Damon rubbed his hands together. He couldn’t wait to put Callie through her paces. Bending down, he tapped her shoulder. “Up you go. Our guests are ready to play.”
Chapter 19
Callie’s mind raced a mile a minute. This was it. This was her chance! Hope roared through her like a freight train. At the same time, she had no idea how she was going to communicate, with her mouth taped shut and her wrists cuffed behind her back. Not to mention, Damon was right there, watching her like a hawk.
Still, even cuffed and gagged as she was, there had to be something she could do. Damon had been hinting recently that he was going to get rid of her soon. Whatever that entailed, it couldn’t be good. This might be her last chance to escape.
If even the slightest opportunity presented itself, she had to seize it, no matter the risk.
The four of them moved up the spiral staircase. Damon had the couple go first. He trailed behind, his hand firmly on the back of Callie’s neck as he marched her up the stairs.
“Very nice,” the man called Wolf said when he got to the top.
Damon stepped beside him, his hand still firmly on the back of Callie’s neck. He shrugged. “It’s just a makeshift setup, but it will do. I thought we could start with a nice caning. Callie adores being caned.” He turned to smile at her. “Don’t you, darling?”
Darling?
Callie bristled internally at the false endearment. She almost preferred his usual nasty slurs. At least they were sincere.
He squeezed her neck warningly until she nodded her pretend agreement.
“Greta, too, loves the cane,” Wolf said, setting his gear bag down. He unzipped it and pulled out a long, thin cane. It was held together at the center with what looked like masking tape.
“Whoa,” Damon said. “Looks like you need a new cane. Did you break that on her ass?”
Both Greta and Wolf grinned. “I did,” he agreed. “We have several other canes, but this is her favorite, so I taped it up for her. She says this one has the perfect combination of thud and sting. Sends her right to the clouds.”
“Cool,” Damon replied.
Callie had read about the concept of flying—that altered state a sub could achieve when the erotic torture was just right. But with Damon, the closest she could get was her mental escape. There was nothing erotic about it.
“This custom-made portable cross has straps on both sides,” Damon said, moving closer to stroke its polished wood. “We can put them on either side facing each other.”
“Sounds good,” Wolf agreed. He turned to his partner. “Take off the dress, Liebling.”
“Ja, mein Herr.” Greta reached for the zippers on either side of her skimpy dress and tugged them down. Lifting the dress over her head, she dropped it to the carpet without a trace of self-consciousness. Her breasts were large compared to her small, compact frame. Her mons was shaved, a tattoo of a bright red heart directly above the cleft.
Callie couldn’t help but stare, shocked at the marks that covered the older woman’s body. There were myriad tiny cuts on her breasts and stomach, along with fading welts that matched Callie’s own.
What had Damon said about the couple? “She’s a total pain slut. They’re heavily into sadomasochism.”
A part of Callie recoiled in horror. How could this woman want what Callie so feared and dreaded? Yet, she also recognized that in a different scenario, with a different man, she herself might have been able to enjoy something a little edgy, like a flogging.
Yet Greta looked happy and serene, the love unmistakable in her eyes when she looked at her partner.
That was the difference, in a nutshell. The stark and insurmountable difference between what Damon had done and what this couple shared, was consent. Greta was a willing participant who loved and needed what Master Wolf gave her. Whereas, what Damon did on a daily basis to Callie was assault and rape, pure and simple.
“Let’s get you naked, too,” Damon said, yanking her back to the moment. Letting go of her neck, he moved around in front of her, blocking her view of the couple. He tugged at the column of tiny hooks that held the cincher closed. When it was completely open, he let it drop behind her to the ground. Reaching around her, he plucked the bow of the leather string that held the thong in place, allowing it, too, to fall away from her body.
He led her to the cross. Master Wolf was already in the process of securing Greta’s wrists into the dangling cuffs at the front of the cross. Damon had Callie stand on the other side. He cuffed her wrists into place and lightly kicked at her ankle, his signal that she was to spread her legs. With no choice, she obeyed, allowing her ankles to be cuffed as well.
As Damon moved out of Callie’s line of vision, she desperately tried to telegraph her distress to Greta with her eyes.
“It’s okay,” the woman said, smiling kindly. “I can see you’re a little nervous, ja? Lord Demon told us you are very shy with strangers. Hopefully by the end of tonight we will all be friends.”
Lord Demon? If only Greta knew how fitting that title was.
Callie shook her head, trying to convey her distress, but Greta continued to smile, clearly not getting her cues. “Shh. Entspannen. Relax. It will be fun. I love a good caning.”
Damon reappeared, his threatening presence making Callie’s face go instantly blank. She dropped her eyes, trying to harness her frustration and disappointment. She wouldn’t give up. Not yet.
The men took up their stances behind the women, Wolf behind Greta, Damon behind Callie. Wolf began to tap lightly against Greta’s bare bottom with the cane.
“Oh, come on,” Damon said from behind her. “I thought your sub was a pain slut. Surely you can do better than that?”
Callie heard the whistle of his cane in the split second before it made brutal contact with her ass, leaving a fiery line of pain in its wake. She squealed against her gag, tears leaping to her eyes.
“Like that,” Damon said, his tone smug.
“I prefer to warm and waken the skin,” Wolf said, frowning. “It is good to take one’s time with a caning.”
“Whatever,” Damon said dismissively. “My slave is trained to take whatever I give her, no matter how intense. She doesn’t need to be coddled.”
Callie could tell by his tone and somewhat snarky response that he was annoyed with Wolf’s implied rebuke. She was reasonably certain she would be the one to pay the cost for his annoyance.
Sure enough, a moment later another searing stroke whipped over her flesh, adding a second line of pain just below the first. She squealed again, her nostrils flaring as she sucked in air. She fervently hoped Master Wolf would intervene on her behalf, but all he did was shake his head, silently mouthing what looked like, “Americans.”
After a bit, Wolf, too, ratcheted up the intensity of his stroke. The canes whipped and struck in concert, punctuated by Callie’s muted cries and Greta’s sighs and moans. Though Damon had caned her easily a dozen times, she could never get used to the shocking intensity of the stroke. Each cut of the cane was worse than the last.
She tried to catch Greta’s eye to convey her distress, but Greta’s head had fallen back, her eyes closing as her lips parted. Her breathing had deepened, her chest slowly rising and falling. There was an expression of pure bliss on her face.
Giving up on the woman for the moment, Callie tried to telegraph her distress to Wolf. But he seemed entirely focused on what he was doing, alternating strikes of the cane with a tender caress or a whisper into Greta’s ear.
Damon’s cane snapped relentlessly against her ass and the backs of her thighs. Unable to bear it any longer, Callie closed her eyes and focused on mental escape. She took a deep breath and slowly released it, chanting her internal mantra. Breathe in… One, two, three, four, five… Let it go… Breathe in… … One, two, three, four, five… Let it go…
She was back in Wisconsin, out in a field with her father and little brother. They were practicing at the makeshift firing range they’d built at the end of their property.
Callie knelt down, one knee on the ground, the other knee up to steady her arm. She put the butt of the rifle in the crevice of her shoulder and peered through the scope at the target.
Damon’s handsome, evil face appeared in the bullseye. Taking careful aim, she pulled the trigger, catching him right between the eyes…
“I think your girl is flying too,” she heard from a distance. “She’s smiling.”
“She fucking loves it,” Damon declared from behind her, still very much alive, alas. His words jerked her back to the moment.
“Greta has had enough,” Wolf continued, now easing his stroke again to a light tap. “Let’s stop now and give them aftercare.”
“Okay,” Damon said with obvious reluctance. But thankfully, the caning stopped.
Bending down, Wolf reached into his gear bag and produced a tube of some kind of salve. He glanced at Damon, frowning slightly. “Did you need to borrow some Arnica?”
“What? Oh, uh, yeah,” Damon said. “We just ran out.”
Wolf squirted some of the cream onto his fingers and handed the tube to Damon. He took it and a moment later, Callie felt the soothing cream spread over the worst of her throbbing welts, something he’d never bothered with before.
Greta remained with her face pointed upward, eyes still closed, a beatific smile on her face. Only when Wolf uncuffed her wrists and ankles did Greta open her eyes. She blew out a long sigh and turned toward Wolf, who enfolded her in his arms.
“Das war wundervoll,” she breathed.
“How about the girls thank us properly?” Damon said as he released Callie from the cross. “I’m thinking on their knees, mouths wide open?” He chuckled.
Wolf looked at Greta, who bobbed her head with apparent eagerness. “Okay,” he agreed, his hand going to his fly.
Hope again leaped like wildfire inside Callie. In order to suck Damon’s cock, the bastard would have to remove the duct tape. That would be her chance!
She dropped to her knees beside Greta, who was already in position in front of Wolf, licking her lips as if about to have a wonderful treat.
Facing her, Damon, too, opened his slacks. Reaching in, he pulled out his shaft. Both men massaged their rapidly elongating cocks until they were at full erection. As Wolf slid his cock into his partner’s willing mouth, Damon bent down and tugged at a corner of the duct tape covering Callie’s mouth. He glared at her as he did so, his telegraphed warning loud and clear.
Her heart was racing. No matter what happened afterward, the second he freed her mouth, she was going to scream.
Reaching for the back of her head, he gripped her hard by the hair with one hand. His other was still on the tape, his erect cock bobbing just by her face. He jerked the tape, ripping it painfully from her mouth, leaving one side still stuck to her cheek. But before she could make a sound, he shoved his erection deep into her throat.
She gurgled against the onslaught, to no avail. He thrust rapidly in and out, never pulling his cock fully from her mouth. Unable to move her head, her hair caught in Damon’s tight grip, she instead slid her eyes toward the couple beside her. She tried to get their attention, but they were completely involved with each other, neither glancing Callie’s way.
Within the space of a minute or two, Damon’s body stiffened in the moment before orgasm. He mashed her face against his pubic bone as he thrust deep. His disgusting semen slid down her throat as he groaned in apparent ecstasy.
He pulled out and, before she could utter a peep, pressed the tape firmly back into place. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out the small roll of tape, tore off a fresh strip, and pressed it over the first piece.
Tears of frustration and fury filled Callie’s eyes as he smiled cruelly down at her. “That was excellent, slave girl.” Reaching for her, he pulled her up and wrapped his arms around her. “As a reward, I’m going to cane your pussy,” he said in a voice clearly designed to carry. “You’ll love that, won’t you, baby?”
When Callie didn’t immediately react, he hissed into her ear, “Nod, you fucking cunt. Now.”
Caught in his arms, she had no choice but to obey. Slowly, she nodded.
“That’s my girl,” he said with false fondness.
“Oh, very nice,” Greta said from beside them. “Me, too, bitte.”
Damon laughed. “One at a time. We’ll show you how it’s done.”
Rage moved like a red film over Callie’s eyes. How she despised this horrible man. If she’d had that gun of his in her hands right now, she’d have happily blown his fucking head off.
Instead, she allowed herself to be led to the pool table, which was covered in a fresh sheet, the ropes waiting to tie her down.
Damon uncuffed her wrists from behind her back and lifted her into his arms. He laid her on the padded table. She winced in pain as her welted flesh rubbed against the sheet. Ignoring her discomfort as he always did, he pulled her arms and legs into place and looped the ropes around the cuffs at her wrists and ankles. Then he pulled them taut, forcing her into a spread-eagle position.
“She has a very pretty Muschi, er, pussy,” Wolf said.
Callie could feel their gazes boring between her legs. Heat swept over her chest and throat, lodging in her face.
“She does,” Damon agreed. “A nice, tight little twat. She can practically come from a cunt caning,” he lied. “She loves it so much, she’d let me whip the thing to shreds. Of course, I’m far too responsible to allow that,” he added smoothly.
“It’s good you are a responsible Dom,” Wolf replied.
He’s not, he’s not! Callie wanted to scream. He’s lying. Please, can’t you see that? Help me! Save me!
Greta appeared over her. “You are brave. The pussy caning is hard to take, even for me.”
Callie shook her head vehemently, desperately trying to convey her distress. But Greta continued to smile. “Don’t be bescheiden.” She glanced up. “How do you say, Wolfie?”
“Humble,” came Wolf’s response.
“Ja,” Greta said with a nod. “Don’t be humble. It is a proud thing, to submit.” Then she vanished from Callie’s line of sight.
Defeated, Callie closed her eyes.
“I’ll give you five strokes,” Damon said. “You will show our guests how perfectly you’re trained. You will not move a muscle or make a sound.”
Breathe in… One, two, three, four, five… Let it go… Breathe in… … One, two, three, four, five… Let it go…
The cane ignited her pussy, the searing stroke cutting like a blade. In spite of Damon’s warning, Callie jerked hard against her restraints, gurgling in pain behind the tape. The second stroke was even worse.
“Be still, silly girl,” she heard Damon admonish over the roar of blood pounding in her ears. “Don’t embarrass me in front of our guests.”
Two more strokes landed in quick succession.
Suddenly, Callie recalled something from one of the erotic romance novels she’d read back in her other life. When the sub in the story couldn’t use her safeword, she had opened and closed her fists in what was apparently a universal sign of distress in the BDSM scene.
Desperately, as the fifth stroke found its mark, Callie opened and closed her fists.
“Was macht sie?” she heard Greta say.
A moment later, Damon appeared, his face looming over hers.
Her lungs collapsed with terror as she stared up at him. Had he seen what she’d done? Had anyone?
He smiled as he gently stroked her cheek. “You did well, darling. I’m so proud.” He untied the ropes that held her down and scooped her into his arms. Turning to the others, he said, “Callie is tired now. I’m going to take her down to bed. I’ll be right back up, and we can give Greta a turn on the table.”
Wolf glanced at his watch and shook his head. “No, thank you. We have an early flight out tomorrow. Thanks for the intense scene. I think we’ll be going now.”
“Der Knebel,” Greta said. “The gag. Please to remove it so we can sa
y good night properly?”
Hope again soared like a bird, its wings batting furiously in Callie’s heart.
Yes. Yes, yes, yes!
But Damon shook his head. “No, no. Callie asked me to please keep it in place while you’re here. It really turns her on. Maybe next time. I’ll just get her settled and meet you downstairs.”
Without giving them a chance to respond, he moved toward the stairs and began the descent, dashing Callie’s last hope in the process.
Chapter 20
Callie was hunched on the floor of the bedroom closet, her wrists cuffed over her head to a chain that hung from the clothing rack, duct tape still stuck over her mouth. Tears streamed down her cheeks, despair threatening to overwhelm her.
She twisted her head in the dark, trying to wipe her tears and runny nose against her bare shoulder. She couldn’t hear anything beyond the closed closet door. It was almost worse to have had a chance, however slim, of connecting with someone from the outside world. To have her hopes raised so high, only to be shattered into a thousand pieces, left her lower than low.
Then there was the question of what Damon had seen. After the German couple left, would he come raging into the bedroom? His threat earlier in the evening ricocheted through her mind like a bullet.
“You disappoint or embarrass me in any way, and you’ll spend the next twenty-four hours in the punishment closet.”
She needed to stop crying. She didn’t want to undo all her hard work in convincing Damon she had finally accepted and even embraced her lot. It wouldn’t do to be sniveling in the closet when he finally came to let her out.
She tried to replay the last moments of the evening in her head. Had she betrayed herself to Damon in her desperate attempt to be noticed? What would her punishment be? Would he subject her to another terrifying round of Russian roulette, this time using a loaded gun?
What had Greta said in German while Callie had been strapped down to the table? It had sounded like a question, and it had come right after Callie had briefly attempted the safeword hand signal. But surely if either Wolf or Greta had seen the signal, they would have stopped what they had believed was a consensual scene?
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