A Rose of Any Color: MaleDom: A BDSM Anthology

by Editors: Katherine Merchant, Sonya Bond, Michelle Puffer

  Oddly, the physical reminder of the previous night’s activities did not hold pain, but almost pleasant reassurance. She shuffled over to the small breakfast table set against the window, the padded bench mysteriously absent. Slowly, she nibbled at the sweet roll and gazed sedately out the window. The small garden below looked relaxing and gave her something to stare at while she mulled over her present situation.

  She thought of the previous night, both surprised and relieved that she’d truly enjoyed their time together. The memory of Vere’s hand between her legs brought a rush of heat to her cheeks. Their time together had been just the opposite of the grueling experience she had expected. But why? How could she have enjoyed such an unnatural thing? He wasn’t her husband, would never be her husband now that she was a common whore, and more importantly, natural sexual relations did not involve restraints and instruments of torture.

  Did this make her wanton? Abnormal? Did other women enjoy similar things or was she truly a freak? Anna thought back to the other women in the brothel and their reactions to Vere’s entrance. They obviously knew, some of them perhaps firsthand, about his practices. Their responses to him had been divided, some excited, others nervous, even frightened. So, some of them enjoyed it like her, and others apparently didn’t. If she could find the nerve, she’d ask Lily upon her return to the brothel.

  All the while, the maid continued to scurry about, supervising the boys who brought in a basin and water for her bath, setting out soaps and oils upon the wire tray she laid across the tub’s length. Next, the young woman moved to the armoire and produced an elegant, cream-colored gown.

  “Whose dress is that?” Anna asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

  “Yers, Miss,” the maid replied, depositing the dress on the bed and smoothing the fabric with one hand.

  “I mean, who was it made for?”

  “As I said, Miss, t’was made for you. ’Is lordship sent me to the seamstress yesterday wit’ yer measurements, made me wait fer this one in particular. A few others should be delivered in a day or so. Paid a pretty penny to have them made so quickly, I might add.”

  Her stomach full, Anna stripped out of her nightgown and sank into the sweetly scented water—scattered, appropriately enough, with rose petals—the water soothed her tired and aching muscles. Closing her eyes, she relaxed as her companion washed her hair. Vere had ordered several dresses made for her? What a strange way to treat a common whore. I am your lord and master, he’d told her. From that statement, she’d expected to be treated like a slave, not a lady. But then again, the things he’d done to her…and the way she’d reacted certainly hadn’t been very ladylike at all.

  She sank deeper into the water in an attempt to hide the flush in her cheeks. The maid either didn’t notice, or didn’t care, and began rinsing the soap from her hair.

  Once clean, her companion helped her to dry and dress. Finally, the maid styled her hair, leaving the bulk of it loose and flowing down her back. She led Anna downstairs and into Vere’s office. He sat behind a large cherry desk, an ink pen in one hand, a sheet of paper in the other. She stood in the center of the room, wringing her hands, unsure of what to do.

  “I trust you slept well,” Vere stated finally without glancing up at her. “Come here, Rose.”

  She complied, moving to stand at his side. His hand came up to caress the outside of her thigh, sending a delicious current through her. Would his touch deliver pleasure or pain? The uncertainty excited her.

  “Sit.”

  “Where, milord?”

  “At my feet.”

  She obeyed without question and sank to her knees, one hand braced against his thigh to control her descent. It was an odd place to sit, half under his large desk, knees tucked beneath her. It should have been degrading, yet it wasn’t. Being close to him after what they’d shared the night before, she realized, was something she desperately wanted.

  “Do you like to read?”

  “Yes, milord.”

  “You may go pick out a book, then,” he told her. “Bring it back and sit again.”

  She did, perusing the myriad of titles lined neatly along the far wall before selecting one she’d never seen before and settling down at his feet once more.

  “How does your back feel?” he asked, stroking her hair. She heard the shuffle of papers above her, followed by the scratch of his pen.

  “It is fine, milord.” She laid her head against his thigh and closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of his caress. “I expected it to hurt, but it doesn’t. I can’t quite describe how it feels, but it isn’t pain, not really.”

  “You’re a natural, darling, as I knew you would be.”

  It was perhaps an odd compliment, but she smiled. His satisfaction was as important to her as her own, for reasons beyond her understanding. The most difficult aspect of this situation was by far her acceptance of what she felt when near him. Excitement, happiness…but not fear. No, she’d been afraid only briefly. She began to drift in thought and didn’t notice that the scratching of his pen had ceased.

  Anna felt something cool settle around her neck, followed by the click of a lock. She opened her eyes and brought her hand up to feel the metal ring he placed there with a tiny padlock in the front.

  “What is this, milord?”

  “Your collar. An outward sign of my ownership of you. Anyone who sees you will know you belong to me now. It pleases me to see you wear it.”

  Then she would do so happily, she decided, tracing a finger along the smooth steel. Its weight against her skin was oddly comforting. Her submission. She’d never been in control of her life, not really. First, it was her father, then her brother. Then, for a brief time, Madame Girou had controlled her. Now, it was Vere who did so.

  But for how long? Eventually, he’d grow tired of her and send her back to the brothel. It was a disturbing thought, and she shivered.

  His hands were on her instantly, tilting her chin up to face him. “What is it?”

  “I don’t want to go back there, milord,” she whispered. “Please, don’t make me.”

  He traced her lips with his thumb, his expression gentle. She saw something flash in his eyes—affection? She didn’t dare think it. But in spite of the reason, the faintest glimmer of hope sparked within her heart.

  “We’ll see.”

  * * *

  She spent the day like that, sitting at his feet, reading as he worked. Sometimes he would speak to her, but for the most part, they existed in silence. Occasionally, she would feel his fingers in her hair, stroking her curls, reassuring and strong. Mid afternoon, the same maid that assisted her earlier appeared bearing tea for her and brandy for her lord. Sitting on the floor, Anna sipped the steaming beverage, book in one hand. After she finished, Vere extended his hand, and she placed the empty cup in it without a word.

  He sent her upstairs just after sunset with instructions to first eat and then be ‘ready and waiting’ for him when he arrived. Supper waited on a small table, and as she ate, she mulled over his cryptic instructions, wishing he’d been a bit more explicit.

  She guessed at what he’d meant and stripped off her dress. She struggled out of her corset and undergarments—no easy feat to accomplish unaided. Nervous, she paced about before something lying on top of the dresser caught her eye. Anna thought of how Vere had made her sit at his feet that day and how he’d required her to undress the night before. He liked her willing and passive. An idea came to her, and she settled into position with a smile. He would be pleased with her choice, she was certain.

  Moments later, the door opened. Anna heard Vere’s sharp intake of breath as he saw her. She knelt naked in the center of the room, her head bowed, and the riding crop lying flat on her palms, offered up to him in supplication.

  “Perfect,” he breathed reverently, shutting and bolting the door behind.

  She desperately wanted to look at his face, to see his expression and if she could gauge any emotion from it. She struggled to remain
immobile. Strong hands grasped her hair and pulled her to her feet. He covered her mouth with his, the kiss hungry, and almost violent. Oh yes, she thought happily, he is pleased.

  “We’ll start with this since you offered,” he said once he finally pulled away and took the crop from her. “But we’ll continue with this.” He showed her the whip coiled in his hand and grinned.

  She gasped. “Milord, I don’t think I can—”

  “Take it?” he supplied. “Of course, you can.”

  She eyed the instrument dubiously and chewed her lip.

  “I won’t know your limits unless we try, sweetheart. I’ll go easy on you. All you have to do is trust me, yes?”

  “Yes, milord,” she answered, though she still wasn’t convinced. Such things were used to torture men; how could she be expected to endure it?

  “Turn around, Rose. Now.”

  She complied. He nudged her forward until she was flush against the wall, her breasts pressing against the smooth wood, which felt cold and rough against her flesh. Vere positioned her hands just below two of the metal loops that protruded from the paneling.

  “You may brace your hands against the wall, or grab onto the rings if you like. But other than that, you are not to move. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, milord.”

  The crack of the whip caused her to jump, muscles tensing in anticipation. Vere uttered a throaty laugh, but Anna couldn’t tell if he was amused or annoyed by her disobedience. “I told you not to move,” he warned. He tapped her thigh with the crop once. “Besides, I promised we’d start with this. Relax.”

  The first blow landed squarely on her rear with a snap. The rhythmic cadence of leather striking flesh and the stinging slap of pain and the rush of relief that followed lulled her. Like the previous night, her sex grew wet, and she began to moan softly. Perhaps, she reasoned, it was only the promise he’d made the night before of pleasuring her once again that excited her so. Or, perhaps she already succumbed to the reality that her own desires were as unnatural as Vere’s.

  Once she finally settled into that elusive place inside her that allowed her to take the pain with relative ease, Vere stopped. He moved next to her, pressed against her side. She felt the hard ridge of his erection against her hip and sighed.

  “Hold on now, darling,” he whispered.

  She grasped the cold metal rings and took a deep breath. His left hand slipped between her legs, probing her moist cleft. He pushed one finger inside of her and reared back with his right arm. She heard a crack, followed by the kiss of the whip against her back. It was a different sensation than that of the crop, far more intense. Unlike the crop, which would first sting, and then begin to throb, the pain hesitated for a moment before blooming across her skin, spreading like fire. But not, she realized, as awful as she’d expected it to be.

  Anna moaned and squeezed her eyes shut. She focused on her breathing, regaining a measure of control over herself. With each breath, her tense muscles relaxed, and she stopped anticipating the blows, sinking into the moment. At the same moment, the whip lashed a second time, and he inserted another finger into her aching sex. He struck a third time...a fourth, as he pleasured her, working his fingers in and out of her tight heat. She lost count of how many times he struck. Her backside on fire, tiny pinpricks of pain radiated through her body, and still he pleasured her. Still he tortured her.

  Just as they had the night before, the sensations merged until she could no longer tell where one began and the other ended. Was it her back that hurt, or was it that gloriously sensitive space between her legs? Did it matter? She threw back her head and cried out, an animalistic, guttural scream.

  Anna’s knees buckled and she lost her balance, falling backwards as climax overtook her. Vere’s strong arms came around her, held her upright until her shudders subsided. Groggy and satisfied, she wanted to curl against him and sleep, but it seemed her tormentor had other plans. He didn’t allow her any respite before issuing his next order.

  “On your knees, sweet Rose.”

  She sank down before him, wincing as her heels smacked against the abused flesh of her rear. Holding her face with one hand, Vere unbuttoned his breeches with the other and withdrew his erection. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of his long, pink cock, the flared, weeping tip curved upward, both impressive and intimidating in size.

  “Take me in your mouth,” Vere commanded, grasping his wide shaft at the base and taking a step towards her.

  She opened her mouth, leaned forward, and wrapped her lips around the plum-shaped tip of his cock. Her tongue traced the crown, enjoying the silky smoothness. He groaned in approval and pushed his hips forward. She concentrated on working her tongue back and forth along the underside of his shaft, eliciting another satisfied sound from him.

  Vere’s hand tightened in her hair. “Suck,” he grunted.

  She hollowed her cheeks around him, ignoring the discomfort as he moved back and forth in her mouth. She gagged when he hit the back of her throat, and he chuckled. Her eyes watered, but she pushed the ache away, concentrating on her task with renewed zeal and was rewarded with a groan of approval from him.

  “That’s my good girl,” Vere gasped as she increased the pressure yet again. “Just like that.” His moans encouraged her, and she worked his shaft with unabashed enthusiasm, needing to pleasure him as he’d pleasured her.

  With a final thrust of his hips, he tensed, grasping her face and holding her stationary. A moment later, a hot rush of fluid filled her mouth, salty and sweet. Greedily, she swallowed, unable to prevent a moan of her own.

  Withdrawing, Vere bent down and scooped her into his arms, depositing her onto the bed with finesse. “You deserve a reward for that, darling,” he growled, snapping first her wrists, then her ankles into the shackles. “Are you ready for another lesson?”

  “Yes, milord.”

  He laughed. “I believe you’ve been looking forward to this, sweet Rose. Have you been thinking about me tying you up all day?”

  She blushed. “Yes, milord.”

  His fingers brushed her shoulder, and he leaned in close. He pressed a kiss to her jaw, traced a path along her neck to her ear. His tongue slithered inside momentarily before he caught her earlobe between his teeth. “So have I. Would you like your reward now?”

  “Please,” she breathed.

  “Then you shall have it.” He disappeared from her line of sight and moved to the corner.

  Anna watched him carefully through lowered lashes as he approached the bed once again. In one hand, he held the whip. In the other was a lit pillar candle, wax pooling around the wick. Lights burned all around them, it was clear from his hungry gaze that he intended this particular candle to have a much different purpose. Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt her sex moisten again.

  The candle tilted, and a small stream of wax poured onto her stomach, hot but instantly cooling. She hissed at the flash of pain, clenched her jaw, and grasped the chains connected to her shackles. Vere drizzled the wax up the plane of her stomach and onto one taut nipple, then the other. As the wax cooled, it tightened the pebbled flesh even further. She arched her back, a strained moan emanating past her lips.

  He climbed onto the bed and settled between her legs with a wolfish grin, running his hand across her now-covered torso. “You look gorgeous, Rose. Soft and sweet, like a defiled angel.”

  Turning his head, he grazed his teeth along her inner thigh, nipping and biting at random intervals, at times hard enough to make her wince. Vere dribbled a trail of wax down her left leg; at the same moment, he lowered his head and licked the length of her cleft. Anna gasped and thrust her hips forward, grinding her sex against his open mouth. His laughter rumbled against her sensitive flesh, heightening her need further.

  As he continued to tease her slick folds with his mouth, his hand kept up the task of coating her legs and abdomen with the hot wax until it slid from her skin to cover the bed linens. He traced the outer lips of her sex w
ith his tongue, sliding up one side, and down the other. When she tried to rock her hips, he pulled back just out of reach.

  A frustrated moan passed her lips, and once again, she lay still. He rewarded her by pushing the tip of his tongue inside her slick heat before moving to the ultra-sensitive sliver of flesh at the apex. She shuddered as he slid one finger inside her to probe her passage, followed by a second.

  She screamed something unintelligible when his fingers hooked upwards and began to piston in and out, his tongue swirling in tiny circles with increased suction over its target. Without warning, he shifted his mouth a fraction and bit down—hard. She came immediately; her head thrashed from side to side. Her hips bucked, and she felt her womb constrict around his fingers holding them in place. She was certain she would pass out or simply faint dead away from the intensity of it. The waves of her climax subsided, and she rested her head against her arm, panting.

  After she finally regained some semblance of control, she opened one eye to find him stretched out next to her, watching with an arrogant smile.

  “Welcome back.”

  She yawned, the temptation to sleep so overwhelming that she didn’t care if he untied her or left her that way all night.

  “Oh, no, darling, we’re not done,” he said with a carnal grin. “We still have to clean you up.”

  Anna drifted in and out of sleep as he cared for her. After releasing her bonds, Vere scraped the wax from her skin with the backside of a small knife, pausing to massage her sore muscles here and there, occasionally pressing a kiss to her cheek or forehead. He disappeared from the room, and she curled onto her side closing her eyes with a sigh, only to be roused once more when he returned a moment later, followed by a line of servants bearing hot water and a bath, who set down the toiletries and departed without a word.

  Vere gathered her in his arms and set her into the steaming water. He didn’t speak as he washed her, kneading her scalp with a sweet-smelling shampoo. Anna reveled in his tender care, soothed as much by his presence as she was by the warm bath. She leaned against him when he lifted her to her feet and placed her back in the bed, wrapped in a warm towel. Smoothing her damp hair back from her forehead, he placed a tender kiss to her forehead.