by Colette Gale
Darkdale hissed softly, his eyes avid and hot as he looked at her. “Turn around. Slowly.”
Jane did as she was bid, making a small, tight circle with her feet on the bare wooden floor. Her long hair, still loose from when he’d unpinned it in the cab, brushed her skin like little curling fingers and slid over her shoulders and along her arms with every movement. She felt the weight of his eyes travel over her—down over the lower curve of her spine and arse, casting along the sweep of her hips, and then, as she came back full circle, lingering on breasts, and then at the patch of fiery hair that sprang at the juncture of her thighs.
Facing him, Jane stood there, obediently waiting for his next command. Her palms had gone clammy and her belly was fluttering as she tried to imagine what he would require of her next.
“We must now address the fifth and final rule, my darling Jane,” he said. His voice was conversational, but his nonchalance continued to be betrayed by the avidity in his gaze. “It is the most important of them all, and is one that you have, unfortunately, broken twice already today.” His lips stretched in a smile that was sensual in nature, yet restrained.
She remained mute, standing tall and proud, suddenly feeling even more apprehensive than she had when she’d been on display for all of the jungle natives. Perhaps Darkdale was more dangerous than Cold Eyes and his villagers had been, because the English gentleman was “enamored” with her. By his own admission, he’d been waiting for her for years.
My fondest desire…my dearest fantasy…
“But first, let us review: you must address me as Master, you must not speak without permission—except to beg—you must do as you are told without question or hesitation, you must not wear clothing, and last and most important of all, my darling Jane, for us to get on in our arrangement…you are never allowed pleasure without my permission.”
— III—
“That’s correct, my darling Jane. You mayn’t orgasm, climax, or otherwise find satisfaction—unless it pleases your master.”
Her eyes must have widened in shock, and her cheeks certainly flushed hot. The blaze of heat rushed down over her shoulders and breasts, and immediately Jane felt the familiar sharp, remorseful pulse of her clit. No.
It would be…impossible.
Wouldn’t it? Suddenly, she was assaulted by memories and images from her experiences in the jungle. Her body had a will of its own. She needed pleasure. She craved it.
No. Please, no… Jane realized her lips were parted and she had begun to pant softly. Her knees trembled. How could he…
“I see that you understand me. Good.” Darkdale smiled and crooked a finger at her. “Now come here, Jane darling, and let us begin.”
She began to walk toward him, numb and yet hot and expectant at the same time, but suddenly he held up a hand.
“No. On your knees, darling. You must never approach me except on your hands and knees.”
Jane eased slowly to her knees and, mouth dry, heart pounding, scooted her way to him. The floor was cold and unyielding beneath her knees, and her long hair threatened to catch beneath her hands. She paused, giving Darkdale a questioning look as she bundled the heavy mass into a loose knot that fell over her shoulder.
He said nothing, merely watched her as he held his whiskey in one hand and that sleek black riding crop in the other. She noticed for the first time that its end diverged into a shallow Y-shape, with two little prongs each tipped with a pea-sized ball.
When Jane approached his widespread legs, he beckoned for her to come between them. “Loosen me and take me in your mouth.”
Once again, Jane did as she was bid—unbuttoning the placket of his trousers and freeing the turgid cock from its confines. He was warm and heavy, thick and straining in her hands, and she felt a responding pulse of awareness between her legs. No, she told herself fiercely.
Darkdale watched as she took him into her mouth, groaning low and deep when her lips closed around him. She tasted him: salty and musky, crisp and male, sliding his hot, hard length deep into the back of her throat.
He shuddered a little, his thighs trembling beneath her arms as she propped them on top of them and worked his thick length in and out, deeper, shallower, then impossibly deeper. The sounds he made, the taste and feel of the rod that had so recently given her pleasure, had lust traveling through her own body.
As she worked him, her mouth tight, her lips wet and full from the friction, Jane felt the flutter in her belly growing more intense, and the hot lick of lust moving to her hard little clit. It pulsed and throbbed, and her quim grew wet and more swollen, ready to be filled by the cock she sucked and licked and swallowed.
Her breasts were tight and her sensitive nipples brushed against his spread legs as she moved, and after a moment he reached forward to touch them. Jane gasped around his cock as pleasure shot through her; he pinched and tweaked, massaged and rolled the sensitive tips until she was fairly writhing against him. Juices trickled from her quim, and she was tight and hard and swollen as she sucked and sucked, faster and faster.
Darkdale suddenly stilled, then grabbed her by the head as he jammed himself up into the back of her throat. Jane gagged and coughed as he spurted into her mouth, hot and thick and salty. She felt the soft little shudders of his orgasm as he emptied into her mouth, and his firm hands held her in place as she swallowed his seed.
When he at last released her head, she pulled away, breathing heavily, her body humming and taut, ready and unfulfilled.
“Lick me clean,” he said, settling back into his seat, whiskey back in hand again.
Jane moved forward to him once more, lifting his slick, softening cock and gently sucking and licking the last bit of salty ejaculate from it. She still quivered, for the scent of him, the musk and the pungent smell of sex, filled her nostrils and the heat of his body radiated against hers.
When she was finished, she released his now-flaccid cock and sat back on her haunches. Her sex throbbed, and she pressed her knees together in order to find some bit of relief for her pulsing clit, but thwack!
Jane gave a surprised shriek and reared back as the crop came down suddenly, just missing her shoulder.
“You will have no pleasure, no satisfaction without my permission,” he snapped. “Keep your knees apart, Jane. I will not tell you again.”
She bowed meekly, and now her little pip seemed even harder and more engorged, her juices even more slippery and abundant. Her breasts were tight and sensitive, nipples thrusting toward him in an ignored invitation.
Darkdale looked at her for a moment. “Spread your legs wider. I want to see your hot, red pussy.”
Jane scooted her knees apart, and felt her quim swell even more, thickening and pulsing…ready. Very ready. Dripping.
Please. Oh, please…
“Lift your hips. You may rest back on your hands. I want to see your pussy. Is it ready for me?”
Oh yes. Dripping. And ready. But Jane refused to speak those words aloud. Instead, she did as directed, positioning so her hips were as high as possible and lifted toward him as she levered back on her hands.
“Hmm. Perhaps it would be best if you turned around.” He sounded amused, and aroused. “And get on your hands and knees…” His voice was low and dusky. “Show yourself to me.”
Jane’s clit pulsed in response, lust stabbing her deep and low. Then she positioned herself as directed, her arse facing him, her knees spread apart.
“Lovely. Absolutely lovely,” he purred. The sound of his voice—the low, velvety timbre of it—made her throb even more.
She heard him moving, sensed him rising from his chair. The soft clink of his glass on a table. The bare swish of his shoes brushing the hard floor. His scent came with him—something spicy and a little musky and warm.
Then something slender and cool on her back… The riding crop. Jane tensed as he traced the short, stiff whip along her spine, then brushed it lightly over her arse crack. She felt the thick, hard vee of its tip, where it sprea
d like a Y and had those pea-sized knobs on each end. She imagined them sliding down over her…
Jane’s skin prickled, her hair lifting everywhere. Her breathing became shorter and rougher. Moisture gathered between her legs, slick and hot, and when he slipped the tip of the crop down along her crack, she shuddered. The little knobs bumped along her arsehole and down, sliding through the juices of her quim, and then over her tight, pulsing clit.
A tiny ball caressed her sensitive, turgid little pearl, and Jane squeezed her eyes closed tightly as pleasure and need traveled through her. Darkdale laughed softly and slipped the crop’s tip over her again, up and down, gently caressing her hot little pip, teasing it with those hard little knobs. Up and down, side to side, slick and slow and firm.
She smothered a soft cry and felt herself gathering up, tightening as lust roared through her. Pleasure grew, rose, hot and sleek, and she tensed, trying to blank her mind as she curled her fingers into the hard wooden floor. He stroked her over and over, slowly and languidly. As if he had all night. She swelled and throbbed, and sweat trickled down her cheeks, heat flushed over her skin. She was wet, dripping and slick, full and ready, and still he played with her…tapping and stroking her with those little knobs, slowly sliding along her arse and quim and bumping deliciously, tortuously, over the center of her sex.
No, she moaned inside. Jane bit her lip, struggling to fight off the blazing pleasure. It was even worse knowing she couldn’t. She couldn’t give in…she dared not give in to the sensations, the insistent strokes.
Her knees and elbows trembled as she held herself perfectly still. Her belly shuddered. Her breasts dangled, quivering as she fought to keep her breathing steady, to war with the desire lashing through her.
“My gad, you are easy,” Darkdale murmured. His voice was so deep and rough with desire it sent even harder and sharper waves of lust through her. “Beg me, Jane. All you need do is ask.”
No.
She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t!
The crop slipped up along her crack, and Jane relaxed a little as the intense pleasure eased. Then… Thwack!
She screamed in shock and surprise as the thin strip of pain radiated over her buttocks. Before she could collect herself, those nasty little knobs were back, poking and prying and sliding down into her quim, dancing around her thick, swollen lips as he moved the crop up and down, using the whip like a v-shaped tongue to stroke and tease.
Oh…oh…no, no…
She couldn’t hold it off any longer. The lust was so hot and bold and strong, and the little black balls were so dirty and mean, slick and hard and insistent…and they went right where she needed them, right where—
“Ah!” she cried as the blaze of pleasure exploded over her, blossoming into heat and relief in a long, undulating orgasm.
Thwack!
Jane cried out as another streak of pain seared across her buttocks, and then a second and a third, even as she still quivered and trembled and throbbed from the peak of her desire. The thin, hot stripes over her buttocks mingled with the last licks of sharp, hard-won pleasure.
Thwack! Thwack!
“You must learn to control yourself, darling Jane,” Darkdale muttered as he wielded the whip. “Not that I mind punishing you in the least.”
She collapsed on the floor, shuddering from an unsettling combination of pleasure and pain, warmth and searing heat. Tears mingled with sweat, and her arms and legs trembled.
Suddenly, the whipping stopped and the next thing she knew, he was forcing her back up onto her knees. Hands on the ground in front of her, face angled down so she stared at the wooden floor, knees spread wide.
Jane cried out in pleasure as much as surprise when he rammed himself inside her. Darkdale groaned, low and deep, and filled her with his long, thick cock. She was so wet, he moved easily, sliding madly in and out, in and out like a piston. The sounds of wet suction filled her ears, along with her heartbeat and the noise of her own breathing as he grasped her by the hips and began to move even faster and harder.
She gasped as lust shot through her once again, her channel closing tightly around his girth as he rocked and pumped, slamming her so forcefully she could barely remain upright. Fast and deep and hard, over and over, and Jane couldn’t hold back the rise of pleasure once again.
“Ah!” It was his turn to cry out, triumphant and loud. He shot into her, one last, hard stroke, and Jane felt him pulsing long and strong inside her.
She whimpered softly, tears stinging her eyes as her quim tightened and quivered around him. Her hips moved, sharply, desperately…for she only needed one more stroke…just one…more… She twitched, shifted—
“No!” he roared, and shoved her away.
Jane tumbled face first onto the floor, arms and legs akimbo and skidding painfully over the hard wood. Panting, gasping, she sobbed as she lay there, hot and throbbing and needy.
“By gad, you are a lusty bitch. I cannot wait until you are fully mine, darling Jane. Until I can have you in my bed, at my every beck and call.” Darkdale’s voice was rough and dark and satisfied as he pulled swiftly to his feet. “Now, you disobedient cunt—on your knees, and keep them wide, or I will whip you into a pile of skin and bones and then fuck you until you faint.”
Jane’s arms trembled as she pulled herself up onto her hands and knees. Her buttocks were red and sore, and at the same time, her quim throbbed, slick and so full that even with her knees apart she could feel the straining, pulsing need centered there.
She braced herself, waiting for another stripe of searing pain over her arse, trying to keep from sobbing audibly. But the pain didn’t come.
Instead, Darkdale walked slowly around and stopped at the front of her, his shiny black shoes halting in front of her face. She dared not look up, dared not relax. It was all she could do to bring her rough, panting breaths soft and under control, and to keep her knees from giving away.
He stood there for a long moment, saying nothing. Then she felt the familiar stroke of the ball-tipped crop sliding slowly down her spine. Jane gasped, starting to pant again as her skin tingled and her body turned hot as the little knobs stroked her, down…down…down…
When those teasing pea-shaped balls slipped down into her moist arse crack, Jane tensed, biting her lip, struggling to keep herself still. But they were insistent, dancing around and prodding her in the arse, then in her dripping wet quim…
She began to sob as lust built painfully inside her, centered there at her turgid little sex and all around her sensitive, full lips. Her breathing became ragged and shallow and she tensed, tightening, waiting for the blow to come.
But it didn’t.
All at once, those teasing black knobs lifted away. Then Darkdale’s shoes turned and they walked away…out of the chamber.
Jane was alone. Full and needy and painfully hot and engorged.
— IV—
Jane didn’t know how long she stayed there on her hands and knees in the center of the chamber.
Time crawled or slid by—she wasn’t certain. Shadows lengthened. Her knees and palms ached from being slammed against the unforgiving floor, and from pressing into it for hours.
It had to be hours.
She’d stopped sobbing. Her buttocks had stopped burning, though they still twinged occasionally. But her sex was still swollen and ready, painfully engorged and needy.
I should have begged. I should have asked.
No. Doing so would give him too much power over her.
But he has all the power already. What difference does it make now?
Your pride, Jane. Your own mind.
I don’t care. I’ve had worse. All I want is to save Papa. And to end this torture!
Jane’s mind bartered with itself, arguing and pleading in an exhausting whirlwind. Her knees were trembling, her shoulders ached, and she was tempted to allow herself to sink to the floor.
No one was around. She’d heard nothing, not one sound for hours. No one would see.
He wouldn’t see.
And what if she eased her knees together, just a little. Just enough…
Or if she slipped one hand back there to touch herself? It would only take a moment. One quick jiggle, one well-placed stroke, and the torture would be over. Relief.
Jane was breathing hard again; all of her thoughts focused on the possibility of relief. She felt herself grow even more huge and ready, hot and throbbing, as if her sex was attempting to lure her fingers into the temptation. She could do it in a trice… He’d never know.
She eased forward slightly, heart pounding. A swath of hair fell from where it had been loosely bundled at the nape of her neck and dangled from her shoulder. If she was lucky, if someone was watching, it would obscure the fact that she was moving one hand from beneath her shoulder…and back.
Stealthily, slowly, as her body twinged in anticipation…
Jane touched herself, found her wet, swollen folds, and swallowed a sigh of relief and pleasure. Biting her lip, she closed her eyes and thought of Zaren.
The barest touch of a fingertip on her tight little nub sent waves of hot, sharp lust through her. Yes. Jane jiggled it, stroked, and then she exploded. Waves of pleasure rocked her, traveling through her body as she muffled a groan of triumph and relief.
Panting, half sagging in a heap onto the floor, she opened her eyes a moment later, still warm and flushed and shuddering.
There was a pair of shoes. Right in front of her.
Jane gasped and looked up. A shock of cold fear rushed over her when she saw Darkdale’s expression.
“Apparently,” he said in that low, exotic voice, “you like to be punished. You want to feel my wrath. Don’t you, Jane darling?”
“No,” she pleaded before she could stop herself. “Please…no!”
He lifted his dark-winged brows. “Are you begging for pleasure? Or are you speaking out of turn? Either way, my darling, you’ve already garnered a new—and delicious— punishment.”
Jane’s breath clogged and she closed her mouth, trembling and hot. Please, she wanted to say. What would he do to her now?
