by Tina Donahue
Her heart thudded. She waited for him to select a belt to discipline her, his fingers sliding over its length, testing its weight, his actions meant to arouse her because punishment was imminent.
Except he already had a belt near the bed where she’d undressed him. There was no reason to get another.
He flicked on the light.
She squinted at the sudden brightness. Numerous rods held his clothes.
He edged past them to a contraption against the back wall that seemed vaguely familiar.
She recalled an obnoxious salesman hawking the device on late-night TV, screaming about its amazing introductory price of only $19.95.
The thing held Adam’s ties. He selected six—one gold, one green-striped, one red bearing a paisley design, and three in varying brown shades, then draped them over her right shoulder. Next, he pulled an eggshell white scarf from the pocket of a black overcoat and dropped it over her other shoulder.
The downy fabric had to be cashmere. It felt like danger.
“Almost there.”
The same words she’d used earlier.
Her breathing picked up.
Back at his bed, he tossed the pillows on the floor.
Accepting his unspoken invitation, she sat on the billowy comforter, her focus on his pendulous cock. The eighth wonder of the world and better than the other seven.
He plucked the ties from her right shoulder, lifted the cashmere scarf from her left, and wrapped it around her eyes, blindfolding her.
Panic flared without warning.
Lips to her neck, he suckled gently, the soothing pressure heightened by his beard-roughened cheeks. “Doing okay?”
She was now. “Yeah.”
“You like this?”
It excited her, the same as white-water rafting. She’d been hooked on the sport since high school. As the rapids neared, anticipation always mounted, followed by rapture when she rode the wild swells because she trusted her guide, knowing he wouldn’t let her get hurt. “Oh yeah.”
“Lie down.”
She sank to the bed. Under his direction, she wiggled until she was dead center on the thing.
He climbed on, the mattress bouncing from his weight, then straddled her. After lifting her arms above her head, he secured her wrists to the antique headboard.
As he worked, his cock slid over her throat, his flesh silky hot and musk scented.
Unable to reach the crown, she pressed her mouth to his hairy thigh.
“Jeez-us.” His convulsive jerk rattled the bed.
Intoxicated by his response, she sucked hard, leaving her mark, then lay back to enjoy whatever he had in mind.
After hauling in a deep breath, he hissed it out and left the mattress. “Spread your legs as wide as you can.”
Her carnal journey had commenced. Suspense coiled in her stomach. This was like riding a wave, knowing her raft might capsize at any moment. Her heart boom-boom-boomed but she pulled her legs apart until her hips protested.
“Bend your legs at the knee.” He spoke from the footboard. “I want your feet on the mattress.”
Uh-uh. He wanted her sex bared. Oddly enough, being unable to see her nudity or the look on his face made her feel exceptionally vulnerable and more aware of her naked state. Moisture dampened her sheath and flowed to her anus, the air chilling it. Her nipples ached in the best possible way, wanting his mouth and hands on them.
She sensed him watching, either wearing an impatient frown or a smile. Surely, his cock thickened as he regarded her breasts, unless his attention lingered on the plump folds between her legs.
“Danni.”
She squeezed her lids behind the scarf, a futile attempt to maintain her modesty, then bent her knees and planted her booted feet firmly on the comforter. Exhibited and subject to his will, she awaited his next move.
He returned to the mattress. It shimmied beneath him.
She expected him to fuck her at his leisure.
He didn’t.
She hoped he still observed her, but wouldn’t ask. His prolonged silence had an odd, thrilling effect, like making it through the first rapid, only to face the second which promised to be more intimidating. As far as she knew he might be jacking off to her nudity while determining his next act. Or something less intense, like watching her chest rise and fall, enjoying how his quiet presence had heightened her breathing.
Fabric snapped.
She flinched, but couldn’t determine what caused the noise until she recalled his ties. Maybe he’d knotted them together to make longer ligatures to secure her ankles so she couldn’t bring her legs together.
He’d said her breasts were his, her pussy too. Every damn part she had he now owned in here, during their bedplay.
The room shifted and spun. She coasted helplessly, control gone. Next time, she’d bring her silk scarves for their games and would tie him up.
His arm pressed heavily on her leg, using it for support as he wrapped the tie around her ankle. He left the bed, pulled on the binding, and secured it to the frame.
One leg down. One to go.
Then he could do whatever he wanted.
Curious as to where pleasure would take them, she tried to open her eyes to see if he was going to slather chocolate sauce on her then lick her clean. Or maybe he’d indulge in sixty-nine, his mouth dipping to her slit, his family jewels dangling above her face, so they could enjoy each other at the same time.
He jerked the tie on her other ankle.
She tested the bindings. They proved firm, not allowing her to close her legs. Even if she wanted to, which she did not, she couldn’t keep herself from him.
His feet slapped the hardwood floor, the sounds growing faint then disappearing.
Stillness pressed in on her. Seconds dragged by. She lost all sense of time. “Hey! Where are you? Did you leave?”
“With you here nude?” He sounded amused, his voice coming from what she guessed was the bathroom. “I’ll be right back.”
She expected to hear the toilet flushing, and him turning on the faucet.
Music pumped outside. No melody or lyrics, simply the annoying thump-thump-thump from the bass. The same noise a kid makes when throwing a ball against a building.
As quickly as it started, the sounds stopped, the room falling back to peace.
A floorboard groaned followed by his footfalls.
He sat on the mattress, making it shift slightly. Paper crinkled.
His infamous purchase.
Her pulse beat fast and reckless, the same as when she approached the rapids. This time she didn’t want the ride to pause. “What’s in the bag?”
Adam smiled at Danni’s stark curiosity, similar to a kid who couldn’t wait to get at her birthday or Christmas presents. What he had planned for her was far better. “You’ll see.”
She laughed. “Not while I’m blindfolded.”
True. “Then you’ll feel and taste.”
Her smile dwindled away, replaced by endless wonder. “What will I feel and taste?”
The best life and he had to offer. “Pleasure.”
Her heavy sigh said she didn’t like his vague answer. Even so, she didn’t ask anything else.
He regarded her parted lips, pert breasts, and damp cunt. An urge to take her rose swift and pitiless, demanding he act on impulse, because he couldn’t make time stand still. Tonight would end too quickly, Saturday and Sunday would fly by, and Monday would come. He’d be closer to losing her. At this moment, he doubted anything would change Roger’s mind.
No. He didn’t want to think about defeat or emotional pain now and wouldn’t. He upended the paper bag and shook out its contents. A box holding Silvano’s Gourmet Cherry Chocolates hit his knee.
She turned toward the sound.
Tenderness hit him hard. Years ago, at a convention, a supplier had given each attendee this treat. A nice way to say thanks for their business. Danni had gorged on her chocolates as if they represented her last meal. He recalled suga
r clinging to her mouth and her gratitude when he gave her his box then snatched three more for her to take home.
He’d wanted her then. He had to have her now.
After crushing the bag, he tossed it on the floor.
She kept lifting her chin, trying to see beneath the scarf.
He grinned.
When she failed at her quest, she settled down.
Wanting to tease, he cleared his throat.
She jerked, her senses heightened. Then she frowned.
He figured she’d make him pay for this big time once he’d freed her. Until then… “You about ready?”
“For what? And don’t you dare tell me—you’ll see.”
“Wouldn’t think of it. Oh hell.”
“What?” She pulled up her chin again.
He struggled not to laugh. “Nothing. False alarm.”
She gave him the finger with both hands.
Still smiling, he regarded his other purchase. A specially formulated depilatory to recreate a part of her fantasy. Her earlier words played in his mind about being nude, her mound shaved.
A delicate task. One he didn’t trust solely to his scissors or cordless shaver. He’d brought those tools from his bath to get things started. They lay next to the depilatory and a soft towel.
He peeled off the cellophane wrapping on the candy box.
She lifted her head, craning it toward him. “What’s that sound? What are you doing?”
He removed the box top and selected a piece. “Getting ready to kiss you.”
Only her eyebrows rose, her other parts perfectly still like a virginal sacrifice.
He crawled across the mattress and ran his little finger over her bottom lip.
She inhaled quickly.
He eased closer.
Her mouth sought his.
Determined to reward her for such devoted passion, he held the confection between his lips and lowered his head.
Their mouths touched.
She quivered slightly. He guessed because she didn’t know what to expect. Then, she stilled.
Hopefully, because she’d smelled the chocolate.
Didn’t take her long to taste its sweetness.
A low, satisfied moan signaled her approval. She tongued the candy from his mouth to hers, and chewed it greedily. “Oh my fucking God.” Her words were chocolate-slurred. She strained to lift her head from his hand. “This is Silvano’s.”
“A whole box.”
“You are a good man.”
To prove it, he licked away cherry juice dribbling over her lips.
She whined. “More.”
“When you swallow what’s in your mouth.”
“To hell with that. I want more of you.”
Not about to argue, he possessed her mouth, sharing a sloppy-sweet kiss that touched his core. Sugar never tasted so good. Nor had any other woman. Lingeringly, they made out, neither willing to stop, addicted to each other and the moment. If he hadn’t needed to swallow, he would have done this all night.
Danni panted. “Nice.”
“We’re just getting started.”
“What’s next?”
He slid his hand from her breast to her delicate curls.
She lifted her hips, tempting him to crave more. “You’re going to mount me?”
His hand glided past her clit. He bathed his fingers in her wondrous moisture. “I’m going to shave you.”
Even in the faint light, her chest and face revealed a deep blush.
She cleared her throat. “Really? You mean it?”
He flicked her clit.
Her hips jerked up and stayed there, demanding more.
“Yeah, I really mean it. But only if you want me to.”
“I do.” Her voice had dropped considerably, becoming a husky purr.
He kissed her again, greedier than ever.
While she gulped air, he placed the scissors and shaver between her legs, positioned the towel beneath her ass, then stroked her thigh. “In your fantasy, who shaved you?”
“I have no idea.” She wiggled into his touch. “After tonight, it’ll probably be you.”
After tonight, she wouldn’t have to fantasize any longer. At least for as long as they were together. Renewed doubt ate at him. Just as quickly, he pushed it away and finger-combed her curls. “Keep still. I’m going to trim you first.”
“Ah, okay.” She sounded wired and a bit apprehensive.
Scissors in hand, he paused to kiss her curls and enjoy her female fragrance.
She sighed.
He straightened. “Ever hear of Story of O?”
“Huh?”
“The classic erotic tale about a woman who—”
“Yeah, I know. I read it in college—not for a class. My roommate had it and… you read it too?”
He snipped her delicate hair. “Saw the movie.”
“They made it into a movie?”
“Several, I think. I saw the original. By today’s standards, it’s pretty tame, no actual on-screen sex. For what it’s worth it’s not nearly as hot as your fantasy. The latest one, where you’re auctioned off.” He repeated what he recalled while trimming her hair, deliberately talking to keep her distracted from the clicking scissors and focused on their carnal game instead.
“Wait.” She tried to hold up her hand, but the binding pulled her back.
His stomach sank. “Wait why?”
“Not with what you’re doing.” Using what little leeway he’d given her, she pushed her cunt toward him. “My fantasy you’re retelling. You got it wrong. There were only two men in the ship’s cabin with you and me. Not four.”
“Really? I must be confusing it with my fantasy.”
She stilled then tried to push up and failed due to the binding. After swearing, she raised her head. “You’ve fantasized about me?”
Her delight pleased him. “When I was in Hanson’s I had time to think about your auction scenario, and kind of came up with my own.” A white lie.
She sighed breathily.
The sound made his untruth worthwhile.
“You fantasized about me being sold? What happened? Were we on a ship?”
“No.” He recalled a romance novel his parents caught his older sister reading when he’d been in middle school. They called the story sick trash and threw it out. He found the book and shared it with his friends, each snickering and masturbating as they read it aloud. “It took place on a manor. I think that’s what they’re called. You know, one of those enormous estates in England with a stone mansion that has a hundred rooms or more and dozens of servants. Like rich people had in the 1800s.”
“Wow.” She giggled. “Were you and I the only ones there besides the servants? Oh hey.” She frowned. “You weren’t auctioning me off to them, were you?”
“Would I do that to you?”
“No.” Apology rang in her voice. “What happened?”
To his surprise, image after image unfolded in his mind, some from the remembered book and X-rated movies he’d seen, the rest from a niche in his brain he hadn’t known existed. He clipped her bush as he talked. “The manor house isn’t mine. It’s a pleasure palace for nobles. I’m just one of many. That night, I’d been sent to collect you, our newest virgin. From birth, you’ve been raised in the countryside by a woman who’s prepared you for this day. When I arrive at the cottage, you’re in a tub, bathing. Although I’m a stranger, you don’t hide your nudity from me. You’ve been trained to present yourself and to obey. After I tie your wrists with rope and pull a cape around you, I sling you over my shoulder and take you to my carriage for the ride to the manor and your deflowering.”
She made an appreciative sound.
Encouraged by it, his story and erection developed easily. “In the carriage I fondle your breasts and tease your clit. Even if you wanted to resist, you couldn’t. I’ve secured your hands to an eyebolt in the seat. I’m the first man to kiss you, parting your lips with my tongue then thrusting it into your mou
th. My actions demand your obedience, but you give more than that, you offer your passion.”
“Of course.”
Her whispered words and the devotion behind them made his throat constrict. He had to focus to resume, when what he wanted was to take her now, this fucking minute. Later. Give her a night she’ll never forget.
One he hoped she’d still relish and crave if he had to tell her the truth about her job.
Shit, not that. Don’t ruin this. Worry about it later. He hauled in a strangled breath. “Although I want you, it’s not my call to make. Inside the manor house, there are princes and dukes, men far higher in rank. Once you’re prepared, I lead you to—”
“Wait. How am I prepared?”
He stroked her clipped bush and put the scissors behind himself. “I’m going to use my shaver now, but only at the top of your hair, where your skin isn’t as sensitive. That’s the buzz you’ll hear.”
“Sure. How am I prepared?”
He turned on the shaver, his hand protecting her delicate folds.
She murmured her thanks.
He returned to his task and tale. “I oil your passages, vaginal and anal, so a man’s cock has easy access.”
She trembled.
Whether from his words or the shaver, he didn’t know. “I fit a gold collar around your throat. It has a chain dangling in front. Once I have it wrapped around my hand, I lead you into the theater.”
“Oh God—the what?”
“It’s a room. A white room.” It arose in his mind as easily as the intimate apparel products he’d designed. “The color’s appropriate for a virgin. Well above the floor, balconies hang, nobles dressed in formal wear filling them. Most hold opera glasses so they can see everything that’ll transpire. A mirror covers the entire ceiling and walls. A large, ornate bed rests in the center on a slightly raised platform. Some might call it a stage. Surrounding it are comfortable arm chairs. That’s where the highest-ranking nobles sit. The princes and dukes.” He paused to catch his breath.
“Don’t stop now.” She bounced as well as she could. “Then what?”
He smiled. “As I lead you inside, conversations die down. Initially, you hesitate, not expecting the crowd, the room, and certainly not the bed. It seems to overwhelm everything else. Cherry tobacco, fine whiskey, and lust scent the air. Vulgar comments regarding your fate circulate the room. I step forward. Helpless and captive, you follow. The crown prince stands and announces the auction’s about to begin. That night, after you’re deflowered, you’ll be allowed to rest. The nights to come will be far different. Each evening, you’ll be sold to four men, no more, no less. During the intimacies, the gathered nobles will watch and comment on your performance—whether you responded quickly enough to your masters’ commands, if the nobles slid their cocks easily into your anus, the look on your face as you climaxed. Because I know your panic and want you, I speak before the others can, offering to purchase your virginity. The price is enormous. Most individuals couldn’t accumulate it in a lifetime. The other men laugh, doubting I have the funds. I don’t.”
