Mastered 2: Ten Tales of Sensual Surrender

by Opal Carew

  “Yes, sir.” I pull the skimpy scrap of silk down my thighs, over my knees, slipping them off my shod feet, feeling a sense of accomplishment that I’m able to do this without standing.

  I’m now naked except for the high heels on my feet, the sky blue skirt gathered around my waist and the black bra pushed under my breasts. My breasts, hips, and cleanly-shaven mons are uncovered.

  I kneel before my master, my hands clasped behind my back, my legs tucked under me, allowing him to see everything—my pale curves tipped with rose-colored hardness, my pink pussy lips. There’s no hiding the flush of my skin, the drops of moisture glistening on my folds. He’ll know I want this, need this.

  He might not be the only one witnessing my shame. The partition is open. If his driver turns his head, he’ll view my body, my eagerness.

  “Come, pet.” My billionaire master taps his fingers against his knees. “You’ve earned four reprimands. If I have to wait much longer to discipline you, that amount will double.”

  Sweet mother. I struggle to my feet, teetering on my heels, determined not to use my hands. In the BDSM videos, the subs gracefully rise, their movements steady, sure, beautiful. I’m one bump in the road away from falling face first into my master’s lap.

  My master’s hard lap. My gaze drops to his groin.

  “Pet,” Logan barks.

  My spine snaps straight. I hurry to his side and slowly lower myself onto his legs. He moves my hands to his thighs and shifts my body until my ass is raised in the air. My nipples rub against the decadently soft fabric of his pants and I moan, the friction delightful.

  “Focus.” He slaps my ass and I jerk, shocked, aroused, relieved. I can do this. The pain is bearable.

  “One,” I dutifully count, proud of myself for remembering this part. “Thank you, sir.” One down. Three more to go.

  My master’s body shakes. “Don’t thank me yet, pet.” He rubs his rough hands over my tender skin, prolonging the burn. “I haven’t started disciplining you.”

  Oh God. That was a warm up swat. He lifts his hands. I wait and wait and wait, clutching his legs. Moments pass. I start to relax.

  He cuffs me, hard, the smack of skin against skin ringing through the vehicle. I yelp, jolted by the impact, agony radiating from my left ass cheek.

  “One,” I whimper, silently cursing him, myself, the world. “Thank you, sir.” You sadistic bastard.

  My eyes sting with unshed tears, while moisture bathes my inner thighs, the pain perversely turning me on. I’m a sick woman, getting off on this spanking.

  “This hurts me also, pet.” Logan shows me his reddened palm. “As it should.” His chest heaves. He’s thinking about his failure to protect me, blaming himself for the fake sex tape.

  “We’re strong, sir,” I remind him, concentrating on him, and not on my inflamed skin. “We’ll survive this.”

  “We will.” His hand lands heavily on my other ass cheek and my spine bows.

  Fuck. “Two,” I count through gritted teeth. “Thank you, sir.” A teardrop trickles down my right cheek, pooling in the seam of my lips.

  “Such a pretty pink ass.” Logan sweeps his hands over my hot skin. “Spread your legs for me, pet.”

  I obey his command, knowing he’ll see my shameful arousal. He slides his fingers over my intimate folds, circles my clit, stimulating my already humming body.

  “You’re dripping for me.” He spreads my pussy juices across my ass. My musk tickles my nostrils, my scent surrounding us.

  I’d be more embarrassed about this growing need if he wasn’t also turned on. His cock strains against the zipper of his dress pants, the ridge pressing snugly against my side.

  I don’t dare touch him, not having earned that right. If—

  He swats my left ass cheek for the second time and I cry out, this agony even more intense, waves of sweet pain flowing over my body, chased by a strange euphoria.

  “Three.” I float, detaching from the physical, from everything except him. “Thank you, sir.” Wetness coats my cheeks. I hold onto his legs, anchoring myself to him.

  “One more, my sensitive pet.” Humor lightens his voice. “Stay with me.”

  “Yes, sir,” I reply dreamily.

  His hand cracks across my ass and I scream, lifting, throwing myself into this last reprimand, embracing my punishment. “Exquisite,” he murmurs, squeezing my abused flesh. I writhe. Logan doesn’t release me, the pinch of his fingers prolonging my euphoria, and I warm all over, my arms and legs trembling.

  “I need to be inside you, pet.” He draws my limp form upright, jostling me as he unzips his pants, yanks down the material. A dab of pre-cum glistens on his tip.

  He lifts me over him. I reach under my body, position him at my entrance, and he lowers me. “Ohhh….” I moan, his long thick cock surging upward into me, his broad tip rubbing along my inner walls. He’s inside and around me. My nipples caress his suit jacket, my billionaire remaining dressed from the waist up, his silk tie tightly knotted.

  As the erotic slide of pussy lips over rigid shaft ends, I sit, straddling my demanding man, and our gazes meet, lock. Hot, heavy emotion swirls between us, thick enough to feel, to taste. We’re connected physically, emotionally, spiritually. I touch his cheek, his tanned skin firm and warm and right. This is where I’m meant to be, with him.

  “Arianna,” he murmurs as he leans forward. In this rare moment, we’re not master and pet, Dom and sub. I meet him halfway and he covers my lips with his. Neither of us lead or follow, command or obey. We’re one, moving in unison, sharing control.

  I open to him and our tongues glide, dip, dance. He grips my hips and I rock to the rhythm of our hearts, my ass burning, my pleasure edged with the pain I need, I want.

  I savor this gentle loving, a rest between bouts of breathtaking ecstasy, allowing my passion to slowly build. My dominant billionaire isn’t as patient as I am, dragging his hot mouth over my neck, nipping at my skin with his teeth, his large form shifting restlessly under me.

  My lips curl upward. Logan won’t surrender his power for much longer, his desire to commandeer both our fuckfest and my soul, riding him hard. Even now, he kneads my aching ass, coaxing me to move. I obediently rise up on my knees and fall.

  It isn’t enough. Having caught my breath, I want to lose it again, but I can’t do this alone. I’m too small to take him deeply.

  “Sir?” I plead with my eyes, wanting his darkness, his control, craving his strong hands, crude instructions, the reassurance of his authority.

  “You’re so fuckin’ perfect for me.” Logan flips me onto my back. My ass connects with the cool leather seat, the agony exquisite, and he covers my lips, swallowing my scream.

  My billionaire master powers into me with long, hard thrusts, using me hard, gripping my shoulders to hold me in place, forcing me to take everything he gives me. I suck on his tongue. He knows his sub is strong, his equal.

  Our hips and chests smack together, the impact heating my skin. I bend my knees and lift into each drive forward, fucking him as fiercely as he fucks me. Sweat beads on his tanned skin, glistens in his black hair. His eyes are dark and excitingly wild.

  I hang on to the lapels of his jacket, my nipples, pussy, every part of me humming, throbbing, gloriously alive. He needs this and he needs me. Only I can give him this loyalty, strength, subservience, and he acknowledges my gift, grunting my name into my mouth.

  A drop of perspiration trickles down his neck, following a raised vein. I lick this trail, tasting the salt of his skin, and he growls, the animalistic sound exciting me, his blood pumping against my tongue.

  He’s close, as am I . Tremors roll over my body, growing in intensity with each thrust of his hips. My pussy constricts around his shaft, my juices oozing between his balls, wetting his private curls, branding him with my scent. Everyone will know this magnificent man is mine. I thread my fingers though his thick hair, carve my nails into his scalp.

  “Arms above your head,” he orders.


  “But--”

  His eyes flash a warning.

  Shit. I stretch my arms upward, touching the wall of the limousine. This position arches my back, thrusting my bare breasts upward.

  “Keep them there.” He drives his cock into my pussy, shaking my body. I moan, unable to move, to escape his passionate assault. It requires all of my willpower not to come.

  Logan, my demanding master, expresses no sympathy for his pet. He expects me to follow his rules, to delay my release until he gives me permission, and I’m determined not to disappoint him.

  This is hard, damn hard. He thrusts again and again, taking me relentlessly, the slap, slap, slap of my ass against the seat obscenely loud. I pant, the air pushed from my lungs, his large form pressing down on me.

  He’s bigger, stronger, more powerful. There’s no question he owns me, can do with me as he wishes. And I love it, reveling in my submission, giving him everything he wants, everything he needs.

  If only he’d grant me authorization to come. I press my lips together, trying to delay my release, seeking to earn his approval. My arms and legs shake. My teeth clatter.

  He swivels his hips, grinding into my clit. Oh, God. I stare up at him, panicking, not knowing if I can stave off my satisfaction. Please say I can come, I silently beg.

  “Soon, pet,” he huffs, reading my mind, my desperation tangible. His shaft swells, his balls drawing up tight against his base, his tempo growing erratic.

  I whimper, my mind splintered.

  “Two more,” Logan reassures me. “Count.” He thrusts.

  “One.” My voice is thin, my pitch high. I can hold on. I can.

  He pulls out to his tip. “Two,” Logan roars, driving into me balls deep. I scream, bucking, breaking apart. He pushes farther into me, filling me with shaft and cum. I twist and turn, pinned to the seat by his hips, my world flashing light and dark, hot and cold.

  “Fuck.” He holds his position for three heartbeats and then collapses, flattening me. “Arianna,” he murmurs against my bare chest.

  “Logan.” I wrap my arms around him, clasping my man to him, never wanting to let him go. He belongs to me and I belong to him. “I saw stars.”

  His shoulders shake, my billionaire master silently laughing. “I saw them too, pet.”

  “I love you,” I whisper, wanting, needing, to share my feelings. “Is it too early in the evening to ask for another night?”

  “I love you too.” He straightens, taking me with him. “And you can have this and every following night, for the rest of our lives.” Logan kisses my forehead, cradling me in his arms. “I’m yours.”

  # # #

  If you enjoyed One Night With My Billionaire Master, consider signing up for Cynthia Sax’s release day newsletter at http://tasteofcyn.com/2014/05/28/newsletter/ or keep in touch using the following links:

  Website: CynthiaSax.com

  Newsletter: Taste of Cyn newsletter

  Facebook: facebook.com/cynthia.sax

  Twitter: @CynthiaSax

  Smashwords: www.smashwords.com/profile/view/cynthiasax

  Blog: TasteOfCyn.com

  To skip directly to the next story, click here.

  About Cynthia Sax

  Cynthia Sax’s stories have been featured in Star Magazine, Real Time With Bill Maher, and numerous best of erotic romance top ten lists. She lives in a world filled with magic and romance. Although her heroes may not always say, “I love you,” they will do anything for the women they adore. They live passionately. They play hard. They love the same women forever.

  Cynthia has loved the same wonderful man forever. Her supportive hubby offers himself up to the joys and pains of research, while they travel the world together, meeting fascinating people and finding inspiration in exotic places such as Istanbul, Bali, and Chicago.

  Sign up for her dirty-joke-filled release day newsletter and visit her on the web at www.CynthiaSax.com

  Other Books by Cynthia Sax

  From Avon

  He Watches Me, He Touches Me, He Claims Me

  Breaking All The Rules

  Flashes Of Me

  Sinful Rewards 1-12

  From Ellora’s Cave

  Warlord’s Bounty

  Alien Tryst

  Lust By Moonbeam

  Menage Lost

  Excerpt

  The following is an excerpt of Breaking All The Rules, a standalone contemporary erotic romance story that was named one of the best erotic romances of 2014…

  Breaking All The Rules

  Cynthia Sax

  Excerpt

  I glance at my reflection in the elevator’s shiny metallic doors and wince. Although I no longer wear my temporary tattoos or visible body jewelry, the green hair and the holes in my ears, nose, and bottom lip remain, declaring my rebel status to the world.

  This is who I am, who I’ve always been. I break rules. I push people. I don’t fit in anywhere. I tell myself I’m okay with this. In my heart I know I’m not. But I can’t change, not even for the Iceman.

  The bell rings, the doors to elevator number four open, and my heart pounds. Nate stands in the back right corner, staring down at his phone, appearing as unapproachably handsome as usual, his blond hair short and neat, his broad shoulders clad in a form-fitting black suit, his crisp white shirt accentuating his golden tan. His tie is always black, always plain.

  He wears the same clothing combination every day, and I want to peel the monochromatic fabric away from his kicking hot physique and lick him from his head to his toes. This impulsive act, while certain to be sexually satisfying, violates the rules of my game. He must touch me first. I keep my hands to myself and stride into the elevator, my hips swaying and my head held defiantly high.

  Nate glances upward, our gazes lock and hold, and I forget to breathe, to think, to move. His eyes are the palest, coldest gray, a frigid blast of icy wind on a hot Californian day, and I want him as I’ve never wanted anyone else, my need for him carnal and raw.

  He slides his phone into his jacket pocket and the silver Rolex on his wrist gleams. This symbol of wealth and the establishment, a physical reminder of who Nate is, doesn’t squelch my lust. It perversely feeds my fantasies.

  In my overactive imagination Nate doesn’t stay in his corner. He stalks toward me, hooks one of his arms around my waist, pulls my curves into his muscle, and—

  “Miss Trent.” His crisp businesslike tone returns me to reality.

  “Nate.” I mimic his curtness, breaking an unspoken company rule by addressing a top executive by his first name. I tap the button for the legal floor. This is the law-enforcing, super-quiet department I’ve been sentenced to. I don’t fit in there, but then, I’ve never fit in anywhere.

  Except here. I belong in this elevator car. I belong with Nate. I claim the corner across from him and openly study the object of my obsession. “You spent another weekend alone, I see.” The lines around his mouth and eyes are deeply etched, attesting to his many months of celibacy. This pleases me. I don’t want Nate to touch any other woman.

  He’s my iceberg to melt.

  # # #

  The Buyer

  Saskia Walker

  When Naomi Kildare meets masterful Lucas Eaglestone a passionate affair sidelines her business and changes her life forever. Lucas asks her to surrender herself to him, totally, and at his hands she experiences sexual pleasures beyond her wildest dreams. A wild weekend with a dominant master proves Naomi's true nature, but will it also prove that business and pleasure don't mix?

  Copyright 2015 Saskia Walker

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  About The Author

  Go to next book

  Go to previous book

  Go to Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  The
glass tower glittered like diamonds set in platinum.

  Naomi Kildare stared up at the London skyscraper in awe. The glass and polished steel office tower was an extravagant statement and it thrilled her to know she was going inside to an appointment with the Eaglestone Agency, the most important retail agency in the business. Gripping the handle of her portfolio case, she tucked her clutch bag under her arm and crossed the road.

  As she made her way through the glass entrance doors and across the vast reception area to the elevators, she took in her surroundings, observing the other people she saw there. The offices here housed financiers, and numerous international company headquarters. It felt good to be there. If it didn't work out, so be it. Naomi intended to give it her best shot and enjoy every moment of this opportunity while it lasted.

  Her destination was on the thirty-ninth floor. Luckily she was alone in the elevator and used the time to compose herself. Silently counting the floors go by she took a deep breath and prepared herself for her presentation.

  Thirty-nine. She stepped out of the elevator onto an expanse of white marble tiles and headed toward the reception desk. As she did, she glanced at the many framed prints of Eaglestone clients and their goods prominently displayed on large white pillars. Naomi's greatest wish was to one day see her Highlands Inspired clothing and accessories range amongst them.

  A cluster of white leather chairs stood close to the reception hub. One other visitor was seated there, a woman holding a document carrier in one hand. She leafed through a glossy magazine with her free hand. The atmosphere was a strange combination of austere, dazzling, and relaxed.

  Naomi focused on the reception desk. The smartly dressed woman sitting there was chatting to a tall, striking man who stood behind the desk alongside her. As Naomi approached the man leaned over to look at the receptionist's screen, clearly a fellow employee rather than a visitor.

  Naomi took one look at him and instantly hoped he was Georgio Melandros, the fashion buyer she had an appointment with. He was attractive and built large with broad shoulders. His hair was black and worn long, brushing his collar. His cheekbones struck her most of all, though. His face could have been carved out of rock. Breathtaking in its masculinity, it was difficult not to gape.