by Logan Fox
“Good. That should be more than enough. Now, every time you strike your sub, her brain will confuse those pain triggers and translate them into pleasure instead.”
“She won’t feel sore?” Greg asked. His fingers lingered by her sex, absently tickling her. Pearl moaned.
“The pain will still be there. But… it will begin to feel pleasurable. Agony — closely followed by bliss. Too close to be distinguished.”
Greg’s next blow took her unaware. Pearl gasped loudly, her head jerking up.
“Remember to alternate,” Jarred said, raising his voice over Greg’s next slap. “And distribute your blows evenly, sparing some for this area—”
A strike to the back of her thighs. Amazing how she could instantly tell that it was Jarred who landed the blow.
“And this area.”
Pearl slipped away. Her mind frayed, snapped, set her free. Blow after methodical blow blazed through her. Her body began to tremble and quake. She could hear herself moaning. Other things too — words, barely intelligible.
“Yes, Master. Please, harder. More. Oh, God. Yes. It feels so fucking good.”
It couldn’t be her voice, obviously. Because she could still feel the pain of every slap to her ass. Could feel the heat growing, bubbling, boiling over her skin. The exquisite torture was driving her mental.
Then, as inexplicable — as unexpected — as rain on a sunny day, someone slid a finger inside her.
Pearl cried out, shivering violently. Waves of pure pleasure broke her over, tossing her in the frothy, furious water. Her head spun, her ears rang. That finger began moving in and out of her, almost in time with the blows striking against her ass.
“Excellent,” came Jarred’s voice from somewhere far, far away. It billowed, growing soft then loud. “Now let’s see if your sub will climax from your blows alone.”
That finger withdrew, leaving her feeling empty and unused. Pearl squeezed her eyes tighter shut. A tear trickled out from her eyes. Her lips trembling, mangling the words of praise she yelped out with every blow.
She ached, stung, tingled, throbbed, pulsed. Her entire lower body was on fire, the air ice cold against her scorched flesh.
That special place — her little den — beckoned hungrily for her. She slipped inside it, curled up, lost herself.
Surrendered.
A climax came — as blissful as a rising swell lifting a boat on the sea — and was gone.
Nothing existed except the drumming on her skin.
A disembodied voice. “Very good. Very good. Let’s see if she has another one in her.”
Seconds — years — later, another swell. Higher than the first. Her boat lurched, threatening to capsize, before steadying. She soared down, vertigo tugging at her as intense as gravity itself.
“Always feel free to experiment. She knows her safe word, and will speak it if you go too far.”
Safe word? What was that? She was already safe, cocooned as she was in her secret den. There was nothing in the world she wanted — needed — more than this moment in time.
A finger delved inside her again. No, not one — several.
Her voice sounded distant and alien in her ears.
“Yes, Master. Please… use me. Use me.”
“It’s time to bring her out,” Jarred said. “Remember—”
Greg’s voice cut him off. “Give me a number, slave.”
Slave? She wasn’t—
“Seven, Master.” She spoke the words without thinking about them.
“Count them.”
“One.” A stinging slap, followed by a deep thrust with those fingers. Whose were they? Jarred’s or Greg’s? Did it matter? It was ending, and she was overwhelmed with a sudden, intense melancholy at the thought. “No, please, ten. I meant ten,” Pearl cried out.
“Count, slave,” Greg said. His voice was stronger now. Deep and determined. As deep and determined as that cluster of fingers being forced into her. Another slap.
“Please, no! More!”
“Three…” Greg’s voice dropped.
Pearl sighed, resigning to that inevitable count down. She retreated, her body’s aches and pains welling up as she drew into herself.
“Four,” she whispered.
A slap. A hard thrust.
Five. Six.
A final, shattering blow.
“Seven!” Pearl yelled, tossing her head back. Her back arched as she shuddered, barely containing herself. She’d been on the brink of another climax, and she let out a heavy sob at the loss.
“Pearl?” Greg’s voice cut through her like a knife. She collapsed on the altar’s thin padding, her limbs numb and ineffectual.
“She’s perfect, initiate.” Those fingers withdrew. “But I’m sure you’re both in need of a final release.”
Greg’s voice was unsteady, hoarse. “Uh… do you want to—”
Jarred’s voice had a laugh in it. “No. I’ll leave you alone with your sub for a few minutes. Revel in this experience, and share yourselves. I’ll be back shortly.”
Fresh air moved past Pearl. Her body felt as tightly strung as a violin — everything inside her vibrated at a crazy frequency.
She heard the doors open. The sound was faint, muffled by the blood roaring in her ears.
“Are you okay?” came the furious whisper in her ear.
Pearl groaned.
“Pearl, say something.”
“Fuck me.” The words mingled with a groan.
“What?” Greg’s hands were on her wrists, trying to free her. “Shit, Pearl. I didn’t know it would be this—”
She jerked her hands away from him. “Please, Greg. Just fuck me. Hard. I need to—” the words dissolved into a low moan. She ached, every throbbing in her sex leaving her wetter and more desperate than before.
She let out a sob. “Please. I can’t—”
Greg exhaled loudly, slapping a hand over her mouth.
“Hush. Jesus, just… just stop.”
But she couldn’t. Her body yearned for that final release — it had been close enough to touch, to taste. And it had left a sweet, intoxicating coating on her tongue.
She forced her head up. Greg stood in front of her, a deep frown on his brow. She could see his cock tenting the front of his jeans, the delicate sheen of sweat on his temples. His chestnut eyes flashed over her face.
He bent down, touching his lips to hers. Pearl mewled against his mouth, trying to deepen their kiss. But he held back, letting only the barest surface of their lips connect.
She tugged her head away, furious at his teasing.
“Let me go, then,” she said, her voice tight. She yanked at her restraints. “If you won’t have the balls to fuck me, then just—”
A hand wove into her hair, tugging her head back. Pain sparked in her neck, down her back.
Greg was breathing hard, his lips parted, a flush on his cheeks. He stared down at her like he’d never seen her before. Like he’d been hunting for her his entire life.
“How…” he cleared his throat. “How can you keep doing this to me? You make me—” he cut off, running a trembling hand through his hair. “You make me feel like an animal, Pearl. Like a dog who’s smelled a bitch on heat. How—how am I supposed to—”
Pearl licked her lips. She did it slowly, enjoying every tickle of sensation it brought her mouth. Greg’s eyes flashed down. His shoulders hunched, a deep, low groan rumbling out of him.
“Not a dog…” she murmured. “A wolf.”
Greg grabbed the front of her throat. He was shaking, his jaw jutting forward, his lips still parted. Pearl could hear him breathing, each breath as rough and unsteady as the last.
For a moment, he just held her.
Tortured her.
Drove her wild.
She writhed in her bonds, whimpering up at him, trying to force him into action.
Greg’s mouth slammed onto hers. He drew at her, crushing her lips against his. Their teeth clashed and scraped against each other
. Then he drew away completely and released her.
“Greg?”
He slipped out of sight, stalking away like a tiger. Pearl twisted her head around, watching as he tugged his shirt over his head without bothering to unbutton it.
She faced forward, panting with anticipation.
Cool hands touched her stinging ass. He drew his nails over her skin, and she yelped. Greg yanked free the restraints over her waist.
Pearl rocked from side to side, letting out a sigh at her new freedom.
A knee touched her outer thigh. Another slid between her legs, prising her open. Pearl bucked, lifting her hips as much as her restraints allowed.
Greg grabbed her ass. She hissed, shuddering.
He touched the tip of his cock — God, it was so hot, as hot as his mouth had been — against her sex.
Bound as she was, she couldn’t thrust back into him. Instead, she had to wait. To wait for him to decide that he was ready to fuck her.
And it took too long. She was a panting, quivering mess by the time he forced himself inside her. She cried out, stiffening as she stretched around him.
And then he drew out, thrust in, tugged himself free; testing her to see how wet she was. How ready she was for him.
He slammed into her, again and again, seeming unable to control himself. Or to slow down. And with every thrust he went deeper inside her, as if he was mining right into her core, destroying every barrier he slammed into.
Pearl heard her strangled streams rebounding in the Earth. But she didn’t care. She wouldn’t have quietened down for anything — not even an audience less than ten feet away.
Greg’s wolf used her, forcing himself into her violently enough to encourage every scream. His own breath was a ragged, harsh thing. It scoured her back, bringing wave after wave of goose bumps out on her skin.
Fingertips found her clit. He began strumming her, urgent and hard.
Pearl’s screams evaporated. She gasped for air, her back contorting as she fought for control.
And then she lost it: control, air, every shred of dignity she ever had.
Greg was still pounding into her when an orgasm exploded into her. She jerked, her thighs tightening around his legs. Her scream of pleasure echoed around them. Warmth oozed out of her and trickled down her thigh.
His finger caught it, smearing it over her sex.
And then he came. Shuddering. Trembling. A tight growl grumbling out of him. His hands found her breasts, squeezing roughly at her.
He stayed like that for a long time: folded over her, holding her, his cock buried deep inside her. He became soft, and her muscles relaxed enough to let him slip free.
“Fuck, Pearl.” Greg let out a ragged sigh. “What are you doing to me?”
Greg helped her off the altar, both of them still quivering in the aftermath. Pearl massaged her wrists, trying to wring life back into them as Greg donned his shirt and began stuffing it back into his jeans.
“I’m sorry about this.” Pearl pointed at the altar, leaning against it with her hip. She was still trying to get her breath back.
“Jesus,” Greg murmured, buckling his belt. “Lucky for you I wasn’t blazed when they phoned. Else I wouldn’t have sounded very convincing.”
“What did they say?”
Greg gave a half-shrug, sliding his hand into the small of his back. “That you’d said I wanted to learn about impact play. Didn’t even know what the fuck that was, but I managed to keep a poker face. Realized it had to be coming from you.”
“I…” Pearl swallowed, and crossed her arms over her chest. “I have to leave. Soon. Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Greg ran a hand through his hair and glanced around the Earth. “God, this place is creepy,” he muttered under his breath.
“Greg.”
“Not tomorrow, man. I only got about halfway around the property before some guys in a SUV started trailing me. I figured I’d best fuck off before they stopped me to find out what the fuck I was doing.”
“They followed you?” Pearl’s arms tightened. A tiny spider of unease scuttled over her shoulder blades and down her spine.
“Just until I got onto the interstate.” Greg shrugged again.
He took a step closer, holding out his hands. Pearl watched him warily, turning her head to the side. As soon as he was close enough, Greg slid his hands over her arms, stepping up against her as he embraced her.
“We shouldn’t be discussing this now. What if—”
“It’s safe here. No audio. No witnesses.” Pearl twisted her head, laying her ear against Greg’s chest. She could hear his furious heart beats — they echoed her own erratic pulse.
“Wednesday. Okay, Pearl?” Greg stroked her hair. “When I leave today, I’ll take a quick detour. I have a feeling I know where that second exit is that you spoke about. I just want to make sure before driving through here in the middle of the night and not being able to find it.”
Pearl squeezed her eyes shut.
Wednesday? Tanner had said he wouldn’t call her again, not for a few days anyway. Maybe she could hold out until then. All she’d have to put up with were wolves. And Seth.
She had to get that keycard from Gia.
“Wednesday,” she murmured.
“Three a.m.,” Greg added, giving her hair another long stroke. “And if I’m not there, then they figured out our plan and took me out,” he said with a laugh.
Pearl nodded into his chest. He even smelled different today — as if he’d put cologne on before coming here. He squeezed her for a moment, and she felt his lips touch the top of her head.
“Did you like it?” she whispered.
Greg stiffened. He drew his lips away from her head and instead kissed her forehead. She looked up at him, glancing from chestnut eye to chestnut eye as he gazed down at her.
“I don’t know, man.” The words came reluctantly. “I… I don’t know.”
“It sounded like—” she began.
“I’ve never hit a woman.” He looked away, his mouth thinning. “Never wanted to. Never thought I would.”
Pearl moved her head back, frowning up at him.
“You weren’t doing anything I didn’t want—”
“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” He released her, stepping back with a finality that made her skin go cold. “You might have said this was all okay—” a wave of his hand took in the altar behind her “—but that doesn’t mean I did.”
“Greg—” Pearl reached out a hand, but he stepped out of reach, shaking his head.
“The sooner you’re out of here, the better.” His eyes were wide, his brows almost touching above his nose. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take, man.”
Pearl stared at him, mouth slowly falling open. Laughter burst out of her, cutting off when she pressed her fingertips to her lips.
“You can’t take anymore of this?” she repeated slowly.
She surged forward, stabbing a finger into Greg’s chest.
“You don’t have a fucking clue was this is, Greg. You can’t begin to understand what they—”
Behind them, those formidable doors swung open, skidding over the floor. Pearl knocked her wrist against the altar in her haste to turn around.
Jarred stood at the threshold of the Earth, hands behind his back. A shorter, bulkier shadow waited patiently behind him.
Seth.
Greg ran a knuckle down the small of her back.
“I’m getting you out of here, Pearl,” he whispered down to her.
Jarred strode forward, eyes fixed on her. Another touch to her spine. Pearl shivered violently.
Two days.
Another forty-eight hours… when he’d promised — promised — that she’d be leaving today.
“In two days,” she murmured.
He slid his hand down the curve of her waist.
“It’s just two days, Pearl. What can happen?”
15
Stay
Seth hel
d her back while Jarred led Greg from the Earth. There was a thick, uneasy silence between them, punctuated by sputtering candles, until Seth finally spoke.
“How’d he do?”
Pearl glanced at Seth. She stood, resting her hip against the altar, as they waited for Jarred and Greg to gain a head start. Apparently, it was not customary for a fox to be around a guest unless they were in the dungeon.
“I don’t know,” Pearl said. She was still sullen at the fact that Greg couldn’t whisk her away tonight. Angry that she had to spend another two days in this hell hole. “I can’t really tell slaps apart, these days. They all feel the same.”
Seth’s black eyes narrowed, but he lifted his chin and came around the altar. His hand closed over the top of her arm.
She let him steer her out of the Earth, casting a last look over her shoulder at the empty room.
Why did it always feel like there was someone watching? It didn’t seem to matter where in the Fox Pit she was, she always felt eyes on her. As if the very walls had a sense of life to them… a kind of anticipation.
What were they waiting for? What were they expecting to see?
She shuddered, hurrying beside Seth as he tugged her up the stairs.
A thin veil of cloud blurred out the sun. The labyrinth looked dark and brooding under the lessened illumination — the passages between the hedges narrower.
Seth told her to clean up — as he always did — and then disappeared from the den.
When Pearl was finished showering, she poked her head into the fridge and rummaged around until she found something edible.
Wincing as she lowered herself onto the sofa, she switched on the television and lost herself to an hour of alpha waves and flavorless pasta salad. Her eyes were just drifting closed — lulled by the monotonous droning of a talk show host — when she heard footsteps coming down the stairs.
She’d put her feet up on the sofa, her dress hitching to her hips, and one of the cushions stuffed behind her head. Which left her with a perfect vantage point of the stairs.
She’d expected Seth.
She hadn’t expected Caden.
Him being here, in a place she’d never seen him before, made her think for a moment that she was hallucinating.
