Bondage Ranch 4: His Little Tart

by Sindra van Yssel

  He knew he wasn’t in it for the cupcakes, although as he bit into his, he realized his memories of them hadn’t done her justice. But like a cupcake, it wasn’t all about the sugar or the flour or whatever else went into them. Somehow the ingredients, mixed precisely, baked at the right temperature, with the right balance of icing, made perfection.

  And the mixture of traits that was Constance was perfect for him.

  Now he had to convince her that he was perfect for her as well.

  Right now she looked lost, and every bit of her inexperience was showing. She didn’t know what to do. Three of the five subs in the room were kneeling at their dominant’s feet, and she glanced at all of them, but something held her back. He didn’t think it was that she wasn’t submissive enough to kneel in front of him. She would if he ordered it. But she was an independent, self-sufficient businesswoman, and it probably seemed incongruous to her. Medieval, even.

  “Come here, Constance.”

  She walked toward him. Her knees flexed, and then she looked at him, uncertain.

  For a moment, he thought she might say something smart-assed, but she didn’t do that either.

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  He didn’t want her at his feet. Sometime, maybe, but right now that was too far away. He took her hand and lifted it, gently spinning her a half-turn as if they were dancing, and then he pulled her to him. He ignored his own aching cock as it pressed up against her back. It wasn’t going to get satisfied for a while.

  He cupped her breast through the silk and lace and slipped his other hand inside her panties.

  “Everyone can see,” she whispered.

  “That’s my decision,” he told her. He’d happily take her back to the kitchen, but he wanted to claim her, to let her know that she was his anywhere and everywhere.

  She moaned as his finger slipped along her clit, still moist from before. When he teased her nipples to hard buds, she rocked against him.

  “Mine,” he told her.

  She didn’t answer.

  He ignored the rest of the room. This wasn’t about the audience, although it pleased him to let her know the presence of the others wouldn’t stop him. This was about her. He stroked and pinched, dipping his finger into her sopping pussy and glorying in the way her peaks turned rigid under his thumb. Her breathing grew ragged. He could feel her pulse speed up as he kissed her neck. Little noises of pleasure, almost squeaks, came from her mouth. She was, he knew, very close.

  He stopped and let her go.

  “Please.”

  “Not until you know you’re mine.”

  “You don’t want me.”

  Now that pissed him off. He took a half-second to check his emotions, because he never wanted to strike a woman in anger. But no, that sort of talk he wasn’t going to tolerate. He picked her up, flipped her over, and swatted her ass, hard.

  “Ow!”

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  The globes of her bottom, neatly split by her thong and framed by her corselette and her stockings, were an inviting target. He spanked her again.

  “I take it back! But you’re crazy.”

  No, that didn’t quite cut it either. He swatted her again.

  “Want the couch?” offered Bruce.

  “Or the spanking bench?” asked Dylan. “I think we’re at that part of the evening where we start to retire to the dungeon.”

  He saw Constance’s cheeks turn scarlet—and not her bottom cheeks. She too had been lost in the moment, and now suddenly she was aware of everyone watching.

  “I think Constance and I have some talking to do, actually.” He pulled her to him.

  “So we’ll be along in a while. Possibly when the tarts are ready.”

  As if on cue, the oven beeped.

  “Sounds like that’s now,” Alex said.

  “No, no, they have to cool,” said Constance, wiggling out of his grasp and scampering to the kitchen. Someday he’d teach her to ask permission before running off, with confidence that it would be granted in time for her pastries not to burn. “It’ll be an hour or so!” she yelled from the kitchen. “They’re faster than full-size pies, but you still don’t want to eat them right out of the oven!”

  Everyone seemed to move toward the dungeon at once, except for Bruce, who lagged behind. Bruce clapped his hand on Aidan’s shoulder and murmured, “You may be master of your bedroom, but you will never, ever, be master of your kitchen.” With that, he followed Laera and the others toward the dungeon, and Aidan chuckled. He supposed Bruce was right. Maybe that was the other piece to the puzzle of his attraction to Constance. She was as good as anyone he knew at what she loved most. She had the same sort of passion for baking he’d once had for the art of the deal. Yes, tasting her desserts was heavenly, but knowledge of how good she got at something when she put

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  her heart into it was better. And very selfishly he wanted her to put her heart into him as well. He was willing to share—with cakes and pies, not with any other man.

  He joined her in the kitchen as she was getting the tarts out of the oven. There wasn’t anything for him to do but watch her work. It didn’t take her long, but for those few minutes she was totally concentrating, and he knew the relatively easy steps now were the result of long preparation earlier in the day. Having tasted her desserts before, he knew she used no easy mixes or ready-made crusts. She was too much of a perfectionist. Too much of a control freak, perhaps. Like himself.

  She didn’t speak to him until the last one was out of the oven and cooling on the large oblong plate she’d put on the counter for them. Then she turned and looked at him. “What are you going to do now?”

  He let his eyes rove over her. The little bit of thigh showing between stocking and panties was delicious, as were the half globes of her breasts pushed up by the lacy corselette. “Tease you until you beg for release.”

  “Again.”

  “As often as it takes.”

  “And I’m going to let you do this why?”

  “Because you’re looking forward to surrendering.” God, he sounded arrogant. But he was sure. Sure of what he wanted, anyway, although the idea of a relationship had always scared the hell out of him in the past. Sure it was what she wanted; what she needed, not so much. He knew nothing of what had happened in her life the last few months. But she was here, and this was his chance. He was going to take it.

  She nodded, slowly. “You’re right. I love to surrender. I came here hoping to surrender, to submit, even perhaps to be forced to submit—I don’t mean—”

  He nodded. “I know.” She wanted the illusion of force, not to be raped. Force that she could opt out of with a safe word. He took a step closer. “I know what you want.

  And I’m going to make sure you get it, but first, I want your heart.”

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  “You can’t ask for love without promising it in return.”

  Love? That wasn’t what he’d thought. Passion, perhaps. Desire. Lust. He wanted to focus on her and have her focus on him—at least when she wasn’t baking. But love was a big word.

  “And anyway,” she continued, “everything we said before still applies. You still travel around the world all the time. I still am trying to run…to run a business locally. I can be yours for this evening and happily will be. But the rest of my life is off-limits. I get to keep my secrets, because you’ll leave again and I’ll be alone to deal with them.”

  There was something she wasn’t being quite truthful about, he suspected. He’d noticed her little stutter when she talked about her business. But he had to know something else. “Is there another man?”

  “No.”

  “I’m done, Constance. Not saying I won’t travel, but if I do, I’d like to take you with me, at least some of the time. You should be able to get vacations. Maybe leave things with a well-trained assistant. I�
��m sure an aspiring pâtissier would love to learn from you. Perhaps we’d need to be apart sometime. But I’ve spent the last few months wrapping things up, so I’d be free of most of the travel. I don’t know if we can make everything work, and I know we’ve only had a bit more than a day together so far, but I want to try.”

  She stared at him. “You can’t mean that you’ve given up your entire lifestyle for me. I didn’t ask for that. I don’t know what to do with that.”

  “No. I gave it up because I was done, tired with it. And that means I happen to have room for you in my life. I think I did, anyway—I would have had to convince you to travel the world, learning more about your art.”

  “But practicing it less.”

  “Yes. And that’s an option, if you like. I can take you with me world-hopping, if that’s what you want to do. Maybe you could make it fun for me again. Give me a fresh viewpoint.” What was he saying? Restart that whole rat race? But maybe it really would

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  be different. Travel for different reasons, with someone sitting next to him on the airplane. A hand to hold.

  “God, you don’t know how tempting that is,” she said.

  “Then say yes,” he said. “Tell me you’ll be mine.”

  For a moment he thought she was going to say yes. But instead she got a glint in her eye, and the corner of her mouth twitched up. And then she said, “Try to make me.”

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  Chapter Seven

  Constance knew she shouldn’t have dared him. He’d laid his heart on the line. But she’d come here for a night of fun. Her life was going to hell, and she didn’t trust herself to make hasty decisions about her future while she was still reeling from the shock of the news about the taxes. And worse, trying to make those decisions would mean focusing back on the problems. Traveling the world could be fun, for a while. But it didn’t change the fact that she wanted to settle down and run a bakery business. Even though I clearly suck at it.

  He clapped his hand to her ass and made her stumble toward him, only to be stopped as she encountered his chest. He reached for something behind her, and she looked down to see what he was doing. He had gotten a knife from the drawer. Her sense of playfulness was replaced by stark cold fear, and she opened her mouth to scream. Before she got it out, however, he’d used the knife to cut the waistband of her panties, and the knife was already on the way back to the drawer.

  Hell, if the others heard me scream, they’d probably assume he’d finally let me come.

  He pulled down what was left of her panties. Twelve bucks, down the drain. All because she’d smarted off to him. Worse, I’ve got nothing covering me. How am I going to serve the tarts?

  “I think I told you before I’m not a big fan of knickers. Although yours were almost cute enough to stay on. Still, I like you better this way.” He reached a hand between her thighs and cupped her mound. “Naked. Vulnerable. Giving me nice easy access to your pussy.”

  “I didn’t give it. You took it.”

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  He grinned. “Works either way. But I’d love you to learn to give it. You will, you know. Learn to kneel so that your knees are far apart, your pussy displayed.” He slid his fingers into her, curving them until he found a spot that felt oh so good. He pressed, and she moaned.

  “I’ll never do that,” she said. But she was starting to suspect she might.

  “That’s what you say now. But you’ll learn better.” He kissed her and took her breath away. She struggled with him, tongue against tongue, as if trying to stop him from invading her mouth, but he won. She loved the feeling of his strength, the way he took from her instead of asking.

  He pulled her back by the hair, and she could breathe again. He walked her back, fingers still curled inside her pussy, until she was leaning up against the counter. For a moment they locked gazes, as he stroked her on the inside. She felt the pressure build in her core. Her nipples ached, and as hard as they felt she suspected he could feel them quite clearly against his chest. She could take it, though, as long as he didn’t touch her clit.

  Of course, he did that next. He slid his fingers partway out, and then brushed her clit with his thumb, working it in little circles until it was engorged and aching. And then he left her, slipping his fingers deep inside, thrusting into her like a little cock. She wanted his big one, instead, but she knew he could make her come this way. Any moment. She tried to breathe calmly and not let him know how close she was. Maybe he’d slip up and push her over the edge. She pushed against his hand, trying to get more friction. But he slowed down, keeping her from her release.

  Time for some reverse psychology. “Bet you can’t make me come,” she said.

  “I’m not even going to try,” he told her and pulled out his fingers. He put one in his mouth and licked it clean. “And you were right on the edge. Do you know how transparent you are?”

  Damn. But to her surprise, she was glad he hadn’t fallen for it. He wouldn’t be the man she wanted so badly if he had. She reached for his belt and tried to undo it. “One

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  of us ought to get off,” she said. Anything to keep the intensity going. Anything to stop her from thinking about the tax bill and the mess she’d made of things. She’d take his cock so far deep in her mouth she’d choke on it, if it kept her from thinking.

  “One of us ought to stop topping from below.” And with that she was airborne again, and he was carrying her to the living room. It took her a moment to realize no one was there to see her without her panties. Not that it wasn’t a matter of time, anyway.

  He sat down in a chair with her in his lap, her face a foot from the floor, her ass skyward. “You’re naturally sassy,” he said. “But not like this. Something’s wrong. And it’s not my presence, obviously, which was what I was afraid of at first. Care to tell me what’s upsetting you?”

  Not a chance. “I said I get to keep my secrets.”

  “You did. But I didn’t agree.” He swatted her, hard, and she yelped.

  “That hurt!”

  “It was meant to. And it will continue until I get my answer.”

  It wasn’t fair. All she wanted was a night away from all that. And here he was, making her face her problems. Her bottom burned each time his hand collided with it.

  And worse, her pussy ached. But she wasn’t in control. The thought made her suddenly relax. He was sturdy, strong, and in charge. Her bottom stung like crazy, but it was okay.

  A tear snaked down her cheek, surprising her with its cooling wetness. And then another followed, and another, and soon she was sobbing. She didn’t know why exactly she was crying—maybe the pain started it—but now that it had started, she gave herself to it utterly. There was nothing to stop her tears, and no reason left not to cry.

  At some point he’d stopped spanking and started rubbing her ass. She wasn’t sure when it had happened. And then he slid his hand across her pussy, which was slick with desire. Slipping his fingers inside, he brushed his thumb across her clit. All her

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  defenses were down; all the tension that made arousal difficult sometimes had been cried out. In moments, he had her on the edge again.

  “Mine?” he asked, softly.

  “Yours,” she said. Please don’t make me talk about it now.

  He pressed harder on her little button, rubbing in circles the way she liked it best.

  Had he learned her body so quickly? It didn’t matter now. The pressure rose in her steeply, building until it was almost unbearable, and then the floodgates broke. Her legs shook, her arms shivered, and she grabbed on to the chair legs with a death grip. Her pussy clenched and gushed around his fingers. “Master!” she shouted.

  “That’s right, my little tart.”

  His. Her body kept shuddering, as if the time
s he’d brought her to the edge had stored up several orgasms and she had to have them all at once. She felt light-headed, even though the blood ought to be rushing to her brain with her ass in the air, and gasped for breath.

  He turned her so she faced him and slipped one arm under her legs and the other around her shoulders. The gentle smile on his face as he cradled her made her glow inside. She was held and cared for. She hadn’t let anyone do that for a very long time, not since she was small. “Master,” she said again, softly.

  “Yes, my love.”

  Love. Did he mean that? Could she say it back, up the ante by saying the three words and acting as if he’d said them first? It was tempting. She held her tongue, though. He clearly cared for her. That would be enough, right now.

  “Tell me what’s got you worried, and I’ll help you and support you however I can.”

  “Really?” It was her problem. She rather doubted he wanted to make it his. And worse, it sounded like he had plenty of money, and if she told him, it would sound like she was practically asking him to pay her debts. She couldn’t do that.

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  “Really.”

  She bit her lip, staring at him.

  “I’m perfectly capable of doing that all over again,” he said. “Starting right now.

  As many times as we have to. You have no choice but to tell me.”

  She looked into his eyes and didn’t doubt it for a moment. It would be fun, some other time. She opened her mouth to ask, “Promise?” and then clamped it shut again.

  This wasn’t a time to be a smart aleck. She had a feeling that if they managed a relationship, she’d be in for plenty of spankings, and lots of orgasms too.

  “No choice, love.”

  She took a deep breath, and then she told him the whole story. Since she had no choice. It all came out, from her owing taxes to her dreams of someday owning her own bakery, with cupcakes all lined up enticingly in the window. And then she looked at him, fearing what he’d say next. She didn’t know what was worse, being told she could deal with her own failure or being casually rescued by someone who thought a thousand dollars was trivial.