by Joey W. Hill
“Make it hurt, Mistress Pride,” Des said, keeping his attention wholly on his sub. “But don’t break her lovely skin.”
Julie sucked in a breath when the talons raked her back. They didn’t draw blood, but they left stinging scrapes. Whereas the “lion” had been slow and deliberate when marking Julie’s front and legs, now her movements were quick slashes, like a whip strike, making Julie bite back a startled cry. Then Des’s palm was over the crisscrossing marks, stroking the abrasions. Julie was pressed full against him, straining, needing.
“Thank you, Mistress.” He held Julie fast as the woman and her pet moved onward, and Julie dipped her head to his throat, her lips almost touching his collar bone, shallow breaths bathing it.
“Let’s go watch some rope work,” Des said. He shaped her body against his side, moving her through the ocean of people. Maybe because of where her head was, the noise had become a dull roar, her nerves tingling at the stimulation of nothing more than air movement, the barest brush of bodies against her, the full press of Des’s.
She would have felt overwhelmed except he was her boat on these waves. What if he’d told the Mistress he wanted her lion to fuck Julie from behind? What would his expression have said to her, while he kept her chin tipped up to stare at him and that feminine body and thick rubber cock took her over the edge?
Two days ago she’d believed she was a voyeur only. That she had no interest in public sex. They’d been in this room less than twenty minutes and her previous boundaries meant nothing. Only what he wanted.
No. It was because everything he wanted was something she wanted. He was reading her cues and responding to them, just as Logan had said. But knowing it was her response as much as his commands directing her only made it more unsettling.
As they moved forward, other things added to that shaky feeling. At the impact and flogging area, Julie saw Logan and Madison. He’d bound her to a cross and was showing several groups his single tail techniques. He’d shed the coat and had the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up.
“Logan’s always in demand to teach at these things,” Des said in her ear. “He’s patient about it, though I expect that’s why he likes playing at home alone with Madison the best.”
Though Julie was sure Madison agreed with that, her friend didn’t look like this spicy public twist on their relationship was bothering her, probably because she still had Logan’s full attention. Even as he was teaching, he kept returning to Madison, stroking her, reassuring her, commanding her focus with sudden little flicks from the whip, a sexy, masterful gesture that made Julie’s stomach flip flop too.
Madison’s glazed expression and the marks already on her said he’d started this some minutes before. He’d removed Madison’s dress, leaving her in crimson bra and thong only. When Logan started throwing the whip again, there was a swift continuous fluidity to it. As he struck her buttocks, between the shoulder blades, along the back, the upper thighs, she was jerking in her bonds and making cries that Julie couldn’t hear over the music and crowd noise, but could see from the working of her throat and parted lips.
Logan caught the fall of the whip and strode back to her, dropping his head to kiss the red netting of marks between her shoulder blades. His hand slipped between her body and the cross. His own body moved in rhythm with hers, rubbing himself against her backside as he worked his fingers inside her panties. His lips were against her ear.
As her view changed, Julie realized Des had maneuvered her to where she could see Madison’s feverish eyes and Logan’s concentrated expression, the movement of his lips. She couldn’t hear the words, but she didn’t need to do so. Everything he was doing showed he was in control, and he was reinforcing that, stimulating her with words to that effect. Julie imagined what those words might be.
“I’m doing what I want to you because I’m your Master. You’re hot and wet, because that’s the way I want you. You’ll let me fuck you, whip you, restrain you, and you’ll come for me with the same obedience and desire, because you get lost in this, in serving your Master…”
Whatever he actually said had Madison nodding, her lips stretching back in a plea. Julie remembered her first experience with Des, when it was just them on the stage. He’d painted her such a vision of a full audience she’d almost felt stage fright. Until he’d murmured it’s just us.
She understood now what Des meant about the anonymity of chaos. Logan might be aware of his audience, those he was teaching, but a very important part of him was in an isolation chamber built through the strokes of a whip, the give and take of power, the love between him and his wife.
Madison came as Des’s grip on Julie’s hips became bruising. Julie leaned into him, breath shallow and every muscle taut, nerves thrumming as Madison’s body bucked between the cross and Logan’s protective larger frame. As she came down, he was kissing her shoulder, her throat, and she pressed her face into his palm.
Des moved them forward again. In the fire play area, a dramatic flogging with a cat o’ nine caught her attention. The tips of the flogger had streaks of blue and gold flame as a Mistress wielded it on the back of her female sub. Lit wands were being rolled over naked supplicants stretched out on padded tables. The fire masters followed the wands with quick, intimate strokes of the male and female bodies they were using, reminding her of Tony and Charlotte.
The scent of candle wax touched her nose as she saw two men working on another man, creating a random design on his back, buttocks and legs with shades of purple and green candle drippings.
As she’d seen Consent coming together, she’d had a taste of this, how every expression of BDSM could be magnified with color, sound, taste, texture. Here she didn’t have to detach and see it through the eyes of a managing director. However, since that was so much a part of her, she couldn’t help making a few mental tweaks on the blocking of the Consent showings next week, and on Lila’s upcoming production. She told Des some of those suggestions as his head bent attentively to her, his lips curving with amusement, probably at her multi-tasking.
When they were back at the dance floor, her Master decided to pull her away from practical thoughts. Des guided her into an impromptu waltz, palm at her waist, other hand firmly clasping hers. She followed his steps, the turns, and he found a path through the dancers that made her feel as if she were gliding. On the far side, he turned her, bringing her back against his body so she could rub against him, making sure she concentrated on his groin area. Though the sporran was in a frustratingly inconvenient spot, she made sure he felt the urgent press of her own body.
“Tease,” he muttered.
She was and wasn’t. Teasing implied playfulness, some type of planned, intended provocation. She was too mindless for any of that. She wanted him to know how all this was making her feel. Being dressed like this, out with him, as his.
His eyes burned into hers as she faced him. They were still, the music winding around them, the whole world moving. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm, working his way to her wrist, around the outside of her hand, over each finger, playing with them with tongue, lips and teeth. Just his attention on that one part of her body, his grip hard on her wrist, made her sway, her other hand clutching his waist.
“Desmond.” She breathed his name. She didn’t say his full name often, but she wanted to say it now. She wondered if he had a middle name, and she asked him, in that same whisper. It was too loud, so she thought he wouldn’t hear her, but somehow he did.
He held her close to answer. “Desmond Arthurius Hayes.”
Humor penetrated her haze of lust, reflected in the twinkle of his brown eyes. In the mix of shadows and light, the irises were molasses-colored with flecks of gold. “Betty named me after her uncle. He died a month before I arrived. She said I had his smile.”
So his mother had refused to even give him a name. The thought gripped Julie with a fierce anger and protectiveness that, combined with her arousal, almost made her dizzy. Curving her fingers
over his hold on her, she lifted onto her toes to press a kiss, soft and urgent at once, against his lips. She may not have wanted you, but I do. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
The kiss said all that and more. His expression flickered as if he heard the message, his jaw flexing and eyes briefly flashing with emotions just as strong.
Taking her elbow, he drew them to a section of wall flanking the rigging area. The green light spotlighted the different forms being tied on naked flesh, the intense concentration of the riggers. There were different colored ropes and clips. Some of the Doms used frames to suspend their subjects. Others used hooks dropped from the ceiling beams. Others worked entirely on mats on the floor or on chairs or against poles.
The lighting allowed a lot of shadows in the corners. Des maneuvered her into one, so the only thing in her vision was him, with some ambient glimpses of bound and suspended subs twisting in the background. He slid his fingers under her skirt and she grabbed his shoulders as he pushed past her barely-there thong and thrust two fingers into her soaked cunt.
“Just what I thought,” he said softly. “Wet enough to satisfy a parched throat. You want to come, love.”
She nodded and he thrust a little deeper. “Wasn’t a question. Beg for it, in that sexy, pleading voice you have when you’re hot and wet.”
“Yes…please.”
His eyes glittered with pleasure as she sounded as he’d predicted, a shiver of longing through her words.
“Hmm. We’ll see.” He idly rubbed his thumb over her clit and she jerked up off the wall like he’d touched her with electrical current. “I like to see you suffer like this,” he said ruthlessly. “I bet you’d give me one hell of a blowjob right now. Enough to convince me you deserve to come.”
She remembered he liked her to use her words. “Yes, please. Let me do that.”
His brown eyes were firelight. “No. It’s enough to know that you would drop to your knees and suck me off without question if I told you to do it. I want to see you come. Now.”
He was rubbing her again, and the climax came at his command, her hips working against his touch. He caught her nape and jerked her to him to kiss her hard and deep as she cried out her release in his mouth. Tears spilled out, that surfeit of emotion that always surged from her subconscious when he commanded her body in new and unexpected ways. It was a painful, perfect edge between ecstasy and heartbreak, between getting everything she’d ever wanted and knowing she was giving him the power to take it all away.
He worked her through the full range of sensation, until she was sensitive and his fingertips were barely brushing her, yet still she convulsed against him, her weak fingers over his wrist. She didn’t pull him away, but pressed closer, and he understood, adjusting so his palm cupped her cunt, sealing in aftershocks that coursed through her like rippling water.
He massaged her, taking her down easy. He didn’t neglect aftercare, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and back, letting her burrow against him. He kissed her hair, her ears, soothing her as she shook in his arms. She imagined how it must look, his body sheltering hers in the corner. Surrounded by the whole world but alone together. In what real-world place could they have done what they’d just done without interruption, without censure or judgment? Those around them wouldn’t cross into their personal space until they were ready to rejoin the world again.
“Know where I’m going to take you when we leave tonight?” His voice was a vibrating bass through her ear, where she rested her face against his chest and shoulder.
“Anywhere you want. Frequently.”
He paused. “I’ll remind you of that when we’re on the I-85 overpass. I’m going to take you to Steak ‘n Shake for a milkshake. They have great ones.”
“Okay,” she said, smiling into his shirt front even as she blotted her tears there. “But, um, can I do something for you first?”
“You’ll take care of that later.” He tipped her chin up to meet his gaze. “When we’re alone.”
“But it was okay to do this to me in front of the masses? A dominance, ‘this bitch is mine’ kind of thing?”
His teeth flashed. “If you like, love.” He kissed her, cradling her face, devastatingly tender where he’d been demanding a heartbeat earlier.
“I would have done what you were just implying here and now,” she said, “but I kind of knew you’d want to wait. So I was asking for something else.”
“Oh. Typical thickheaded Dom, assuming I know every damn thing.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “What is it you want, Julie? Ask me.”
He could chastise himself as he’d just done, be self-deprecating, and in the same breath hold onto the reins. He meant it; he wanted her to request permission to do whatever it was she wanted to do for him. It sent another hot little thrill through her. Despite his claim that he preferred private one-on-one time with subs, a public venue brought out a side to him she liked.
“May I touch you? Just touch you.”
In answer, he gripped her hand and guided it under the kilt. It was only him beneath. She closed her fingers over a cock that was thick and impressively hard. She stroked him lightly, running her thumb over the slit to gather the pre-come on the pad. “Are you sure about waiting?”
She wanted to take him in her mouth. She didn’t care who saw, even though she still wasn’t into public sex. This didn’t feel like that to her.
“Yes. And no.” He gave her a wry look as he removed her hand from around his cock and beneath the kilt, giving her a reproving squeeze. “The way you just licked your pretty lips tempts me beyond description. But I want to watch you get all spun up again. Then I’m going to take you to Steak ‘n Shake and home. Once it’s just the two of us, I’ll use you so hard you’ll need a walker tomorrow. Fair enough?”
“Fair enough.” She needed the teasing, because things were pulsing between her legs, telling her that her normal recovery time was going to get a serious upgrade tonight, thanks to Des’s skills.
As they turned their focus back to the rope area, she found Logan wasn’t the only one whose skills were in demand. Once some of the riggers realized he was watching, they called out to Des to come out on the floor and give them a demonstration of his skills. She was moved when he declined politely with the simple explanation, “I’m here for Julie tonight.”
What she liked as much as that was the others let it go immediately, respecting his decision. She didn’t want to see his hands on another sub tonight, and she wasn’t comfortable with being tied up in front of a bunch of people.
Or so she thought.
The experienced riggers did everything so smoothly their subs went into a bound trance almost effortlessly, bodies sculpted into graceful shapes from the knots and wraps of the rope. Yet the less experienced riggers could still tap into that magic, building a similar connection with murmured communication and reverent strokes of their fingertips along a rapt submissive’s face, tracing parted, eager lips.
The key seemed to be the connection between each pair. Julie was particularly pulled into the devotion and intensity between committed couples. She could tell which ones were scene hookups and those in a long term relationship. In the latter, the sub was telegraphing I trust my Master or Mistress. I love him/her. I want to be seen as theirs. This was a place where it was safe to make that declaration, where it would be respected, appreciated. Understood and validated.
She glanced up at Des. He’d been explaining things to her when needed, soliciting her reaction and opinions, making sure she wasn’t getting tired of it and wanting to look at other things. On the contrary. They’d been here for the past thirty minutes, so they’d decided to sit on the floor at the edge of the action. She was turned on her hip, curled up against him, his arms around her and her cheek on his chest as they watched.
“Des.” She put her hand on his arm to draw his full attention to her.
“Hmm?” He stroked a wisp of hair off her face, thumb caressing her bottom lip. His thick tail o
f hair was draped over his right shoulder and she combed her fingers through it, feeling the hard straightness of his collar bone beneath.
“If you wanted to do something, I think I’d like that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
His look could x-ray stone, but whatever he saw satisfied him, because he lifted her off of him to help her to her feet. “All right. Stay right here. I’ll be back in a second.”
She liked that he didn’t question her decision. He’d convinced her that he genuinely wanted her own feelings to lead her wherever she wanted to go. As such, he was respecting her understanding of her own desires. Even as she was sure he’d pay close attention to any indication she was getting cold feet.
He could exert an unyielding will that melted her every reservation into full surrender. He also possessed a sensitivity to her needs that surpassed her own understanding of them at times. Maybe that was what Logan meant about an experienced Dom. If so, God bless them. And wow. What a freaking miracle of nature. Her freaking Dom-wizard. She chuckled inside, wondering if she’d ever share the nickname with him.
As he disappeared in the crowd, the thought was replaced with some anxiety. The enchantment that made her want him to bind her in his rope was strongest with his proximity. Yet, the main reason she wanted him to do it wasn’t sexual, though the idea of it was certainly tempting. She wanted him to do it because it was a critical part of what made Des himself. She wanted to be part of that identity. She wanted to be what was caught in Spiderman’s web.
She wasn’t bothered by anyone. Those watching were as absorbed by the rigging as she’d been. Then Des was back, his rigger’s duffle bag in hand. “Still sure?” he asked.
His thorough look said it wouldn’t be what came out of her mouth that made up his mind. She slipped her hand into his free one.
“Yes. I’m glad you’re not one of those Doms who’s a stickler about not being touched unless the sub asks permission.”
