by Maren Smith
Her whole body shivered against him; Sam smiled, liking the feeling, and breathed his hot seduction into her. “Oh, but then the burn will set in and your wounded nipples will throb…and throb…until it’s not just your breasts now, but your pretty pussy throbbing along in time. Aching. Empty.” She trembled all over; he tightened his hold, securing her in the wrap of his embrace while he whispered, “Your piercings will hurt too much to touch, but you won’t be able to resist, will you, Hannah? Because even the smallest caress will kick the throbbing up higher, then another notch hotter, and already all you can think about is how good it would feel to hurt like that while the caress of strong hands push your thighs apart. A man’s hands. My hands—” Her breath actually caught at that. “—holding you open to the hungry stab of my tongue an instant before you are engulfed in the heat of my mouth.”
Her knees wobbled, her legs buckling just a little as his hands on her hips began to knead, rocking her hips and bringing her soft, shapely ass back into contact with his cock. He knew she could feel it. She clutched her arm all the harder, pinching and squeezing at her flesh in punishing time, and yet she made no effort to break away.
“Have you ever played before?” He asked.
Hannah’s trembling became a full-bodied quaking. “No,” she mouthed. There wasn’t even sound enough there to be a whisper.
A couple exited the horse stall not eight feet behind them. There was little inside—a chain and hook suspended from the loft rafters and a simple, padded sawhorse. He rubbed her hips, her lovely ass bumping against his rock-hard cock again and again, and looked back at the hook, then at a length of yellow rope hanging on one wall, then Hannah, soft and trembling in his arms, her moist lips parted, her breasts rising and falling, her eyes staring helpless out at nothing while she waited for what he would whisper next.
“Give yourself to me.” It was the wrong thing to say, but Sam couldn’t stop himself. He had never come on this strong with such a novice before. He knew he ran the risk of scaring her so badly that she simply left, and yet when he let go of her hips and took that first sliding step back toward the waiting stall, she didn’t flee. She looked as if she wanted to. Her eyes were wide and wet, teary almost, but she turned and—a near-electric thrill rocked him—began to follow. They were such tiny baby steps, but she took them.
“What do I have to do?” She asked.
Already a crowd was gathering, finding positions around the low stall walls from which to watch them. For Sam, they might as well have been the only two people in the barn. He kept his eyes locked with hers; he held out his hand, coaxing her to come. “Submit.”
“To what?” Her words were barely above a whisper.
His were stronger. “Everything.”
He saw it when her fragile thread of courage frayed. Her steps faltered. She caught a nervous breath and gripped her arm, clawing her nails into her skin. “I-I don’t know how,” she stammered.
But he knew differently. He reached for her; his fingers slid around her captured wrist and dislodged her fingernails from out of her abused arm. She tried to pull away; he was not having it. His face went still as he held her eyes. She flinched and tried to pull away again, this time a bit more forcefully, but Sam wasn’t about to let her go. He held her eyes for one more moment, then dropped his gaze to her arm, peeled her shirt sleeve back almost to her elbow… revealing row after uneven row of healing cuts. Most were pink, rubbed raw from all her nervous scratching, one—still scabbed in patches—was bleeding again, a single crimson pearl that beaded up against the pale blush of her skin. Hannah gasped and thought she might throw up.
A flash of heat, a shot of eureka, zipped like static electricity up Sam's back and lodged under his skull. It came down again a heartbeat later, trembling into his arms, his legs, his hands.
And now, he knew her secret.
He raised her arm, only just managing to keep from fastening his mouth over that tiny scratch and drinking her into him. The intensity of his hunger shook him. The need to simply throw her up against the nearest wall and shove his throbbing cock all the way up inside her was damn near overwhelming. By only the barest margin did he refrain. The look on her face had melted into one of deep shame as he cradled her arm in his hands. Again, when he pressed the softest kiss upon the first pink rung on that ladder of healing scars, she tried to pull away. This time, he let her go, but her timid defiance roused the dark need in him. He would not be escaped.
He caught the back of her neck, pulling her fiercely back again, and punished her with his kiss. It was a mistake. Right from the first trembling instant when her soft lips yielded to the crush of his, he knew he was in trouble. He could taste first her shame and then her capitulating sigh, and the dominant in him came awake in ways he hadn’t known he wasn’t feeling all along. Suddenly, just knowing her secret wasn’t enough. He wanted to know more. He wanted to know her. To know how hot he could make her burn. To know the sound of her whimpers, her moans, her yielding cries as he stripped away first her defenses and then her clothes, laying her vulnerable and bare beneath him. He wanted to conquer her, and not just because no one had yet done that before him, but because nothing in immediate memory felt as good or as right as she did here in his arms.
So much for patience.
He felt her startle when his hands caught her ass, gripping each shapely cheek in his big hands and squeezing, lifting her straight onto her toes as he pulled her hot little core into blazing contact with his straining cock. She caught his shoulders in turn. Had she made any effort to shove him back, he would have tried his best to let her go, but again, she didn’t. She made the softest mewling sound in the back of her throat instead, and that, coupled with all her beautiful rampant trembling, had him fighting himself to not to simply drag her into the stall with him. It made him wish there were drapes that he could snap shut. For the first time, he wished he could block out the ever-present observers—he didn’t want to share the details of her first submission with anyone. But there weren’t any drapes. No one came to the Sanctuary for privacy.
It was a struggle to breathe slow and even; it was even harder to break the kiss.
Mine, that dark part of him growled.
For the night, Sam agreed. Just for the night. Then his curiosity and hunger would be sated. One night, and then, like so many play partners before her, he would let her go.
Hannah touched her flushed and swollen lips. Her eyes, so wide and wondering—what the hell was she doing looking at a sexual dominant like that?—followed as he backed into the old horse stall. He had to get that thin distance between them, or he would have stripped her out of her clothes right there, bent her over the first thing capable of supporting it, and just pound into the tight wet heat he knew waited for him in the crux of her jeans.
Raising two fingers, Sam beckoned to her.
“Step into the lion’s den, little Daniel,” he warned, giving her every chance to resist, to withdraw, to run away. Because if she didn’t, if she chose instead to succumb, then he wasn’t just going to show her everything her body now trembled for, he was going to fucking devour her.
CHAPTER FIVE
What was she doing?
Panic rattled at her insides, knocked in her knees, tangled in the jumbles of knotted rope that lust had suddenly just dumped in her wildly twisting stomach, and the next thing Hannah knew—oh God, oh God, he was looking at her as if he wanted to consume her—she had taken that last step over the threshold. And there they were, standing practically toe-to-toe. She trembled; he smiled. When he reached for her, for a moment, she thought he was going to caress her face, but he didn’t. His fingers combed up into her hair and then fisted, capturing close to her scalp, a secure hold that locked them face-to-face as he drew her out of the doorway and deeper into the center of the stall.
“Raise your arms,” he commanded, releasing her.
Not at all sure what he was planning, she held her hands up. She both looked and felt as if she were being mug
ged at gunpoint.
Sam gave her a look, but then he stepped up to gather the bottom hem of her shirt between his hands. The second she realized he was going to strip her, she dropped her arms, hugging them over her shirt and over her stomach. That stab of shame hit her all over again. He had already seen some of her cuts, but he hadn’t seen them all and she dreaded not just that he might look at her differently—with pity, or worse, revulsion—once he had, but also all the people she could hear around them, gathering in the shadows around the low stall walls and in the doorway. She twisted to glance back over her shoulder, but Sam caught her chin between rough fingers and quickly redirected her gaze back to his.
He turned her, moving with her until he was between her and the open doorway. Between her and all those people, silently watching as the scene unfolded. Now it was Sam’s turn to glance over his shoulder, but if he gave a signal, she didn’t see it. All she heard was the click and two bright lights winked on, bathing her in the yellow-white glow of their naked bulbs, bathing him, and turning everything beyond him to blinded blackness. The whole world fell away, leaving the illusion that it was just the two of them in this barn.
“Raise your hands,” he told her.
“I’m not pretty,” she tried to say, but his eyes darkened and his whole countenance took on a severity and intensity so strong that it cut off her air.
“Say that again and I’m going to punish you. From this point on, unless I ask you a question, the only things I want to hear you say are ‘yes, sir’, ‘no, sir’, and ‘please, Master Sam, may I cum?’ Now, raise your hands.”
Punish? Her legs held all the solidity of weak rubber. Her knees dipped and wobbled. Her hands rose, haltingly climbing higher even as she closed her eyes, turning her face away when he took the hem of her shirt and stripped it from her.
“No,” he said, leaving her shirt draped over the top of a stall wall. He caught her chin, bringing her sharply back to him. “Look at me.”
She couldn’t see anything or anyone but him, not past the brightness of the lights, and both were beginning to swim as her tears and panic rose. Then he touched her. The warm rasp of his open palm came to rest on her chest, lightly stroking the shallow valley between her breasts as he felt the frantic beating of her heart.
“It’s all right.” He soothed and caressed her, following her bare skin from shoulder to shoulder, down across her rising breasts as she struggled to keep her breathing slow and even, then up to her throat. His thumb on one side, his fingers on the other, he paused there. With the slightest pressure, he could have choked her, but he only held her. She couldn’t seem to breathe right anyway. His touch, his eyes, his very nearness was doing things to her. Awful things. Wonderful things. Strange, strange things she didn’t know how to process.
“It’s all right,” he said again, and how stupid was it of her that she believed him?
Hannah tried to look away, just long enough to regain some of her balance back again, but with little more than a shift of his fingers, he trapped her chin and forced her eyes once more to his.
“That’s one,” he warned, and her stomach knotted up so tightly that she feared she might be sick. “Look at me and don’t look away again.”
His hand descended down her throat, curving around until it came to gentle rest on her shoulder again. His other hand rose, caressing up her side, from the dip of her waist, over her ribs and past the band of her bra, until it came to a stop opposite of its twin. She trembled while he anchored her before him with nothing more than the burning touch of both hands on her shoulders.
“Would you like me to tell you what is going to happen here between us?” With a slow rasp, his hands began to move again, a slow fall all the way down her arms, past her elbows, her scars, her wrists. His fingers wove themselves with hers. He lifted, mating their palms as he guided her arms back up into the air.
Panic—stark and unrelenting—broke her, sending a soft cascade of tears spilling down her cheeks. “Please,” she begged. “Don’t make me…don’t let them see—”
Sam turned her around, moving with her, keeping himself always full in her eyes, until her back was to the doorway and all she could see now beyond him was the rough barn wall rising up to the rafters. His hands never let go of hers. Her arms continued to rise, with only the briefest pause when he brought her scars even with his lips and kissed them—once…twice…again, moving gradually down the long ladder of them.
Her whole body shuddered, feeling as if each were delivered as nips and bites.
When her arms were fully extended above her head, he released her fingers and let his rasping hands slide back down her. “Don’t move.”
He took her bra off the same way he had removed her shirt, not bothering with the clasps, simply pulling the elastic out far enough to free her small breasts and pulling it over her head. He cast it up on top of the wall with her shirt and returned the heat of his hands to her bare skin. His gaze burned into hers while his palms molded to her breasts and his fingers claimed her nipples. They were already taut, drawn into tense little peaks that he teased, rolled, stroked with his thumbs and lightly pinched—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make her catch her breath.
“You have very beautiful breasts,” he told her, fondling them until it was all she could do not to close her eyes and moan. “You have agreed to give yourself to me tonight. To submit to whatever I desire. I’m very proud of you, Hannah. That took courage. I want to reward that, but first I want to explain to you what I expect from you.”
Expect? Explain? Hannah had to really concentrate on his moving mouth. It was so very hard to think beyond the magic of his hands upon her breasts. “Okay,” she whispered.
“Is that how a submissive speaks to her Dom?” His fingers pinched just a little harder than was pleasurable and yet it didn’t hurt. Not completely.
Hannah stiffened, an electric jolt—raw lust, static charged—shooting from the tips of his fingers straight to her womb, and straight on from her womb to her clit. Her breath caught, faltered. Her hands dipped, but she caught herself and raised them high again. “N-no…um…” The power of that word stuck, feeling awkward in her mouth. “Sir.”
“Good girl.” He relaxed his hold on her nipples, soothing the hurt with the rasp of his calloused hands and the heat of his kneading palms. “Tonight, Hannah, I expect your total and complete submission. I want you to do what I ask of you, promptly, without argument or defiance. I want you to trust me; I know that’s going to be hard because you’ve never done this before and we don’t know one another well. I’m willing to be as patient with you as I can be and I’m going to begin by giving you two very important words. They’re called safewords. One is to be used only in the case of emergencies. An emergency would be, for instance, if I take you somewhere you just cannot go, if it becomes too overwhelming, if it hurts more than you can take, then you use the house safeword: Red.”
She nodded to show she understood, but his expression turned severe.
“Red means everything stops,” he cautioned, his eyes boring into hers. “I’m trusting you not to use that word for anything other than what it’s intended. I warn you now, I intend to push you into some very uncomfortable places. I am going to search for them, seek them out, make you feel them and follow me into places you wish you didn’t have to go. You’re going to want to use your emergency word, Hannah, and so I’m going to give you a second one: Pepper. If you use that one, I promise I will stop long enough for us to discuss whatever you fear, and then I will decide whether or not to continue to put you through it. This is where you must trust me. I am going to strip you naked before me. I am going to tie your hands and suspend you from this hook. I am going to spank you. I am going to kiss you. I am going to touch and taste every part of your body. I am going to put clamps on your pretty nipples and your clitoris. I am going to press a knife against your skin and I’m going to let you feel it there while I put my cock inside you, and I am going to fuck you. Do you have
an objection to being fucked by me, Hannah?”
Hannah stared at him, her eyes huge, her mouth rounded. It took almost three perfect seconds before she realized all her panic was centered almost completely on the thought of having to be naked before him. He was going to spank her? And…and fuck her? He was going to put a knife…
She felt another low pulse of lust thump, just once, low down between her legs. His knife…lust and heat unfurled inside her, coiling in her womb, flowing down, a sensation like molten liquid, until she could feel the dampness soaking into her panties. “No, sir.”
Her voice came out sounding very hoarse.
“How many lovers have you had, Hannah?” He asked, rolling her nipples between his fingers, back and forth, plucking, kneading. Her breath shivered out of her. Unconsciously, she arched her back, offering her breasts up into his touch.
“One,” she whispered, squirming when he took full advantage of her needy pose. “It was a…mistake.”
“Why?”
She tried to make her involuntary wiggle look as offhand as she wished the answer could be. “It was prom night. It was kind of expected. I thought he was charming, he thought I was easy, and it turns out we were both a little right.”
She’d hoped humor might diffuse some of the intensity of the moment, but he didn’t laugh.
“Did you enjoy it?”
If she wasn’t blushing before, she did now. “Sure.” She dropped her gaze to his shoulder. “Of course I did, why…why wouldn’t…”
His fingers on her nipples tightened and twisted, bringing her gasping right up onto her tiptoes.
“That’s two,” he growled. “Keep your eyes on mine and don’t you dare lie to me again. Did you enjoy it?”
The urge to retreat was strong, but the pain of his pinching hold only brought her dancing up higher. “Parts of it,” she winced, holding his narrow stare but uncomfortably and coming down off her toes only when her honesty won a reprieve of gentleness from his once more caressing hands.
