The Consequence

by Giana Darling

  I knew better than to judge a book by it’s cover, especially after witnessing the dynamic between the Paulsons, but I was still surprised that the Dom who had handled Pascale with such deliberate cruelty could have such a boyish, open face. His curls of sandy hair fell into his wide grey eyes and his smile revealed twin dimples. Of the two, Pascale with her striking dark features and sharp pixie cut seemed better suited, physically, for the role of Dominant.

  “This is Sinclair’s woman, Elle,” Cage introduced.

  “Sinclair?” Pascale asked, roused from her post-orgasm daze by the sound of my man’s name.

  Jealous flared through me.

  She noticed, addressing me with a soft smile. “He was a good friend to my Master once, Elle, that is all. I have never had the pleasure of playing with him.”

  “Good,” I said, with a smile to dilute the edge of my possessiveness.

  She laughed musically and wriggled closer to Laurent. “Sharing is a special thing, not everyone is into it.”

  “I am not,” Laurent admitted with twinkling eyes. “Pascale is for my hands, cock and mouth only. But she gets off on sharing me, which is why we come to these soirees.”

  My eyes widened, comically apparently because Cage and the couple laughed.

  “If you are interested, I would love to watch him play with you?” Pascale suggested seductively, biting the tip of her pink tongue.

  I stepped closer to Cage who wrapped a protective arm around me but it wasn’t because the idea held do appeal to me. If Sinclair had been there, had deemed fit to share me, I would have been thrilled.

  “You like that idea,” Cage ducked down to whisper in my ear.

  I shivered as his breath wafted over my neck.

  “Tell me, cherie, what would you do if Sinclair shared you with me?”

  Honestly, the thought had never occurred to me. Cage was sinfully beautiful, the kind of handsome that was intrinsically linked to thoughts of sex. I remembered thinking that if I hadn’t met Sinclair first, I would have found Cage the most beautiful man that I had ever laid eyes on. We were good friends so I never would have entered into a sexual relationship with him, there wasn’t that inherent chemistry between us, but if Sinclair brought him into our bedroom, would I have objected?

  I looked up into his glittering black eyes. “If Sinclair wanted it, it would be my pleasure.”

  I watched with a feminine thrill as desire blasted across his features, stark and harshly highlighted before he could get it under control.

  A thought occurred to me though, an uncomfortable one.

  “You like Elena,” I said softly, because I wasn’t sure but I suspected.

  His lips twisted in a cruel mockery of a smile. “Maybe I just have a thing for sassy redheads?”

  I laughed lightly, because it was clear he wanted me to and that he wouldn’t talk about his unrequited crush with me, at least not then.

  “Are you ready?” he asked me after another few minutes of conversation with Laurent and Pascale. “Sinclair will be here soon and we want to be prepared.”

  I nodded and before I could fully process what had happened, we had confirmed my goals, limits and safe word, and I was strapped into the device Cage had called a St. Andrew’s Cross. My cheek was pressed to the cool, smooth wood while my back and bottom were exposed to the crowded room. No one was paying me much attention yet, probably because they were used to the sight and also because a powerful tool of domination was denial - of touch, of sight and acknowledgment. I was living evidence of its success; my flesh was raised with goose bumps, my inner thighs slick with my arousal even though no one had touched me.

  Cage’s dark voice wafted across the back of my neck like smoke. “He’s on his way. Just a few more minutes, cherie.”

  “She’s gorgeous,” another masculine voice said from over my shoulder. “Are you in the mood to share, Cage?”

  “She isn’t mine to share.”

  “If she’s without a Dom, I’ll ask her directly.” There was a shuffling sound behind me. I didn’t need to see to know what was going on, Cage had stepped in front of the curious man, his chest puffed and legs spread.

  “You will do no such thing,” Cage growled.

  But he didn’t have to because I could feel the change in the air, the static current that suddenly zinged through the room like an electrical storm.

  Sinclair had arrived.

  The room quieted so much that I could hear each sharp clack of his expensive leather loafers cross the hardwood floor. I shuddered violently when they came to a stop just behind me, the space between us thick with crashing neutrons.

  “No one will be touching her. We’re leaving.”

  I gasped as the sound of his voice vibrated against my skin. It took me a moment to recognize his words from within my fog of desire.

  “No,” Cage said, and for a second my confused brain thought I had said it. “She needs this, you need this.”

  “I do not.” Sinclair’s voice was glacial.

  “Fine, you think you don’t need this. You want to be miserable, that’s your decision. But Giselle has a choice and she’s made hers.”

  “I want this,” I said, my voice strong and clear despite the awkwardness of my positioning.

  “Giselle,” he began but I cut him off.

  “No. If you don’t want to be a part of this lifestyle, than Cage is right, it’s your decision to make and that’s fine. I need this though. I need the submission, to be in the hands of a man who will take me through my darkest desires with dominance and calm. If you can’t be there for me, then I need to find someone else to take care of those desires.”

  His body was suddenly pressed to mine, the coolness of his suit against my skin only serving to further fuel my flushed body.

  “It doesn’t mean I don’t love you,” I whispered as I strained to move closer to him.

  It was also an empty threat. I would never let another man handle me the way Sinclair did. At least, not without him there.

  He was quiet for a long minute.

  I focused on breathing in tandem with him, craving even that small harmony.

  “Do not make me do this,” he began, and the pit of my stomach fell out like a false bottom, “unless you truly desire it.”

  My relief was so acute that I slumped against the hard wooden cross.

  “Please,” I begged.

  Immediately, a new tension overtook him. I shivered at the feel of his entire body hardening with resolve and desire against my pliant flesh. He tilted his head down so that he could speak against my ear.

  “You want to be punished before these people, don’t you, my siren? You want them to witness my claiming of this gorgeous body.” His hand swept down the curve of my hip and roughly squeezed my bottom.

  “Yes, please, sir.”

  “Good girl,” he practically purred before he stepped away from me, leaving my skin cold but my insides burning with anticipation.

  “You remember your safe word?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Heartbeat.”

  My senses were heightened by my lack of vision, pressed up against the wall as I was, and coupled with my knowledge of the dozen other inhabitants of the room, I was already trembling with need. It also comforted, the idea of being claimed before strangers and a small part of me knew it was because he hadn’t yet claimed me in New York.

  I wanted everyone to know that this magnificent man owned me.

  His breath whispered against my ear. “Are you ready, siren?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His response was to drag the tip of the bright red cane I had seen earlier done the curve of my cheek, under my neck and down my spine until it tickled the crevice between my ass cheeks. He paused there, sliding the end back and forth, deeper and deeper until it dragged achingly slow through my wet folds.

  “So wet for me already,” he noted, loud enough for the entire room to hear. “You always did like
the thought of having an audience, didn’t you? The room service waiter in Mexico, the door open to your hall so that anyone could see you kneeling before me in Cosima’s apartment. So beautiful, so eager for my cock. You want everyone to see what a good girl you are for me, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir,” I breathed, barely audible because I was so focused on the throbbing under the tip of that leather strap.

  “Louder, let everyone hear you,” he ordered.

  “Yes, sir, I want everyone to see what a good girl I am for you,” I said, my words ending on a ragged moan as Sinclair brought the cane up and back down hard across the swell of my right ass cheek.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and gritted my teeth as the sting deepened and rushed like a river through a broken dam down to my sex.

  He didn’t stop.

  The cane striped my ass, upper thighs and the outside of my sex in a continuous rhythm that made me rock and sound like an instrument under his beating hand. The pain was bright at first and then sunk to my very bones where it pulsed hotly, building and building to a crescendo that I knew would break me into pieces. There were no thoughts in my head, no words. Instead the hypnotic crack of the whip, the bass-like moans from deep in my belly and the harsh sound of Sinclair’s excited breathing played behind my closed lids like a symphony of colors, red, black and grey strobe lights that lulled me into sub space.

  My legs were pulled so far apart that my sex was wide open for the bite of the cane. His cadence changed. It grew faster, sharper still, with an emphasis on the wet slick of my inner thighs. The edge of the hard leather caught the lips of my sex and made me jerk hard against the cross.

  “Sir,” I cried out as my legs trembled in their straps.

  I needed something more, something to shatter me so that he could reform me, reclaim and forgive me for pushing him over the edge.

  “Yes, my siren?” he asked in that cool, immaculate voice that made the brutal sensuality of his beating even sexier by contrast.

  “Please, I need to hear you, need to see you. If it pleases you,” I added hastily, panting so much that the words barely came.

  Sinclair landed two more hard swats to my burning ass before he stepped away, cool air stirring over my hot, sensitized skin. I moaned, both from the loss of him and the new sensation of air. It astonished me somewhere deep in the lost recesses of my rational brain that I was at the point where a light breeze was capable of tipping me over the edge.

  “Cage, Laurent, I need your assistance,” Sinclair spoke to his friend and the Dom I had met earlier as he stepped close again to undo me from the thick cuffs binding me to the cross.

  I slumped forward as I was freed but Sin caught me on his shoulder and gently turned me around so that I had my back to the cross, my front to the audience.

  I watched through blurry eyes as Cage and Laurent stepped forward by some unspoken command to take either arm and pull it around their respective waists. Sinclair bent forward to fasten my legs against on the cross again but this time, the men held my arms bound behind them in a tight grip, their sides pressed up close to mine like parenthesis.

  I shivered at the contact and the desire that had begun to ebb away as they readjusted me flooded back in.

  Sinclair was suddenly in my face; his wide, lightening blue eyes the only thing I could see. “Cage and Laurent are going to hold you down and play with your beautiful nipples while I make you come with my fingers.”

  I trembled violently at his words.

  He smiled wickedly. “You are not allowed to orgasm until you receive permission from all three of us. Do not disappoint me, my siren.”

  “I won’t, sir,” I promised.

  In the moment, I would have laid prostrate on an alter, bared for an entire congregation to gawk at if it meant that Sinclair would touch me. I loved knowing that an entire room watched our exchange, how completely I gave myself over to him. I wanted them to watch how explosively he could make me come.

  “You look so beautiful like this, cherie,” Cage murmured huskily in my ear.

  I shivered again as two of his blunt, rough tipped fingers plucked at my left nipple.

  “Watch us play with you,” Cage ordered as Laurent also reached up to the twist and pull at my other nipple.

  I looked down to watch their dark fingers brutally manipulate my flesh and shuddered at the corresponding pull deep in my pussy.

  “Isn’t she magnificent?” Sinclair asked, drawing my attention back to him.

  It was impossible to be unaware of him even when I focused on the other men though because I knew they were touching me at his behest. That he was in charge of the pleasure I was feeling even if it was different hands on my skin.

  I sunk further into the shadowy depths of submission.

  I arched my back, pushing myself further into those unfamiliar hands with a guttural noise I normally would have been ashamed of.

  Instead, all I felt was overwhelming need.

  “So greedy, my woman,” Sinclair noted casually.

  “Oui,” Madame Claire agreed, standing just behind and to the right of our scene, her arms crossed like his, as if both of them were viewing a painting at the Louvre. “So beautiful in her greed. Will you give her what she wants?”

  Sinclair cocked his head, his face impassive. “Eventually.”

  “Please, sir,” I begged, rolling my head on my neck, restless with desire.

  “Sin,” Cage asked, an edge of pleading in his voice. “May I take her in my mouth?”

  Sinclair’s eyes flashed, not with anger but with the joy of possession. He liked the effect I had on Cage, the power being his because he wholly owned me.

  He inclined his head magnanimously. “You may.”

  I gasped as Cage and Laurent dipped in unison to take my straining peaks into their hot mouths. They held me tight to their sides so that I couldn’t thrash despite my best efforts and the feeling of being restrained ratcheted my arousal into previously unknown dimensions.

  “Are you worthy of an orgasm, Elle?” Sinclair asked conversationally as he stepped before me again. “You deceived me, tried to top me from the bottom by forcing me into this scene. Now, tell me, who has the power?”

  “You, sir,” I practically shouted as his fingers ghosted between my thighs.

  I humped at the air, desperate to bring them back to me when he pulled away.

  “Yes,” he hissed, “Me. I can do whatever I want to you, even order these men to take you in their mouths. I know you like their tongues on your sweet nipples but you know that they are really my mouth, my tongue on your flesh, don’t you?”

  I groaned in agreement because his fingers were back in the dripping pool of desire between my legs. I was so wet that I could feel the trickles of desire slide down the backs of my thighs. The squelching noise Sin’s fingers made as he thrust two, than three fingers brutally deep into my clutching sex was one of the sexiest noises that I’d ever heard.

  “Very good, Elle, so wet for me.”

  God, how could I be anything but? I was dialed to ten and still cresting. The orgasm that loomed large and dark in the distant was terrifying. I knew it would obliterate me, crash through me and eviscerate everything but the bliss he gave me.

  The hard smack of his palm hitting against my sloppy, wet pussy brought me back to him.

  “Pay attention, I am going to make you come now,” Sinclair ordered.

  He dropped to his knees but even in the lowest position of our quartet, he still emanated power. His face pressed into my left thigh so that he could watch up close the way his fingers began to churn through me, driving me higher and higher.

  “Beg us for permission to come,” Sinclair reminded.

  “Please, please, please…” I began to recite, rising from a whisper to a near shriek as I was seized with excruciating tension, suspended in the moment when a glass hits the floor but before it cracks.

  “Show us how prettily you can come,” Cage spoke with his teeth against my nipple.
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  “Come for your Dom,” Laurent demanded.

  Simultaneously, the two men bit viciously into my nipples and chewed.

  “Come now,” Sinclair’s voice lashed out like the cane against my pussy as he added his thumb, slick with my damp, into my ass.

  I rocketed into space. My body lashed hard against my restraints as my mind broke open. I tumbled head first, screaming wildly, into the darkness, distantly aware that Sinclair would catch me when I fell.

  Chapter Nine.

  “Thank you,” Sinclair said into the early dawn.

  We were back in our bed at the hotel the morning after Madame Claire’s, folded together with precision and closeness like a carefully wrapped present. My face was pressed so close to his that I had to go slightly cross eyed to look into his serious gaze but it was worth it to see the apology there, the need and gratefulness.

  After my orgasm, I had passed out briefly and come to finding myself in Sinclair’s arms as he sat on a velvet love seat talking to Madame Claire and her sub Dominic about the recent French Presidential election. He had clutched me tighter in recognition of my wakefulness and gently drawn me into the conversation, trying to normalize things after the intense scene. It worked. I’d happily talked about the National Front and the protectionist leanings of Marine le Pen and the relief we all felt that she had not won. Cage had joined us at one point, winking at me roguishly as he sat down across from us. I’d blushed but felt no real awkwardness about the intimacy we had shared. Sinclair touched me continuously, petting my hair, stroking the slope of my cheek and the swell of my lips. Reconfirming our connection, I knew, and it made me warm with success.

  I had brought him back to me.

  “You don’t ever have to thank me for reminding you that you are safe with me,” I said now, after the first good sleep I had had in four nights. “If anything, I should apologize to you. I thought that I had made it clear that I loved you and the sexual freedom that being a submissive gave me. Clearly, I didn’t do a good enough job of making you feel accepted.”

  His arms pressed me closer still. “No, it was through no fault of your own. I let Elena’s spitefulness get to me. The truth is, Willa came across me fucking one of my girlfriend’s bound to my bed when I was in the twelfth grade and laid into me using the same language Elena always had. It was hard for me to believe that a woman I cared about could accept that part of me when the other two could not.”