Enamored

by Shoshanna Evers

“What’s your name?” he asked in English, testing her.

  “Jade,” she said, her accent very thick. Clearly it was a fake name and that was fine by him.

  “Good girl, Jade.” He held up the rope, then held up the whip again. “Okay?”

  She looked frightened, which got him hard, damn his kinky fucking cock. But Jade was a professional, and he’d been assured she was well versed in the world of BDSM. The frightened look on her face was part of her act, he knew. He could tell that she was able to sense that he’d get off on her playing the role of the innocent, when she was so clearly not innocent. Not this vixen.

  “Okay,” she said. She touched the whip like it was a poisonous snake and giggled like a school girl. “Okay.”

  He could so easily end the charade right now by talking to her in her native language. He could set up safewords and hard limits and do everything just like he did in New York. But tonight, he wanted something different. He wanted Jade to pretend to be new to this, to sob when he punished her, and to come when he made her. She’d be paid well for the night—enough to leave the business for a while if she chose to. But from the fading marks already on her skin, he knew she’d continue on in the water trade, as they called it here. She was an entertainer.

  Another pretty euphemism for a pretty girl doing a dirty job.

  Roman picked her up and laid her on the huge bed in his luxurious hotel room. While her mistress had preferred he stay at her brothel and take care of business there, he didn’t want to be surrounded by the other girls in the other rooms with men who didn’t have his same tastes. He wanted her to himself. And money talks, way better than any request he could make in Japanese. So he handed Jade’s mistress, her pimp, he supposed, his business card and a wad of cash—American dollars. The woman bowed low and let Jade travel back with Roman to his hotel. He was to return her by morning.

  “Do not scar my pretty girl,” she warned him, in English. “She is my best.”

  “I would never,” he promised.

  Roman took his time practicing shibari, his Japanese rope-bondage skills. He pulled Jade’s arms behind her back until her elbows touched, and she moaned as he bound her slowly, carefully. It was about the journey, this time, not the final result. Winding the ropes around her wrists and elbows, all the way up her arms, until she was completely unable to use her arms, especially for balance. That would come into play soon.

  His cock was so hard it was painful, but he didn’t want to waste the sexual energy. Instead, he put it all into binding Jade, making her even more beautiful with his rope.

  He wrapped the rope around her breasts, which were tiny but pert, the brown nipples seeming to take up more space on her small frame than they should. Her long, jet-black hair proved useful and became part of his restraint as he used the rope to tie her hair behind her head, attached to her breasts. If she turned her neck or moved her head, the ropes around her little breasts tightened, and she moaned some more. The universal sound of erotic pain and pleasure mixing into one delightful sound.

  “Beautiful,” he said.

  She bowed her head instinctively, and gasped as her bindings tightened. Roman laughed with excitement. This was turning out even better than he’d hoped.

  “Okay?” he asked, checking in. No need to have what should be an enjoyable evening turn sour.

  But the girl just smiled and said, “okay,” careful this time not to nod or bow her head, he noticed. She was a quick learner.

  “Don’t move,” he warned. Whether she understood him or not, she didn’t have much of a choice. Taking another coil of rope from his bag, he attached one end to the far side of his suite as she watched with undisguised interest, her almond-shaped eyes wide.

  He’d tied thick knots in the hemp already, every half a foot or so. Still, the rope was long, very long, and he stretched it out to the other side of his master suite, pulling the girl to standing and checking the height to be sure that when the girl was on her tip-toes, it would reach the junction of her pale white thighs.

  Knotting the rope to another piece of furniture, he looked back at what he’d created. A rope stretched across the room, filled with knots. And at the perfect height to torture—and hopefully pleasure—his companion that evening.

  With ease, for she was light as a child—he lifted her up, and she spread her legs as if she knew exactly what he wanted from her. He set her down at one end of the rope line, and she stood on her tip-toes, falling off-balance with her arms tied behind her back, her heels dropping so the weight of her body pressed against the rope.

  “I’m going to be nice to you,” Roman said, smiling. He pulled out a bottle of lube and carefully lubricated the length of the rope so she would get slightly less friction. Still, it had to be an interesting experience for her, one she’d clearly not been through before. She stood motionless until he brought out the whip once more.

  When Jade saw the whip, she whimpered and stepped forward, the rope sliding between her legs, rubbing against her clit. He gave her one light lick with the whip, carefully pulling back at the last second so she’d only feel the slightest sting from it. It was enough to make a red line, but not too terrible.

  “Walk,” he said in Japanese.

  She bowed her head in acquiescence and moaned as her breast bindings tightened, then stepped slowly forward. She moaned with pleasure as her clit hit the first raised knot in the line, and stopped. He lashed at her back again, and she immediately walked forward, the rope running mercilessly between her legs. The girl tried to tip-toe but quickly tired, especially since her balance was off with her arms tied so tightly behind her back. With her feet flat on the floor, she whimpered with every step, until Roman felt the urge to take her off the rope and fuck her.

  But no, that wasn’t going to happen, not yet. He wasn’t done with her. She’d be walking the line for a very long time before he’d let her go. Every time she slowed or stopped, he gave her a quick lash of the whip. She screamed, then looked around in horror, as if mindful of the fact that they were in a fancy hotel, where screams were not allowed.

  Not like in her brothel.

  “Naughty girl,” Roman said, smiling. He picked up a ball gag. “Okay?”

  “Okay,” she said, breathless, and she opened her mouth wide. He’d put that pretty mouth of hers to good use later. For now, he enjoyed seeing her jaw stretched wide open. It would ache before long, and once she’d made herself come from walking across his knotted line, once her pussy was rubbed raw and her arms were aching and her breasts were bruised and purple from her bindings, only then would he untie her.

  It took her almost half an hour of walking back and forth, or rather, forward and backward, before she came so hard that her shaved cunt squirted thin liquid come all over his hemp rope.

  Pleased, he lifted her off the rope and she dropped to her knees in exhaustion, her head bowed, her breasts no doubt feeling the pain since they were tied to her hair.

  “Don’t be scared,” he said, and pulled out a knife. The look of fear that crossed her face was real this time, and some twisted part deep inside him relished it, although he loved women and would never harm one.

  Hurt, with consent, yes. Harm, never.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered, and cut the rope off her breasts. The sounds she made were muffled by the gag as the blood flowed back into her breasts, bringing on a new form of erotic torture. He was careful not to let the blade touch her skin, and when he undid her ball gag, she bent low and kissed his feet.

  “How are your arms?” he asked in English, touching them gently.

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  He felt the tips of her fingers, feeling for a chill that would indicate poor circulation. He’d wrapped her well, however, and her fingers were still warm. She could remain in the uncomfortable bondage for a bit longer.

  Slowly, Roman unzipped his pants, and pulled out his cock.
He sheathed it in a flavored condom that Jade’s mistress had given him, warning him that officially, coitus was not allowed—but oral sex, sodomy, other things . . . those were allowed. Sex acts, but not vaginal intercourse. The Japanese government certainly had a strange way of avoiding prostitution.

  He didn’t need words when she saw his cock, she shuffled closer to him on her knees, nearly falling over without her arms to help her balance, which made her giggle nervously.

  “I want to fuck your mouth,” Roman said, and looking at the pretty Asian girl on her knees before him, he promised himself that he would watch her the entire time. He would not close his eyes and pretend that it was Elisabeth’s mouth on him, as he’d made a bad habit of doing when he was with other women.

  Marc had been right. It was time to move on. All he needed was a woman who could turn him on, and submit to him willingly, and he’d be able to. Eventually.

  When Jade sucked his cock full into her mouth, he tangled his hands in her shiny black hair and pulled her even closer, delighting in the way she gagged but kept going.

  “Very good,” he murmured, and pulled all the way out before thrusting deep inside her mouth again, going down her throat, fucking her mouth so thoroughly that he could hear her steady breathing through her nose as she fell back on her training. The blow job was superb, and when he finally came, his come jetting into the condom in her mouth, it wasn’t Elisabeth he thought of. It was of the recent memory of Jade, coming, squirting her juices over the knotted rope between her thighs.

  Now that, he thought with satisfaction, is progress.

  Going to Japan had been a good idea. He was in no hurry to get back to New York, at least not yet.

  With his painful erection relieved, he could slow down and spend more time focused on the beauty at his feet.

  He untied her arms as slowly and carefully as he tied them, massaging her aching muscles, then laid her back on the large bed.

  “Okay?” he asked.

  She nodded, but pointed to her asshole. “Okay.”

  Roman laughed. It wasn’t often that a woman said she wanted it up the ass, but it made sense with Japan’s laws. “Very well.”

  He took the rope and took his time, tying the flexible girl with her legs up by her ears, so her asshole lay open and welcome to him, and she was completely immobilized. It took a long time to tie her up in a way that was both functional and beautiful, and he stopped often to admire his work.

  “Very nice, Jade,” he said, and with that, he lubed up another condom and rammed himself inside her ass, holding his hand over her mouth to stifle her wails of pain-pleasure.

  Inside her, he remembered to keep his eyes open, to acknowledge that this was not Elisabeth, and that he was still having fun. From the amount of times he made pretty little Jade come, she was having fun as well.

  She went back to her mistress in the early hours of the morning with more money than she’d earned all year. In Japanese, which she thought Roman didn’t know very well, she had told him that she wanted him to keep her.

  But Roman wasn’t ready to keep anyone, not yet. It would be a while before his heart would heal. In the meantime, he was ready to have more fun.

  One thing his lovely Jade princess had taught him—there were other fish in the sea, and other women out there who liked how his twisted brain worked. Yes, he was a sadist, but someday he might be a sadist who could love someone other than his best friend’s wife.

  Lauren couldn’t stop looking at the palm trees, the sun shining on her face. It was so easy for Marc to say, “Let’s go to LA,” and then make it happen immediately. The five-hour fight went by quickly in the corporate jet. He’d even hired a pilot instead of flying them himself so he could spend some quality time with her on board.

  How strange to leave New York at noon, fly for five hours, and then arrive in LA at only two in the afternoon because of the time difference. They’d had a lovely late lunch by the ocean, listening to the sound of the surf and eating ceviche together, then Marc had some work he had to do back at the hotel—which suited her just fine.

  She needed to spend some time away from Marc, even if just to go out for a walk by herself. Maybe he needed time apart from her as well, after she told him she couldn’t be happy without being a Domme. For a man who was used to being able to give everyone anything they desired, that must have been quite a blow to his ego.

  Money couldn’t buy what she wanted, what she needed.

  Still, holding his Black AmEx in her hand, she figured a little retail therapy couldn’t hurt. Lauren went to a famous leather store she’d always wanted to visit but never had the chance. Los Angeles had some amazing shopping. So did New York, of course, but LA was a different experience. Even the leather gear had a flair to it she didn’t often see. She browsed the incredible pants, the corsets, the hoods that were an interesting prop when used with a sub. Once she had hooded a male sub, took away his hearing, his eyesight, his ability to talk, or even to smell, and all he could do was anticipate . . . and feel. It had been one of her more memorable nights as a Domme at the club.

  Ooh, pretty riding crops.

  She fingered them carefully, turning her attention from the costumes to the implements. Suede floggers, long-tail whips—this place had everything a kinkster could want as long as it was made of leather. They even had a back room with leather furniture. Not La-Z-Boys, of course. Spanking benches, swings, that sort of thing. And to think, she could buy out the whole store right now if she wanted to . . . The credit card in her hand, along with Marc’s insistence that she spend as much money as she wished, was at once irresistible and mind-boggling. If she spent too much of his money, would he think of her as just another woman after his fortune?

  No, not Marc. He knew her too well. She’d been around him and the BAD Boys long enough to know that money didn’t buy happiness—but it could buy a good time.

  Hell, it bought them a vacation to LA on a whim.

  Since this might be her last chance to have some of the nicer things she wanted to own, she carefully chose a pure, supple black leather outfit that made her look exactly like the Domme she wanted to look like. The pants were so tight she had to powder her skin to get them on, fortunately, there was actually a zipper that ran along the seam between her legs, to make herself accessible as needed.

  Might help when she needed to go pee, too. Lauren giggled and folded the pants over her arm, not bothering to look at the price tag. It would only make her feel nervous about buying them.

  Next, a gorgeous corset with almost-Madonna-style conical breasts, although not quite as severe. Somehow, on her curves, they looked just right. Sharp, distinct. She’d never seen a top like it before, and that little voice in the back of her head told her that this could be her last chance to afford it. She didn’t look at the price of that, either.

  Finally, new boots with platform stilettos that made her tall and made her legs look insanely long, but didn’t hobble her. She loved them. They were shiny, black, and came up to her mid-thigh. Almost a pity to cover the new pants with them, so she added a form-fitting miniskirt to her wardrobe that she could wear with the boots as well.

  What would Marc think when she showed up back at the beachfront hotel with a bunch of Domme-wear?

  Well, at least he’d know how she really felt. She could submit to him, but could he submit to her? Tonight they’d find out. Being on the other side of the continent, away from the BAD Boys, away from WhipperSnapper, might make Marc more willing to experiment sexually.

  Please, Marc. Let me be a Domme. Let this work.

  Marc closed his laptop and looked through the clear glass balcony railing to the crashing waves of the Pacific Ocean in the distance. The beachfront hotel suite was a nice change of pace from his home office in his penthouse in Manhattan. Sure, that overlooked the city lights, but being able to hear the ocean and feel a breeze on his head invi
gorated him. He felt ready for anything.

  Almost anything.

  Marc knew he couldn’t give Lauren what she wanted—he simply couldn’t. He enjoyed watching her dominate others, but there was no way he wanted her to dominate him. Even if he did let her, it would be un-enjoyable for him.

  Right?

  He tried to imagine himself kissing her boot, or tied to the Saint Andrew’s Cross as she flogged him. All good Doms knew what a flogger felt like, at least from a few practice swings, but that didn’t mean that he would get off on it. But if that was the only way to give Lauren everything she needed to be happy, then who was he to deny her?

  A Dom—that’s who. Damn it. He couldn’t say yes, it would undo all the hard work he’d already done to get her to submit to him.

  This was a situation that Roman might be able to help him with. Roman—for all his lack of relationship experience—had a good head on his shoulders when it came to D/s scenarios.

  Marc counted on his fingers for a few seconds, trying to figure out the time difference in Japan, then decided it didn’t matter. Even if it were 3 A.M. there, Roman would still be up.

  Roman answered the phone in Japanese, some sort of greeting where the only word Marc could understand was “Roman,” and even that sounded weird. Like Roman was saying his own name with a Japanese accent.

  “It’s Marc, stop speaking Japanese, man.”

  “How’s it going?” Roman asked, immediately switching back to English.

  “Oh, I was just calling to ask you that. You know, about our investment.”

  “Oh really?” Roman laughed. “And I was just about to call you a fucking liar. You didn’t call me about that shit. You know I have it handled. I sent you a three-page email yesterday.”

  Marc coughed. He’d been so distracted by the ocean view that he hadn’t checked his email when he was on his laptop. “Well, maybe it was yesterday for you, but I haven’t started work this afternoon yet. I’m in LA with Lauren.”

  “And so, another one bites the dust,” Roman intoned, his amusement heard through the miles of phone wire and transmitted somehow over the sea.