by Rachel Clark
“Swallow,” he growls in a tone of voice I’ve never heard from him before. I try desperately to do as he says. “Breathe through your nose and swallow.”
I’m grateful for his order. With his cock so deep in my mouth I almost forgot I still have my nose to breathe through. I suck in a deep breath, trying to stay calm as I work to find the muscles necessary to swallow around something my fear tells me will choke me.
Finally, I manage to do what my Dom ordered, and he rewards me with a groan. Again and again he slides into my mouth, holding still, waiting for me to swallow before pulling back out and starting over again. Each time he moves faster, slides a bit deeper, forces me to accept just a little bit more of him. He jolts suddenly, pulling his cock from my mouth for a moment.
“I’m about to come, little sub. Swallow all of me.”
“Yes, S—”
His cock stifles my words, his movements more forceful, faster, more urgent. I try to swallow around him, and he groans, releases his grip on my hair, places both hands on my cheeks, and sort of moves so that I can lift my gaze to his. “Swallow, baby girl.”
Streams of his cum fill my mouth, the salty taste surprising in its appeal. He caresses my cheeks with his hands, watching me as I lick him clean, suckling his cock as it slowly softens in my mouth.
“Thank you, little sub,” he says before he steps away. “Be a good girl for Ryan. I’ll be home before seven.”
He dresses quickly, presses a lingering kiss to my lips, and then hurries out the door. A few moments later I hear what I assume is the outer door of the wherever we are thunk closed.
I’m still on my knees, butt plug up my ass, shivering with need, and I haven’t been given any orders. I want to turn and ask Ryan what I should do, but I get the impression this is some sort of test. I really don’t think that life as a full-time sub will suit me, yet I find the idea of being powerless strangely appealing. It’s kind of what I expected to happen in the club. Maybe not to the same level of intensity, but I think I’m beginning to understand why Bradley and Ryan insisted that we try this for a full week. Before we can make a commitment to such an unusual relationship, we should all understand our own needs.
“Good girl,” Ryan finally says. I hear him move past me to the door. “Time for breakfast, little sub. Come.”
* * * *
Ryan could see Melody’s natural instinct to argue burning in her eyes. He smiled with pleasure as she nodded instead and slowly got to her feet. Wickedly, he considered ordering her to crawl to the kitchen but dismissed the idea as unnecessarily cruel. He’d never been fond of humiliation. That wouldn’t, however, stop him from using it as a punishment if she pushed him.
Bradley had played his part perfectly. They’d known last night that there was a chance of her telling them both to go to hell, so Ryan had been relieved by her reaction to Bradley’s orders. He’d never been particularly fond of the full-time Dom-sub protocols—he preferred a woman willing to make some decisions for herself—but he and Bradley had both agreed it was a necessary step to gauging what might work for all of them.
Melody had been interested enough to find her way into a BDSM club. To be that curious suggested that there might be a chance she was looking for a full-time Dom. He certainly hoped not, but by at least living the Dom-sub lifestyle twenty-four hours a day for a full week she should be able to judge from a position of experience. Melody was the only woman he would consider doing this for. If she wanted a permanent Master, then that’s who he would be. He shook his head, nearly laughing out loud at the revelation. Of all the submissives he’d met over the years, Melody was the only one he’d be willing to change his own preferences for. No wonder his brother had been willing to live a vanilla life.
Simply put, Melody—their best friend and the woman they’d both loved their whole lives—was worth it.
Chapter Sixteen
I follow Ryan into the kitchen and have absolutely no idea what to expect. He didn’t offer me any clothes, and I know enough about Dom-sub protocols to know that if my Dom wants me naked, getting dressed is a very bad idea.
I notice he, however, has dragged a lightweight robe over his shoulders and fastened it with a knot in the belt.
“Kneel,” he says, pointing to a flat, padded cushion that seems to have been placed there for that express purpose. I’m a little annoyed at being ordered around like a pet, and I do briefly consider barking like a dog, but since I still have a plug up my ass for my outburst earlier I’m not really prepared to argue. My nipples remain a little sore from the clamps last night, and my lips feel swollen thanks to blowing my fiancé before he went to work. As a list of grievances goes, I’ve got a pretty good case for keeping my mouth shut no matter how annoyed and turned on I am.
I settle onto the mat, taking extra care to find a comfortable way to rest my bottom on my heels without putting pressure on the butt plug. It’s not my idea of relaxing, but I suppose things could be worse.
“You have permission to speak, little sub, but I warn you to be respectful. You will not enjoy the next punishment I have in mind.”
“Yes, Sir,” I say in the most respectful tone I can muster. I want to ask what prompted this change in tactics. The last I’d heard we were going to mess around with a few “scenes,” not live the lifestyle full time. Of course, I’m fairly certain his answer will be that my Doms’ decisions are not my concern, so it seems fruitless enough—and possibly annoying enough to lead to me being punished again—that I choose not to ask it.
He gives me an assessing look, perhaps confused by my previously unheard-of ability to stay quiet, smiles, and then turns back to the kitchen.
“Do you have any food allergies, little sub?”
“No, Sir,” I reply, trying to keep the curiosity out of my voice. If I know one thing about Ryan, it’s that he rarely says or does something without a reason behind it.
“Perfect,” he says as he starts mixing the batter for what appears to be hotcakes. I try not to indulge too often, but I’m quite partial to hotcakes, fresh fruit, and warm syrup. Apparently Ryan remembers that.
I sit quietly while he finishes making breakfast. My instinct is to offer my help, but since he ordered me to sit here I’m finding the forced exclusion both annoying and somewhat enlightening. It’s very interesting to watch how confidently he moves around the kitchen. In recent years most of the meals we’ve shared have been family gatherings or me, Bradley, and Ryan at a restaurant. Until I wandered into his club two weeks ago, I hadn’t actually seen Ryan since I agreed to marry Bradley.
I’m a little disconcerted when he piles all of the food onto one plate.
Perhaps subs don’t get to eat with their Doms? Will the bastard make me watch as he gobbles down my favorite meal before ordering me to clean up his mess and then make my own breakfast? I admit to not having done much research on the day-to-day Dom-sub scenario, but I’m pretty sure I hate it already—well, except for the lesson on how to give a proper blow job. That was kind of hot.
“Beside me, sub,” he says as he walks past. “Bring your cushion.”
Fantastic. I don’t even get to sit at the table. Although, considering that I’m naked, wearing a butt plug, and a part of me is still very wet, I find the idea of actually sitting at the table unappealing as well. Maybe he’ll let me stand.
My brief hope is dashed when he indicates with his eyes for me to kneel at his feet. Very carefully I kneel down, groaning softly as my knees creak. Seriously, I’m not that old, but a lifetime of high-impact sports has left my knees a little less durable than they probably should be.
“Are you in pain, little sub?”
“Not yet, Sir,” I answer honestly. Although, I suspect if I’m required to kneel a lot I could be by the end of the week. He nods in understanding, so I find that semicomfortable spot and breathe a sigh of relief.
“Dom-sub protocols can be very intimidating,” Ryan says as he turns in his seat to face me, “but you still have the options to use
your safe words. I have no wish to permanently damage my new pet, so I expect you to tell me if something is beyond your physical endurance. Do I make myself clear?”
Sheesh, I’m not sure whether to be pleased by his caring or irritated by his assumption that I won’t kick his ass if he actually hurts me. I might be playing the role of sub for two men I care for deeply, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let them treat me badly.
“Mind your expression, little sub. If you make a face like that inside my club, I will attach you to the St. Andrews cross and take the whip to your ass.”
Holy heavens, as threats go that one isn’t very convincing. I watched Ryan whip Sandra two weeks ago, and it was obvious even to my newbie understanding that the woman enjoyed every moment of it. I suspect by the way that I reacted to both my spanking two weeks ago and the paddle hit I received last night that I kind of like that type of pain. It is, after all, why I sought out a BDSM club in the first place.
Ryan smiles at my reaction, shakes his head, and turns his attention to his breakfast. Several forkfuls later I’m salivating at the delicious smell of warmed syrup and ready to mutiny over his tactics. I shuffle on my knees before I realize I’m begging like some sort of pet at the dinner table.
He notices and holds a strawberry to my lips. I reach up to take it from him, but he shakes his head and waits for me to open my mouth. Suddenly, I’m not hungry at all. Just the smell of the hotcakes and warm syrup is making me feel ill. I can feel the blood draining from my face as nausea takes over.
Shit. Talk about messing with my head.
I don’t like the way this is making me feel at all. I feel tears prickle my eyes, and damn the man, he notices before I can blink them back.
* * * *
Ryan felt like an asshole for making her cry, but he’d never been comfortable with many of the more stringent full-time Dom-sub ideals. Admittedly he’d deliberately pushed all of Melody’s hot-temper buttons to try and end this part of the protocol quickly. He’d never enjoyed feeding a submissive from his own plate. To him it felt more demeaning than caring, and by Melody’s reaction it seemed she felt the same way.
He’d promised Bradley that they would expose Melody to all this life had to offer so that she could make an informed choice. He didn’t really want to make his own feelings toward this part of the lifestyle known without at least giving her a chance to decide if she liked it or not. “Problem, little sub?” he asked in a neutral tone of voice.
She shook her head, but it was obvious she was struggling to keep her emotions in check. He leaned over, caressed her face with the backs of his knuckles, and whispered, “You hate this, don’t you?” For a moment he thought she might lie, but several more tears fell as she nodded her head. “Thank you for being honest, little sub.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead and then moved into the kitchen to grab another plate and utensils. He quickly divided the food between both plates and indicated for her to sit down in the chair beside him. When she hesitated, he quickly grabbed a large, fluffy towel from the bathroom and placed it over her seat. She sat gingerly, obviously still adjusting to the butt plug, but she looked much happier.
“Better?”
“Thank you,” she said as she tried to wipe the tears from her face.
“Eat up, little sub. We need to shower and remove that plug before we go down to the club.”
“Down? I don’t even remember leaving.”
He leaned over and rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. “Last night after you fell asleep we carried you up to my apartment.”
“Apartment?” she asked, shaking her head. “I thought you lived in a house not far from Bradley’s place.”
“I still own the house.” No way was he explaining the real reason why he no longer lived there. Just the thought of Bradley and Melody living happily ever after in the same district had burned a hole of jealousy right through his gut. “We’re on the top floor of the club. I recently converted it into a self-contained apartment because I was spending more nights here than actually making it home.”
It was more or less the truth. The reason why he was staying here sat at the table beside him, but it wasn’t a vulnerability he was prepared to expose—not yet, probably never.
He watched her pick at the food, not all that enthused for it himself anymore, either.
“Come on, Mel,” he said, reaching for her hand. “Let’s go have that shower.”
Chapter Seventeen
I abandon breakfast with the enthusiasm of someone who has just dodged a bullet and seriously doubt I’ll ever enjoy hotcakes and warm syrup again. I have a nasty feeling that the smell will always bring up reminders of this experience, and I truly never want to feel like that again.
Thank god Ryan changed his mind.
But now I’m beginning to worry that I hurt him by rejecting a part of a lifestyle he lives. He owns a freaking BDSM club. Chances are he swims in the deep end of the BDSM pool. Trying my hardest to sound respectful, I try to apologize for letting him down.
“No need to apologize, little sub,” he says as he drags me into his embrace. I go willingly, happy to be held by a man I’m falling more deeply in love with every moment. “I promised Bradley we’d explore BDSM. I said nothing about forcing you to like it.”
“But I—”
“No buts,” he says with a soft tap on my bottom. “Shower.”
“Yes, Sir,” I say as I step under the warm stream of water. “Perhaps we can try again. Maybe if I’m more prepared I won’t freak out on you next time.”
“Why would you want to try again?” he asks, tipping my face up to his so that I have no option but to let him see my expression as I try to explain. I really don’t want to try again, but I will if it’s what Ryan wants.
“I want to make you happy.” Is that really me talking? Yes, I care for my friends. Yes, my love for this man and his brother is surprisingly deeper than even I realized, but am I willing to subjugate a part of myself to suit their needs? My hands begin to shake when I realize the answer is yes.
What the fuck is happening to me? When I found BDSM on the Internet and became curious about the lifestyle, I never really considered how it would affect my day-to-day life.
Ryan grips the back of my hair, holding me still as he ravages my mouth. The kiss goes on and on, his tongue thrusting deep into my mouth, his other hand roaming all over my naked body. I can feel his hard cock against my stomach as our passion burns out of control.
He lifts his head for a moment. “Are you sure about the ‘no condoms’ part of the contract?”
We have each other’s medical records. I’m on the pill. We’ve all agreed it’s something we want.
“Yes,” I whisper. His reaction is immediate. He presses me against the tiles, lifts me up, and thrusts straight into my pussy. I gasp as his cock fills me, the butt plug making everything tighter. He holds still a moment, giving me time to adjust.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he orders before he starts to slide out of my pussy. I nod, doing as he says a moment before he starts thrusting into me violently, taking me hard and fast, fucking me the way I’ve only ever imagined.
I’m shaking, moaning, trying to meet him thrust for thrust when he stops. He slides out of me, letting my feet drop to the ground, his hand still pinning me to the wall. I whimper inside my mind, worried that I did something wrong. He gropes behind him to turns the taps off.
“On the bench,” he says urgently, placing a towel over the hard surface. “Wrap your hands around the edge.” This part of the vanity is far wider and much higher than a normal hand basin. The reason becomes obvious when he places me facedown on the padded surface and helps me to brace myself. I am very literally at the perfect height for Ryan. He reaches under me, teasing my clit until it swells, before pushing the sensitive nub hard against the soft towel. I wriggle, gasping at the intense sensation as he rams his cock back into my pussy.
Holy cow! The fucking is brutal, his need obviously urge
nt—no wonder he insisted I hold on to the edge—but it’s when he starts playing with the plug in my ass that I realize I’m going to lose it. I gasp, trying to hold my orgasm back, trying to wait for the permission I hope is coming soon, very, very soon.
“When Master Bradley gets home he’s going to fuck this ass, little sub.” Ryan pulls the plug out slightly, pushing it back in carefully, the gentleness of the movement in complete counterpoint to his cock thrusting hard and fast in and out of my pussy. “But first we’re going to tie you to a spanking bench and show you what it feels like when it’s not a punishment.”
I groan, picturing in my mind the spanking I’ve long dreamed of. My pussy grips Ryan harder, squeezing around him, pulsing with my heartbeat as the beginning of my orgasm starts to slide through me.
“Ah, my little sub likes that idea,” he says as he grips my hips tighter and starts fucking me even harder. I can barely comprehend all of the sensations. My pussy is throbbing. My ass is squeezing the plug. My clit is so swollen I can barely think straight. My nipples are crushed against the towel, the friction of the soft material sending lightning bolts of sensation straight to my clit. “Come, now.”
I scream as he pinches my clit with his fingers and orgasm pounds through me. Again my body is not my own. My legs and arms jerk violently, heat flooding my system as bright colors burst behind my eyelids.
He stills, grinding his pelvis against my ass, his cock so deep inside me that I can’t tell where I finish and he begins. Finally, I collapse against the bench. Like a puppet with all its strings cut, I lie however I landed, giving no thought to moving to a more comfortable position.
Ryan leans over me, his weight briefly pressing against me as he moves my hair out of my eyes. I don’t even realize I’m crying until he pulls his cock out of my pussy, lifts me into his arms, and steps into the shower once more.
