by Sabrina York
She shuddered, gulped. “What? What is it?”
“Open it.” His voice held a thread of command.
She trembled as she reached for the box and he noticed this with tremendous satisfaction. Poor thing. She had no idea what was in store for her. She opened the box and stared down at the two brass balls in silence. “What are these for?”
“For your pussy.” To illustrate the point, he slipped his fingers up into her weeping canal. She moaned. “Put them in.”
“What?”
“Put them in. You know what they are, don’t you?”
“I’ve seen Ben Wa balls before.”
“But you’ve never used them?”
She shook her head. Her pink tongue danced out to dampen her lips. He warmed at the sight.
“I want them in you all day, making you throb from the inside out.”
“I can’t wear these all day.”
“I think you can.”
“Tristan, we have a staff meeting in…” She checked her watch. “Ten minutes.”
His grin was slow and perhaps a little wicked. “I know. And all during the meeting, with each twitch of your muscles, those balls are going to remind you what’s coming. They are going to remind you about tonight.”
She shuddered and her cunt clenched around his fingers. He yanked them out. “No coming,” he warned her. “No sneaking off to the bathroom to play with your clit. Promise me.”
“You’re driving me crazy!”
“That would be the plan.”
She tipped her head to the side. “Tristan, we can’t do this in the office.”
He frowned. “Why not?”
“What about your rule?”
“To hell with the rule. Adam broke the rule. Why shouldn’t I get my fun as well?”
“But…”
“No buts, Shannon. Put them inside. Now. Or you’ll pay for your disobedience tonight. They have all sorts of rooms at the Palace, you know.”
Her throat worked as her gaze skipped from him to the balls and back. Her hesitation made him suspect she was going to chicken out, a thought that sent a shaft of disappointment through him. But in the end, she didn’t. In the end, she lifted her leg, placed it on his thigh and, holding onto his shoulder for balance, slipped first one and then the other orb into her pussy. She hissed as they eased, inexorably, in.
“They’re cold,” she whispered.
“Not for long.” His fingers joined hers inside her canal, pressing the balls deeper still. “Don’t let them fall out.” He pulled her panties up tight in her crack until the crotch rubbed against her clit. She moaned and he bit back an evil chuckle.
It was going to be a long day. For both of them.
And it was.
By close of business, Shannon was cross-eyed with lust. She’d thought of nothing but Tristan, his cock inside her, all day. The sensation of fullness, the slight movements of the balls inside her, the heat scorching her body from the inside out, had her going mad.
Conversations were difficult, to say the least. And more than once, her coworkers paused during an exchange to stare at her.
“Are you all right?” Kat asked when they met at the copier. “You look like you’re in pain.”
“Yes. I’m fine.”
Kat’s expression was dubious.
“Really. I’m just tired.”
“You should go home if you don’t feel well.”
It was all Shannon could do not to snort. Would that she could go home. Or better yet, march into Tristan’s office and demand he fuck her right then and there. But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. This was his game and she was determined to prove to him she could play along.
But dear heavens, it was killing her.
She almost fainted with relief when she checked the clock on her laptop and discovered it was almost five. Almost time.
He made her wait until everyone had left the office, another agonizing hour. And then he came to her.
He stood at her desk, looming over her like a dark, delicious shadow. “Are you ready?”
“Am I.”
He chuckled. She was not amused. She was too horny to be amused.
She stroked his hard thigh, perilously close to something harder. “We could just stay here.”
He captured her hand with his own. “No, Shannon. We have reservations.”
“But Tristan…”
“Come on.” He grabbed her coat and purse. “No pouting. Let’s go.”
The short drive took forever. Shannon never fretted much over LA traffic but today she desperately wanted a bazooka to blow away every car in their path.
He glanced over at her and grinned. “Not long now.”
She glared at him. Her mild arousal had, through the day, morphed into a raging inferno. She was so wet the balls kept slipping out and each time she surreptitiously reached down to press them back in, she nearly exploded.
“You’re going to pay for this, Tristan Trillo.”
Though her threat was a roiling growl, he laughed. “I certainly hope so.”
He pulled through a pair of bronze gates and into a small parking lot next to a rather fanciful, though understated, mansion. The sign at the gate said simply, Privat.
A flutter arose in the region of her heart. “Is this it?”
How he heard her whisper, she didn’t know. “Yes, Shannon. This is it.” He turned to her, his expression tight. “Are you ready? Because God knows I am.”
She swallowed. Nodded. Her body was molten, her limbs like rubber. She prayed she could walk the short distance to the door.
He came around the car, opened her door and helped her out. He kept hold of her hand as they walked toward the Palace. His palm was slightly damp. She could only hope he was suffering as much as she.
They were greeted by a butler in formal attire. “Name?”
Tristan cleared his throat. “Trillo.”
“Ah yes.” The butler’s gaze flicked from Tristan to Shannon. It took some effort but she forced herself not to wonder what the ever-so-proper gentleman was thinking of her. “Mr. Trillo. This way please.” The butler opened the door and led them up a wide, sweeping staircase and down several corridors to an intricately carved door. They saw no one else in that short time. Not a soul. “You are in the Pasha Room.”
A jolt of excitement sizzled through her body. She glanced at Tristan but his demeanor gave nothing away. How on earth had he known about her fantasy? She flushed as she realized how, exactly, he’d known. She’d left a trail of breadcrumbs in her Virtual Life account.
“Please ring when you are ready for dinner.” The butler nodded and left them there in the hallway.
And they were alone.
Anticipation, desperation, mind-numbing hunger swamped her soul.
“Tristan.” Shannon gripped the arm of his coat. “I don’t think I can move.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “It’s okay, Shannon,” he said. “Let me take care of everything.” He swung her up in his arms and pushed open the door with his shoulder.
How it thrilled her. Tristan’s arms around her, the feel of his masterful embrace, being held close against his hard, hot chest. And he was hot. Heat rolled off him in waves. She couldn’t resist the opportunity of her position to suckle the sweet flesh of his neck.
He stumbled but caught himself. His chuckle reverberated through her body. “You will pay for that, my minx.”
She laughed and repeated his earlier words. “I hope so.”
On the threshold of the room, he paused. “Close your eyes.”
She pouted. “Do I have to?”
“Yes, silly. That’s how it works. Close your eyes and imagine your deepest, darkest fantasy.”
Shannon stilled. Dear heavens. She’d never told anyone her deepest, darkest fantasy. It had always seemed far too intimate. Far too raw. That he knew of it frightened her to death. She shivered.
“Trust me,” he whispered. “Close your eyes.” She did and he kissed each lid in turn
. “You’re safe with me.”
And somehow, she knew she was.
He stepped into the room and stopped cold. His muscles clenched around her. Instinctively, she opened her eyes.
Her breath snagged in her lungs.
The room was everything she had imagined. An illicit thrill shot through her as she took in the scene. It was lush and luxurious and decadent, swathed in silks and satins. Velvet pillows adorned a wide divan and were scattered around a low-lying table. An elaborate high-backed chair held court in the center of the room. Its purpose was obvious in the well-positioned straps. Nearby, a small table was decorated with all manner of toys—feathers and whips and…
She shuddered. “I don’t think…”
He chuckled. “Then don’t. Don’t think.” Slowly, he lowered her to the ground. “Simply enjoy.”
She buried her face in his shirt, quivering. Cowardly. Suddenly afraid. Not of him. Of herself. “Tristan…”
He silenced her with a kiss then turned her and pulled her back against his chest. “Shannon. This is your fantasy. Embrace it. I’m here to bring you pleasure.”
She frowned. “There’s a real difference between fantasizing something and actually doing it.”
“I know.” His grin was wicked. He gestured to the chair. “Shall we, my captive?”
She trembled at his words, at the vision, the illicit imagery they evoked. But he was there behind her. His palms skated down her arms and warmth flooded her. She allowed a tiny nod. Yes. This was her fantasy. It always had been. To be tied and forced to passion.
To see it laid out before her was overwhelming.
He leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “You are mine, Shannon. Mine to torment. Mine to please. But first…remove your clothes.”
The balls nearly popped out.
She whirled on him, instinctively covering her breasts with her hands. His face was stony, obdurate. But she could tell he was just playing the part. He wasn’t really the cruel master. Rather her partner in the game. Her game. Lust bubbled in her belly and she dropped her gaze, slipping into her role. “Yes Master.”
He tipped her chin back up. “Louder. I want to hear those words. See them on your lips.”
“Yes…Master.”
“Nice.” He kissed her but it was like no other kiss he’d ever given her. This kiss was hard, commanding. He sucked at her mouth. Thrust in his tongue. Possessed her.
Her mind spun, her body wept.
He stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest, observing her coldly. “Well?”
“Well?” Well, what?”
He gestured to her person. “Remove your clothes, slave.”
She shivered. For heaven’s sake. Why did she feel so vulnerable? He’d seen her naked before. Still, she trembled as she complied. It was difficult to slip the dress from her shoulders. Difficult to let it fall in a pool at her feet. Very difficult to remove her bra, one strap at a time.
Even more difficult to meet his gaze when she stood there, bare but for the wisp of her panties.
He stared at her with a hunger that made her heart hitch. The planes of his face were taut with it. His eyes burned. His nostrils flared. She felt the heat in his scrutiny as it skated over her exposed breasts, across her belly and down to her lace-clad cunt. She longed to cover herself but she didn’t.
“Turn around.”
She did. Slowly.
He exhaled in a hiss, stepped closer. His hot hand drew a line of fire on her ass. He massaged one cheek and then another through her panties. She jerked as he landed a little slap. It stung, but only a little. She reveled in the warmth.
“You are so beautiful, Shannon.” Boldly, he caressed her breast. He ended the stroke with a tweak of her nipple and she whimpered. His mastery felt so good. Fed something deep within her.
“Tristan?” She jerked as his warm lips caressed her nape.
“Yes?”
“These balls…they have to come out.”
He chuckled. “Well hell. I completely forgot about those.”
She smacked him. The wretch. She’d been in agony all day.
“Do you want me to do it?”
“No.” She didn’t snap. She never snapped. But she was so tightly wound, if he so much as touched her, she would lose all control.
“You’ll have to take off your panties too, I suppose.”
She shot him a scorching look and slowly eased them off. Dampness trailed all the way down her thighs.
She stood before him, completely naked, and spread her legs. Just spread them.
His face was etched with harsh lust that tightened when, with no prompting at all, the balls slipped out and fell to the carpet with a dull, heavy thud. The sensation, the relief, the ravaging hunger for more made her lightheaded.
His lips thinned, paled. His throat worked. “I want to see you in the chair.”
A skein of sizzling arousal snaked through her. She knew what the chair was for. She desired it and dreaded it. But she couldn’t hesitate. Would not disobey.
He led her there and seated her.
It was a very special chair. Hewn of wood, it had a high back and removable arms. The seat was split so her bottom perched on a small ledge. Everything—the globes of her ass, her breasts, her cunt—was totally exposed.
Tristan took his time arranging her, slowly lifting one arm and securing her wrist to the straps high above her head. He took his time, tasting and tormenting her. And then he did the same with the other arm.
When he finished, he stood back and inspected his work, relishing the vision of her, helpless and constrained as she was. He licked his lips.
Shannon sat there, arms bound overhead, and burned. The leather bindings at her wrists were not painful but they reminded her she was helpless. His captive. She tugged just a little to test them and a shot of excitement ran down her spine.
She couldn’t believe this was happening. Her fantasy coming to life…and with him! She couldn’t stop her hips from rolling as sheer lust washed through her.
“Ah ah ah.” Tristan waggled a wicked finger. “I didn’t say you could move. Hold still.”
“But…”
“No talking, Shannon. I’m the Master here. You will do as I say.”
He seemed so domineering, so indifferent, it startled her. For a moment, she was paralyzed with fear. But there in his eyes she saw him. She remembered. And she relaxed.
“Good girl.” He walked to the rough-hewn table and surveyed the implements. Her pulse thudded in anticipation. What would he choose? The whip? The strap? Or something more heinous?
He chose the feather.
Ah. Definitely heinous.
As he approached, a swirling ball roiled in her gut. Anticipation and dread and dizzying desire skirled through her. He stopped in front of her, running the feather through his thick fingers. Just stood there and observed her reaction.
Imagining what he would do with it, would do to her, had her crying out, tugging at her bonds.
Really. She really should change her mind. Perhaps…
But it was too late. Tristan brought the feather down and dragged the soft fronds against her neck.
“Ah!” She arched up, helpless against the sensation. She mewled in agony, not because it was too intense but because it was not nearly enough. It was barely there. He allowed the feather to drift down her chest and around the circumference of one breast. He tormented her thusly for a long time, never once touching her straining nipples. He tormented her until she squirmed in the chair, dampening it with hopeful passion. “Please, Tristan! Please.”
He paused in his ministrations—Shannon had no idea what he was doing because she’d long since closed her eyes—but then the sensation returned…only harsher.
Her lids flew open and she was stunned to see he’d turned the feather around and was using its quill to score the torment on her flesh. Liquid horror trilled through her as the quill traced closer to her nipple and closer still.
She almost
came out of her skin when it touched her, scratched across her aching nub.
The breath hissed out of him at her reaction. “Do you like that, Shannon?” And when she didn’t respond, “Do you?”
“Yes. Yes, damn you. Yes!”
His smile was wicked. He flipped the feather around again and repeated the torture on her other nipple. And then—oh heavens—the feather made its way lower.
Shannon wriggled and moaned, tugging at her bonds in earnest. She knew where he was heading. She couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t!
Determined to avoid the torment, she pulled her legs together. The feather froze.
“Shannon. Open your legs.”
She glared at him mulishly.
“Open your legs or I will have to bind them too.”
The hint of an orgasm wracked her at his words. She was helpless before him but not completely helpless. If he tied her legs apart, she would be utterly at his mercy. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t obey. Or maybe she just didn’t want to admit to herself what she really wanted, really needed.
Complete submission.
He shook his head and tsked, setting the feather down on the table. He returned to the chair and slowly unfastened and lifted one of the wooden arms. Though she fought him, he took her leg and slipped it far to the side and set the heavy arm back in place, securing her thigh exactly where he wanted it.
To her fascinated mortification, he did the same to her other leg.
Now she was completely restrained. Her hands were tied over her head and her thighs were trapped on either side of the chair. Splayed wide.
The realization made her quiver. He could do anything to her—anything. She couldn’t stop him. And she delighted in it.
He returned to the table. This time he brought the feather but he brought something else as well. A thick leather strap.
She swallowed. “What’s that for?”
He ignored her and began his torment with the feather once more, starting at the very beginning and making his way down her body in agonizing increments. First with the soft side and then with the torturous point. He ended at her cunt, rubbing the dampening feather back and forth against her tender flesh until she wept and begged and pleaded for more.
Her orgasm was almost upon her, hovering, imminent, when he stopped.
