From behind, hands moved on her ass, one teasing her rear entrance. The hands on her breasts became more insistent and demanding. And one hand demanded she suck its fingers into her mouth. She obliged with a whimper as she writhed against the strangers.
“Come for us”, the voices whispered. For one crazy moment, Saskia thought she’d wake up in her own cage in the gallery with her own fingers between he
r legs, but she didn’t wake up. Instead, she let the hands and voices pull her under their wave of pleasure as she came moaning for them.
One by one, the hands pulled away, and she was left kneeling in the bird cage with the evidence of the events of moments before sliding quietly down her legs.
Several minutes of silence passed. Then there was the talking again. The muffled male voices overlapping, lowering discreetly when they didn’t want her to hear. Saskia felt her whole body blush inside the cage.
She picked up bits and pieces and little phrases here and there, enough to piece together a narrative inside her head. It was a financial negotiation of some sort. What had just happened inside the cage had been... an audition of sorts? A try out for the men who were now talking about money.
Saskia’s anxiety ratcheted higher. She couldn’t pick out Quill’s voice. His hand was no longer in hers. What the hell was happening?
The cage lowered back to the ground, the door opened, she was helped out, and her hands were uncuffed and recuffed once again in front of her. She was led out of the warehouse on the leash the same way she was led in, never once seeing anyone in the club, not even the bouncer outside.
When they reached the car, the passenger side door was opened for her, and she was buckled into her seat belt. The driver’s side door seemed louder closing than hers had been. The car started and backed smoothly out of the parking lot and onto the road.
She was still blindfolded and leashed and cuffed, but now inside the silence of the car, everything felt sharper and the odd fog she’d been in began to fall away. The seat she sat on felt different than she remembered, the leather softer against the backs of her thighs. The car handled differently. Sounded different. Smelled different. She reached blindly in front of her to feel the dash and glove box—very different contours than the Bentley. Her breath sped perilously down the ramp to hyperventilation, but a voice stopped her.
“Relax, Saskia. I’m here,” Quill said from the back seat. But who was driving?
She didn’t care. As long as he was there. He hadn’t abandoned her to a stranger going to God only knew where in the dark of night. For a crazy moment she’d thought he’d sold her off to someone else. Forever.
