“Yes, sir,” she replied as softly as she could, relieved that he wouldn’t do that if she obeyed.
“So sweet.” He traced lazy circles on her thigh. “See how easy it is?”
This part was easy. She abandoned herself to his kisses and caresses, sinking into the sensuous haze he created.
This night would no doubt fuel her dreams for years. Possibly the rest of her life.
They arrived at a townhome in another part of the Quarter, less elegant than the other neighborhood, closer to the restaurant, most likely. Partiers filled the streets now that the rain had stopped, some in wild costumes. They danced in a kind of wild abandonment she’d never seen in other cities. As if the spirit of the place unlocked everyone’s secret desires.
Prejean paid the cabbie and unlocked the door. This one led into a little vestibule with a mirror on one wall, a table beneath it. Narrow carpeted stairs rose to an upstairs loft. He tossed his keys into a bowl on the table, hung up his coat, the umbrella on a hook. Everything in its place.
He took her bag and put it on the table then flicked a careless gesture at her. “Strip.” He picked up the mail and flipped through it, not looking up when he spoke again. “Oh, please hesitate,” he purred, deadly serious, “you cannot know how much I love excuses to add to the punishments you’ve already earned.”
This was the despot from the restaurant and Dani’s adrenaline spiked at the implied threat, a thrill of edginess making her heart accelerate. Fingers trembling, she undressed, handing her clothes to him when he held out his hands.
“The mask too. I want to see every expression on your face. Every wince, every tear. Each grimace of unbearable ecstasy.”
She tried to keep her face composed as she removed the mask, feeling oddly more naked without it. He took it from her and unlaced the gloves. From a drawer in the little table, he pulled out a set of cuffs, which he locked around her wrists and then efficiently looped over a hook in the closet door. He’d taken her shoes, too, so she was forced to stand a little on tiptoe.
With a lascivious smile he looked her over. “Wait here.”
Laughing at his little joke, he went up the stairs, leaving her strung up in his vestibule, naked, one thin door away from the street—thin enough that the thumping blues and drunken shouts easily penetrated it—and staring at herself in the mirror.
If she’d worried about being recognized, she shouldn’t have. No one would see the contained, ambitious young editor Danielle Sosna in this woman. Her hair framed her like a wild cape of curls, falling surprisingly far down her slim body. Mottled red from Prejean’s attentions and pulled high by her raised arms, her full breasts demanded attention, the nipples standing out almost obscenely. Her mascara had smudged and the red lipstick she always wore looked not crisp and professional, but sensuously smeared.
Reflexively, she tugged at her bound wrists, wanting to fix herself up. The movement made her whole body twist and she understood, on an alarming visceral level, why a man like Prejean would like to see her this way. The thought send that bubbling heat through her—not that she’d cooled much—that longing for anything and everything he cared to do with her.
As if summoned, he padded barefoot down the stairs, wearing a black robe, and set some things on the table. He wore a mask, a bandit’s dark slash of silk, and he’d untied the club his hair had been in, so that it waved in piratical curls to his shoulders. The mask and his glossy dark beard set off the sensual—and oh-so stern—line of his lips.
“I’d like to fix my makeup—” she started.
“I like you how you are.” He surveyed her, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “You look nicely used. You may clean up to meet your colleagues in the morning. Until then you are mine.”
He took her nipples and stimulated them in a businesslike way. Clearly he knew his business because she thrummed under his touch. Then he sucked them into his mouth, glossy beard prickling her tender skin, laving one and the other, back and forth, while she writhed. Trying to keep some kind of grip on herself, she formed a thought. “No sleep at all?”
Reaching behind him, he uncorked a little glass vial. “Did you never pull an all-nighter? Studying for a test in college, perhaps. Or dancing and, before you know it, the birds are singing.” He applied oil from the vial to her oversensitized nipples. The instant burn took her breath away and his eyes darkened, watching her face. “Surely this is better than that. Spread your legs.”
“You’re not putting that stuff—”
He laid a finger on her lips, transferring a bit of residual burn. “Yes. Yes, I will. And you will take it. This is the first punishment. A little spice to add to the mix. From now on, you may say only three things: ‘Yes, please,’ ‘Yes, sir,’ or your safe word. Understood?”
She stared at him, transfixed by the mask, the dark commands and the burn in her nipples that somehow amplified it all. She couldn’t think.
“Answer me, so I know you’re in there,” he reminded her in a gentle tone, pouring the oil onto his palm. “And spread your legs. You’ve been pushing me all night to find out what I’d do to you. Now you find out.”
“Yes, sir.” The words came out of their own volition and, with iron will, she made herself spread her legs, standing even more on tiptoe to do it. She closed her eyes, steeling herself for the burn.
“No, no—look at me. Know that I am the one in control here.”
Helplessly, she obeyed, thrilling to the moment. Even as she anticipated the burn, her muscles tensed, infinitely anxious for him to touch her.
He slid his hand between her straining thighs, holding it just barely below her labia. Watching her simmer with dreadful anticipation.
“Do you want this, my little Ruby?”
Only two things she could say. Besides the one that would stop it all. She fixed her gaze on him, full of determination, and answered fully and firmly. “Yes, please.”
He clapped his hand on her spread sex and she spasmed, at first with the pleasure of the firm touch, then with increasing frenzy as the burn worked through the slickness of her heightened arousal. She screamed, throwing her head back, unable to bear the intensity without it.
After an endless space of time, the searing sensation subsided to a dull roar, and she recovered herself, to find him stroking her throat and sliding clever fingers through her fiery folds. She groaned, pumping her hips, and he smiled, withdrawing his touch and leaving her to burn alone.
“Well done. Are you ready for Punishment Number Two?”
She wanted to say no. Maybe the stakes of this game were too high for her, too extreme. He took something shiny from the table, holding it in his palm, and raised that challenging eyebrow at her. Waited.
“Yes, please,” she managed to grit out.
He held up little silver loops, with bells on them, flexing them in his fingers. “You’re a clever girl. I bet you know where these go.”
Her legs trembled, but he hadn’t told her she could close them, so she tried to take deep, even breaths, putting herself in a peaceful place.
The stinging slap on her left breast sent her eyes flying wide. “Ow!” she cried out, before she stopped herself.
Prejean tsked at her, shaking his head in mock sorrow. “Yet another punishment for speaking out of turn. Stay with me. Pay attention.”
He held up the loop again, showing her the springing action, and instructed her to watch while he drew it inevitably down and fitted it over her throbbing nipple. She hissed, whimpered a little,
but kept her eyes on his brown fingers as they stroked her tender flesh, making the bell jingle. She might have sobbed when he attached the second one, all of it overtaking her, swamping her in sensation, as if it no longer mattered which caused pain and which pleasure, because it all sent her helplessly spinning.
“Oh yes,” he hummed, almost to himself. “Cooking very nicely.”
He reached up and unlooped the cuffs from the hook. Her calves sent a cry of relief, a minor note compared to the burn at her breasts and between her legs.
“Now crawl up those stairs. Don’t fret—I’ll be right behind you.”
As if in a trance, she obeyed, climbing on hands and knees up the plush runner that covered the wooden steps. Her hands looked frail and white against the deep blue wool with gold fleur de lis, the pink polish perfect, her wrists chained together with the silver cuffs. The little bells jingled as she climbed, a merry counterpoint to the soft tread of his feet following close behind her.
She could just imagine what he saw of her from that angle, remembering the woman at the party and how her intimates had been so luridly on display, and she took refuge in obedience. She would take whatever he dished out. The renewed resolution sent a languid kind of acceptance through her.
Her pirate could do as he wished.
She reached the top of the stairs, kneeling there, as he told her to. A loft with masculine furnishings and art in jewel tones caught her eye before a silky blindfold slid over her forehead, cutting off her vision.
“Hands and knees,” he commanded her and she rose up on all fours. He crouched beside her, running his hands over her skin, cupping her breasts and sending the bells tinkling. His touch trailed down her spine, over her buttocks and into the crack of her ass. She tried not to tense, but he dipped fingers into her drenched folds and pressed one into her anus. She moaned a little.
“No holds barred, yes? Do you regret your flip challenges to me now? I think maybe yes.”
None of her approved phrases fit what she wanted to say, so she remained silent.
He spread both hands over the globes of her ass. “Your skin is so soft and tender, you won’t be able to take much spanking. Nothing like Susan—the woman you saw getting whipped tonight—nothing like what she can take.”
She shivered at the memory and he stroked the insides of her thighs, spreading them wider. Then wider still, so she was on the points of her knees on the plush carpet.
“For all your fierceness, you’re really quite delicate. Fine bones like a bird. I suspect you do it on purpose, my little kitten with no name. You hide behind your rules and your determination so no one will see how vulnerable you truly are.”
He lightly stroked the spread folds of her pussy, making her tremble, and leaned over her. “But I see,” he whispered. “I’m going to take you apart with pleasure, not pain. So here’s the rule—you may not come unless I say you can. Not that I’ll let you, but I’m still learning your luscious little body. So, just in case you’re wondering, you may not unless I say so. And I don’t think I need to point out that asking for it isn’t among your list of approved phrases anyway, do I?”
“Yes, sir,” she breathed, already on the verge of another orgasm from his rhythmic stroking of her still-burning labia and clit.
“Now. I promised you beads. Stay there. Exactly like that.”
She obeyed, relishing the reprieve from the relentless stimulation, taking his brief absence as an opportunity to talk herself down. She’d never tried not to come before and wasn’t sure what that took. It wasn’t exactly like not eating that tempting dessert, but she understood denial. All a matter of will.
Somehow he understood she’d rather withstand pain than pleasure.
The man was diabolical.
He returned, soft padding steps on the carpet, but said nothing, making no sound. He had to be just looking at her, something that made her even more nervously aroused. The blindfold threw her off, left her without one of her usual anchors. She dug her nails into the carpet, as though she might fall off if she let go.
“Lean down on your forearms, ass in the air,” he finally said, sounding amused, as if he knew he eroded her sense of control with every little nudge. Likely he did.
She dropped her forehead onto her arms, the silk blindfold brushing her skin.
He was behind her. Warm oil trickled down her crack and she inhaled to steady her trembling. Something touched her anus, small and round. He pressed it into her and it was small enough to go easily. Just a little bead, nothing more.
More oil and he pushed again. Another bead, only bigger. More oil. Bigger. She wriggled a little and he told her to stop fidgeting or he’d tie her up and then finish.
She counted to herself, pressing her head against her arms, concentrating to hold still. The sensation aroused her with small, stretching escalations. Each bead added more, and still more. She’d reached nine when she realized her blindfold was damp with tears. Not from pain, because it didn’t really hurt. Instead each increasing violation of this most private part of her wedged open something else inside, a shuddering vulnerable self.
“One more.” His voice was intense, quiet. “Do you want it?”
“Yes, please.” She exhaled. Held still. More oil. Press. The last one felt impossibly large, straining her open. A sob escaped her and became a long moan as he seated it in her with a little pat.
“Well done, chère. You may kneel up now. Take it slowly.”
Though he phrased it as an option, she took it as a command, pulling her thighs gingerly together and levering herself upright, shivering as the thing shifted inside her. Sitting back on her heels wedged it in deeper.
“Put your hands behind your neck and spread your knees as wide as you can.”
Mesmerized by his voice, that chocolate cream Cajun accent, she mindlessly obeyed. He adjusted her hair, pulling it out over her cuffed wrists, so she clasped her bare neck. Moving around in front of her, he asked her to lift her chin.
“You are indescribably beautiful at this moment, my Ruby Tuesday. I wonder who you really are, to drop into my life this way.”
It wasn’t a question, so she didn’t answer. He made her wonder, though, at how she’d flung herself into this, going from being tossed out of his restaurant at noon to letting him invade her in every possible way only twelve hours later.
A click sounded and the beads inside her leaped into life. The damn things were battery operated, vibrating away.
An animal cry choked out of her and she convulsed, the wild pleasure coursing through her, taking her over in a primal way.
“Don’t you dare come,” he warned her, a dangerous edge to the order.
She clenched all her muscles, desperate to obey. Uncertain if she could. Failure is not an option. Hearing her Marine father’s voice in her head definitely helped cool her ardor. She breathed rapidly, in and out, steadying herself.
“Ah,” Prejean said. “Yes. Such a good girl.”
The praise pleased her, a delicious satisfaction from a very young part of herself.
“Let’s find out what else you can take.”
Chapter Six
He made her crawl, that thing buzzing inside and her pussy so burning full that it felt like it must be glowing red, into his bedroom and up a set of little cushioned steps onto a high bed. Probably antique.
She followed his instructions in a daze, all her focus on not giving in to the orgasm that lurked
at the edges, like a wild beast testing her defenses, looking for a weakness to sweep in and take her over.
He removed the cuffs and spread her out, binding her wrists and ankles with soft rope, tightening and adjusting so her limbs were stretched to maximum tension and she could barely twitch. There seemed to be no pillows or blankets on the bed, just an expanse of cool satin under her. The rain had started again, strumming in a steady rhythm against the roof.
With a word to close her eyes, Prejean slipped the blindfold from her and told her she could open them slowly as she adjusted to the light. The caution helped, as he’d turned on every lamp in the room. Above her a mirror reflected back the image of a naked woman, wantonly stretched out, pale against a shining crimson sheet. It took her a moment to recognize herself and, when she did, a susurrus of need ran through her, making her body move with a deep sensuality.
Prejean stood by the bed, waiting for her to equilibrate. Once he had her attention, he untied and dropped his robe, showing her his lean body, the glossy black hair framing his erect cock an echo of his neat beard. She wanted him to take her now, but she wasn’t allowed to ask. Instead, she looked meaningfully at his groin and said, “Yes, please.”
He raised his eyebrows at her and picked up the little vial with the burning oil. Shit. Without a word, he sucked on her nipples, making them swell more in the loops that bound them. And applied the oil. She clamped her teeth and hissed through them, determined not to cry out and satisfy him that she was sorry for her transgression. Holding up a remote control, he showed her a dial on it and clicked it to the next setting.
The vibration deep inside her pushed her nearly to the pinnacle. She poised there on the edge, clinging with every ounce of will.
Managed to stay there.
Then the real torment started. Not the kind she’d seen tonight. She almost envied Susan for only being whipped. At least she simply had to take it.
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