A Rose of Any Color: MaleDom: A BDSM Anthology

by Editors: Katherine Merchant, Sonya Bond, Michelle Puffer

  Kaitlyn thought hard, but could never imagine it. She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “Come here, sweetheart.” He kept his voice low and seductive.

  If she were a cobra, she would have been charmed by now. She tried to laugh off the situation, but couldn’t. Already her palms were sweating, her heart beating so frantically in her chest her legs shook.

  “Kneel in front of me.”

  She did as he said, her eyes never leaving his.

  “Lower your eyes.”

  She did as he told her.

  “You’re wearing buttons on your shirt. I like that.” His calm demeanor relaxed her rigid back. “Now, when I want to get to you, I just have to tell you to open your shirt.” She didn’t move. She felt heady and weak. “Open your shirt, Kaitlyn.”

  Her jaw trembled, weakly. She opened each button of her shirt, exposing her breasts in her pushup bra.

  “I love these bras you wear. They display your breasts like a table. I’ll have to eat a piece of that chocolate pie you make so well off here one night.”

  She smiled, but said nothing.

  “When you’re given a compliment, it’s customary to say, ‘Thank you, Sir.’”

  She cleared her throat and blushed. “Thank you, Sir.” Her voice was hoarse even to her own ears. Her breath shallow.

  “Pull your bra down and offer your breasts to me.”

  Without hesitation, she reached for the demi-cup edges and pulled them down until the cold air caressed her nipples rock hard. As if to make her offering more complete, she thrust her breasts out towards him.

  “Hands behind your back.”

  She complied.

  “You offer your breasts to me in invitation, to do whatever it is I want to do to them. This is implied, but whatever boundaries you set would be followed explicitly.”

  He reached forward and cupped her breasts, his thumbs stroked softly over their sensitive tips. “You see, you never start off rough. You raise the body temperature. Raise the breathing. You’ll feel yourself sort of floating after a while.”

  She took a deep breath. Everything he said slowly happened, one degree at a time. She felt dizzy, weak, her mind fuzzy. He withdrew his hand, and when he touched her again, his fingers were wet. He squeezed just enough to lull her into a sense of security and rolled them ever so gently between his fingertips.

  “You see, the torture could be almost anything. I could command you not to come. I could make you come until you beg me to stop.” He squeezed a little harder. “Or the torture could simply be something wonderful and beautiful.”

  Her breathing became shallow as she concentrated on his words. She rocked back on her knees. Not once did he let go, pulling her by her nipples until she was forced to follow his movements. She heard him slide off the couch and sit in front of her. “Sit back on your heels. It will be difficult for your first time.”

  She trembled as she did as he said.

  “Spread your thighs.”

  She did. Her skirt bunched at her hips opened an entirely different feeling. She was vulnerable to him now. He had access to her.

  “How does it feel?”

  “Amazing. I’ve never been so light-headed.” She kept her eyes closed. Her hands had stopped twisting behind her back.

  Without warning, he pinched her nipples, just a little until she winced. The pinch stopped, her pussy drooled, and she shuddered. So close to orgasm.

  “For now, you can come as much as you want. But know, as you start to come, the pain will increase.”

  She nodded. Thus far, what he described as pain was nothing more than a prick of pleasure. He quieted and manipulated her hard nipple—he twisted, pulled, rubbed his thumb over the raw flesh. Her breathing escalated. Blackness settled over her where she felt everything, but nothing hurt. She didn’t know what it was. She tried to fight it, shook her head.

  “Don’t fight it. It’s subspace—the place where pain and pleasure meld together. The place where there will only be you and I.”

  He held tighter to her nipples until she whimpered in pleasure and thrust her breasts out farther. She panted now, barely felt her body being moved to straddle his lap. The pressure of the head of his cock pushed towards her entrance, passed through her tight barrier, and she fully sheathed him. He gave one hard twist to her nipple, and her world exploded. She rocked against him, bounced on his lap so hard and fast that, before she had an idea of what was going on, his hot cum spurted inside of her, sending her over the edge again. She couldn’t hold herself upright, and he caught her against his chest, his arms encircling her back.

  She continued to ride him, her nipples aching from his so-called torture. She trembled in his arms, suddenly cold, as reality settled back in.

  “Beautiful, Steven,” she said wistfully. “Please, I want to work to be your submissive. I know I could do this. We already do. It just gives a name to how I feel. I need to submit to you. Please don’t turn away out of fear.”

  He sat her up and stared into her eyes. His eyes clouded with pride and pleasure. “I want this as badly as you do, Kaitlyn. I love you so much. I don’t want to frighten you.”

  “Steven, I love you too. I want us to work. Work the way we want it. We’ll make some adjustments, but I could see this working.”

  She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard.

  “That’s the first time you said you loved me.”

  She smiled. “I wanted to tell you at the train, but I couldn’t get the words out.”

  “I think we’ll do well together, sweetheart. We just need some practice,” he said.

  “I agree, Sir.”

  A Scandalous Arrangement

  by

  Kayleigh Jamison

  Anna blinked back the tears that clouded her vision and shook her head. Chin high and back straight, she followed the other woman down the hall determined to keep her poise—as well as her pride. If there was a way out of this wretched situation, she would discover it, and then she would find her brother and pay him back.

  The madame’s heels clicked smartly against the tiled floor as she led the way through the labyrinthine corridors of the brothel, a not so discreet boarding house in the east end of the city. The main parlor stood just off the entranceway with several divans upholstered in red, burgundy, and black, set throughout the room. The open doors revealed small rooms, dominated by oversized beds covered in silk drapery. The décor exuded opulence, but to Anna it might as well have been covered with peeling paint and moldy carpet. The very notion of what went on behind these walls was enough to make the place seem filthy to her.

  “First, we change your name,” Girou spoke over her shoulder as she walked, her French accent as sharp as the rap of her footsteps. “All of my girls are named after flowers; the men like it that way. You will be Rose.”

  “Rose what?” asked Anna, wrinkling her nose. With light brown hair and blue eyes, she didn’t see herself as a Rose.

  “Just Rose. The clients don’t care what your lineage is. For that matter, they may not care what your name is at all. If they do not ask, you do not tell. Speak only when spoken to. Ask no questions. Do everything they request of you. They pay money, and demand satisfaction. You provide it.”

  They entered a small bedchamber with a large bed, an ornately carved armoire, and an overstuffed chair. Rose-patterned wallpaper matched the fabric in the room. The irony wasn’t lost on Anna. She walked into the room and set her small suitcase on the mattress. She had not been permitted to bring much—clothing, she had been told, would be provided—but the madame had allowed her to bring a few personal keepsakes. Again, she blinked back tears.

  “You sleep here,” Girou announced. “I will send another girl in to help prepare you.”

  “When do I start…um…” Anna trailed off, gripping the handle of her suitcase with nervous fingers.

  “Working?” Her eyebrows lifted, and she smirked. “Tonight, of course.”

  Anna’s stomach lurc
hed and bile rose in her throat. Turning to voice her protest, she found herself alone, the click of heels fading in the distance. With a sigh, Anna returned to the task of unpacking her scant belongings. Just this morning she had been a naïve but relatively happy part of England’s elite. She’d wondered about her future—whom she would marry, where she would live, what she would name her children. Now, she was a common whore with a ridiculous name and all of six possessions to call her own.

  She’d known for years, of course, that her brother’s gambling and whoring had slowly eaten away the family fortune. But she hadn’t realized that for the past seven months the Viscount Falmouth had been living exclusively on borrowed money, having sunk so far into debt that his name alone was near worthless.

  Until, of course, his largest creditor—and Madame of the most notorious brothel in all of London—came to collect. The gutless, spineless swine struck a deal. His recently-of-age virginal sister, in exchange for forgiveness of his debt. ‘She would fetch a pretty penny in my service,’ Madame Girou had exclaimed with glee as she’d examined a trembling and enraged Anna. The Viscount had only been too eager to agree.

  To call the situation unfair would be an insult to traditional notions of moral offense. She recalled her brother’s tearful promise to their father on the older man’s deathbed to always care for her. “Father, I wish you could help me now,” she whispered softly.

  “So, you’re the new girl,” came a deep, silky voice.

  Anna spun on her heels to face the visitor. In the doorway stood a petite woman a little older than herself. She brushed long blonde hair back from her pixie face with a grin. Anna blushed as she surveyed the woman’s attire. A tight-fitting gown of almost sheer fabric showed the dark tips of her large breasts.

  “I’m Lily,” the woman said, striding towards her with steps that radiated seduction.

  “I’m An—Rose,” Anna corrected.

  “I’m to help you prepare for your first night.” Lily’s gaze swept down her body in an unabashed assessment. She lifted a lock of Anna’s brown curls and twirled them around her forefinger. “We’ll give you a bath, choose a dress for you, paint that pretty face of yours, and of course, remove your hair.”

  “M-my hair?” Anna’s hands went to her head protectively.

  Lily laughed. “That’s right, Madame told me you’re a virgin. No, sweetheart, not that hair. The hair around your pussy. Men don’t like it.”

  “My what?”

  “You’re pussy, sweetheart.” Lily’s hand slipped between Anna’s legs and gave an irreverent tap. “Down here.”

  “Good God,” Anna shrank away from the other woman, her eyes wide.

  “It will feel strange at first,” Lily seemed unconcerned by Anna’s discomfort, tossing her hair over her shoulder, “but you’ll grow to like it. Trust me, the slide of a nice big cock against your bare skin is divine.”

  Anna started to cry again. Just when Anna thought it impossible to be shocked any more, the little blonde said something even more scandalous.

  “You know,” Lily told her with a half smile, “there are things women can do that feel even better. It might help ease your fears a bit. I’d be quite happy to teach you a trick or two.”

  “No!”

  Lily laughed and sidled up to Anna, taking hold of her arm. “Just a thought. If you change your mind, do let me know. Now, let’s see to your bath.”

  * * *

  Evening arrived all too soon. Anna didn’t know what humiliated her more. Being bathed, shaved, and dressed by the provocative, shameless Lily, or sitting here now in the lounge of the establishment, put on display like a new hat in the milliner’s shop. To her credit, Lily did not make any more sexual propositions and even offered a few gems of wisdom on how to survive what she termed “those awful fucks,” although she’d speculated that Anna wasn’t likely to have one of those her first night working. Madame Girou, she said, would be looking to sell her off to the highest bidder for the largest amount possible, and men with money “did it better.”

  She sat on a lavish red chaise, trying to ignore the fact that her gown was made of a sheer, dusty pink fabric that brushed the floor. The outrageously low neckline displayed the tops of her breasts, and a slit up the gown’s side revealed the entire length of her left leg. Underneath the dress, she wore a black silk corset, cinched painfully around the waist and nothing else.

  She managed to seat herself in such a way that she hoped concealed as much of her body as possible. In truth, she would have been mortified no matter what she’d been wearing. She kept her eyes downcast, flitting them back and forth across the floor, tracing the patters of the hardwood flooring. Her fisted hands clutched her gown, wrinkling it. The prostitutes had regarded her with interest when she’d first been brought into the room but had quickly dismissed her presence, talking amongst themselves. Anna was grateful for it—she wouldn’t have known what to say to them, anyway.

  Men came and went, though Anna pointedly avoided making eye contact with any of them. Rules of the establishment forbade the gentlemen from touching her or speaking to her. Occasionally, she overheard a customer negotiating with Madame Girou over her price, but she was never presented to any of the men, who ultimately it seemed, couldn’t afford to purchase her.

  Some time later, she became aware that someone important had arrived. The other girls whispered excitedly between themselves, and while some of them seemed hopeful to be selected, others appeared fearful.

  Anna prayed that this new client was not someone she knew, or who knew her. She tried to tell herself that it didn’t much matter now, but her socialite upbringing wouldn’t allow this destruction of her reputation without a fight. She caught sight of a pair of polished black boots as the man approached her. His strong, defined legs were encased in equally black breeches.

  “She’s new,” the man commented with a nod in Anna’s direction, his voice deep and rich. Intrigued, she ventured a glance at the mysterious customer. His breeches gave way to more lustrous black with his coat and shirt; the pristine white of his cravat provided a stark contrast at his throat. His head turned away, but his profile was oddly familiar.

  Her heart sank as he turned, and she caught sight of his face. She most certainly did know him. The Earl of Westmorland, Vere Fane, was both devastatingly handsome, and according to the rumors, unerringly cruel. The handful of times she’d seen him, she’d found his good looks and cool demeanor fascinating. Once, her Aunt Elizabeth caught her staring and told her what people said about the earl and about the things he purportedly enjoyed doing to his lovers. The information had been more than enough to dissuade her from her girlish crush.

  “Oui, just arrived today,” the madame said. “You do not want her, Monsieur. She is far too inexperienced for your expert tastes.” She regarded her companion with a sideways glance and smiled when he took the bait.

  “Inexperienced?”

  Under his scrutiny, she averted her eyes, but not before she had a good look at the sideburns that accentuated his chiseled, masculine jaw. Jet-black hair, pulled back at the nape of his neck, gave him an air of dominance. Even in her sitting position, she could tell he was much larger than her own petite form. The very idea of him doing unspeakable acts with her made her shudder.

  “She is a virgin, my lord.”

  His head snapped around to regard Girou with surprise. “Are you certain?”

  “Quite.”

  “Then I want her.”

  “It will cost you,” the woman said.

  “How much?”

  They lowered their voices, so Anna was unable to hear the madame’s asking price. From time to time, she caught a word or phrase, but not enough to decipher their conversation. She wrung her hands in her lap and waited for what seemed like hours before they turned back to face her again.

  At least he is good-looking , she told herself, trying to find something positive to cling to lest she go mad.

  “Rose,” Girou barked. “Come here.�
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  Anna rose to her feet and approached them with trembling legs. She met the earl’s gaze once, his expression so stern and intense that she quickly looked down again.

  “The earl has purchased you.”

  She couldn’t think of anything to say, so remained silent.

  “Have her things packed and sent to my townhome, please, Madame.”

  “I have perfectly suitable rooms here for your use.” Girou’s eyebrows rose a fraction. It was clearly a challenge, and the earl accepted it with an austere glare.

  “She is mine and mine only. I intend to ensure that it stays that way,” Vere declared.

  “I am nothing in this business without my word, Monsieur,” Girou said with a smile. “No one else will have her, I promise. I have always treated you fairly in the past, no?”

  “All the same, Madame,” he replied, “for the amount of money I am paying you, I could have ten girls. We will do things my way.”

  The major domo considered this a moment and sighed. “Rose, go retrieve your things. The earl and I must negotiate privately.”

  * * *

  Reluctantly she returned to the parlor. Westmorland stood at the door, hands clasped behind his back. She approached him and stood several feet away with her head down.

  “Let’s go,” he grunted and turned, striding out the front door with measured, confident steps.

  Anna followed, too intimidated to linger, and was nearly forced to run to keep up with his lengthy stride. The carriage waited in front of the door, and the earl climbed inside without a word. The driver appeared and helped Anna clamber inside, before clicking shut the door and hurrying back to his perch.

  She sat across from him inside the carriage and still kept her head down. The clack of horses’ hooves against the cobbled lane beat an insistent tattoo in time with her pounding heart. Several times she felt his gaze on her, but each time she snuck a glance, he just stared out the window as if she were not there at all. One hand extended, his arm draped over the back of the seat with ease, the other rested on his muscular thigh. She couldn’t deny that he was handsome.