Leashed (Masters of Desires Book 2)

by Paula Dickson

  He kept steady footing up the steep hill that led to their Greek Mediterranean-style home. Not once easing his tug on the leash, Abigail fought not to choke on her collar as it pressed along her larynx. The skin that once protected her knees was gone and her once ivory dress was now crimson with remnants of her injuries.

  When Master Trice reached into his pocket and retrieved a key, Abigail took the minute it had taken him to open the door to claw at the collar with her nails as she coughed out a breath. She was finally home where her master would carry her to the bathroom, lay her down in a tub of warm water, and cure the skinless caps on her knees.

  The minute passed as quickly as a second already gone.

  Before she knew it, her body was being dragged on the polished floor of the living room. It made a squeaky noise that made her shiver and burned her ass and upper thighs. She was discarded on the back patio where the infamous infinity pool overlooked a dark, dark ocean. So dark, it reflected the color of her master’s eyes.

  “Undress,” he ordered as he paced from one spot to the next, brushing his hair back with gripping hands. Uh-oh. This wasn’t good. “Get in the pool.” With the last order, he went inside the house, leaving her alone for the second time tonight.

  Her body trembled with fear and pain. It tingled with promise and satisfaction.

  She knew she must listen to her master, but her injuries made it hard to stand, hard to close her palms. She rested on the floor as she removed what was left of her dress. Tears streamed down her face as she stretched her legs to stand and used her wounded hands for support.

  Slowly, she slipped into the water.

  The lukewarm temperature felt like icicles against her hot skin. She expanded her arms and legs, enjoying the knifelike pain of saltwater on her injured skin.

  Abigail took a long swim along the perimeter of the pool, knowing it’d be long before she experienced total serenity again. She cherished the soft ocean breeze as it tickled her naked shoulders. She gazed out into the ocean, wanting to remember everything about Santorini, all to the number of stars this evening.

  Sensing wild eyes on her, she turned to her naked master.

  She rubbed water from her eyes and gazed at his body. His chest was sculpted like a statue made of stone. She loved the black curls decorating his pecs around his small nipples. And how he groomed himself down there, never letting his hair grow too long.

  Her gulp was audible when her eyes focused on his cock. He’d changed the piercing to a circular barbell with thick balls on either side. Abigail knew he wanted to punish her, but the piercing was so large it had to hurt him, too.

  She didn’t dare look him in the eye. She knew what she’d find in them, and she wasn’t ready to meet the devil. Not yet.

  “Come,” he said.

  She swam to him.

  Master Trice squatted in front of her and raised her chin to meet his eyes. He ran a thumb over her cheek with menace. He was about to switch from oh, so sweet to oh, so cruel.

  Despite the warning, Abigail leaned into his touch and closed her eyes like a dog being patted behind the ears.

  Soon after he tied a string of rope around her wrists, he dragged her across the water to the deepest part of the pool. He hooked the strings to D-rings anchored into the patio tiles, leaving Abigail to paddle on her feet, struggling to stay afloat.

  “I’m going to drown,” she gasped, her eyes frantically moving everywhere, trying to get a glimpse of Master Trice.

  She found him standing at the top of the stairs that led inside the pool. His cock was hard and looked as angry as he. The veins around the shaft were thick, ready to explode his seed inside her.

  Master Trice dove deep into the water. Swimming to where she hovered, he grabbed her legs and tied knots around each ankle. He then hoisted them up and laid her to float.

  Abigail was spread-eagled above the water. Her only view was of the sky and the moon and the stars that shone like flashes from a camera.

  Her heavy heart drowned her further into the abyss of fear and sexual desire. She held onto the restraints and threw forth her stomach in a frail attempt to keep afloat. Closing her eyes, she focused on her breathing, focused on staying alive, focused on floating above the water.

  The closest she’d been to water play had been at Master Trice’s club when she watched a man fuck a woman from behind as he pushed her face down into a bucket of water.

  As the images resurfaced, her body became heavy with arousal. Her arms and legs felt as light as feathers, but her stomach was as heavy as steel. Before she knew it, she was underwater, fighting with herself to breathe.

  Her mouth swallowed gallons of water at a time and entered through her nose, contracting her airway. Desperately, she began flapping her arms and legs like a wounded bird. On the verge of losing consciousness, large hands brought her head above the water. She was breathing again, gasping for air as her lungs expanded and coughed the water she’d drank.

  Master Trice ran a thumb over the small scar on her hairline. The water caressed his pecs as he apathetically said, “If you panic, it will only get worse.”

  On her stomach danced the same gag he’d made her wear earlier. Her eyes widened with panic.

  He wouldn’t.

  “As I said earlier,” Master Trice continued his chastisement, “you talk too much. Consider this your second warning.”

  “No,” she whined as he fastened the gag behind her head.

  He shushed her, thumbing her upper thigh as he rocked her body. The water rested a centimeter above her nostrils and entered her mouth where she swallowed every gulp with quick successions. If she could get herself to drink it all, there wouldn’t be any water left to drown in.

  “I’m going to fuck you now, and it will be for my pleasure only. You are not to come. Sink if you understand.” Her eyes widened as he let go of his hold around her body. In a matter of seconds, she began descending below the water. Then she emerged, wheezing for air. “Excellent.”

  Master Trice lined the pierced head of his cock with her entrance. Feeling his hardness about to enter her, Abigail closed her eyes and relaxed her muscles. When Master Trice fucked for his pleasure, it was deep and hard and fast and painful, very painful, so painful she came from the pain alone.

  Don’t come.

  Don’t come.

  Don’t come.

  She repeated the mantra in her head as her walls expanded to his size but contracted with pain. His piercing was too large, too big, too thick. It was so uncomfortable, all she felt was the familiar tickling sensation of a pending orgasm.

  “Stop struggling, whore,” he said with a strangled voice as in one sole move, he impaled her fully. With his hands around her hips, he rocked her body into his length, grinding his pelvis on her clitoris.

  Don’t come.

  Don’t come.

  Don’t come.

  It was a task he’d set her up to fail. There was no way she could focus on breathing and staying afloat all while he fucked her like a possessive animal—all while he teased her clitoris and commanded her not to come.

  Inch by agonizing inch he entered her and pulled away, using her body like the sex toy it was. Made only for his pleasure.

  A moan slipped past her gagged lips.

  Don’t come.

  Don’t come.

  Don’t come.

  Please, don’t fucking come.

  Her stomach turned into a knotted ball of yarn that slowly untangled with every wave of pleasure. Her toes curled, her pelvis rose, finding the same rhythm as his thrusts. Just as the last piece of wool was stripping away, Master Trice became eerily still. And just like that, the strings rolled up again into an even bigger ball.

  Still inside her, he removed the gag and undid the ropes from her ankles. Abigail instantly wrapped her legs around his waist. She pulled him to her, moaning as the piercing grazed a certain spot deep inside her. His body close to hers, she used it to bring herself upright.

  She ran her
nose over the ridges of his neck and bit down, grinding into him. “Please,” she begged. “Let me come.”

  Her velvety tongue entered his ear as she kept asking, kept pleading, kept begging her master to grant her wish. The more she begged, the harder he became. With every plead slipping past her lips, he thickened inside her.

  He was a drug that made her fly and touch the sky and touch the moon and touch the stars and go up and up and up to never ever touch the ground again.

  “Please, Master,” she pleaded, using her ankles for support as she rode his semi-hard cock into fully erect, ready-to-come-again cock. “Please, let me come.”

  With a groan that shook her body and sent vibrations to her clit, Master Trice grabbed her by the hips and walked her to the side of the pool. The tiles bit into the curves of her spine as he thrust inside her with skillful plunges.

  “Yes,” she moaned, feeling as the knot began to unthread again.

  His brows furrowed dangerously. His neck grew thick veins, expanding to his arms and hands as he pushed inside her. Every menacing thrust, loosened a thread and another and another until there was no more thread to unravel. She shuddered into uncontrollable explosions of pleasure that rose from her toes and had the hairs on her arms flying with electric current.

  With his face in the crook of her neck, he came again with long spurts of cum that slid down her thighs and mixed with her orgasm.

  “You…” He breathed as he bit the thin skin between her neck and shoulder. He removed the rope from her left wrist and did the same to her right wrist.

  Wrapped around him and with Preston still inside her, he walked the stairs out of the pool and entered their home. Leaving a trail of wet footprints on the floor, he made his way to the master bathroom. He turned on the faucet and sat on the tub as hot water began to cover their naked bodies.

  Preston reached for a bath cloth and slathered it with soapy bubbles. He cleaned her shoulders and back, her stomach and upper thighs. Touching her knee, he unhooked her leg from his waist and placed it onto his shoulder. She leaned back on her hands. A whimper parted her lips when the cloth grazed the torn skin.

  His black eyebrows furrowed in the cutest way as he concentrated on cleaning every part of her body. He traced the initials under her breast and placed her legs back to a straddling position.

  Reaching her neck, he unclasped the collar with quivering fingers and placed it inside the red box by the tub where she would later lock it in a safe. She brought her fingers to her neck, feeling naked, empty, lost.

  At the hollowness in her eyes, Preston brought his mouth to hers, giving her a kiss that said she was still his. Whether by collar or ring, she was collared—she belonged to him. She relaxed into his kiss. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she deepened the kiss and parted his lips with her tongue.

  “I love you,” she said.

  “I love you,” he repeated back to her.

  Breathless, she went to get another cloth to use on him, but he stopped her with both hands on her hips.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head.

  She laughed. “At some point, you’re going to have to get out of me, you know?”

  He pushed his hips into her. She clenched around him.

  “I know, but we’re not ‘at some point,’ yet. I want to always be inside you. I want to always be a part of you and you a part of me so that even after death, we’ll be together.”

  Architect, engineer, sadist, dominant, feminist, and poet? Who the fuck would have guessed?

  “You’ll always be a part of me. Remember, you’re my other half. Pompous Zeus split us apart, but we found our way to each other.”

  He smiled. “That we did.”

  “Would you pass me a cloth, then?” she asked, wanting desperately to feel him under her hands. It was her turn to clean him and touch him and kiss him. And she took her time just as he’d taken his time with her.

  The water turning cold, she stood and laughed at her husband’s scowl as she reached for a towel. “At some point” had gotten here too soon for his liking. She wrapped the fluffy towel around her body and picked up the box.

  “Abigail,” he called before she left the room.

  “Yeah?” she turned to him, her mouth agape, her eyelashes fluttering.

  He stood to his full six-three stature as beads of water sensually dripped down his body. He reached for a towel and wrapped it around his hips.

  “I haven’t forgotten,” he informed her as he walked to her and planted a kiss on the top of her head. “I’ll cane you in the morning.”

  She smiled into his chest and nodded, already dreaming of the morning.

  CHAPTER THREE

  His hands grasped at the hollow of her throat, feeling as her once steady pulse, slowed in tempo. Under his relentless grip, he felt crepitus in her joints. The pigment of her skin recoiled as he forbade any blood flow to reach her brain.

  Her eyes widened while she desperately sought air to breathe.

  “Preston…” her voice was hoarse.

  She clawed at his arms, pleading him to loosen his hold. Her fingernails dug into his skin, leaving behind remnants of her existence as each passing second brought her closer to death.

  Witnessing her suffering and fright infiltrated his veins with electric shocks of pleasure that connected directly to his cock.

  How far was he willing to take it?

  Preston awoke in a sweat, feeling his heart thud rapidly in his chest. His eyes shifted around the room as he succumbed to reality. Finding Abigail limp by his side, he extended an arm, checking to see if she had met the same fate as the woman in his dream.

  Her pulse was steady under his touch.

  He released a breath.

  His phone screen lit up with the bending of his wrist.

  3:00 AM.

  In only a few hours he’d be surrounded by yet more memories, yet more wonder, yet more migraines. It seemed the closer he got to Athens, the wider his secrets spread.

  His feet met the ground as his hands gripped at his hair.

  It had been exactly fifteen years, six months, and four days since he last visited Athens.

  Fifteen years of feeling like pure dog shit for what he’d done.

  Fifteen years of guilt and wonder.

  And now here he was, in Greece of all places, with his wife trying to build the future he couldn’t have built in the past.

  Restless from the dreadful memories, Preston walked onto the patio.

  His forearms rested on the railing as he gazed into the Aegean Sea. In the distance, a trickle of lights descended over the whitewashed homes. The contrast was mesmerizing as it cast shadows upon the terranean cliffs of Santorini.

  Minimalism at its finest, yet utterly beautiful, enraptured in its volcanic scenery and ubiquitous, blue-domed churches.

  Greece was an architect’s paradise, enchanted with classical architecture and rich with the history of valiant warriors and mythological Gods. He couldn’t wait to walk the streets of Athens with Abigail by his side, show her Acropolis and introduce her to his family but he was hesitant.

  Although Athens was breathtaking, it was capable of revealing every single one of his secrets like the opening petals of a flower all to the naked bud. With the introduction of his family came the possibility of unraveling a past that was best kept hidden. Preston wasn’t ready to acknowledge he’d given up on someone’s life, afraid if he made such declaration, he’d mourn a relationship that never flourished.

  If Abigail found out, would she turn her back or keep her promise to be by his side for better or worse?

  Preston’s thumbs applied pressure on either side of his temples as a pounding headache surfaced. He’d hoped the clement Santorinian air would help clear his mind but there was only one whore who could alleviate all his woes.

  With a determined turn, he strolled into the master closet. From the top shelf, he removed a navy-blue box. The rectangular case opened to reveal a rattan amber cane with a glossed zebra
wood handle.

  The cane was like a bottle of pills in his hand.

  He gave it a thwack.

  The pounding in his head eased.

  Caning in itself was a sensual tool. Unlike flogs and whips, it took time and attention to master. In the hands of a novice, a cane was a lethal weapon. If struck on the tailbone, the victim would be left with dire injuries. The contact of the cane didn’t register on the skin as fast as it did other flagellations, so consecutive and forceful strikes didn’t do the trick. One had to be patient and precise to deliver accurate patterns.

  A cane was sure to humble a disobedient whore and his needed a lesson on obedience.

  Master Trice stood at the end of the California king-size bed with his dominant hand ready to strike his sleeping slave. When he told Abigail he’d cane her in the morning, whether she’d be awake or in deep sleep was merely semantics. A cane to the ass was a better wake-up call than a blaring alarm.

  Abigail looked like a fallen angel. White linen circled her lower back, exposing her butt crack. It taunted him, begged him to cane her on the apples of her cheeks. Her overgrown bangs curtained her vision as a soft whistle parted her blushed lips.

  He inched the sheets from her ass and threw them on the floor as he ran the tip of the cane sensually down her spine.

  Like Poseidon with his trident, Master Trice wielded the cane in the air and struck her buttocks once. He didn’t lift the cane, wanting her to feel the natural wood as it burned and settled on her skin.

  Abigail awoke with a melodious scream that tickled his balls and remedied his chronic migraine.

  She brought both hands to her ass and turned her head to face her master. A knowing smile touched her lips as she rose from the bed in an extended child’s pose.

  She was a minx.

  A fucking pain slut.

  She flummoxed him as much as she aroused him.

  The cane cut through the air as he struck again. His slave wiggled and squirmed as he laid the rattan cane on her bottom. He hit with immense variety on the cheeks of her ass and the top of her thighs. Each blow was sharp, some were mere inches apart from the last.

  He brought the cane to her ass and tapped lightly in warning. But it was just another one of his mind tricks. While his whore prepared her mind and body to be hit in that one spot, he struck in another, leaving her gasping for air. Much like the woman in his dream.