by Sansa Rayne
“Hey, what the hell?” she snarls.
Swatting her rear again, I take the fabric of her leggings in my hands and pull hard, stretching the material to its breaking point. Kate groans as it rips, revealing the dark thong beneath. I yank it sharply, feel her body quake with desire. Rubbing my hands up and down her inner thighs, my fingers come away slick.
Cock hardening in my pants, I grab a couple more pairs of cuffs and lock her ankles to the cage’s exterior, effectively binding Kate in place and leaving her at my mercy.
“You’re wet,” I say, showing her my hand. “You can’t help it, pet. If this is what you like, how am I supposed to punish you?”
“Put me on a plane back to New York,” she mutters. “That would be a terrible punishment.”
I laugh, giving her backside a firm slap.
“Nice try.”
She yelps, bucking against her bonds. I unzip my chinos and let them fall to the floor, Then I caress her side with just my fingertips, tracing them down her hips. The closer I get to her sopping pussy, the more her body tenses. At the last second I change direction, sliding my fingertips down her legs. She grunts in frustration, her hips jerking invitingly — just for a moment though. She shuts it down, but too late.
“Disappointed?” I ask, trying not to sound too smug.
“Fuck you, Ingram. You’re a bastard, and if you don’t let me go right now-”
I step around in front of her, giving her an eye-level view of my massive erection. She stops talking, taking in the sight.
“You want something big and hard in that soaked little box of yours?”
Crimson fills her cheeks. She tries to look away, but I fist her hair and swing her attention back to my cock.
“Answer me, Kate.”
Her lips twist and purse, betraying her fury and desire. I know which will win. Her body wants what it wants. I stroke my rod a couple times in front of her face.
“Suck it.”
Kate shakes her head, and fights against her cuffs.
“It’s your call, pet. I’ll jerk off right here in front of you, I don’t give a fuck. I could stay hard all night watching you struggle like this.”
She lets out a high-pitched whine, trying not to look at my cock, but she can’t turn away.
And just like that, I know what I’m going to do to her. I know how I’ll punish her. It’s mean, even for me. But she has to learn.
“Fine,” she grumbles, opening her mouth. She stretches her jaw wide, her perfect lips forming a perfect O.
Eager to feel her tongue against my shaft, I give her my tip to taste. She takes it in, moaning as she forces her mouth wide enough. Her eyes flash wide in panic, then close. She inhales deeply, her determination building.
Sucking my tip, Kate hums with pleasure. I hold her by the hair, keeping her under my control. A momentary worry crosses my mind — that maybe putting my cock in her mouth when she’s this angry at me isn’t the best idea.
No, she won’t. Not only is she bound and helpless, she wants this too badly. This might be the last time in a while that I put myself in this position, though.
Once she’s gotten used to my tip, I urge my cock in deeper, filling her mouth. She mewls, trying to handle the daunting girth. I draw it back out, giving her a second to recover, but quickly drive back in, causing her to cough. On instinct, I pull out completely. She gasps, filling her lungs. Saliva runs down her lip and chin.
“Was that too much, Kate? Am I too much man?”
“I’m ready,” she says, opening wide.
Not bad. She’s certainly got initiative.
I slide back in, my cock still slick. She takes it in better now, her gag reflex under control. Grunting, I push in a little deeper, reaching her throat. With a groan, she wraps her tongue around me as best she can, gripping it hard. Her lips form a tight seal, and she sucks with all her strength. Unable to hold back any further, I begin a steady rhythm, in and out, using her face as my fuck hole. Kate bobs her head, falling into sync with me. Before long she’s stroking my cock with her lips and tongue, sucking every time I give her my length.
Though I could go for far longer, I take some pity on Kate and let myself reach my climax quickly.
“Look at me, Kate.”
Without stopping, she opens her eyes and looks up at me. The gorgeous sight of her like this — fully restrained, shamefully used and totally owned — sends an electric spasm to my cock. There’s a real freak hiding behind that professional, defiant demeanor; I’m going to draw it out into the light. If she doesn’t see it yet, she will soon.
I withdraw as I climax, spraying her face with my milky seed. Kate’s jaw hangs open, exhausted by her effort. There’s satisfaction in her sighs. That’s about to change.
Finding a clean, white cloth, I wipe my cum off her face.
“Thanks,” she says.
Grinning, I roll the cloth up, then slip it between her lips. She squeals, trying to shake me off, but I’m ready for her resistance. Working quickly, I tie the cloth behind her neck, gagging her. She should have my flavor on her tongue for some time.
“You want more of my cock?” I ask, reaching back to slap her ass.
She nods her head, once again looking away as if to escape her humiliation.
“I thought you would. But you’re not getting it. That’s your punishment, pet. You get nothing.”
At first she stares at me, stunned. Like she couldn’t comprehend what I said.
“Next time, if you want a reward, I’ll expect you to be on your best behavior.”
Now she wails. Thrashing her cuffs against the cage raises a cacophony. She swings her hips, as if hoping she can entice me to give in. Truthfully, it almost works: my cock starts to rise again already. That’s just the effect she has.
“I’ll see you in the morning, pet,” I say, hopping into bed.
Kate cries, then turns to spewing invective. I listen for a while, then shush her.
“I’m going to sleep. Don’t keep me up, unless you want to spend the next few days in that cage.”
Still furious, she settles down.
I’ll wait until she falls asleep, then release her from the cuffs so she can rest comfortably in the cage. She needs to rest — we both do. Tomorrow we’re going to have to deal with her outburst in the harem; Victor will want blood.
Somehow, I have to find a way to settle him down. I have no idea how, but I better find a way. If I don’t, there’s no telling what he’ll do.
I swear I’m going to kill him. I’ll find a way to get free, get a knife and gut him. I’ll watch him bleed out and spit in his face. How dare he leave me like this. He wasn’t fucking kidding — this is beyond cruel. First he gets exactly what he wants, then he leaves me with nothing? And he knew he was going to do it too — he planned it.
And I wouldn’t be in this mess if I wasn’t so fucked up in the head. Every time his strong hands hold me down, dark needs take control. The slightest hint of a smile on that cruelly handsome face makes my heart pound. Sparks fly out of my ears at the thought of being at his mercy, his cock thick and ready.
I get what’s happening — I’m reacting to this life-altering situation in unhealthy ways. I’m no professional psychologist but this is pretty obvious to me. My primal instincts are kicking into high gear: survive and multiply. Find a strong mate for my offspring. Please him and he will protect me. Except, it’s all bullshit. I know it, but my body hasn’t gotten the memo.
Unless this is just par for the course with me. What if I’m just driven to horrible men? It would explain why Brendan was never enough for me. He’d never do anything like this. He’s too good a person — and too timid in bed. I’m all for good communication, but he’s incapable of being nasty — which is what I crave, because I’m broken inside.
No, stop it, Kate. That’s some victim-blaming bullshit. There’s no way I’d be acting like this if I was truly in my right mind.
Keep telling yourself that.
Be
nt over, tied up, pressed against a cage, gagged with Ingram’s taste on my tongue and left desperate for relief, there’s no way I should be able to sleep. I suppose I’m pretty exhausted. Once I calm down from my wrath and get used to the uncomfortable position, I drop off quickly.
When I wake, I’ve been stripped, untied and moved to the inside of my cage; if Ingram expects my gratitude, he’s going to be disappointed.
I stretch out as best I can, groaning and yawning.
“Good morning, Kate,” Ingram says. “How was your night?”
“Fuck you,” I snap.
“Hey now. I’d planned on being nice and giving you a chance to come, but if you’d rather not, that’s fine.”
Damn. I do want to come — really badly.
“How do I know you mean it?” I ask.
“You can do it yourself. I’ll watch.”
That would work. But…
“Do you have to watch?”
“Yes.”
Ugh. Despite my pussy’s ache, the idea of him standing here while I… It shouldn’t appeal to me. Maybe I’m just desperate for relief.
“Fine. Should I just start?”
“If you like. Go ahead.”
Taking a deep breath, I slip two fingers into my drenched core. All of the desire and frustration from last night washes over me in a rush. The sight of Ingram’s cock, the inescapable cuffs around my wrists, the humiliating position against the cage…
Dammit, no!
This is my chance to get off to something that’s not totally fucked up.
As I rub my clit, I picture Brendan disrobing, revealing his adequate body and average cock. I try to imagine him going hard and fucking me the way Ingram did, but it’s not his style. Brendan would ease his cock in at a snail’s pace, waiting for me to react before he keeps going.
I could keep rubbing my clit for hours, I won’t get very far with Brendan on my mind. I try remembering how funny he is, how kind and compassionate, but it’s like lighting a scented candle at a florist’s shop — there’s no stopping Ingram’s overpowering presence — even in my own thoughts.
“What’s wrong, Kate? I thought you’d be done by now.”
Yeah, me too.
Fuck it.
Unleashing the recalled arousal of last night, I let Ingram loose in my fantasies. Stroking myself steadily, head back against the hard metal bars, I play out the encounter how I thought it would go: with Ingram fucking me hard. All the pride of serving his cock with my mouth, of earning my reward — the helplessness of my bonds and the pleasure of being under his control. It all floods back into me, like I had barely contained it in the first place. Blinking away a tear, I open my eyes and look up at Ingram.
Bliss that lay in wait all night for this moment surges through my body. I moan as my fingers elicit the disturbing need I wish didn’t exist. If I could exorcise it with one powerful orgasm, I would — but I know I’m only pacifying a monster momentarily. I wish there was another way. When I’m done, I press my face into the floor hoping I could somehow disappear.
“That was lovely,” Ingram says, working his bulging package.
He opens my cage and drops some clothes at the door.
“Get up. Get dressed.”
I force myself to make for the bathroom, but Ingram grabs my wrist.
“Use the bathroom and brush your teeth. No shower. Don’t fix your hair.”
“What?”
Ingram leans into my breast and inhales deeply. I shudder, gripping his shoulders as his head rises. I’m a mess, but he drinks me in anyway. Part of me wants to push him away, but instead my core smolders with need. It’s as if his insatiability excuses mine.
“I want everyone to know you’re mine. When they see you, they’ll know. Now go.”
I don’t argue, though I’d like to. Maybe I shouldn’t give a shit how I look in a place like this — it’s not a newsroom at LPN. Why should I care what anyone here thinks? I do, though. It’s embarrassing. He’s marked his territory in pretty much the most obscene way possible.
At least it should keep Victor the fuck away from me.
Once I’ve done as I’m told, Ingram cuffs my hands and attaches my leash, and we leave.
“Where are we going?” I ask, my stomach rumbling.
“To eat,” he says.
I leave it at that, despite my confusion. We’re heading in the wrong direction for the harem, which is where I take most of my meals. Instead, we’re approaching the pavilion, where all the other Masters dine.
“Hey, Ingram, what the hell?”
I plant my feet in the ground until my leash runs out of slack.
“We’re going to have a nice meal together,” he says, tugging me along. “I told you I wanted people to see us.”
“What if Victor is there?”
“He’ll mind is own fucking business if he knows what’s good for him.”
“He better,” I mutter, matching his pace.
The Masters’ dining area consists of a dozen large, circular tables and several smaller ones, all covered by retractable umbrellas. Older courtesans dressed in tight, white uniforms scurry around, refreshing drinks and taking orders. One sees us as we enter and waits for us to sit before coming over.
“Ice tea for both of us,” says Ingram. “I’d like the lobster roll sliders.”
I’ve had my fill of filet mignon for a while. It’s been too long since I’ve had a good New York breakfast.
“Lox, egg and cream cheese on a toasted everything bagel. Whatever you think is enough cream cheese, double it. And a black iced coffee.”
The courtesan nods, though she doesn’t deign to look me in the eyes. She’s probably in her late forties, with leathery bronze skin, the kind one could develop after living here for a decade or two.
“Who’s that?” I ask as she strides away.
“Holly. Long-term resident. Don’t worry, she won’t mess up your order,” says Ingram.
“I wasn’t worried about that.”
He rolls his eyes.
“You want her life story? You want to know if she’s happy to be here? You could have asked her, but you didn’t. Look around. The Masters are watching us. They just saw you order her around like you’re one of us. Is that what you meant to do?”
My jaw drops, though I recover quickly. He’s absolutely right — I hadn’t even thought. For a crucial moment, I reverted back to the life I once had — the kind where you gave a waiter your order quickly and got back to business.
“I should have asked… That was callous of me,” I admit.
“Don’t worry about it. You did exactly what I hoped. The only way the Masters will ever accept you is if they think you’re not so different from them.”
“But I am.”
Ingram nods.
“Yes. Either that has to change, or you’ll need to hide it better.”
I don a fake smile as I look around, taking in the scene. More than a few of the Masters acknowledge me as we make eye contact. Could they really accept me as one of them? I’ve dealt with plenty of old-fashioned, powerful men who reviled seeing women working anywhere but the kitchen, and the Masters all fit the profile. Then again, maybe they won’t care, so long as I make them money.
Victor is here, conversing with Evo Griekin. He either doesn’t notice me or pretends not to. Anton Ford sits by himself, sipping some kind of white wine while scrolling through a feed on his tablet.
Jamison and Colette eat together — the only other woman I see seated as a guest, rather than a worker. They chat quietly, their meal finished and plates cleared. If this was a trendy restaurant in Brooklyn they’d look like a rich married couple still happy together after all the years.
I pay attention to which Masters dine as a group, curious to see if they’ve formed internal cliques. If they have, it’s not based on any obvious grouping. Industrialists and politicians, Eastern Hemisphere and Western Hemisphere, old and young — all are mixed at the various tables. I have to wonder wi
th whom Ingram would sit if not with me.
What a sight. For the millionth time, I just imagine how this would look as full-screen banner on LPN’s homepage.
Wait a second.
“It was you,” I say. “You pulled strings at LPN to get me benched, didn’t you?”
“Us. Not me personally, but one of us, yes. For what it’s worth, your boss John insisted LPN’s shareholders not interfere with your work, but he caved. Didn’t want to lose his job, which he would have.”
Thanks, John. I never doubted you.
“He’s definitely pragmatic. That’s why he and my dad got along much better.”
“So I’ve heard,” Ingram says. “Walter’s books speak of him fondly.”
I nearly spit out my ice tea.
“You’ve read my dad’s books?”
“Not all of them. Just A Few Things I Remember and Family, Fame and the News.”
The two bestsellers, naturally.
“I didn’t take you for a book person,” I say.
“If you want to rule the world, it helps to understand it. And few men understood the world as well as your father. He had a unique perception. I learned a lot from them. And, honestly, I learned quite a bit about you.”
Somehow, I feel more exposed than when I’ve been stripped, spread and bound. It’s like the publication of Family all over again.
“The stories Walter tells about bringing you up on his own were very moving,” says Ingram. “How did you feel, having all of that out there?”
I don’t have to ask him what he means by “all of that.”
It’s the time I took Dad’s Cadillac down to Asbury Park to see Bon Jovi play the Stone Pony. And when I had to get my stomach pumped after raiding the liquor cabinet while Dad was a guest at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner. And the night I crashed the Cadillac trying to get out of a ticket.
“How would you feel if the world knew you were a spoiled sixteen-year-old degenerate?”
The courtesan arrives with our food and sets it down. I open my mouth to thank her, but I’m still too mortified, and she leaves before I can utter a word.
Ingram grins.
“A degenerate? You were just a teenager. A rich one, granted. And how old were you when the book came out? Twenty-one?”
