by Suz deMello
If she escaped unscathed. With her life. For there were darker possibilities.
If her backup had screwed up, if this wasn’t James Li or if Li had turned violent --
The hand on her left nipple roved back to her pussy. “Set your feet onto the dashboard.”
She couldn’t see, and could only guess where the dash was, so her legs flailed in the air before her high heels found purchase.
“Knees open, please.”
When she hesitated, she was punished with a sharp smack on her upper thigh. “When I make a request, you move. Fast. Capisce?”
She opened her knees, ashamed for wanting his hand there, ashamed for wanting more of him. He slapped her pussy once, twice, three times, smacks that didn’t hurt but sent shockwaves thrilling through her.
She didn’t know how long he drove, but sensed he’d crossed one of the bridges before driving some more. But she didn’t know where they were. They could be in Oakland, or Marin; he could have doubled back into San Francisco. She simply didn’t know, especially since his probing, curious hands had brought her to a state of sexual heat.
Her mind, focused only on gaining release, was a haze of frustration. Her cunt burned from his slaps, his strokes, his clever, explorative fingers playing with her clit, now swollen and tender. Every touch sent fierce stabs of pleasure through her, darting out from her pussy to wrap her in a flaming need she’d never felt before, a need born of her desperation. If she didn’t come, she’d explode from sheer wanting.
She was on the brink, where only one more touch would have brought her to a climax. Then he withdrew his hand, and the car slowed to a stop. Startled out of her erotic fog, she dropped her feet to the car’s floor as her door opened. “Good evening,” her captor said.
“Good evening, sir.” The valet’s voice was low and respectful.
“Let’s help the young lady into the penthouse. Please send Cherise and Veronica to prepare her.” His heat again surrounded her as he leaned toward her and unfastened her seat belt with a click.
Who were Cherise and Veronica? While the valet took her elbow and urged her out of the Jag, Liza mentally shuffled through the police reports regarding the Li bust. She didn’t remember any witness or perp with those names.
Now she sensed that both men flanked her. Firm hands grasped her upper arms, jolting her out of her thoughts, and walked her forward. Every step she took increased her arousal, for her flesh rubbed against her engorged, needy clit. Her pulse increased to an impossibly fast beat, a beat of fear, of anticipation.
Of erotic anticipation.
But had she made a mistake? Perhaps her captor wasn’t James Li, though everything she’d heard or seen added up. According to Sindie Keller’s diary, James Li frequented Galway’s. Or so Raymond White had said, but White could be playing some deep game of his own. He was, after all, suing Li. But Liza herself had caught a glimpse of a man in the glass door panel who might have been Asian, who looked one hell of a lot like James Li. And Wilson hadn’t intervened.
She was walked into ... somewhere. A house? A restaurant? She didn’t know. She heard soft, sophisticated jazz and the murmur of voices which quickly dissipated as she was taken into another, smaller room. A door slid closed, and then she heard keys jingling, followed by the unmistakable groan and hiss of an elevator.
Who was inside with her? Only one of her arms was pinioned, and she tested that grasp, tugging gently. The instant she moved, a strong body slammed her against the wall. His penis, hard and ready, jabbed her belly. A tongue thrust into her mouth, filling her, so she couldn’t scream.
But she wanted to, with ecstasy or fear -- she didn’t know which.
The elevator stopped, and the doors slid open. Perfumed air wafted into her face. “Come along, now,” her captor said, urging her forward. His voice was serene, as though the event in the elevator had never happened.
He stopped her in the middle of the room, releasing her arm. She heard his footsteps recede and a door close as he left. She sank to the floor, boneless with dread, her mind racing. If this ritual followed the book she would be ... prepared.
Prepared for a gangbang. Four men would take her. Two would take her pussy, one her ass, one her mouth.
She told herself she could handle that. After all, she’d pulled a train once before. Back when she was fourteen and stupid.
Liza didn’t know how long she sat on the carpeted floor in the room, but she took some time to steady her breathing and pull herself together. She imagined that the room was soundproofed, because she heard nothing except the crackling of a fire, though she figured she wasn’t near the hearth, since she couldn’t feel its warmth. She could smell wood smoke, and perfume, and a faint aroma of food cooking, but she couldn’t identify the dish.
She tested her bonds. Though the knots that tied her were solid, the fabric was soft and giving. She could free herself if she chose, but didn’t.
She was wet, she was ready, and she wanted to find out what would happen.
She heard feminine giggles, and sat straighter. She guessed that a couple of girls had entered. A door behind her opened and closed, while they lifted Liza to her feet, took off the blindfold, and untied her. When she rubbed her wrists, one of them slapped her hands. “Don’t touch yourself.”
Liza glowered at her. The woman was dressed in a yellow merry widow trimmed with black lace, with garters supporting black stockings, and high, black heels. A white twenty-something, she had red hair and very pale skin. Her rose-nippled breasts were lifted high by the corset, as though offered to the touch. Framed by the black garters, her pussy was an eye-catching red triangle.
Liza cleared her throat. It was time to find something, anything out about what the hell was going on. “Veronica and Cherise, I presume?”
The women giggled some more. “We can’t tell you,” the other one sang, her voice mocking. She was dark-skinned, with startling platinum hair, and wore an outfit similar to her cohort’s, but in teal. Liza checked to see if her rug matched the roof. It did.
The blonde carried a basket overflowing with swaths of red satin and a collection of what looked like red leather dog collars, studded with rhinestones. While the women stripped Liza of her blouse, skirt and shoes, she studied her surroundings.
They were in what appeared to be a large, comfortable living room. A couch and chairs upholstered in deep gold velvet faced a crackling fire. The carpet was a cream pile, matching the hearth and mantel, which were flanked by shelves holding books and a variety of knickknacks. A nearby table held, incongruously, an elaborate Scrabble set made out of what looked like onyx and white marble.
After the women had stripped Liza naked, they fitted her with collars around her neck, wrists and ankles, securing her wrists by clipping the collars together behind her back. They draped the red cloak over her body, then blindfolded her, this time with a black mask.
The last details Liza noticed before the women placed the mask on her face were the thick curtains of ivory brocade over the windows. Neither sound nor sight would penetrate those heavy drapes. If she screamed, no one would hear.
And she saw the leather hassock set in front of the fire.
A scene from O’s story leaped into her mind. O had been taken over and over again with her helpless, bound body draped over a hassock in front of a fireplace.
Liza went limp and sank to the floor. Behind her, a door opened, and she heard the hiss of elevator doors. Footsteps advanced into the room. It sounded like several men converging on her. Strong arms raised her, and someone opened her cloak, revealing her front.
“Awesome,” one voice said. He sounded young. “Where did you find her? This is one hot babe. Does she really want this?”
“Oh, yes,” a second man said. Her captor’s voice. James? “The lady has been very clear.”
She stayed quiet, reminding herself that she could break the case in the next few hours if she played her cards right.
And she’d have James. Her clit throbbed
at the thought.
Hands weighed her breasts, tweaking the nipples. A flashing, fleeting pleasure darted. Not enough. “Petite and perfect.” This second man had a slight Hispanic accent.
A hand caressed her neck, fondling the nape, then pulled aside the sheltering cape. Fingers with a delicate touch slid, cool and sensual, down the length of her back and into her crack, penetrating her anus and slit at the same time. The invasion was so startling that she sucked in a sharp breath, and her body writhed involuntarily.
Someone laughed. “Is she wet?” The young voice again.
“Yes, she’s a wanton bitch.” Appreciation laced James Li’s voice.
“Hey!” she protested, and he chuckled. His fingers worked deeper inside her, and she couldn’t restrain her moan. She wanted to come, but without knowing what would happen, she wanted to leave. The case, she told herself. The case.
The fingers withdrew, and she ground her teeth with frustration. She wanted ... she didn’t want to be gang-banged, did she? But she needed sex, and she needed it right away. She was on the verge of coming, her pussy flexing, mouth open and panting.
“She’ll have to be opened up. Her ass is real tight.”
A thumb wiggled in her anus. “I’ll take care of that.” James Li sounded assertive.
“Has she been assfucked before?” The Hispanic voice again.
“I don’t know,” Li said. His thumb left her ass. “Perhaps not, since she is so small.”
A mouth attached to her breast, sucking her nipple. Her orgasm began washing over her, and she sighed with joy. At last.
“Don’t let her come!”
The mouth withdrew, and she wanted to weep. “Why not?” the Hispanic asked.
“We have other business first. Bend her over.”
Hands pushed her down, until she was kneeling over the hassock, her breasts pressed into the leather, her haunches higher than her torso. Someone kneed her thighs apart so she was spread wide, offered for their use and pleasure. Heat swept her, heat from the fire, heat from her sex, radiating through her body. She was humiliated by their control over her, but at the same time, she sensed she was the focus of their attention, the center of their world. Pussy power in its purest form.
And she loved getting it doggy-style. She creamed anew in anticipation. She wanted cock, and she wanted it now.
“God,” the young voice said. He sounded ... awed. She flushed with pleasure at the admiration in his voice. His hand slid along her pussy, tugging at her fleece, prying apart the folds of flesh to reveal her to their gaze. He touched her clit with a reverent hand, and she moaned in response.
“What are you waiting for? She’s ready,” James said. “Take a rubber and dive in.”
“Okay.” A zipper rasped, and a packet crackled. Then he grabbed her hips and sank into her. He was big, and though she was beyond ready, he shoved into her pussy until his cock hit her cervix, stabbing through her haze of pleasure. The first man -- the young one, she guessed -- banged away without either stamina or technique. Was it his first time? Dammit, she was too wet, and there was no friction. She was so ready, so tense that her body was vibrating, but she couldn’t come.
She wanted to shriek with frustration but didn’t want to give Li the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten to her.
The first one finished fast, his come spurting, hot even through the condom. Then another, smaller dick invaded her, thrashing around in her open, wet vagina. He came slower, but it wasn’t enough, he wasn’t enough.
She bet Li was the third man, bet that he’d never let anyone else take what was the only virgin orifice of his prey. He started out in her pussy for a couple of thrusts, wetting himself. When he was ready, he positioned himself at the portal of her ass. She trembled with fear and, yes, desire ... the same dark desire and secret need that had shaken her when she’d read the story back in the pub.
How long ago had that been? It hadn’t been long, but it felt like forever. And he took forever to penetrate her tight back hole. With every inch of flesh he sank into her, she shook and moaned, helpless to do anything except feel, feel his cock stretch her beyond what she’d thought she could take, feel him plunge into the darkness of her incomprehensible desires. Feel a peculiar combination of pleasure and pain lance though her body as though he’d speared her soul.
She could tell that he was long, thicker than the second cock she’d taken but not as blunt and harsh as the first. An elegant cock, refined like James himself. When he was all the way in, seated so deeply she could feel his pubic hair scratch her backside, he began to pump her slowly, leisurely, as though he had nothing to do for the next century except fuck her ass. Long, slow strokes with his long, elegant cock that felt like a burning brand piercing to the heart of her.
She screamed with desire and frustration, wholly his, wholly his slave. His body heat enveloped her as he bent over and murmured into her ear, “Remember this moment, Liza. Remember that you’re mine, all mine.”
He bit her earlobe, and just when she thought he couldn’t take her more completely, reared back and pressed open her buttocks more widely, wedging in more of his cock.
“Please!” she screamed.
He leaned over her again, still inside her, impossibly big, impossibly deep. “Please what, baby?”
“Please let me come,” she whimpered.
“I was going to save that for later.” His tone was soft, gentle, mesmerizing.
She shook her head, whipping her hair from side to side. “Please,” she whimpered.
“Well, since you’re asking so nicely ...” He reached beneath her and gripped her breasts, lifting her. She gasped as his cock shifted inside her ass with a new pain and a new pleasure arching from her tits to her wanting, aching clit.
“Take her mouth.”
A penis pushed at her face, so she opened her mouth and let in the erection, tasting the chemical flavor left by a condom on the naked cock. This one had taken her before, and was now in her mouth. He held her head, playing with her hair. His groan was laden with masculine appreciation.
James pinched her nipple with one hand as his other wrapped around her body to seek her muff. He found her clit, rubbing her juices over her. Slick and hot and incredibly raunchy, each pass of his hand shoved her higher and higher until her body erupted. Liza came so hard that she went limp, supported by the hands holding her head, James’s hands on her breasts and her pussy, and his cock in her rear. The orgasm went on and on, fueled by the knowing caress of his fingers.
She hadn’t thought he could get any bigger, but the rod in her ass swelled as he came, roaring, with his fingers holding her fast, digging into her hips. Another shout when the shaft in her mouth spurted. She swallowed as fast she could. He withdrew, and she bent over, coughing uncontrollably.
James swatted her back. “Easy, baby. Someone get her water, okay?” He slipped out of her rear and released her wrists, then tugged off the blindfold.
On all fours over the hassock, she controlled her coughing and blinked, rocking back onto her heels. Someone offered her a tissue, and she took it, looking up to see a young Asian kid, no more than a teenager. He wore a blue polo-style shirt and a slight, almost shy smile. His fly was still open and he zipped up, practically blushing when she eyed his crotch.
She dabbed at her face with the tissue. A forty-something Hispanic man in a suit handed her a glass of water, and she drank thirstily. She hadn’t had anything since the coffee at Galway’s, hours and hours ago.
She turned to face the last man in the room. Unlike the others, who were in street clothes, James Li wore a paisley patterned red silk robe, loosely tied and open in the front, which had allowed him to take her. She could see that he was a superb physical specimen: washboard abs, muscular chest, and solid legs, shapely in a masculine way. There probably wasn’t enough fat in his body to butter toast.
“So it is you,” she said.
“Of course. Who did you think it was?”
“I wasn’t completel
y sure.”
He lifted a brow. “You mean you gave yourself to a total stranger?”
She nodded.
He stroked her hair away from her sweaty face with an almost tender gesture. “I’d heard you had a wild streak, but that was foolhardy.”
Frenzied laughter rose. “You’re telling me that I’m --”
He put a finger vertically against her lips. “Enough talk. You forget that you’re still my slave, and this night has just begun.” He gestured at the coffee table, where four objects lay.
A riding crop.
A paddle.
A whip.
And a glove.
Chapter Four
“Choose one,” he said.
Liza gulped and regarded the weapons.
“Let me help you with this decision.” James stood, picked up the crop, and swished it through the air. It struck the couch with a resounding whack.
Fear shot through her. She flinched.
He smoothed out the mark the crop had scored into the sofa’s cushion, then continued, his tone resembling a news reporter’s: calm and conversational. “It will leave long, bleeding welts. In a day or two, you’ll scab over, then bruise. You may scar.” He looked directly at her. “You’ll be marked as a slave.”
That was out of the question. She didn’t want to have to explain to anyone what she’d done. How could she, when she didn’t understand herself?
He put down the crop and picked up the second weapon. “The paddle.” Of polished wood, the flats bore Chinese characters that looked as though they’d been burned in. “This will redden your pretty bottom most attractively, but could bruise later. You’ll heal completely, but for a couple of weeks you won’t be able to sit. A useful reminder, but not as effective as the crop.”
