With one index finger, he tipped her face his way. As he searched her upturned face, he made his expectations clear. “I tire of having to repeat myself, sub. I expect prompt answers to my questions and obedience, is that clear?”
She blinked up at him, her cloudy-eyed expression revealing how much his stern directive affected her.
“Yes, sir,” she replied softly.
“Très bien. Let’s begin anew. Why have you been avoiding me, Mari?”
“I wasn’t—”
His warning frown stopped her. “Consequences for disobedience in your experience include what?”
“Punishment, sir.”
“And how was that carried out?”
“Withholding pleasure, most often.”
He arched a brow. “That is quite harsh. Were you not spanked?”
She flushed prettily as she nodded.
“I require to hear your lovely voice when you answer me.”
“I was spanked, sir, but not often as punishment.”
He smiled slightly in full understanding. “You enjoyed it, didn’t you, Mari?” A masochist would. “Still you have limits, I’m sure.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Some of which we will explore tonight.”
“No!”
His fingers tightened on her chin. She was out of practice to defy him so.
“Um, rather, I have limits, sir. I didn’t think to bring my list since I have played with Master Reyn before.”
“I hadn’t planned anything too extreme for a first session. However, since I haven’t had a chance to look at your file, we must negotiate, n’est-ce pas?”
“Yes, please, sir.” Her reply sounded relieved.
“Just so, there is the matter of my question, first. And when I ask for a third time, which is unprecedented, I urge you to recall our discussion on disobedience and reciprocal punishment, and in light of the fact that further prevarication will be deemed as defiance, I urge you to answer carefully. Why have you avoided me, belle Mari?”
“Because I didn’t think we had the same interests. You’re a known sadist, sir.”
“Yin and yang, a good match for the masochist that you are, oui?”
“Not anymore,” she blurted out, but then her eyes darted away. “I don’t want that. I don’t want pain. I like bondage and perhaps a light spanking, nothing more.”
“So you say. Then why list it at all? Which you did, at first.”
“But—” She blinked up at him wide eyed. “I thought you said you hadn’t read my file.”
“Master Dex mentioned your uncertainty.”
She shook her head, her delicate brows gathering in a frown. “I was confused when I joined, but not anymore. I come for light to moderate play, that is all.”
“And sex.”
Again, she glanced away, her fair skin unable to hide the slight blush that colored her cheeks. “Yes.” Her affirmative response little more than a whisper of breath.
His hand moved for the first time since they’d begun this discussion, which was proving both awkward and uncomfortable for her. In a slow sweep of his thumb, he brushed over the rosy apple of her cheek, watching with interest as her pupils dilated. He pushed on, glad that she enjoyed his touch. “What about submission? Is that also something you don’t want anymore?”
The beginnings of a smile tipped her lips, but it was fleeting and never quite took hold. “In this place, I doubt if that’s an option.”
“Ah, but there are sadists who aren’t dominant and by the same token, masochists who chose not to submit. Before we move forward, I’m asking you what you want.”
She closed her eyes as his thumb grazed along her lower lip.
“Eyes on me,” he ordered. As her lashes flew up, her rapid response, the rush of indrawn breath, and the flutter of the pulse in her throat told him more than any words possibly could. Yes, indeed, his little masochist in denial was submissive as well.
“C’est vrai ma bonne fille, I prefer that you not hide anything from me.”
Her brows gathered for a moment. “My school girl French is twenty years old, I didn’t catch that.”
“Pardon, Mari. I said that you’re my good girl.”
He smiled slightly as she flushed with pleasure at the slight praise. He almost hated to take that away from her.
“I should qualify that by saying, parfois, which means sometimes, when you aren’t stalling and forgetting your manners. As an experienced sub, you know how to address your dom, even one for a night.”
Her mouth rounded prettily as she realized her error. “I’m sorry for the disrespect, sir.”
He nodded in acceptance of her apology before stroking his fingers down the side of her cheek. He felt her tremble as she leaned into his tender touch as though starved for affection. It stirred the protective side in him, as well as his indignation, that such a gentle soul was going without something so basic as a caring touch. That was not something she would lack, while in a scene with him. But the unguarded moment passed, as her brain seemed to switch back on. She tensed and with great reluctance pulled away.
His hand wrapped around her neck and with slight, but insistent pressure, drew her nearer. “French lesson number one, embrasse-moi, ma petite. That means kiss me, little one. Lesson number two is baiser-moi, which means fuck me, which you will be screaming before the night is out.”
He lowered his mouth, but at the last moment she turned her face away. “Please, sir. I prefer not to kiss on the mouth. It’s too intimate.”
Shocked, he raised his head. What the fuck? Pulling her face around, he searched her troubled blue eyes. A range of emotions flickered through him, first anger, then annoyance, taking serious offense, but when he looked deeper and saw the shadow in her eyes, he remembered her loss and from what Dex had said, her ongoing distress.
“It’s to be cold and impersonal then? That is how you want it?”
“Not cold, sir.”
With a faint smile, he searched her face for a moment before inclining his head. “So at odds with yourself, aren’t you? So be it.” He turned her to face the cross. “Strip off everything, Mari. I am anxious to get started.”
* * *
The silicone lashes cut through the air with a whoosh then connected with a resounding thwap as they struck bare skin. A hot sizzle of fire flared out across both of her cheeks as she arched in reaction. Her head flew back, hands fisted as her nails dug into her palms. Drawing up tight like a bow, her legs tensed and her toes curled inward. Her pelvis arced forward bringing her hipbones into contact with the hard, unyielding wood of the cross allowing no retreat. She remained that way, poised tense and quivering, but only for an instant before unbelievably, against all semblance of self-preservation, she relaxed and presented her ass, back and thighs for more.
It had been the same through at least two dozen lashes.
“Ma gamine, tu es magnifique!” Although the deep voice murmured incomprehensible words, his tone was unmistakably approving. “I believe you can take more.”
Breathing deeply, Mari opened her half-lidded eyes, but didn’t answer, although a definitive yes echoed in her head. He hadn’t posed a question, so being the good submissive that she was, she remained silent, savoring the exhilarating sensations coursing through her body. There was a pause as he walked away for a moment. When he returned and the next stroke fell, she hissed in a breath, as a delicious tremor wracked her body. True to his word, the bite was different, sharper… and much, much more.
She twisted her head trying to see what had replaced the silicone flogger.
“Eyes front, ma belle.” The quiet command in his low husky voice compelled her to turn around as more delicious heat exploded across the lower curves of her cheeks.
With a carnal groan from deep in her chest, she obeyed, resting her forehead against the cross as her body processed the intensified pain. Behind her, he waited, allowing time for her body to assimilate each exquisite nuance before whipping her again.
Master Arturo was good, as skilled as the whispered rumors had implied, for he didn’t rush the next lash, knowing too soon wouldn’t allow her already excited nerve endings to respond quite yet. Instead, when the ache reached a stunning plateau, then gradually receded to the point where she craved more, only then did he strike again. A novice would not know that he must wait in order for her to experience it to the fullest, only a skilled master would. What’s more, he would crave it himself.
Three more lashes with pauses in between, then she heard him cross to her other side. She angled her head enough to catch a glimpse as he took his stance, pulled back his left hand, and let loose. She gasped as the twin tails of what she recognized now as a leather quirt landed across both cheeks with the same searing force and intensity as it had with his right. He was ambidextrous, equally skilled with both hands. Her heart thrilled at the possibilities. This was a very unique dom— No, she should call him what he was, a unique sadist, unrivaled by any other she’d been with, even Derek.
No! She wouldn’t think it.
This was the exact reason she had sought to avoid him. Damn, Master Dex for putting her in this position.
For as long as she’d been aware of her unusual desire for pain, it had been this way. She wanted more, another bite of harsh leather, another slap of rigid wood, a sharp smack, slap or spank of a hard hand, a rigid cane, or a cutting whip on her quivering flesh. Others would have pleaded for mercy by now, but not her, a true masochist needed the tactile intensity, beyond that of what others found acceptable, to truly find satiation.
Her master had known that about her and was always the one to say when enough was enough. Random players at a club, strangers, wouldn’t know that. In part, this was the reason she restricted her play to moderate pain. Too much with someone who didn’t know that about her, who didn’t know she was unable to shut it down when she slid into sub space, could be dangerous.
The other part was the danger to her fragile heart. She couldn’t live through the agony of losing another master. It would kill her. The last time almost had, so she vowed to satisfy herself, as best she could, with random partners, but no sadists like Arturo Durand.
After tonight, no more. He was too damn dangerous. But, as long as she was here, strung up and under his masterful lash, she could enjoy what he was dishing out, couldn’t she? For tonight, just this one time. So she took more. Savoring the bite as the twelve-inch twin tails descended again, and again.
As he halted briefly, checking in, running a broad hand over her abraded skin, then humming a sound of approval before stepping back, she took stock as she waited, trembling in anticipation of the next stroke.
Around her, everything was muted, but she was still aware. She could hear the low moans and harsh cries of the other submissives receiving both pleasure and pain, the crack of whips and paddles, and the metallic ring of rattling chains. Her other senses were still functional. When she inhaled, the pervasive scents of leather and raw sex were easily identifiable, and when her lashes fluttered open, the spanking bench next to her was crystal clear as was the bright red ass of the male sub who was getting lick upon lick from his mistress’ heavy hand.
Like the other subs, she was highly aroused, more so than she’d ever allowed during a scene at the club, and under Arturo’s expert hand so very close to flying, but not quite. If she were in that dreamlike euphoric state, she wouldn’t have appreciated the jarring discord of Metallica’s ‘Enter Sandman’ that blended well with the ambient BDSM noises around her. Yet as the quirt fell again, along the lowest curves of her ass, she knew the endorphins were rushing through her body. Her limbs were beginning to feel floaty and although she knew from the sound of the blows that Arturo hadn’t let up, not the least little bit, the blows were beginning to merge into a tingling, buzzing, warmth. It was also travelling inward, converging on the hypersensitive recesses between her legs. It wouldn’t take much for her to give into it and soar, fly high into sub space, but she didn’t dare let herself go over the edge.
Another sharp lash of the quirt pushed her near, but she held on, curling her nails into her palms to check herself. She should end it before it was too late, before he achieved the severity that she needed to send her over the top. But it felt good, really good, and she’d missed this so much. So, she let it continue.
However, in an attempt to reduce the impending euphoria and quell the endorphin rush, she turned her thoughts to mundane things, the sale at her shop that weekend, the dry cleaning that was due to be picked up, the long drive home sitting on leather seats while her ass cheeks were on fire.
A particularly stinging stroke landed across her upper thighs and redirected her back to the scene. She hissed on an indrawn breath at the blaze of pain it had ignited and the exquisite pleasure.
“I’m glad to have your attention, ma petite. Am I boring you?”
She shook her head, catching her lower lip between her teeth to keep from crying out. Not from the pain of it, although it was there, but in her alternately wired mind, what she steeled herself against was crying out and begging him for more. More of what she hungered for, had craved to the point of desperation, and had been missing from her life for so long.
The quirt landed once again in the same spot, pushing her closer to the edge where euphoria waited, glistening on the horizon like a beacon, leading her to the place where she was beyond pain, if that even made sense. Not only physical, but also where emotional and spiritual pain existed no longer. It was a state of sublime being, an incredible ecstasy as strongly compelling as the most addictive drug.
“Again, I find I am repeating myself.” This was spoken low in her ear as he leaned into her back. Her head was drawn back the next second as his fist wound into her hair. She found herself looking up into hypnotic green eyes. A dark brow quirked as he waited. “I asked a question, Mari.”
While nearly tongue tied by the dominance he exuded, she felt a little tickle begin on her inner thighs as her abundant juices long since pooled in her pussy, began to spill over. She shifted, ever so slightly trying to gain some relief, but her legs were too wide spread.
Stifling a groan, she gave her breathy reply. “No, sir. I’m definitely not bored.”
His lips lowered and took hers, his tongue plunging inside, claiming every nook and cranny, every deep recess, before he let her go. With a wink he smiled. “We’ll push on then, hmm?”
As he stepped back, she blinked, stunned by the kiss. He’d forgotten, or had he? Her heart raced, pounding hard in her chest wanting him to come back and give her more, but fearing where it would lead as well. Overwhelmed by her reeling emotions, ‘yellow’ was on the tip of her tongue just as another stroke caused the rippling need to surge higher.
She could take more, much more. If left up to her body, she would beg him not to stop, urging him not to let up and taking what she so desperately wanted. Just a few more lashes, an inner voice bargained, or perhaps an even dozen, but another voice, one of reason, overrode all else in her mind and told her to shut it down—fast—before he moved her beyond the point of no return, going past that boundary, as she had with her master, who she loved, trusted and consciously surrendered herself to after years together. Whom she built her whole world around and yes, became dependent upon. To do so again with another man, was foolish, too perilous to her fragile mind, and the thin hold she maintained on her sanity. To go there again would mean submission, which she wanted, but also exposed her to abandonment, more heartache, and unbearable loneliness.
Because despite a vow to be there forever, it was a lie. It wasn’t true with her father, and it hadn’t been with Derek, both of whom had been taken from her in the blink of an eye, and it could be the same with another man. She couldn’t allow it to go on.
“Yellow,” she called out, slightly panicky.
Immediately, the leather tails stopped their relentless motion. When his warm hand touched her back, she stiffened.
“Too much, little sub?” Rich a
nd smooth, his voice was like velvet as he spoke close to her ear.
“Yes, sir,” she breathed, as a delightful shiver of wanting ran through her.
Fingers lightly traced over her hip, gliding down and around to her spread thighs in front. She couldn’t hide the proof of her body’s response as he dipped two broad fingers between her lips held wide for him by her bound position.
“Your body tells me otherwise. You’re drenched.” He lingered there, stroking the hard bud at the front of her slit.
“Yellow, sir,” she insisted in a choked voice.
“I’ll ease off, switch to the deerskin, I think.”
“No!” She dared to deny him with cold edged desperation. More was not an option. At her limit now, a few more strokes would trigger the voracious need inside her. Like a crack addict searching for that next fix, she’d be undone. “No more impact, sir. Please. Will you fuck me, instead?”
“Are you sure, petite? You were just a few strokes from flying.”
“I’m sure.” Adjusting her tone to one that she hoped sounded respectful, she made it clear how certain she was. “I’m afraid it’s fucking or I’ll have to say red.”
“I was warned you were a stubborn one, but I didn’t believe them until now.”
When the quirt hit the floor, she almost changed her mind, but she didn’t dare.
“I thought I might succeed, where others have failed. That I didn’t is a blow to my overinflated dominant’s ego.”
The long rasp of a zipper told her he was packing his bag. She closed her eyes. The insulted doms usually got angry, released her, and left her pussy aching at this point, but she didn’t think Master Arturo was like any of them.
Disappointment flagged her energy and her head bowed. “Please don’t go, sir,” Mari begged.
French Kiss (Decadence Nights Book 2) Page 5
