Doms of Dark Haven

by Cartwright, Sierra

  “I didn't hear you.”

  “Yes,” she said louder. “Punish me there.”

  “Where?”

  “My pussy,” she said.

  “Your cunt,” he corrected.

  “Spank my cunt, Master.”

  He played with her first, stroking her labia, teasing her clit, dipping a finger inside her desire-slickened vagina.

  She was going to go mad. Mad, mad, mad. Her body convulsed. She was so close…

  The first stinging blow made her gasp, made her even wetter.

  “One more.”

  She moved slightly, arching her back, giving him better access to her private parts.

  “Good girl.”

  His final slap forced her onto her toes. She cried his name.

  Then she felt him behind her, his strong hands forcing her butt cheeks apart even farther, making her entire body strain.

  She screamed again when he tongued her. He had to be on his knees, and he was forcing her to fight her orgasm. She jerked convulsively. She groaned when he pressed his thumb against her anal opening. All the sensation was too much, beyond endurance. She knew she should fight off the impending orgasm. She had the skills, but she didn't have the desire. She wanted the relief that coming would bring, wanted to no longer feel the tension that was clawing inside her. “Master! Ohhh, Master! I need to come.”

  He moved away from her and pinched the inside of her right thigh, but the distraction wasn't enough.

  “I'm going to come,” she shouted. “Please? Please, may I?”

  He said nothing.

  Then, without permission, breaking his rules, she shattered, pulling against her restraints, her hips jerking uncontrollably, her entire body convulsing against the rigid wall.

  The orgasm was powerful, debilitating, every bit as emotional as it was physical. She was drained, her body limp in her bondage.

  His presence overwhelmed her.

  Her eyes were squeezed shut, but she saw him as he'd been before he'd secured her to the shackles—tight blue jeans, made even tighter by the size of his erection, scuffed and scarred boots, a black T-shirt with short sleeves, the fabric showing the cut of his biceps and power of his arms.

  His scent was consuming, spice mixed with a hint of pure male sweat and the tanginess of a cool Bay Area evening.

  But it was the way he'd beaten her that drained her completely.

  He'd been relentless, demanding.

  He made her hornier than she'd been in years.

  “Mira?” he said, his tone was gruff, and it cut into her fantasies. Then, against her ear, he asked, “Did you come?”

  She froze. She'd seen this kind of behavior before. Other doms she'd been with had acted the same way, feigning shock and disbelief that she'd come without permission.

  She knew intuitively that Torin would have continued to eat her, tongue her, press into her anus until she came. He knew how to touch her, how to encourage the response he desired. Torin Carter had forced her into a no-win situation. Still, Mira was startled into complete silence.

  “Mo shearc?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, Master, I came.”

  “Most unfortunate. Now you truly will be punished.”

  Chapter Five

  He'd been an idiot not to play with her before now.

  Mira Araceli was totally responsive, utterly lovely, completely captivating. He wanted her again and again.

  Her orgasm had been loud and unrestrained, like the woman herself, filled with passion.

  He wanted to fuck her senseless.

  And that, he knew, would be even more idiotic.

  They were partners. Down the road, they'd be counting on each other. Their lives could depend on the way they interacted. Clouding the issue with sex was beyond stupid.

  For once he didn't think logic and reasoning were going to stop him from taking her. This physical demand was undeniable.

  After removing her shackles and rubbing her muscles to help restore circulation, he helped her back into her ridiculous gown and the annoying petticoats or whatever the hell they were called.

  “Stand still,” he said, working on the frustrating number of hooks and eyes. “I prefer you naked,” he said. Much easier.

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Goddamn idiot who thought up this outfit.”

  She laughed.

  “I'll ignore that rudeness,” he said.

  His thumbs and fingers were too big for the tiny metal clasps. In frustration, he skipped a few of them. Good enough.

  He picked up his jacket from the bench, and he draped the soft leather bomber over her shoulders. He fed his belt back through his belt loops.

  One hand in her hair, her leash wrapped around his wrist, he moved her toward the club's exit, past Destiny.

  “Hey, Master Torin?”

  He stopped and looked at Destiny, keeping his hand firm against Mira's skull.

  “Next time you break our rules and come storming in here in street clothes, Xavier said I get to punish you.”

  He laughed. The idea of the woman with purple-tinted, spiky, Goth-style blonde hair and a sparkling lip piercing being able to kick his ass was intriguing. “You're a domme?”

  “If it means beating your ass, I am.”

  “I promise I'll follow the rules in future, Destiny.”

  “Or I get to punish you?”

  “Yeah.”

  Beside him, Mira gave a rude hoot of appreciation. He'd take that out of her hide later too.

  Destiny gave a cheery wave. The move jiggled her breasts, which were barely covered by flimsy pink netting. He bundled Mira outside and into his illegally parked car. He'd gotten a ticket for his aggravation, but fortunately, San Francisco's finest hadn't towed his vehicle.

  With his cock throbbing, the drive back across the Golden Gate Bridge to the Marin County safe house would seem interminable. But once he had her there… The Hawkeye house was remote and private. He'd be able to fuck her as hard as he wanted; she'd be free to scream as long and as hard as she needed.

  He parked the car in the garage, then held open the door into the house. She preceded him, then stopped and turned back toward him when she reached the kitchen. She stood there alluringly, her head tipped back slightly, her lips parted. There were few thoughts in his head, and every one of them had to do with him penetrating her. “Turn around.”

  He closed the distance and plucked the jacket from her shoulders and tossed it in the general direction of one of the kitchen chairs before unfastening her confounded dress for the final time. When the voluminous amounts of fabric pooled to the tiled floor, he put his hands on her shoulders and gently spun her back to face him. “Kneel.”

  She didn't hesitate. Part of him wondered how much longer he could stand it before he pounded out his release and ejaculated.

  He left her there while he went into the living room to light a fire. As flames licked the logs, taking the chill out of the evening air, he resisted the temptation to stroke himself to satisfaction. When he came, soon, he wanted to be deep in her body.

  He returned to the kitchen to find her in the exact position where he'd left her. Her obedience undid him. “On all fours,” he told her. “I want to see how red your ass is.”

  She complied instantly.

  “Nice,” he said. “The ones on your thighs will make it difficult to sit down tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  He abraded his thumbnail across the small welts.

  She gasped and pulled away. Before he could correct her, she pushed herself back into position.

  “The others, on your butt, are almost completely gone.” He crossed to a high-backed chair and pulled it back from the table. “Crawl over here, mo shearc.” He'd never used the endearment with anyone else. Somehow the “my love” worked with her, for her. “I want you over my lap for a proper spanking.”

  “Sir?”

  “Do I need to repeat my command?”

  “No!”

>   She crawled, her breasts and ass cheeks seducing him. She looked up at him only momentarily before positioning herself artfully across his lap.

  “I'm spanking you,” he said, “because I want to. No other reason than that.”

  “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” She braced her hands on the floor. Without instruction, she parted her legs slightly.

  He saw the slight glisten of her moisture on her pussy, and he smelled her arousal. He wanted this woman.

  Torin parted her lips and played with her clit, watching her squirm, enjoying the sounds she struggled to suppress.

  Without giving her any warning, he slapped her cunt hard, his hand open.

  She gasped, surged away from his hand, then made another softer sigh and wiggled back into position.

  He spanked her hard, on her buttocks, on her pussy, on her thighs. He timed his spanks to arouse, not punish.

  A minute and a half later she was begging.

  “I need…”

  “You need…?”

  “Will you fuck me? Fuck me, Master.” Her words were breathless. “Fuck me. Please?”

  He helped her from his lap. “Lean over the table. Grasp the far end.”

  She followed his directions, and she even turned her toes slightly inward so that her pussy was presented even more attractively. It would take all his control not to come before he'd even entered her.

  He pulled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it near his jacket. He toed off his boots, and he noticed that she moved slightly. “Cold? Impatient?”

  “Sorry, Master,” she said. “Just…”

  “Yes?”

  “I'm impatient; the sub is impatient. I want you inside me.”

  “I?”

  “She,” Mira said with a sigh. “She. The sub. You know, the woman on the table, waiting to be fucked. Dying here.”

  He laughed. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she was into a scene, she couldn't hide her natural personality. And to tell the truth, he didn't want her to.

  He grabbed his wallet from his back pocket. All thumbs, he pulled a condom from one of the compartments. Seemed the beautiful Mira wasn't the only one who was impatient.

  He dropped his wallet, pulled off his jeans, and stripped down, throwing everything onto the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

  His cock was hard, throbbing when he rolled the condom into place. Fighting to restrain himself, he stroked the outsides of her thighs. She sighed. “Do you have any idea how red your ass is?”

  “If it looks like it feels, yes, I have an idea.”

  “It's lovely.” He traced a couple of the welts before placing a hand between her legs, feeling her dampness.

  “Take me,” she said, moving her hips back.

  As if he could wait any longer.

  Torin bent his knees slightly and pressed his cockhead against her opening.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  She was amazingly damp and ready for him.

  He took her in a single stroke. He filled her, felt her internal pussy muscles clench around his cock.

  This woman could be the death of him.

  He reached across her, grasping her wrists.

  “Ride me, hard.” Belatedly, she added, “Master.”

  He held back his orgasm, making sure she came first. It was more difficult than it should have been.

  Torin was known as a generous lover, but with Mira—it was about possession. He wanted her; he didn't want anyone else touching her, tasting her. He wasn't sure he liked the feeling. Having a woman, any woman, get under your skin was a bad move. The danger increased when the woman was your partner.

  “Master!”

  He heard her breaths, little gasps of air. He could feel her fighting her orgasm like a good little sub. “You may come,” he told her.

  “Torin!”

  He drove into her, hard, impaling her with his thrusts. There was nothing gentle or soft about this. It was raw, animalistic, filled with lust. For the moment she was his, and he'd leave her no doubt about it.

  She screamed.

  Then her body squeezed him tight.

  Her climax pushed him over the top. In a hot stream, he ejaculated, the orgasm feeling as if it had been ripped from his testicles.

  It was brutal. It was satisfying. It wasn't even close to fulfilling his need to take her.

  He withdrew from her. He looked at her for a moment, her midnight dark hair escaping its confines to curl against her neck, her shoulders. She was still pressed against the table. He'd never see oak the same way again.

  She remained in place, her hands curled around the edge of the table. The marks of his punishment striped her thighs and buttocks, and her pussy glistened with her moisture.

  Oh. Yeah. He wanted her again. And again.

  His cock began resurging to life, even though he would have sworn she'd already drained every drop of semen from his body. “Shower?”

  “Is water sex involved?”

  “Insatiable wench.” He helped her to stand, giving her a moment to regain her equilibrium before once again exerting his dominance by saying, “For your impertinence, you can get your lovely tush back on that table.”

  “Master?”

  “This time I want you to lie on your back, Mira. Spread your legs. I want to watch you masturbate.”

  Mira's breath was shaky.

  Her partner, and now lover-slash-dom, demanded more than she'd ever given to another man.

  She turned to face him, and it was her first view of him completely naked. Her mouth dried. The sight of him nude didn't disappoint.

  She'd known he was lean and muscular—she'd seen him workout in a T-shirt and shorts, but the flatness of his stomach and the definition of his biceps were incredible. She imagined those muscles flexing as he beat her, and she intuitively realized he'd held back a lot when he'd punished her. Torin was a raw, powerful man. He had harnessed that energy when dealing with her. She wanted, recklessly, to know what it was like when he didn't hold back, when he allowed emotion to affect him.

  Dark hair arrowed down the center of his chiseled chest, stopping just above the thatch of pubic hair. His cock, even half-flaccid, was impressive. She hungered, suddenly, for him to take her again.

  Already the experience with Torin Carter had exceeded any expectation she'd had. She'd used her vibrator several times and fantasized about him, and even those wild imaginations hadn't even come close to the reality of the way he touched her, tasted her, mastered her.

  Through the years she'd played with any number of men. Now she realized they'd all had one thing in common. She could manipulate them.

  This tall, dark Irishman wouldn't tolerate subterfuge, and that thrilled her as much as it frightened her.

  “Now,” he said, his voice was roughened, like a diamond sliding across sandpaper.

  “Uh…”

  “Problem, sub?”

  She was always bold, and it sometimes got her into trouble. “I haven't yet seen Master's hot ass.”

  He laughed. Slowly, he turned around.

  Oh, dear. God.

  His ass was as tight as the rest of him. His thighs were muscular; his calves were well defined.

  He was beyond dangerous to her, mentally as well as physically.

  He finished the rotation, then nodded toward the table.

  Following orders wasn't easy. She wanted to touch him, kneel before him, take his cock in her mouth, and suck it until he was hard enough to fuck her again.

  She climbed onto the table and lay on her back.

  Wordlessly, he repositioned her, putting her feet on the table and tapping her knees so she spread her legs wide.

  This was a much more revealing position, leaving her exposed.

  “Do you fuck your ass when you masturbate?”

  She raised her eyebrows “Not usually. No.”

  “Fuck your ass with your fingers, Mira.”

  A frisson of excitement danced through her. No man had ever pushed her b
oundaries the way he did.

  “Show me how you like to be pleasured,” he said.

  Feeling oddly self-conscious, she reached between her legs and stroked her fingertips across her pussy. She was damp. Her heart was racing.

  Her eyes closed as she searched for a rhythm to take her to release. Then she remembered he hadn't given her permission to orgasm, he'd just instructed her to masturbate. She opened her eyes to find him intently watching her, his arms folded across his chest. His blue eyes were like chips of a glacier. In that moment he looked truly masterful. She felt weak inside, wanting to be dominated completely by him. “May I come?” she asked quietly.

  “I'll let you know when I decide.”

  She continued stroking her pussy, feeling it growing damper and damper. She moistened her forefinger and began to push it against her anal whorl.

  “It's a total turn-on to watch you, Mira. My cock's getting hard again.”

  Using her heels on the table as leverage, she lifted her hips slightly, realizing she was presenting an even more obscene image.

  “Nice,” he said.

  She inserted a second finger into her rear and began to move them in and out.

  She closed her eyes again, and self-consciousness was lost in the sensation of pleasuring herself while he watched her.

  An orgasm, and its delicious tension, spread through her.

  Her breathing changed, becoming more labored.

  She fought to hold off the climax, grinding her bare heels onto the oak table. But then he was there, painfully squeezing her nipples between each thumb and forefinger.

  She was so needy, so close…

  Still keeping the pressure on her nipples and squeezing her breasts, he leaned over to eat her pussy.

  Mira came with a scream.

  Chapter Six

  Mira woke up the next morning, tired, sore, well used, with a smile, facedown on the mattress and… Unable to move?

  She pulled on her wrists slightly, realizing she was tied in place.

  She pulled against her ankles, realizing they too were secured.

  A bit frantic, she opened her eyes.