Cupid's Captive

by Reese Gabriel

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  Phaze

  www.phaze.com

  Copyright ©2007 by Reese Gabriel

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CUPID'S CAPTIVE

  A PHAZE FETISH HEATSHEET BY

  REESE GABRIEL

  Phaze

  6470A Glenway Avenue, #109

  Cincinnati, OH 45211-5222

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  eBook ISBN 1-59426-593-3

  Cupid's Captive © 2006 by Reese Gabriel

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Cover art © 2006 by Kathryn Lively

  Phaze is an imprint of Mundania Press, LLC.

  www.Phaze.com

  John Cupid hated Valentine's Day almost as much as he hated his name. As a child he'd been forced to endure endless teasing, and even now people kept at it, acting like he was supposed to be some kind of incarnation of the cherubic god of love.

  Love...

  John had no more use for it than he did for the holiday. Lust was the only thing one could quantify, and that was far too fickle to control. Being a lawyer, he knew enough to get everything in writing—including the sexual likes and dislikes of his partners.

  His own interests tended towards bondage and domination. He was a sexual master and he liked his women pliant, obedient, and submissive. John gave the orders in bed and all his naughty, consenting girls got sore bottoms.

  Hell, even the good girls got them.

  There were no shortage of applicants, due to John's natural charm and good looks. He kept things light, no strings attached, no problems down the line. It was a good system and tonight he had a hot new prospect lined up: a perky PR executive he'd met at a club last week.

  Unfortunately, there are situations one can't get out of in life, and when his partner at the small law firm they co-ran came to him practically begging him to take his little sister out for Valentine's Day, he could see his hot night with Marilee flying out the window.

  "John,” implored the wiry, lean-faced Carl Hayes. “How often do I ask for personal favors? Steffy is on her college break and my folks specifically asked me to keep her out of trouble, especially on Valentine's Day. God knows what a pretty, precocious girl like her could get into."

  "Why don't you hire a baby sitter?” grumbled John, who was having a hard time seeing Steffy as anything other than the wise ass seventeen-year-old in pigtails and bright pink sneakers who spent her time listening to music that made a cat fight sound melodic.

  Carl shook his head. “She's twenty-one now, John. I can't buy her off with ice cream and lip gloss. If you don't take care of her she'll go out clubbing. I'd do it myself, but you know I have to meet with that Japanese consortium."

  John ran his hand through his thick, dark hair. It was half past four already. “Thanks for the advanced notice."

  Carl's expression was pained. His brow pinched. “I can't help it, buddy, she just called me out of the blue."

  John sighed. Carl never could stand up to women. “You owe me for this. You do."

  "You name your terms.” Carl brightened like a man reprieved. “You're the man, John."

  "No,” he quipped. “I'm the big fat sucker, born about a minute ago."

  John speed dialed Marilee, his date for the night with the bad news. He had to leave a voice mail. Talk about low class. She'd never speak to him again.

  "Aw, it won't be so bad. Trust me, guys will be jealous.” Carl winked. “Steffy's all grown up these days."

  "You mean all the pimple faced teenage boys will be jealous,” said the thirty-one-year-old John. “Cretins with IQs lower than my golf scores."

  "The way you play golf?” Carl grinned. “Einstein's IQ was lower."

  "Go on, keep insulting me,” John groused. “See if I don't change my mind about watching the brat."

  "It's nice to see you, too, Uncle John,” trilled a female voice from the door way.

  John turned and was immediately stunned by a vision of feminine beauty, not at all the kid he remembered. “Steffy?"

  He couldn't help but be dazzled by the picture: green eyes to bring a man to his knees, silky raven's wing tresses piled seductively on her head, the cute figure so perfectly accentuated in a short, sparkly silver skirt and a matching top, tight across her ample bosom and more than a little revealing of her flat, lightly tanned stomach.

  There was a diamond in her belly button, a single piercing on a silver rod, tiny and made of cool steel. Her little pink ears were pierced by silver hoops. Her lips were painted a silvery pink, liquid and glossy; they made him thirst deep within.

  "It's been a while, Uncle John.” She gave him a hug. The warmth and energy of her was overpowering. This was a woman's body now, molded, instinctively seeking to fit with a male's.

  John broke the connection short. Shit, he was getting a hard on.

  "You look good,” she said, her voice a bit too sultry for comfort.

  And you look like a goddess, he wanted to reply.

  "He's had a lot of cosmetic surgery, sis,” Carl piped up. “Don't let him fool you."

  "He doesn't need it, big brother,” she said, looking John in the eye. “Never will."

  John's pulse kicked up a notch. Was she flirting with him?

  "Oh, great.” Carl rolled his eyes. “Just what I need. Someone else pumping up John's ego. I can barely work with him now."

  Carl gave Steffy a kiss on the cheek. “Oh, well. Gotta run. You mind your manners and do what Uncle John tells you."

  A shiver went down John's spine as he thought of the young woman complying with some of the very X-rated commands on his mind at the moment. She was certainly old enough, though probably not submissive.

  Anyway, she was off limits. Too young and practically family to boot. She called him uncle, for crying out loud.

  "So ... you ready for a night out with the brat?” she said after Carl was gone. She was smiling slanted, eyes challenging.

  "I am sorry you overheard that,” John said.

  "I'm not,” she replied, her emerald eyes dancing, full lips moving into a pout. “I like being a brat."

  The blood filled John's cock. Steffy was appealing to him at a visceral level. Did she realize just what she was messing with here? Brats had a special place in the world of dominance and submission. They were women who taunted strong men, crossing the line in hopes of being dragged across the knee, pretty little skirts flipped up and panties pulled down for stinging erotic punishment ... and whatever followed naturally.

  John cleared his throat. “We should ... um ... get going. Are you hungry?"

  She licked her lips. “For food?"

  John frowned, ignoring the innuendo. “I know a place nearby, they have burgers and stuff."

  She rolled her eyes, not unlike her brother. “I'm a little old for burgers and stuff, don't you think?"

  "Fine,” he said, his temper shortening by the moment. “A steakhouse, then.
We'll take my car."

  "Whatever you say, Uncle John.” She walked in front of him, her ass swaying.

  "Does your family approve of you dressing that way?” he asked when they got in the car.

  She settled herself into the bucket seat of his English roadster, her legs slightly parted. The skirt rode high on her thighs. “I'm an adult. It's no one's business. Don't tell me you're going to get uptight on me?"

  He tried to keep his eyes on the road and off of Steffy, her belly and ripe breasts, her mile long legs. Talk about blossoming overnight...

  "I don't care one way or the other. Just curious."

  She opened her legs a little further. Vamp. “Really? Most guys I run across care quite a lot."

  "I'm sure they do. I imagine you put quite a lot of ideas in their heads."

  John could kick himself for letting the conversation go down this road, but it was too late.

  Not surprisingly, Steffy pounced. “What about you? Do I put ideas in your mind?"

  Time to shut this down fast...

  "Not really. I still think of you as a kid, mostly."

  "You do?” Her voice was light and playful, but she was all business. That college she'd been at must have taught some interesting things.

  "That's funny,” she added. “Because that rocket in your pants says otherwise."

  John nearly slammed into the car in front of them at the next traffic light. “Young lady, you will refrain from ever speaking to me like that again, is that clear?"

  He glared her. She was biting her lower lip, suppressing a smile, taunting him ... but into what exactly?

  "Yes, Sir,” she rasped.

  His cock ached, desperate to be called into play. Why in bloody hell did she have to call him sir? She might as well strip naked and throw herself at him.

  He had half a mind to dump her off somewhere, but he couldn't do that. He was the adult here, the older adult, and he had to maintain control. “Let's just talk about something else. How do you like school?"

  "It's lame.” She propped her elbow on the door, palm on her chin. She was adorable, mischievous ... practically begging to be taken in hand. But she didn't even know what BDSM was—did she?

  "There must be something good about it..."

  "I went to a frat party last week and did a beer bong. Then some guys did Jell-o shots off me and my best girl friend."

  "Jell-o shots?” He was afraid to ask.

  "That's when you lay a girl out, Uncle John, naked or close to it.” Her eyes were afire, the minx was trying to get him worked up. “And you eat squares of Jell-o off her stomach, made out of liquor."

  "Sounds real educational."

  "That's not all we do,” she said throatily.

  "Don't tell me ... you sip champagne from ladies’ slippers?"

  "Huh?” She laughed at the archaic reference. “No. We let the boys tie us up. Then they do what they want with us."

  John's chest seized like a fist. He was instantly jealous. What would a boy know about bondage? They wouldn't know what to do with Steffy ... naked ... helpless.

  "That can be a risky proposition,” he said. “Especially if alcohol is involved."

  "I like to take chances,” she said.

  Typical. The Myth of Invulnerability ... the disease of every twenty-one-year old.

  "You can wind up dead taking chances."

  "Why?” she asked. “Do you know anything about bondage?"

  "We're almost to the restaurant,” he evaded. “This isn't the time to talk."

  "Why? Do I have to get ready to jump out or something?"

  "No, you don't. Damn, you're even more of a smart ass than I remember."

  "Quite a compliment coming from you, Uncle John."

  "Don't call me that anymore,” he said.

  She looked at him for a moment. He gripped the wheel, avoiding eye contact like the plague.

  "John...” She said it in a whisper, trying it out.

  "I'm beginning to think dinner's a bad idea,” he announced.

  "You want to go somewhere else instead, John? Somewhere more private?"

  "Private, yes? With you, no."

  "I know all about your secret,” she declared out of the blue.

  "I don't have secrets."

  "Sure you do. You're a dom."

  He pulled into the parking lot of Carolyn's Steak House, wishing he were anywhere else on Earth. Finding a spot out of the light, he said. “We need to talk."

  "You said it wasn't the time."

  "I changed my mind."

  "Do you really want to talk?” She reached for his erection.

  "Yes.” He grabbed her wrist. “I do."

  "You're strong,” she marveled.

  He put her hand on her lap, out of harm's way. “I don't know what game this is, or what you think you're doing, but Carl is my friend and I would never—"

  "I have no panties on, John. You can check. I'm naked underneath ... for you."

  "You're old enough to be my daughter,” he snapped.

  She gave him a look. “No, I'm not. Unless you had a kid when you were like ten."

  "Just tell me where to take you,” he said. “I'll drive you. Right now."

  "Your place,” she said boldly. “I bet you have a lot of toys in your bedroom. I'm a real bad girl, John, I need punishment."

  "You're barking up the wrong tree. I'm not into that stuff."

  "Sure you are. I overheard my brother and you talking one time, about someone named Sherry..."

  Sherry ... shit. His little blonde slave girl from a few years ago. She was married to a doctor, but once a week like clockwork she crawled to John, a play collar on her neck. The way she whimpered and begged and climaxed got to John in a major way. It was one of the few times he almost tipped the balance over into obsession. He'd talked to Carl about it at the time, looking for some advice.

  Luckily her surgeon husband got a position at a hospital out of state shortly thereafter, ending the problem altogether.

  "Things shouldn't be taken out of context, Steffy, that was a complicated situation and you couldn't have understood it."

  Steffy grinned. “You said you couldn't live without her twitching, bound ass, freshly reddened and paddled, stuffed full of your hard dick, pleading for you to come inside her. That seems pretty simple to me."

  John winced. He'd no idea she was within earshot at the time.

  "Whatever,” she feigned indifference, pulling back to her side of the seat. “If you don't want me..."

  His cock screamed not to let her go. “You're incredibly beautiful, Steffy, and desirable, too. It's got nothing to do with that."

  "Is it that you don't think I'm submissive enough?"

  Perceptive girl.

  "That's part of it, yes."

  "There's only one way to find out, a man needs to teach me."

  "Why not your boyfriend? Don't you have one?"

  "No. I don't like guys my age. They're babies. I let them play with me, that's all. When someone ties me up, I feel so hot. Sometimes I'll tell a boy to tell me what to do, like he's my master. But it's not the same when you're the one giving the orders, you know?"

  "Point taken,” he concurred.

  Steffy leaned in with all the exuberance of youth. Her lips landed on his, so vital and fresh, her eagerness and passion making up for lack of experience. “Will you show me ... tonight?” She was practically panting. “I picked you out. I got my brother to get you to take me out. He doesn't even realize how I manipulated him, calling the last minute when I knew he was busy, and then planting the suggestion of you as a companion for me."

  John could believe that. His partner Carl was a brilliant legal mind who could find his way around the most hostile courtroom, but give him some personal situation to deal with and he was all thumbs.

  "What is it you expect me to show you, Stephanie?"

  "How to submit. I want to know if it's in me. If it's something I'd enjoy."

  John knew if he didn't do this fo
r her she would keep experimenting with the wrong people. She might end up in a very bad situation. There wasn't a choice here, although he was not sure the results were going to be to anyone's liking. He was liable to lose a friend ... his best friend.

  "If you truly want submission, Stephanie, you must begin with obedience. Ninety-nine percent of this stuff isn't sexual at all."

  "I ... understand,” she said, though clearly she didn't.

  "You'll do everything I instruct, beginning with dinner. You'll conduct yourself as a disciplined young lady—good posture, please and thank you, no displays to draw attention to yourself."

  "Yes. Can I call you Sir?"

  "You may.” So much for this being ninety-nine percent non-sexual. He was ready to burst and they had barely touched each other.

  "Thank you, Sir,” she said coyly.

  "Recline your seat,” he ordered.

  The tiny motor whirred until she was nearly vertical. John allowed himself to feel her bare belly. Her skin was smooth as silk, taut as a drum. “Are you wet?” he asked her.

  "Sopping wet, Sir.” A smile curled her lips, a mix of pride and wonder.

  "Show me."

  She lifted her bottom, shimmying up the skirt past her full hips to her narrow waist. Her pussy lips were pink and glistening and swollen. He slipped a finger inside her, just past the delicate crack. Stephanie let out a moan.

  "Oh, Sir..."

  "Move,” he commanded. “Against my finger. Make yourself come."

  "Yes, Sir.” She lifted her hips, an athletic arch, hot and eager. She wanted it pure and raw and now ... a finger, a cock, whatever was available.

  Her teeth chattered. She was already climaxing. He'd never seen a girl this quick, this responsive. Her face was locked in sheer pleasure, eyes shut tight against the world. A man would have to move fast to stay on top of this one; she was like lightning in a jar.

  And he was about to unscrew the top.

  "I want you to take a little pain, Steffy."

  She screamed out as he pinched her nipple through the sequined top. The mild sensation rode her to a fresh orgasm, bucking, wild enough to shake the car.

  "Omigod, omigod, omifuckingod..."