by Lynda Aicher
Somehow she managed to put on her Vanessa shield and get through the details of the fundraiser and what they were planning. Internally, she fought against the panic as she brought her worlds crashing together. Yeah, she was the one doing it, but it didn’t matter how they intersected—they simply weren’t supposed to.
A line of sweat wiggled its way down her side by the time she was done with the short explanation. She kept her breaths short, her face neutral and her emotions locked down.
Jake sat back, nodding in a way that had his shoulder rocking too. Concentration tightened the line of his mouth and drew his brows down. “That sounds cool. It’s a good idea.” He blew out a breath, gaze shifting to Seth and Dek before he continued. “It would’ve been nice to have a safe place like that when I was growing up.”
Dek’s soft snort was timed with Seth’s low grunt. Vanessa didn’t know the details of their history together outside the fact that the three men had been friends since childhood.
“I can do that,” Jake said, a smile accompanying his agreement.
“Great, thanks.” She made sure her smile didn’t show the turmoil trying to eat its way through her stomach lining.
“What else can we do?’
She turned to Noah, a chorus of similar questions from the other men stopping her before she could respond to him.
“We all want to help now,” Marcus said, his grin sincere.
Vanessa sat back, blown away by the offers and terrified at what accepting them would mean. “She doesn’t know about this part of my life,” she cautioned. The stern eye contact she made with every person at the table communicated more than her words.
“Got it,” Jake said.
“We’re friends,” Seth added. “That’s all your sister needs to know.”
She sucked in another shallow breath, and on the exhale, invited her partners into parts of her world they were never supposed to be involved in.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The low click, click, click reached Holden first. Muted through the wood door that separated them, but distinct anyway. The semi he’d been sporting the entire drive over became a full hard-on before the clicks were silenced by the entry rug. His breathing deepened and he fell into his display position as the door swung open.
Thigh-high glossy boots with a daunting five-inch pointed heel greeted his lowered gaze. The urge to scan upward to take in her whole attire was strong, but he held his position, letting the anticipation build.
Thirteen days he’d waited with no guarantee that his situation would change tonight. It didn’t matter though. He’d go another month without coming if it gave him the opportunity to submit to her.
“Downstairs.”
Fuck, yes. The clipped tone minus any form of greeting told him what kind of night was ahead. It was exactly the kind he needed. “Yes, Mistress.” Instinctively he knew to use the honorary, not her name. The vibe for the evening was one of boundaries and lines strictly defined.
“Use what I left you in the bathroom, too.”
He faltered at that, but only for a second. “As you wish, Mistress.” A smile quirked as a flash of The Princess Bride crept in. He knew exactly how the fictional Westley must’ve felt.
Holden kept his eyes down and headed straight for the playroom. The welcoming scent of leather and trapped air that hinted of disinfectant relaxed and ramped him up. His clothing was quickly removed and left in a neat stack on the dresser by the door, his sandals at the base.
The cool tile floor beneath his feet was one more thing that dropped him into that quiet headspace. The brush of air on his hot skin, the distinctive fragrance mingled with the now-familiar surroundings—they were all a part of it. Others would call it his submissive headspace, yet that term didn’t quite fit for him.
His Vanessa space was how he thought of it. He was pretty damn certain that what he felt, the consuming relief and pleasure, the emotional release, was more about giving to her than submitting to just any Domme.
That sentiment slipped just a little when he found the enema box on the bathroom counter with a stack of old towels. Fucking hell. That could mean only one thing. Something was going up his ass tonight. Damn.
Another test? A challenge to see if he’d bail? Or was it honestly something she thought he’d enjoy? He squirmed, ass clenching at the thought. Was it in desire or revulsion?
Anal play wasn’t on his hard limit list, so he should either added it quickly or get the fuck moving with the task.
After closing the door, he read the directions, none of which sounded remotely enjoyable. He glanced at the hook conveniently placed on the wall next to the toilet then back at the box. Shit. Literally. He snorted, blew out a breath and opened the box.
When he finally settled into his display position facing the closed entry door, sweat chilling on his skin, he did his best to block out the last thirty minutes by starting to count down from one hundred. The methodic act sent everything scurrying from his mind. The numbers were whispered under his breath, using the sound to center him in the silence that surrounded him.
Number twenty-three had passed his lips when she entered the room. His focus switched to her instantly, the numbers forgotten. Her heels defined her path to the cabinets. The heavier beat of a Linkin Park song flowed into the space a few seconds later, another bit of foreshadowing. Intentional? He didn’t know, but he understood.
She stopped in front of him next, the heel clicks not quite drowned out by the music. The light glared off the glossy shine of her boots. His hard cock stood proudly in his line of sight, yet his need wasn’t centered on coming. Somewhere over the past two weeks he’d learned to push that back, no matter how urgent it seemed.
She mattered more.
The boots moved, circling around him to stop once again. He held still, centered in his wish to give his Mistress whatever she wanted.
“Have you been good, Holden?”
His lips quirked, not in amusement but pleasure. “Yes, Mistress. For you.”
Her throaty purr was almost better than a touch. It rolled over his skin, sending shivers racing within him. “Safeword?”
Another hint. “Chihuahua.” She reinforced his safeword only before a Scene intent on pushing him. He’d been pushing himself on the ice all week. Giving that over to her was a relief.
She stepped forward to trail her fingers up his thigh, over his hip, chest, throat until they lifted his chin. The touch alone had him swallowing a tortured sound, but the glimpse he caught of her short red leather skirt and black lace bra-like top that pushed her breasts high had him rumbling his approval. The heated blend of ice and danger in her eyes ripped the burning groan from his chest.
A smile graced her red lips for a moment, long enough for him to savor the softness it brought to her features before the hardened Domme returned. “Tonight is about endurance and giving,” she murmured, her gaze drifting to his mouth as she spoke. “I’m going to push you. Test you. Own you.”
“Please, Mistress,” he implored. “Do it all.”
Her eyes shot to his, narrowed. “Careful what you ask for,” she warned. “I don’t feel like being easy tonight. Or even nice.”
“I don’t want you to be.”
“Good.” She pressed a nail into the underside of his chin, the skin giving until the edge bit at the tender area. His chin lifted under the pressure so his throat was stretched and exposed.
He closed his eyes and released a long, slow breath. He needed this. Her. Whatever she was going to give him. It kept him balanced. Happy was another word that fit. “Thank you, Mistress.” He dared to defy her by lowering his chin until he held her gaze once again. He let the need and desire and whatever else was raging through him to show in his eyes. “I’m yours. Only yours.”
In every way, he wanted to add, but couldn’t
. Not yet. Not now. But what he couldn’t say with words, he would in action. This Scene was for her more than him, and he’d make certain she heard that, that he understood her needs too, even if he didn’t say another word all night.
* * *
Damn him. Vanessa kept her face flat, but there was nothing she could do about the emotions that swarmed up. She didn’t want them, any of them. Yet they were all there, hammering in her chest, pressing in her throat, burning in her core.
She let her fingers drift back down his throat, past his chest and tight abs to clasp his erection. His hips tilted forward, eyelids dropping. She stroked the velvety smoothness beneath her palm, spread the wetness around the tip, then let go.
He dropped his chin to his chest with a hard exhale.
Without contemplation, she stole a kiss from his lips. A hard, claiming kiss that took. His breath was hers, the heat of his mouth, the wetness and taste of sweetness were all hers. He opened, gave without hesitation until she stepped back, panting.
“On the table, on your back,” she ordered, pointing to the padded bench that resembled both an exam and a massage table. She didn’t wait to see if he followed her direction. By now, she expected him to do so, and he didn’t disappoint.
This she could control. Him, now, this Scene was all hers to orchestrate. For now, she could forget the outside world and all the stress it brought.
She took her time selecting the toys, savoring the items and the wait. There was no need to rush, nowhere to be or clock ticking on the wall. They had all night to play if she wanted to do so.
The dildo was solid black metal. Hefty in her hand, even though it wasn’t super thick. The chain of ten anal beads that gradually increased in size was pliable under her fingers. She selected the anal probe last. She doubted Holden had ever had anything inserted into his anus. Teasing his prostate would likely send him into the stratosphere.
After grabbing a few more items, including a neoprene cock ring and a bottle of lube, she made her way back to Holden. He tracked her, his eyes focused on the objects overflowing from her hands. He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing in a pointed indication of his apprehension, or maybe it was desire.
“Feet in the stirrups.”
She turned her back to set the items on the small rolling table she’d stationed next to the bench. His feet were in place, legs spread wide when she was done. She strapped his feet in then patted his knee. “Scoot down. I want your butt on the edge of the table.”
Another swallow before a “Yes, Mistress.” The vinyl squeaked under his back as he squirmed down. The position showed off the size of his thighs, the muscles in his calves and that perfect ass that she was so going to own.
“We’re playing with toys tonight.” As if that wasn’t already obvious. “This orgasm you’ve been holding on to for thirteen days.” She ran a nail up his cock that had gone a little soft until she teased the sensitive spot under the head. Satisfied when it was once again thick and straining, she looked up. “It’s still mine.”
“Yes, Mistress.” Clear and firm without a pause or swallow either. God, that fed her. It pushed the blood hot and fast through her system until the heat seemed to radiate from her. Her nipples tightened into hard nubs that shot a connecting line of desire to her core.
She strapped down his wrists then added a band across his upper chest and another over his abdomen, effectively locking him down. “Has anyone ever played with your anus?”
His brow wrinkled, lips compressing into a thin line that went with his head shake. “No, Mistress.”
“Have you played with your anus?”
“No, Mistress.” This one more emphatic than the first.
“Oh.” She smiled, a wicked, calculating one that matched the temptress itching to play. “This is going to be so much fun.”
And exactly what she needed to get her mind back in focus. Holden might’ve been the catalyst that had her life sliding out of kilter, but she could still own him. It was a power trip he willingly gave her. One she appreciated more than words could say.
So she’d show him. Take and give and make him beg until there was nothing left but the two of them.
No worries or stress. No list of things to get done. No one waiting on her or asking for something. No one but Holden, giving her whatever she wanted. Giving her everything. In this room, this small space hidden from everyone, he was the center of her world.
* * *
Holden had never felt more exposed. Legs spread up and wide, air hitting areas that should never have that experience. Yet even bound tight and unable to move, he had no fear. He was vulnerable, maybe, but safe.
His trust in her gave him the freedom to enjoy.
The heavy beat of the music was a welcomed rhythm in his ears. He closed his eyes, feeling the bands holding him down, inhaling the scent of the room, and now, his Mistress. All of it dropped him further, loosened his muscles and enabled him to let go.
He clenched at the first touch of cold lube against his hole. Expected but not, he tried to hold still and relax as she’d instructed him to do. It was the dildo. A black one that hadn’t looked too intimidating, but then, he’d never had anything shoved the wrong way up an exit either.
Until the enema, at least.
His soft chuckle morphed to a groan as she massaged his anus with the head of the dildo. Where logic said it shouldn’t feel good, it actually did in an odd way.
“Don’t resist,” she said when reflexes had his cheeks squeezing together once again. Of course, it didn’t do much good with his legs forced open like they were. “You look so perfect like this.” The appreciative tone of her voice worked to soothe him. Her fingers danced down the inside of his thigh before they rolled around his balls. “Open to me. Mine to play with. Mine to control.”
“Yes,” he choked out, eyes squeezing closed as the rounded head of the dildo eased into him. “Holy...fuck.” It was wrong and right and everything in between.
A burn accompanied a host of sensations that rippled straight from the sensitive ring of muscles to his dick. His body was programmed to reject the object being slowly pushed into him, yet his mind was stuck on the pain-mixed pleasure that rifled through him. He wanted it out and needed more.
“Bear down,” she instructed, her hand starting a slow stroke on his flagging erection. “Stop resisting and accept.”
He got the double meaning. This was for her. What his Mistress wanted. His long exhale took the last of his tension with it. He did as she’d said and in the next instant the hard object slid into him with a sudden ease.
Fucking... He tossed his head, mouth gaping. The burn faded away, leaving the most indescribable feeling to take over. He had nothing to compare it to. Nothing for his senses to go from.
Her slow strokes in and out matched the ones on his dick, which was seriously hard again. The double waves of pleasure were shorting out his thoughts until there was nothing but the sizzling flush that radiated from his groin.
Damn, he was hot everywhere. Even his toes were scorching, sweat forming between the digits. How?
“You’re doing great, Holden.”
He forced his eyes open and glanced down. She was intent on her work, eyes down. A vision of what she saw had a rough grunt tearing from his chest. It shouldn’t be hot, but it was fucking erotic as hell.
She owned him. No question about it.
That thought alone almost had him coming. He couldn’t though. Not till she said. His weeks of denial had taught him restraint. Control. Instead of racing for the end, he settled in and savored the build. He sank fully into the moment, letting the sensations blend together. He didn’t think about what she was doing to him. Instead, he simply experienced it.
His arms jerked in their bonds, fingers fanning at the sharp, intense jolt of pleasure that shot straight through his balls
to his dick. “Holy fuck.” His cry bellowed over the music and rang in his mind.
She chuckled, the sound a seductive line that he clung to. “And that is the hidden magic of the prostate.”
He panted, dazed until she hit that magic button again. No way. He squirmed, needing to move yet unable to. His hips jerked where they could. Instinct triggered him to thrust and grind and plow madly to get more.
“That’s it,” she cooed. “Show me how good it feels.”
She kept rubbing it now, over and over on the same lazy pace with her hand on his dick. It drove him insane, yet wasn’t enough to push him over. She held him on the edge of his orgasm, easing back when he thought he’d go over, only to ramp him up again.
It was sensory overload for him. Time was lost to everything but the pinpoint of pleasure she kept him balanced on until the sharp tip seemed to rip him open. He babbled incoherent sounds and words that ranged from pleas for more to curses begging for mercy.
Hot. He was submerged in a vat of flames that consumed him inside and out. He gasped for air, sucked in breaths, then choked on them in the next instant.
“Stunning.” The word swirled in the fog, along with the others. “Amazing. Exquisite.” And the one he clung to: “Mine.”
“Yes,” he cried. “Yours. All yours, Vanessa.” Her name was intentional. Did she hear it? Understand what he meant?
His chest heaved with the effort to breathe. The dildo was gone and he almost fucking whined to have it back. Crazy. She was back though, and something else was being pushed into him, round objects that popped past the outer ring at intervals, getting bigger with each one. He didn’t even ask what it was. It didn’t matter.
He floated in that fucking awesome cloud of nothingness and everything and simply gave all that he was to her.
* * *
Her man was flying, and so was she.
The adrenaline flowed through her systems, pumping her up, spiking her pulse, opening her senses.
