Pierced (Tall, Dark, and Handsome Book 2)

by JA Huss

  I’m working hard not to step outside my body and see this from above. Not to get a picture of what’s happening and how it looks. Not to judge myself. Or Myrtle, for that matter.

  Because as much as this is about me and her, it’s also simply about me. Period. Full stop. In the limited contact I had with my father as I was growing up, one thing he emphasized with unflagging commitment was that it was incumbent on me never to give up my power. He has, to this day, an extremely rigid perception of what it means to be in control.

  Ha. I wish he could see me now.

  I must actually laugh aloud, without intending to, because suddenly another smack! welts my ass and I bite into the pillow again.

  “Did I tell you you could laugh?” she asks. When I don’t answer quickly enough to satisfy her, she asks again, “Did I?” This time she grabs the leash attached to my collar and gives it a nice, healthy tug. It strains against my Adam’s apple and I cough.

  This seems to freak her out for a second, because she drops the tension on the chain and the next thing I feel is her hands on my neck. Not in a strangulating way, which for about half a second is what I expect, but in an attempt to remove the collar from around my throat.

  She unfastens it, slides it away, and then her hands are acting as the collar. A soft, sensual massage that loosens my spine, which has been, unacknowledged by me, tightening as we’ve gone along. I allow myself, for a moment, to relax into her touch.

  I wonder if she knows that she’s giving me as much as I’m supposedly giving her. That she’s offering me an excuse to let go. To release my grip on myself and be handled. Be manipulated. Be owned by someone.

  I haven’t had a romantic relationship in ten years. I’ve had encounters. Interludes. Distractions. But nothing close to approaching a relationship. The only enduring relationship I’ve had with a woman at all has been my time with Myrtle. That’s what’s causing this to feel so unusually intense, I suppose. This is the kind of thing you do with a lover or a partner. Not an employee.

  But Anastasia and Christian didn’t really have anything between them before he started working her over either. Their relationship was forged in the crucible of a red room. I wonder if the basement of this big cat sanctuary is the tipping point for me and Myrtle.

  Wow. There’s a sentence you really don’t think you’ll ever say.

  Maybe Eden was onto something. Not about me. I continue to want to think that I know myself well enough to know whether or not I’m in love with someone. But perhaps she was right about Myrtle’s feelings for me. The way she’s taking care not to hurt me too much. The way she’s caring for me even under the framework of making me feel shame. Maybe there’s something there after all.

  Oh, fuck. This could go sideways real fast.

  And speaking of sideways…

  She leans close to my ear and whisper, “I’m going to untie you so that you can roll over. Do not attempt to get off the bed. Do not attempt to touch me. Do not do anything I don’t tell you to do. Do you understand? You may speak.”

  “Yes. I understand.”

  “Good.”

  She straddles my back. The feeling of the latex from her boots, her powdered and scented flesh touching my ribs, and the warmth of her pussy through the shimmery panties touching my back is causing me to forget who I am. Who she is. Why we’re here.

  It may just be my imagination or the touch of the fabric on my startled and traumatized body, but I could swear she’s wet. She feels wet. She feels like she’s getting off on this as much as I am. I’m pretending that it’s not turning me on so that I can keep up pretenses. What’s to say that she’s not doing the same?

  She finishes untying both my wrists and I let my arms slide down in front of me. I’m splayed out on the bed, completely prostrate, totally vulnerable. I have no idea what happens now.

  She slides her crotch down my back, across my ass, and down my legs as she reverses off me and stands. She hits my ass with the paddle again. Delicately this time. Just a kind of reminder. Just enough to let me know she’s still there.

  “Roll over,” she says.

  “Does it matter which direction?”

  “On your back.”

  “Yeah, but left or right, or… I don’t wanna presume.”

  An almost impossible to detect smile is present in her answer. Almost impossible, but not totally. Not for me. I know her too well. “It doesn’t matter,” she says. “Just face me.”

  I choose to roll to my left. Seems like the correct choice. Once I’m completely onto my back, I catch her eyes behind the mask. Which is to say, I catch her staring at my rock-hard cock. I don’t know if she’s bothering to notice my eyes at all.

  I want to ask, What now? It’s almost compulsive, my need to have control. To know what’s happening. What’s about to happen. To have answers. I fight with my mouth to keep it from opening uninvited. I bite my lip.

  She stares at my cock. The droning, orchestral, bass-heavy music thuds on. I think my dick might be bouncing a bit, in time with the rhythm.

  Myrtle approaches the foot of the bed again. She lifts her paddle and presses it into my cock, forcing it to lie flat against my stomach once more. She shifts her head to the left and then to the right, studying it. Studying me. I still have my arms above my head. I grab at the headboard.

  “You have a nice cock,” she says. I don’t say anything. Because I haven’t been told to, and also because there’s a foot-long piece of wood that reads BITCH pressed against my junk and if I do something I’m not supposed to, I worry about what might happen.

  She lifts the paddle and my dick springs back to vertical. And now…

  Oh, Jesus. She’s climbing on top of me. She’s sliding up my body. Her panties are pressing into my bare dick. I’m less than a centimeter away from being inside her right now. What the hell is happening?

  “Do you want to fuck me?” she asks.

  I swallow, hard. I’m not sure if it’s a trick question.

  “I… don’t know,” I finally manage out.

  She closes her eyes inside her mask and nods, slowly. Then she reaches down beside her hip and unties one of the pieces of ribbon that was attached to a garter. She draws it out with both hands and stretches it taut. Then she leans over so that her mask is an inch from my face, and after that… I no longer see anything.

  She has me blindfolded.

  I am in the dark.

  I am in the dark.

  I am. In the dark.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - MYRTLE

  He thinks he’s so cute.

  So in control. So excited about what we’re doing. So expecting something good to come out of this.

  “It’s not gonna happen, Pierce.”

  I bet he’s furrowing his brow. But I can’t tell because of the blindfold. I only see his mouth. Slightly parted, breathing air in and out.

  I get why a man would be hard at this point. I am a goddamn sex goddess. I have manipulated him perfectly. Started out with just the right amount of tension, and fear, and pain. And in between each of those things I’ve allowed him to let his guard down. Let him think this has been what he’s been looking for his whole life.

  That’s how it started. But it’s not going to end that way.

  He wants to fuck me. Actually, he wants me to fuck him. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested. I am. But if all I’d wanted out of this last hurrah with my boss was an orgasm I’d have handled that at work. I’d have let him bend me over his desk or ambushed him in the parking garage. Waited until he got in his car and then climbed in his lap and fucked him with my back pressed into the steering wheel.

  He gave me his body tonight. He submitted that and did quite well. He still has his dignity. He’s breathing hard, but not too hard. He’s excited.

  But he never surrendered his mind. Not one bit. And this is all about mind games.

  “Why are you hard?” I ask him. “You may speak.”

  “Ahhhh… well, Myrtle”—he pauses to gri
n here—“you’re turning me on.”

  I wriggle against him, his cock so stiff and ready beneath my panties. “And do you think that was my purpose tonight, Pierce?” I accentuate each syllable, making sure my t’s and p’s are precise. “Do you think,” I say, “that was my goal?”

  I swear, I can see his eyeballs moving back and forth under the satin ribbon. Confusion.

  “You may speak,” I add, even though he’s not hesitating because he was waiting for my order.

  “I… feel like this is a trick question.”

  “It’s not. Now answer me.”

  “I want to say yes. But I have a feeling that’s wrong.”

  I lean down, pressing my lips up to the soft skin of his earlobe, and whisper, “So. Wrong.”

  He swallows. But his cock is still pressing up against my pussy. So hard. So confident that it will get what it came for.

  “I’m afraid you have missed the point of tonight’s lesson. So I’m sorry I have to do this.” Which isn’t true. Not even a little bit. “But you may not leave until the lesson has been learned.”

  “What lesson?” he asks.

  I pinch his nipple.

  “Ow! Jesus!” His hand snaps forward and grabs my wrist.

  I just stare at his touch. And it’s like he can feel the heat of that stare, because he withdraws his grip and places his hand above his head once more.

  I pinch his nipple again.

  “Myrtle!”

  “Did I give you permission to speak or cry out in pain?” And then I rub my pussy against his cock. Sliding back and forth along his hard shaft.

  He shakes his head and bites his lip.

  “You didn’t learn my lesson. Do you know what my lesson is?”

  He shakes his head again.

  “Well, I had three. One, that you learn to trust me. You did a fair job at that. For a first-timer. Two, that you submit. And you did that almost as well. You gave me your body. But it’s still a joke to you. A game. A—”

  “No, it’s not. I’m here. I told you that.”

  I should punish him for speaking out of turn. Another nipple pinch or get my paddle ready. But I have something else in mind and besides, these little corrections are getting boring.

  “That’s not true, Pierce. But it’s my fault. For not explaining things to you immediately. You see”—I scoot backwards so I’m kneeling between his legs. I take his rock-hard cock in both hands and begin to massage him—“when you’re in my dungeon, this cock belongs to me. And I never gave you permission to get hard.”

  “Wha—what? What are you saying? I don’t know that—I can’t—How—?”

  I smile now. A genuine, really big smile. Because the confusion on his face, apparent even from behind the blindfold, is so very, very satisfying.

  “I think you heard me just fine. But I’ll repeat it. I did not. Give you permission. To get hard.”

  I pause to let that sink in and give his cock a few more pumps with my hand.

  “And even though it’s my fault for not explaining the rules, I’m going to have to punish you for that.”

  Right now he’s imagining all the ways that can happen, but I’m pretty sure he’s imagining all the wrong ways.

  “Do you want to know what your punishment is? You may speak.”

  “Yes, Mistress. I would very much like to know.”

  I get up, off the bed, and walk around to the chest set up with my toys at the foot of the bed. I pick up my punishment of choice, which is quite scary-looking, if I do say so myself, and slowly walk back to Pierce. I lift the blindfold over his head and let it fall back on the pillow.

  He stares up at me, eyes wide.

  But still, there is a little hint of a smirk.

  I hold up my punishment. His eyes track to the stainless-steel device and then he squints, like he’s not sure what he’s seeing.

  I showed it to him last night, but I don’t know how much of what I said actually… processed.

  “This is a cock cage,” I say. “It helps you understand that last rule, Pierce.”

  “Helps me… you’re going to put that on me? Now?” He looks down the length of his body to his rock-hard cock. “That little… thing?” And then he laughs. “I’m sorry, but my cock won’t fit into that cage.”

  “Oh, yes, it will.” I turn the small key in the lock and open the cock cage. “Because I’m going to make it.”

  “Myrtle,” Pierce says.

  “Hmmm?” I ask, fingers fondling the stainless steel.

  “I have to wear that?”

  “Yes. It forces you to obey the rule.”

  I bend down and take his cock in my hand.

  He sits straight up, his hand on my wrist. I glare at him and he immediately withdraws his grip. “I don’t think I’m ready for this.”

  I look down at his still semi-hard cock. It’s a lot smaller than it was ten seconds ago, for sure. But… not quite soft. I can almost hear the ‘sacapuntas’ building in his throat. I push, just a little, to test. “You’re almost ready.”

  “Myrtle, wait. I get it, I understand. I swear. Mistress!” he says, loudly. “Mistress! I understand the rule. I’m begging your forgiveness. I will never disobey again, I promise!”

  And with that, all his excitement vanishes. “Oh, look,” I say, fondling his now soft dick. “You’re ready. That’s perfect.”

  “Mistress,” he starts again. “I am deeply, deeply sorry that I have offended you. I did not understand the… depth? Of your rule. And I regret that.” I place the cock cage near the top of his dick, getting ready to squish it inside. “And wait!” he says, voice an octave higher, slightly desperate. “Wait, wait, wait! I’m going to worship you now, Mistress. Show you the proper amount of… worshipness. I’m going to make it up to you. How can I make it up to you?”

  He didn’t use the safe word. He didn’t pull the plug on me. On this, I mean.

  I let go of his cock and stand back up. “Hmmm. Well… I suppose this is all my fault for not fully explaining the rules to you.”

  “No,” Pierce says. “No, it’s my fault for not thinking ahead, Mistress. All. My. Fault.”

  Oh, he’s such a quick learner. “You’re right. It is your fault.”

  “It is! Yes! My fault. But—” He swings his legs out of bed and drops to his knees. Pressing his face down to my shoe. Kissing it. Right on the toe. He looks up at me, eyes bright and pleading. “I understand now, Mistress. And I will never, ever disobey you again.”

  “Never?” I ask.

  “Ever,” he assures me.

  “Even at work tomorrow?”

  “What?”

  “Come up here, slave,” I coo, doing one of those little come-here motions with my pointer finger. “Come close to me.”

  He makes a face that might be a grimace. But he stands up and leans into me. I caress his broad shoulders, liking how his muscles feel under my fingertips. I lean into him now too. Right into his neck. Pressing my lips to the skin right under his ear. One hand goes to his cock and begins to fondle him.

  He sucks in a breath and starts muttering something. Some mantra to take his mind off what I’m trying to do.

  I admit that little coping mechanism makes me proud. I have a proud mistress moment.

  “Well,” I whisper into his ear. “That was very good, slave. Very good. So I’ll tell you what.”

  “Please… tell me something good, Mistress.”

  “I’ll give you another chance to show me you understand the rule.”

  “I will not disappoint you, Mistress. I promise.”

  “I believe you,” I say, stepping away from him, walking back over to the chest and putting the cock cage down. “I do. But tomorrow at work I’m going to test you. And if you do well, there will be a reward for you tomorrow night.”

  “A r-r-reward?” he stammers.

  “Mmmm-hmmm,” I say, panning my hand over the top of my devices all laid out pretty on the top of the chest. “A very nice reward for you.”
<
br />   He swallows hard and then nods his head. “I’m looking forward to pleasing you and getting my reward, Mistress.”

  I stare at him. Just long enough that he begins to shuffle his feet. “Very well. You may get dressed and leave, slave. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - PIERCE

  “Andrew. Psst. Andrew. Over here.”

  “Pierce? Where the hell—?”

  I poke my head out from around the side of the concrete column in the parking garage. I lower my sunglasses. I wave Andrew toward me. “C’mere…”

  “What the fuck?” he mutters as he makes his way over. “Dude? What are you—?”

  “Shhh.” I pat him up and down, grab for the phone in his back pocket.

  He swats at my hand. “Stop grabbing my ass! What’re you—?”

  “Shhh!” I hiss again. “I don’t trust that you aren’t bugged.”

  “Bugged?”

  “That Declan isn’t listening in on us.”

  “Dev?”

  “Sure. Gimme your phone.”

  “Dude…”

  “Gimme me your phone, bro!” I whisper-yell.

  A security guard comes wandering over. Great.

  “Gentleman, can I—? Oh, Mr. Chevalier. Mr. Hawthorne. Sorry, I didn’t realize it was… Are you all right, sirs?”

  “Yeah, Kenny, we’re fine. Just talking a little TDH business,” Andrew says. “Thanks.”

  “Oh…” says the security guard, whose name Andrew seems to know for some reason. “OK. As long as everything’s—”

  “All good, Kenny,” I say. “Thanks, Kenny. Appreciate the attention to detail, Kenny. Kenny. My man.” I point finger guns at him. He seems like the kind of guy who’d dig finger guns.

  “O… K,” he says, dubiously, for some reason. Odd guy. But then he’s gone.

  “I’m actually not sure his name is Kenny,” Andrew says. “Anyway… what the fuck is happening? Why did you bring me down here? Why are you Deep Throating me?”

  “What? ”

  “What what?”