French Kiss (Decadence Nights Book 2)

by Maddie Taylor

  “Yes, sir.” Her voice squeaked a bit in reply.

  This brought about a flash of Arturo’s white teeth and a glint of stunning green as his eyes crinkled. “Très bien. Then let the games begin, ma belle soumise.”

  Puzzled, and more than a little bit nervous, her brows gathered in question.

  “My beautiful submissive,” he explained before easing back a bit and angling his chin as he surveyed her naked body.

  Vulnerable and open to his exploration, he ran a finger down her midline. Beginning at her chin, he moved along her throat and across her breastbone. He smiled as her belly twitched and goosebumps erupted along her skin, brought on by the slow run of his fingertips as he circled and dipped gently inside her navel. He continued downward, over the slight roundness of her lower belly and beyond, to the soft tuft of curls which he combed through and tugged gently before gliding along the seam between her thighs. At the end of the road, he changed the angle and dipped between her pussy lips, grinning at her as she wiggled and squirmed, swaying as the chain clinked softly above her.

  “A few more restraints, I think.”

  More! She bit back her cry. It wasn’t in protest but more out of surprise, she was already fully under his control and feeling dazed from being powerless. It was truly wonderful and she didn’t know how much more she could take before coming apart.

  He held up his hands where she could easily see. Immediately, her nipples hardened at the sight of the stainless steel barrel clamps dangling from his fingers. They stood taut and at attention, practically begging for the rubber tipped vises. Breathing fast, she followed his every movement, as he pinched and rolled each point to readiness. As he opened the first clamp and bracketed the tip, waves shot down her belly to her pussy at the snug hold, it was quite nice until he turned the barrel, once, twice, on the third turn she hissed as the bite tested her limit. But like the sadist he was, it wasn’t enough for the evil dom, who gave it another half turn making her squeal.

  “Too tight,” she exclaimed, her back bowing further in reaction to the sharp, unrelenting pressure.

  “Breathe through the pain, Mari.”

  As she took deep gulping breaths, the harsh pinch soon leveled out to a steady ache that became bearable.

  “It’s been a very long time, sir,” she panted.

  “As I suspected. It’s why you aren’t wearing the Japanese clovers right now, which are my preference.” His finger rubbed gently over the compressed skin. “A thank you for my consideration would be appropriate.”

  The arrogance of the man amazed her, but she dutifully replied, “Thank you for going easy on me, sir.”

  A deep rolling rumble of laughter arose from his chest. “I wouldn’t go as far as that, minou.” Giving the clamp a little flick of his fingers, he grinned at the subsequent shudder and quickly indrawn breath before he moved to the other breast, repeating the exquisite agonizing process. “So beautiful, they are already deepening to a lovely, deep rouge.”

  Pinched, restrained, bent double and halfway suspended, even then he wasn’t done, bringing more of the mini suspension system overhead into play. Pulling down two straps, he deftly clipped the hooks onto the O-rings on the end of each barrel. He then reached up and the straps slowly tightened as if by a winch of some kind, pulling her breasts up by the nipples, not stopping until they tingled and ached. With the brush of his hand, he encircled the base of each elongated breast and squeezed, jiggling them enough to make her moan.

  He murmured, “Almost done and then we’ll play.”

  Already contorted and tethered, clamped and restrained, there were body parts yet untouched, and with his wicked bent and boundless imagination, she doubted that oversight would continue for long.

  “You are a sadist in truth, sir,” she breathed.

  “Mais bien sur, I wouldn’t lie about such a thing.” As he tapped on one of the straps, further tormenting her nipples, the golden flecks in his green eyes seemed to glow like the hot flames of a fire as they shifted to hers. “And no matter your denials, you crave what I can give you.”

  Dropping her eyes, she didn’t confirm or deny his assertion. Nor did she look up when the bed shifted again. That changed with the sudden thwap of leather on her inner thighs, first one then the other, followed by a sharper slap of what felt like a dozen searing tongues on her mound. Next, it licked at the underside of her breasts, evenly matched blows in quick succession causing her upper body to sway again in the restraints. Her lashes flew up and she sought the source of the delicious torment.

  Between her spread knees, Arturo knelt on the mattress calmly swinging a mini-flogger. He tipped his head to the side, watching as he repeated the pattern—thigh, thigh, pussy, breast, breast—but harder. The sequence then repeated in reverse, before moving up her body again, adding a few licks over her belly on the way to stroke over her breasts and nipples again. She would have arched into the pain, if she weren’t in that position already.

  As the lash moved back down her body, over her stomach and to the apex of her thighs she quivered in anticipation, moaning when he changed the angle and drew the flails in an upward fashion in a long glide along her slit. It turned into a guttural cry when his hand rotated and he applied a series of stinging whacks right across her fleshy lips, the thongs connecting with her protruding clit every time.

  Liquid flooded her pussy and she knew much more of this would make her come, and she needed that, badly.

  “Sir,” she implored raggedly, “please, may I come?”

  He grunted. “A very pretty request, but it would carry much more affect if your begging included something stronger from your sweet lips. Henceforth, no more sirs while we play, you will call me master, instead. C’est compris?”

  The word chilled her as effectively as dousing her with ice water. That and his movement that drew her eyes upward. A memory suddenly flashed in her mind of her and Derek reflected similarly in a mirror. She was bound and spread eagled on their bed as he moved above her. But this time, a dark head replaced sandy blond, a startling contrast against her fair skin as Arturo licked around her navel, dragging his tongue up the centerline and flicking each clamped nipple in turn.

  Derek’s hands had also played over her body, confident and determined, making her respond to the erotic pain. But they were light, where this man’s were dark, his fingers longer, and his more powerful, and stronger. Her husband’s shoulders hadn’t been nearly as broad and defined, and his back had never rippled the same way, with the muscles bunching and flexing under olive toned skin.

  Arturo demanded the same control that her husband had, deriving as much satisfaction in taking command of her body, and evoking a carnal response, it was the same intense pleasure she felt in relinquishing control and submitting fully to him. No, to Derek; until now, it had always been him. The fact that another could arouse her so fiercely, utterly dominating her, doing some of the same things to her that her master had, some of which she loved, others that she loved to hate, frightened her. Some of these were things that she and Derek hadn’t even thought to try until after being together for years, getting to know each other, becoming in tune to one another, and building trust and love.

  Now she was doing those things, feeling those same feelings, and responding the same way to a near stranger, one who aroused what she never thought to feel with another man, or a master. And, if she was completely honest, what frightened her the most was that what Arturo was building not only rivaled what she had felt with Derek, it surpassed it. Sophisticated, charming, confident, with years of experience as a dominant, added to the fact that he knew his way around a dance floor as well as a dungeon, compounded her worries. In her lonely state, she knew what would happen if he tested her limits, pushing her past her self-imposed boundaries and limitations to what she really craved; she’d be lost, again.

  What would happen when he left? He wasn’t from San Antonio; that was obvious. She had no idea what had brought him to Texas, but Stetsons and cowboy bo
ots didn’t suit him. Eventually, he’d leave and take her heart with him, bringing her back to square one, crushed emotionally, physically empty, and once again all alone.

  Her chest constricted painfully and she found it hard to breathe as her mind flooded with a sea of tumultuous emotions, gut-wrenching guilt, fear, and not least of all, unrivaled and potentially devastating desire. She wanted to stop. Now!

  “Yellow!” came her raspy and panicked cry.

  Chapter Nine

  Arturo’s head flew up. In the mirror, she saw him twist to follow the direction of her unwavering gaze. His frown, reflected in the glass was rife with concern before he looked down at her again. “What is it? Are the clamps too tight?”

  “No, it’s—” Her voice broke, quivering so much it was nearly incoherent.

  His face appeared directly above hers blocking out anything else. “It’s what, Mari? Talk to me. Is it your knees? Or your shoulders?”

  She shook her head, closing her eyes as tears began to blur her vision.

  “Non! Ouvre tes yeux!” He grunted sharply with frustration then switched to English. “Open your eyes, soumise, and talk to me.” His stern command left her no other choice but to obey. As her lashes came up, a tear overflowed and rolled down her temple. “Chérie,” he murmured in a hushed voice as his thumb swept out to collect the tear. “Are you truly frightened of me?”

  “No, no, it’s not you,” she replied hastily. “I’m afraid of myself.”

  “What? I don’t understand.”

  “You are too much for me, sir. I can’t—” Keep you at arms’ length like the others. But she didn’t tell him that. “You’re not like the others,” she amended, swallowing to hold back more tears. Her eyes shifted downward, focusing on the closely trimmed beard on his chin, unable to meet his gaze. She continued to herself, and I’m finding I don’t want you to be.

  He stared down at her. “Master. That was your trigger.”

  So perceptive. More tears escaped, falling faster than his thumbs could wipe away, tracking down her temple into her hair.

  “Ma petite,” he murmured softly, then began to release her, reaching above him for the nipple suspension chain first.

  “You’re ending the scene?”

  “Oui, you’re not ready for this.”

  “But I don’t want that, please.” It was the truth, but at that moment, when he’d demanded she call him… Well, she had wanted him to stop, to push him away, to be released and run back to her safe hidey-hole in Houston where nothing threatened her heart. Or aroused your body, or brightened your spirit, or made you feel alive again, an inner voice taunted.

  Confused and feeling like a fool, a sob broke free from her throat. She was driving away the first man who had the potential of truly satisfying her and melting the icy shields she erected around her heart since Derek.

  “Shh, who is the dom here?”

  “You, sir.”

  “That’s right. Let me get you free and we’ll talk.”

  No. She didn’t want that either. How could she explain what she was going through if she didn’t understand it herself?

  “I’m sorry, chérie, there’s no avoiding this,” was his warning as he opened one clamp. She hissed when the circulation flowed back into the compressed tips. Feeling his mouth on her, she almost begged him to stop, preferring the pain after the humiliation of the aborted scene than his tender soothing. But he shifted to the other breast, providing the same ease and she felt the stirring, the wanting, ignite low in her belly again.

  The next moment, he slid his arm beneath her shoulders and removed the neck support, while his other hand opened the pillory. Once free, he lifted her and gently settled her on her side, facing away from him, her head on the pillows.

  “I’m sorry.” Misery rang clear in her voice.

  “Hush. It’s my fault. I pushed you too fast, too soon.”

  “How could you have known?”

  He made a grunting sound. “Two plus decades as a dominant, the limits you set, a masochist shying away from pain. All were huge red flags. Not to mention keeping to yourself always, taking up with safe doms, different ones every week, or ones who are clearly not looking to commit. All the signs were there, ma chérie. In my arrogance, I thought—”

  “Don’t blame yourself. It’s me who is helplessly broken.”

  “Only bruised.” He tutted as he quickly unlaced the binder. “Using a private room for the first time didn’t help,” he added as if to himself, before muttering more in rapid French.

  “Please, I didn’t mean for it to stop. The position was too intense is all. I only called yellow, not red.”

  Free of all restraints, he rolled her onto her front and began massaging her shoulders. “I direct the scene, the beginning, middle and the end. We are at an end for tonight.”

  She nodded, more tears falling silently as he worked the stiffness from her joints. Long moments later, he gathered her into his arms and carried her across the room. She was being sent home, and she didn’t blame him. Twice now, she’d wimped out on him and ruined their scene. There were plenty of other submissives at the club who would suit him better and not fall apart by intermediate nipple clamps, or creative bondage, or a word, so common in the lifestyle that it was said hundreds—no, more like thousands of times—each night on the main floor. No doubt he’d tell Master Dex and he, in his disgust, would have her membership cancelled.

  Feeling like the worst submissive ever, she let out a broken sob and repeated, “I’m so sorry.”

  He stopped, and through watery eyes, she saw that he’d brought her not to the door, but to a large throne-like velvet chair on the far side of the room. Settling her onto his lap, he tucked her head beneath his chin and covered her with a soft blanket that magically appeared. “We are going to sit here and talk until we figure out what we could have done differently.”

  “This is all my fault.”

  “Stop. Knowing you were dealing with, as you Americans say, some heavy shit. I should have tread more cautiously, Mari, and for that I apologize.”

  She tipped her head back and peeped up at his face in surprise. He was unlike any dom she’d ever met.

  Once again, he easily read her expression. “I enjoy pushing limits, but not to the point of panic or beyond painful pleasure. If it is no longer pleasurable for you, I get no gratification out of that. The goal is mutual satisfaction, oui? Is that not your experience, ma petite?”

  She shook her head.

  “Explain, s’il vous plait.” It wasn’t a request.

  She shifted uncomfortably on his lap. His hand came to her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

  “If I am at fault for rushing things, you are equally so for withholding your feelings from your dom, and any past trauma.”

  “It wasn’t that,” she quickly corrected. “Derek was a good man. We loved each other, but in the beginning…” She shrugged, looking away, not wanting him to think badly of either of them for some reason. “We were young and new to everything. He was a bit impatient if I blew a scene, especially if it was something he knew I would enjoy. I was silly and naïve, and he turned out to be right. So, I learned quickly not to buck him on these things.”

  “You did scenes with him that made you ill at ease, pushing yourself to endure more, doing things you didn’t particularly want, just to make him happy, n’est-ce pas?”

  Once more, she moved restlessly, hearing it summed up for her, she realized she had more of a give-give relationship with Derek, than a give and take, which wasn’t particularly healthy as two of the shrinks so succinctly pointed out. No wonder she was so lost after he passed.

  “Let me make it clear, that I get no gratification out of anything I do with a partner if they do not get something out of it as well. Sometimes it is pain, other times it’s pleasure, and still others, like you and your Derek, it just fills a need to serve, please and be dominated completely, but I don’t get the impression that is what you want anymore.”

/>   “I did for a long time. I reveled in making a home for Derek and our children, keeping them happy, bending over backwards to please them, but when he was gone and my kids grew up and left too, I felt empty, my life bleak.” She blinked and another teardrop rolled down her cheek. “I don’t ever want to be so dependent upon someone again that I lose who I am. It’s taken me a long time to figure out that there is a me, who doesn’t revolve around others.”

  His hand moved upward, cupping her damp cheek, his thumb sweeping away the beaded droplet that followed the line of her jaw. “And that’s why you come here only to play, keeping others at a distance, picking partners who are not a threat to your fragile recovery.”

  Damn the man for being so discerning.

  “Not all BDSM relationships are master and slave, Mari. They are what the partners make of it. Some are 24/7 yes, but others still are only in the bedroom, or inside a club like this, or for weekends, then there are some that are a combination of all of them. That’s where communication comes in. If you did something you hated because you wanted solely to please me, I’d be most upset. And even though the dom in me feels I should be the center of my submissive’s universe, I know that is unreasonable. Two separate people coming together as one, giving and taking, fulfilling the needs of the other whatever they may be, and enjoying being together that’s what I see as healthy. Understand?”

  Liking what she heard, still, she hesitated. She wanted to be with him, badly, but could she keep from falling into that same old trap?

  “Part of my job would be helping you to grow and tackling the challenges with you to help you become the woman and submissive you are meant to be. Becoming more assertive and going after what you want, both in and out of the bedroom, for example. That doesn’t mean we would forego all concepts of D/s. If you wanted that, you wouldn’t continue to come here, seeking something to meet what is lacking in your life. For us to build a relationship, we would have rules, both of us, and hard limits that could not be crossed. If you disobeyed, you would most definitely face discipline, and I don’t think you meant to say that your submissive side wouldn’t enjoy the control I would exert in correcting your mistake, of taking you over my knee perhaps, or bending you over the bed and having you await punishment. Would that not make your body tremble and your heart race with anticipation?”