by L. DuBois
“Now I’ve got my hand buried in your pussy, and you’re going to come because you need to obey me. You need me to be hard on you. You want it.”
Katrina realized that though he wouldn’t touch her, he would talk dirty to her, playing off her masochistic streak and use words to push her over the edge.
“And if you don’t come I’ll fist your ass, and I won’t be so kind and gentle. I’ll fuck your ass, then shove a nice big plug in you. I’ll keep you that way all night, tie you down so you can’t move.”
Her Master’s words were getting choppy and he was working his cock in hard strokes.
“Or maybe I’ll just use more ginger on you. I won’t just make your ass a nice ginger plug. I’ll put pieces on your nipples, and on your clit. And I’ll scrub your clit dry first. No sweet pussy cream to protect your clit from the burn.”
Katrina panted. She was going to come, despite her doubts, despite the foreign, wonderful fullness.
“I’ll hold that ginger on your clit as I fist your ass, and then I’ll make you suck my cock.”
“Yes, yes, Master yes. I’m coming. I can’t, I don’t.” Katrina tossed her head side to side, all thoughts fleeing under the weight of the orgasm that was bearing down on her.
He made a fist inside her, his knuckles pressed against her G-spot.
Katrina screamed. Her mouth was open, her whole body arched up as acute, fiery pleasure raced along every nerve ending in her body. Her pussy tried to clamp down on his hand, but what he’d filled her with was so big that her muscles strained against it, and that was a weird sort of pleasure all on its own.
Katrina’s jaw creaked as she hit the apex.
Something wet hit her belly, and she opened her eyes to see Dante’s body hunched forward, one hand buried in her, the other fisting his cock, which pulsed through the end of his own orgasm, spilling the last stream of come against her thigh.
Katrina collapsed against the mattress, light-headed from the intensity.
Dante worked his hand free of her pussy, murmuring to her. “Gorgeous. That was so amazing. You’re so beautiful and perfect. I’m going to take care of you. Lie still, let me take care of you.”
Tears slid from the corners of Katrina’s eyes as he wiped her clean with wet cloths, and pulled a blanket over her when she started to shiver.
She listened to him moving about the room, ferrying things to the bathroom, opening drawers. Then the mattress dipped and he was there beside her.
Katrina rolled into him, burying her head against his chest, and for the second time in two days she sobbed.
“That’s right, gorgeous. I’m here. I’m here.”
Chapter 13
He was in lust with her.
Dante stared down at Katrina. She normally looked perfectly put together. Even when she was rumpled it was a sexy sort of look. But when she slept she looked almost like the girl next door—approachable and less polished. She slept with her mouth open, a lock of hair stuck to her lower lip. She was the kind of girl you took home to meet Mom.
What was he doing?
He knew better than this—he was an experienced player, and an experienced Dom. Separating the emotions of the scene from more permanent emotions was a necessary skill.
A skill that he apparently no longer possessed, because he was fascinated by her, lusted for her, and couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else touching her. It was the last one that was the problem, because soon he’d have to watch her being topped by other men.
You don’t have to let her go.
Their conversation in the dining room, where they’d agreed in an awkward way to keep playing even after they were done with the “F” items was the only thing keeping him from losing it. Dante prided himself on being a cool, mellow sort of guy. Only in D/s could he let his desperate need for control run wild, giving in to the uber-masculinity that he couldn’t and wouldn’t display out there in the real world.
He wanted to make Katrina his. To know that every time he stepped foot into Las Palmas she would be there waiting for him, her graceful, slender body kneeling in submission.
But he wouldn’t, couldn’t be in a 24/7 relationship. There were a few people he’d talked to who had done the 24/7 thing without totally changing their lives—they hadn’t moved in together. Instead they had check in times, security cameras with live feeds, and daily tasks. He wasn’t interested in any of that.
As much as he needed BDSM in his life, he had always imagined someday he’d get married to a woman he could slowly ease into BDSM, until she would kneel for him, though only in the bedroom.
Falling for the sub who had only ever had a long term, 24/7 D/s relationship was a terrible idea. He didn’t want that. But, did he want her?
Yes.
Did he want her even if being with her meant having a 24/7 D/s relationship?
…No.
Maybe?
Dante stomped out of the room, thoroughly disgusted with himself.
You can’t have it both ways, you ass.
He was debating whether he wanted to fuck her enough to deal with her need for a 24/7 relationship. That was a dick move of the highest order. His first and primary responsibility was always to his sub. What Katrina clearly needed was a full time Dom.
That meant that he had to walk away from her. Never mind their tentative promise to play together later. He would let her go, and watch as the other Doms pounced on the sweet, elegant Katrina, vying for a chance to top her.
She has feelings for you, too.
Did she really feel something for him? Maybe she felt the same falling-in-lust craziness that plagued him. Or was it just a reaction to finally being with someone after so long?
You could just ask her.
Well he wasn’t going to do that. That was crazy talk.
He’d just make sure the next scene really counted. It would be one of his last with her.
Time to let himself off the leash.
* * *
To fear the darkness wasn’t a weakness. It was a primal survival skill. Predators lurked in the darkness, stalking those who were foolish enough to stray from the safety of the light.
Katrina was alone in the dark, and she was being stalked. She could feel his presence though she couldn’t see and barely hear him.
The full head hood hadn’t seemed like it would be a big deal. She’d worn one before, but when Jeff had pulled a hood over her head she’d known what would happen. Not because he’d told her, but because she’d known him—she knew what he liked to do to her body, knew how he thought. The hood had been the new element to what had been an otherwise predictable scene—spanking, plug, blow job, tied down over the back of a chair for vaginal sex.
That had been their equivalent of a regular night in, the hood a Friday night special treat.
Fingers ghosted down the side of her breast. Katrina jumped from the suddenness of the touch—Master Dante’s hand had come out of the darkness, invading the private silence of her thoughts. She danced away from him, not because she didn’t want him to touch her, but because she was naked and vulnerable in the darkness and her survival instincts said “run”.
Her arms jerked as she went too far. Katrina lost her balance for a moment, and hung from her wrists, which were stretched above her head. She got her feet back under her, twisting her blind, mute head side to side.
Hands grabbed her hips, holding her firm so she couldn’t move away. Knuckles stroked her sides from hip to armpit. Katrina’s giggle as he hit her ticklish spot was muffled. Dante brought their bodies together, pulling her back against his mostly-naked front. His chest was warm and smooth against her.
Katrina twisted her head, looking at him, though it was fruitless. The hood she now wore was one of the most elaborate and extreme ones she’d ever seen. He’d been kind but insistent as he put it on her, piece by piece. A mouthguard had been the first piece, going between her teeth. Next was a simple eye mask.
Only then had he pulled the full hood over he
r head. It closed with several vertical zippers and Velcro panels. One panel could be opened to allow access to her mouth, another covered her eyes. If she hadn’t been wearing the eye mask, he could have lifted that panel and allowed her to see.
But Master Dante didn’t do that. There was an intensity to him since they’d returned to the Cellar that had both alarmed and aroused her.
The hood had mesh panels over the ears, and she would have been able to hear if he hadn’t fastened mufflers in place, attaching the oblong Velcro pads over the mesh and making her deaf as well as blind and mute.
The last thing he’d whispered to her was an order—drop the cloth if she needed to end the scene. Then he’d pressed a silky cool piece of fabric into her palm.
That same swatch was now crumpled into a ball, the fabric hot from the heat of her hand.
His hands fell away from her hips, leaving her alone in the dark.
In a moment of fancy, Katrina imagined that she was chained up in a dark cave, deep in the earth, taken prisoner by a sexy, dangerous beast. One who would (hopefully) fuck her and use her, and play with her, and…
Katrina shivered in reaction to her thoughts, her nipples tightening. He noticed, and tweaked her nipple, plucking and twisting the vulnerable tips.
Then she was alone again.
Pain lashed her hip and Katrina jumped, trying to scream. The sound was muted by the mouthguard and the hood. She danced away, fear making her throat feel tight.
A second blow didn’t come and she calmed enough to take stock—the pain was already gone. No residual heat lingered, meaning the blow had been so soft as to be practically a love tap. Yet, she’d reacted as if he’d caned her.
She couldn’t see what he held.
She couldn’t hear the whistle of air or the sound it made as it hit flesh.
Katrina hadn’t realized how much she depended on both of those things during impact play.
Another blow, to the other hip. This time she was ready, and focused on the feeling. The strike had been broad and soft. A flogger. He was flogging her again.
Katrina breathed out though her nose, the underside of which was the only part of her face exposed. Spreading her legs, she lowered her head, chin nearly touching her chest and tilted her hips back; she told him without words that she would obey, she would submit. She would accept his flogging.
She trusted him.
Master Dante started to work the flogger up and down her legs and back. The blows were soft, warming her skin up much more slowly than she was used to. She started to wonder what the flogger was made out of that allowed the blows to be so soft.
Her back was warm, as if she’d been laying out on the beach by the time he switched to her front. Katrina held her breath, wondering if he’d flog her breasts.
Bound as she was, there would be nothing she could do to stop him, and she loved that helpless feeling. Loved that he would use her body in a way that to outsiders would seem cruel or disgusting.
The first strike landed on her left breast, one tail landing right across her nipple. The falls, which she’d been sure were soft, now felt harder, landing against her soft breasts.
Katrina tipped her head back, breathing heavily though her nose. A lash to her right breast, then another to her left.
Katrina jerked and jumped as he continued to work her breasts, raising the same heat in them that painted her back.
The blackness was now tinted a warm gold, as if the sun was finding its way in.
The flogging stopped, and that gold faded to silver, melting back into the black. Katrina mumbled her protest, unexpected tears prickling her eyes. She needed him to keep touching her. She didn’t want to be alone anymore—she wanted him in the dark with her.
He struck her pussy.
Katrina jumped, closing her legs, instinct once more driving her to protect herself. Nothing happened—no soft brush of fingers or knuckles.
Katrina waited, even after she was sure she knew what he wanted her to do. She waited, her heart thumping in her chest.
Her Master wanted her to spread her legs, to accept a flogging to her pussy while she was blind, deaf, and mute. He’d rendered her nearly helpless, but not rendered her immobile with bondage. This was far more diabolical, because he wanted her to participate. If he’d tied her tight, her submission would be assured. She had to submit not just once but again and again, choosing to allow the scene to continue, choosing to have her pussy flogged.
Katrina leaned towards him, seeking a reassuring touch. None came. Something inside her recoiled, but Katrina spread her legs yet again, curling her toes against the cool tile floor.
Master Dante brought the flogger up against her pussy. Katrina jerked, the so-soft flogger now seeming heavier and harder than when it had been plied against her back.
Hands slid up her thighs to her waist, then higher, along her ribcage and arms. He cupped her hands in his, guiding her to grip the leather straps attached to the suspension cuffs.
Katrina flexed her fingers, correcting her grip, and then held on tight. Master Dante’s hands retraced their path south. He grabbed her thighs at the point just above the knee and lifted her legs, wrapping them around his waist. For a second her body was suspended from her wrists, but then his hands cupped her ass, holding her up.
Her calves slid against hot, naked skin, and a second after she realized he was naked, his cock bumped against her thigh, then against her pussy lips.
Dante slammed his cock into her in one hard, powerful thrust. Katrina bit down on the mouthguard, hissing as the pleasure from that first penetration washed over her, a mini orgasm.
Katrina tightened her legs, pulling him against her, waiting for that second flush of pleasure, the one that would serve as the foundation to the toe-curling orgasm she wanted to have.
Dante thrust in and out, her nipples brushing his chest. His hands kneaded her ass.
It felt good. Really good.
But only good.
Katrina swallowed. This wasn’t right. She should be enjoying this. Her Master wanted her to come while he fucked her like this, but she wasn’t going to come again.
Detached. She felt detached. In truth, she had since this morning, since her sweet baby’s face made her remember why she had given up this life.
Dante pounded into her at a frantic pace, then held her tight against him, cock jumping inside her.
Katrina was glad for the hood, hoped he wouldn’t be able to tell that she was drifting away from the scene.
It had started this morning, but it had been when she sought out reassurance and he didn’t respond that she’d started to pull into herself. To really submit was to be vulnerable. She could go through the motions—she knew all the rules—without letting her guard down, but that wasn’t why she’d joined Las Palmas.
Dante lowered her legs and Katrina stood, taking the weight off her arms. She was restless—wanting to be free of the restraints, yet wanting the scene to continue. She wanted him to keep playing with her, to help her find her way back into a submissive headspace where she could find that soul-shattering pleasure she’d had only a few hours ago.
He came close, the heat of his chest seeping into her back. One arm slid around her waist and down to cup her pussy. Katrina stilled, waiting to see what he’d do, still unsure if she’d rather be released or have him continue the scene.
There was a tug at the side of her head and then one of the ear muffs was removed. Sound returned in a rush—Dante breathing against her neck, the clack of the chains when she moved her arms, the faint sound of air being pushed through the vents by the air conditioning system. Katrina sagged a little in relief. She was no longer alone in the silence, just the dark.
Dante bit her shoulder, hard enough to make her jump. His thick, hot cock rubbed her ass—either he hadn’t come, or he was already hard again.
He cupped her pussy, lifting her. “Your mine. I’m going fuck you again because I want to, because I can.” His voice was a brutal growl. K
atrina was shocked by the rough words. She needed to get her head back into the scene. Her reaction wasn’t that of a sub, but of a woman who’d just had a previously kind lover turn cruel.
Breathe, breathe, relinquish control. Trust your Master.
Jeff’s face flashed into her mind.
Dante smacked her pussy with his finger. “This is my pussy, and I’m going to fuck it.”
Katrina froze.
Fingers pinched and twisted her nipple, making Katrina jerk. There was no arousal to turn that stab of pain into heat and pleasure. It just hurt.
“This body is mine, isn’t it?”
You’re mine, Kat. That means you’ll obey me even when it’s hard, even when you don’t like it. You will obey me. Your body is mine.
No, it was her fucking body, and he, they, could go to hell—Jeff, Dante, all of them.
Katrina planted her feet and threw herself away from Dante. His fingers dug into her, and Katrina lifted one foot, kicking backwards. She’d been aiming for his knee, but missed, her heel glancing off his shin. She twisted to face him, though she was only guessing as the hated hood still hobbled her.
She could only hope she had his attention, that he was watching her, as she opened her fingers. The silky piece of fabric feathered against her breast and knee as it fell to the floor.
Red.
Chapter 14
Dante stared at the red pocket square. It looked cheap and somehow mean against the lovely tile floor.
What the hell had he done?
“Katrina, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, honeypot. Hold on, I’ll get you out.”
He’d never had a sub safe word out of a scene. What the hell had he been thinking? He’d tied her up and whipped her. Holy God, he’d abused her.
His fingers were steady as he unbuckled the cuffs. As soon as her hands were free, she started yanking at the hood. He started to push her hands away, then thought better of it, and did his best to work around her frantic fingers.
He removed the mouthguard and second ear flap, then started undoing the zippers that held the hood tight against her neck. As soon as it was loose, she yanked it off, her hair catching in the zipper but she didn’t seem to care.
