by Joey W. Hill
He moved back up the bed, lifted the wrist he’d abused. He gave it a kiss, and used a soft velvet cuff to bind it, but didn’t take up the slack on the chain. He put the wrist in an elevated, supported position on a pillow above her head. “You’ll keep that there, no matter what,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir,” she said. Her eyes and mouth were soft, appreciating his care, and made him feel like a hero. At least for the second before he remembered he was the bastard who’d hurt her wrist in the first place. When he stepped back, he had her legs and one arm lifted and spread, held with bindings. The vampire predator and demanding Master took over his senses. In this room, he could take as much as he wanted and give her…enough.
More than enough, because Ella fed on serving a Master’s desires. Tonight, he wasn’t going to stop himself from wanting her with a savagery that could scare her.
Maybe that was a good thing.
His face had taken on that intimidating look, the one touched by darkness. Adrenaline spiked, because that look told her he was going to demand a lot from her. She wanted that. It was the drug that appeased everything.
However, she should have known Wolf would administer that drug in a manner that made her crave more, more and more. All while tempting her deepest needs to the surface. It was as if he was working for Lucifer himself.
He moved around the bed, studying her. As he did, he slid his fingertips down the curve of her shoulder, her collarbone, under the neckline of her gathered T-shirt, finding flesh. Slow, learning the shape of her, the terrain of her body.
She'd had Masters do all sorts of things to her. Some took their time in really pleasurable ways. But she’d never had one act as if he literally had all the time in the world, and her flesh was the most fascinating thing he’d ever touched.
He doubled back, and did that same exploration, more than once, not in a repetitive way. The nerves in every inch of skin he touched lifted to him, so her body did as well, even though he was doing nothing more than stroking her arms, her sternum, her shoulders, the curves and angles. He didn’t remove her disheveled clothes, which gave her a contrast of textures and sensations. He tugged her sleeve, played under her gathered short skirt, traced the line of her thong.
When she dared a glance toward his face, she saw his eyes were closed as he touched her. As if he was absorbing her through his other senses.
That thrum between her legs increased, need building. She didn't care if he ever touched her there, though; it wasn’t necessary. With his exploratory touch, he was arousing everything, focusing everything. Her breath was starting to accelerate.
“It’s time to get these out of my way. Keep your legs up, but bring them together, knees bent at a right angle over your body.” He unhooked her ankles so she could comply, and when she did, he slid off her skirt. “Spread your knees out again. Keep them there like the chains are still holding you up. Stay in that position until I say.”
She had to tighten her stomach muscles to comply, and he adjusted her legs out, closer to how they’d been when cuffed and chained. Within seconds, her abdominal muscles were getting a severe workout.
She wasn’t a huge fan of formal exercise. She danced, she rode her bike for miles for her job, she ran her sneakers off as a waitress, so her body was toned, her legs especially, but there were certain muscle groups that didn’t get a workout that often. Her legs started to shake way too soon, but he ignored that, staring at her lower body in just the thong. Oh, fuck. Her pussy was throbbing under the mere touch of his gaze, but those muscles were burning, warning her they weren’t going to hold for as long as he wanted her to stay this way. She couldn’t disappoint him. Couldn’t.
The muscles cramped, but the second her body jerked, no longer able to obey her mind’s plea to stay in the position he required, his hands were under her knees, pushing them back together and toward her chest, easing that cramping ache in her abdomen. He shifted, one hand holding her legs folded down, his other behind her head and upper back, folding her into an egg shape to relieve the burning pressure.
She was sorry, so sorry, but she managed to bite it back. No talking unless spoken to.
“You’ll start doing some core exercises three times a week,” he said, almost conversationally. “I’ll give a list of them to you and check on your progress. Have Brownie give you a massage for the soreness you’ll initially get from doing them. It’s important to have a strong core.”
Now he removed her thong, sliding it off her legs and casting it aside before he hooked her ankle cuffs back up to the chains, giving her blissful support. He left her T-shirt and bra where they were and returned to gazing at her body in that maddening now-until-the-end-of-time way. She was shaking for different reasons, especially when his fingertip slid over her labia, lightly, so lightly, then over her clitoris and around, down, back up.
"Let's see if my girl is wet." His voice had that deep rumble that made her quake on so many levels. Though she liked the helplessness the bindings gave her, he didn't need to put restraints on her. He’d told her to stay as he put her, and she would—core strength failure notwithstanding. That tone pulled her to him in a way that she didn’t want to resist or escape.
She drew in a breath as he dipped into her. Not far. Just a questing fingertip, a slow massage that went deeper on each circular motion.
“No more than my first knuckle is inside you, and feel how much you’ve given me,” he said. “That’s why a woman’s cunt is a honey pot. You're overflowing, little girl. Thick and hot, making me want to taste. Let's see how far down that well goes."
He slid in deeper, still stirring. He was exploring, stroking, rubbing here and there, making her moans grow more guttural. A woman's channel wasn't smooth. There was a thickness to those aroused tissues that gave them contours. With his touch, he could register that shape, the thread-like veins in the swollen flesh, the slick layer of juice the pressure of his touch created.
With her legs up and spread in their vulnerable position, every response was even stronger. Violin string sensation plucked the nerves in her inner thighs, all the way to the tingling soles of her feet.
A whimper escaped her as he stilled, holding his finger curved inside her, another way to keep her pinned. He tunneled under her shirt with the other hand, grasped the joining point between the two cups and lifted them up and back, so her bra was folded above her breasts. The shirt was tucked beneath the tension of the bra. Her hard nipples jutted up, her breasts quivering beneath his gaze, her clothes pushed out of the way but not removed.
His hand moved to her throat, always a sensitive spot. He gripped her jaw, tightening his fingers, then using them to stroke her with hard purpose, with enough pressure that he had to be feeling the bone. "So fragile," he growled. "So easy to break."
As gentle as his hand was below, it made the contrast above more marked. Her heart thumped into her throat at the look in his eyes, a flash of feral awareness. Then he made her turn her head, cheek toward the mattress but chin slightly raised. He kept pressing down and up, that same powerful, not fast but impossible to resist strength, until her head was tilted back, her throat exposed. He slid his fingers down the beating artery, and he began to move his finger inside of her again, playing in that wetness. Her hips jerked, making the chains holding her ankles clink.
“Master,” she whispered.
He stopped. She bit it back, but it was too late. When a straining quick glance captured the disapproval in his face, tears sprang to her eyes. She always got too emotional during these things. She wanted to apologize, but that would be more forbidden talking. He was staring at her with that hard look, she knew it, though she’d immediately lowered her gaze. Her cheeks were flushed, her mouth parted to allow rapid breaths.
Please don’t stop. Please don’t stop.
He was a harsh enough Master to do it, she knew. He’d told her no talking. For all his moments of tenderness with her as “Daddy,” when Wolf the “Master” issued a command, he expected it to be f
ollowed, no excuses.
“There will be no more of that. Will there?”
She shook her head vehemently, flicking her eyes up in blatant apology. He gave her a long look that told her he would punish her for her forgetfulness. She just hoped it was later, not now. A futile hope.
“You’ve just lost the right to make any sound or move at all. No moans, no gasps, no squirming. Or I stop. Understood?”
She nodded, another tear squeezing out, because no way in hell could she obey what would come tearing from her throat when he touched her in certain ways, and he knew it. But maybe if she tried as hard as she could, it would count.
He resumed what he was doing. She bit back cry after cry, moan after moan, even though it was pure torture, trying to stay still and quiet as he played his fingers inside her, made her need so desperately to writhe that tears ran in flowing streams down her face.
There were no words to explain it to anyone who didn’t already understand it, soul deep. Why it was that she wanted to try so hard for him, and he would get off on being so cruelly demanding, until the whole universe was just the two of them, a give and take that explained everything good or bad about life. The reason to exist at all.
At length, he put his knee on the bed, sat next to her, cupped her face. Leaned down slow, pressed his lips to a tear track. Then another. “Speak to me, baby,” he murmured.
A sob broke from her, and he captured it with his mouth, his fingers sliding over her cheeks and jaw, around her throat, as she shuddered under the kiss, her body vibrating the bed. He used his thumbs on her chin to bring it back down to a more comfortable angle, the other digits massaging the back of her neck to ease the strain.
She spoke no actual words. Moans, whimpers, sobs, were what she could do. He hadn’t told her to move, so she stayed still, hoping he noticed how well she followed direction, and he did.
“So good,” he said against her flesh. “So very obedient.”
Her body felt empty, wanting him much closer. She wanted to beg, but Wolf would tell her if he’d like that. He looked for obedience, and took the begging from her body language, her pleading eyes and soft mouth.
He caressed her face and left her, but only to stand next to the bed and take off his shirt, with that glorious ripple of dark muscle. He opened his jeans, toed off his shoes, all while studying her with that wonderful yet terrifying look that told her he was far from done with her.
He stood over her once more, now naked, his muscular thighs pressed against the side of the mattress. His cock was stiff and thick, ready, glossy at the tip. When she licked her lips, his lips curved.
“How does my obedient girl handle giving head?”
If he brought all of that close enough, she’d show him. She was good at it, but like with everything else, she expected Wolf would challenge her skills. He wanted to push her to where she was drowning. The only reason she’d keep floundering to the surface to take a breath was to serve his desires, not to protect any part of herself.
Because that was what he wanted from her.
He straddled her upper body, standing on his knees so he wasn’t putting his weight on her chest. He curled his fingers around himself, and leaned forward, his other hand gripping the headboard as he brought the head of his cock to her open mouth. “There you go,” he said. “Take all of me, Ella. I want to feel your sweet bottom lip against my balls.”
There was no way. He was too thick and long. But she knew how to relax her throat and did so, taking him as far as she could. She started to gag two-thirds the way there, and she cursed the involuntary reflexes of her body, fighting them, trying to take him anyway, so she could at least say she’d reached his thick base, if only for a second.
Instead, he eased off, his hand once again on her jaw and throat, rubbing, soothing. “A good try, baby girl. Better than most. We’ll keep working on it, won’t we?”
She nodded vigorously. “Good. Now I want you to look at me while I fuck your mouth. I like seeing your eyes with your mouth stretched by my cock.”
He started working in and out, slow, pleasing himself with watching her face, her lips work him. He spoke encouragement, lust suffusing his features. He reached behind him to fondle her breast, then gripped it. She sucked in a scant breath as he tightened his grip, pulling upwards on the full curve, pinching the nipple in rhythm as she gasped and sucked, licked.
“Do you remember who is allowed to touch your nipples?”
She nodded, her mouth full of him. His gaze burned heat into her face.
“Only me. Right?”
She nodded again, and he pushed harder, gagging her and then easing off, though he balanced it with a hard pinch of her other nipple. A keening note was in the back of her throat.
Her cunt was throbbing. If she was touched at all she would climax, which meant she was glad, in a perverse sort of way, that he wasn’t touching her there, since she knew coming before him or without his permission would be the ultimate disappointment.
He’d eased off again, was shuttling his cock in and out of her mouth in shallow thrusts. She made up for her lack of ability to deep throat him with the movements of her tongue on his glans, under the shaft, everywhere she knew a man enjoyed the touch of a woman’s heated mouth.
She pleasured him every way she knew how, and in instinctive ways that were beyond thought. She loved every reaction in his face, the fire in his vibrant eyes, the tightening of the jaw, flexing of the cords of the throat and muscles in the chest and shoulders.
“You’re doing so well, baby girl,” he said, a strained note to his voice. “Keep working me.”
She did, until she lost time and space and realized he was holding himself back, testing her stamina. Her jaw was screaming, her breath was rasping, and still she kept going, her body wet and willing, and then, at last, his cock convulsed in her mouth.
She closed her eyes, in bliss. He jetted into her mouth, his harsh groans shuddering through her body. His convulsive grip on her breast was painful, but in the most demanding, lovely way possible. She’d given him pleasure to the point he’d lost himself in her.
There was no greater gift a sub could give.
He’d flooded her mouth and throat, and yet he had more to give. He pulled out of her mouth, worked his hand over himself, so she watched the last spurts land on her breasts, her abdomen. Finally, with a flash of fierce possessiveness in his gaze, he positioned himself between her legs and pushed deep inside, all the way to the balls. She cried out, body lifting to the penetration, and he gripped her hips, working her in short, hard thrusts that had her breasts quivering and her body spasming.
“Master…”
“Come, Ella.”
She did, body bowing up, head tipped back to let out a raw scream of reaction. The climax swept over her like an avalanche, so out of control, her body not her own.
Wolf couldn’t take his eyes from her. He was thrusting full into her, still hard, and he suspected he’d be hard as long as he was inside her. No matter how many times he came, his cock could never be less than steel in the willing grip of her wet pussy, even if it drained every ounce of blood from the rest of him.
He was okay with that.
But he’d worked her hard. She wasn’t a servant, he reminded himself. Still a human woman, with human limitations. Like the core muscles she’d fought to keep holding her legs up, long beyond their capacity. A reminder that the stubbornness of her submissive will would far outlast the limitations of her body, which meant a Master had to watch out for her.
He was reluctant as hell to pull out, but he wanted to care for her as much as he wanted to keep fucking her mindless. Both were a deep pleasure. When she came down at last, he released her bonds, massaged her limp legs and arms. He retrieved a wet washcloth from the small bathroom and cleaned her up, because she was too exhausted to care for herself. He liked that, liked her depending on him. He also liked the way she leaned against him, nuzzled his jaw, as she rested her head on his chest.
&
nbsp; He removed her T-shirt and bra, all her jewelry, so she was fully naked. Then he gathered her up, left the room and took her to a private shower chamber in the club locker rooms.
He passed a few people, but paid them no attention beyond his automatic placement of who they were and their reaction to him. He was carrying a well-used, beloved naked sub, his to care for. Their gazes lingered in soft appreciation and understanding as they parted, letting him through without interruption.
That innate understanding was what made Atlantis home for so many of them. Even for him, at least right now.
Once in the shower, he sat her down on a bench and turned on the jets. Dropping to a knee, he washed her off with another soft washcloth. Shampooed her hair, cleaned every crevice. She watched him with wide, dazed eyes, still floating around in subspace, her small hand on his shoulder, holding onto him.
He let her keep that touch there as he washed himself, working around her hold until he had to stand and rinse. Her hand fell to his thigh, rested there, fingers half curled. She watched him, wanting to look at him, and he didn’t deny her. Truth, he probably couldn’t deny her anything at the moment. She’d given him everything a Master could want and then some. And then she gave him more.
Still drifting, so he wouldn’t call it an infraction, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his cock. It twitched at the contact, but arousal wasn’t her intent. She pressed multiple soft kisses on it. Random, all over, the base, the shaft, the head. She didn’t use her hand, but nuzzled against it to reach the underside, pressed her face full against it, the weight of his testicles.
She was paying homage to him, worshipping her Master, his maleness. His hand had fallen on her head, fingers in her wet hair, a light hold, as he stared down at her. When at length he tightened that grip, she lifted her head, gazed at him. He’d heard of priestesses in ancient days who had found the sacred, soul-deep connections that could be accessed through sex, put into a trance as they channeled the power of such magic. If he believed in such things, he would think he was looking down at one of its precious acolytes, given into his care, her subspace connecting her to that moment in a previous life.
