She jerked, grimacing, and shifting weight on her feet.
He laid the crop on the step where her hands were pressed, so she would have to look at it. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes, the tail." He picked up the plug and brought it to her mouth. "Now, it's up to you, but I am not going to use any additional lubricant, so however much spit you give me, is what you get. Understand?"
She nodded, opening her mouth.
He held the butt plug up to her lips and she went to town on it, sucking it like a cock, covering every millimeter of it with her saliva.
"Good girl." He walked around behind her and gave her striped ass a slap. "Arch your back."
She hollowed her low back, rolling her pelvis out for him.
"Inhale," he said, pressing the tip of the plug against the puckered flower of her anus. "Exhale and push back," he went on. Fully compliant, his little pet opened for him, and he pressed the bulb into her little hole, despite the high-pitched whimper she let out when its widest part stretched her. "You may stand," he said.
She erected her back, her chest heaving, and reached back to touch the tail.
He smiled. "It's quite sweet. Look in the mirror."
She looked doubtful, but when she stood sideways and took in her profile, he knew she liked it.
He moved behind her. "Wait till I spank you with it in," he said in a low voice in her ear.
She delighted him with a shiver.
"Put your hands behind your back," David said. Pulling the black ribbon she'd worn around her neck from his pocket, he looped it into cuffs around her wrists, taking care to tie it loose enough that it wouldn't constrict her. "Pets are helpless," he said, by way of explanation.
"How about a headpiece?" Melony offered, carrying a box to his side.
He peered inside it, picking past the hood style selections, and pulling out a headband with two little pointed ears.
"On your knees, pet," he ordered.
She dropped to her haunches. He placed the headband on her head and tipped her chin up to survey the look. "No," he said, pulling it back off. Portia may be named 'Kitty,' but she wasn't cutesy. Somehow the ears seemed to belittle her. Degradation was fine, but he wanted his slave to show off her best assets, not to diminish them.
"Chest harness?" Melony offered.
Better. "Yes," he said, taking it and fastening it on Portia himself. It framed her breasts, without interfering too much with the appearance of the corset. He stood back and surveyed the look. "I like it," he said, to no-one in particular. David moved the leash from her collar to her back.
"Send a crate and food bowls to my room," he said, signing for the extra gear to be charged to his account.
"Would you like any pet food?"
He glanced down at Portia, hiding his smirk. "Kitty, stand up and wait for me by the door," he instructed.
When she was out of earshot, he requested that canned ravioli and corn chips be purchased in town and placed in his room with a can opener.
Melony smiled. "As you wish, Master D."
He thanked her and met Portia at the door, picking up her leash. "Ready to play, pet?"
She gave a small nod, her gaze skittering across his face, but not remaining there. He gave her bottom a pat as they walked out. This is going to be fun.
#
Walking around with no panties and a dog tail in her ass made Portia squirm. Every man and half the women they passed smirked or winked. Some of the women glared daggers, as if her pudenda hanging out affected them personally. The weight of the tail plug filled her, the sensation of the subtle friction in her hole a constant reminder of its presence. Her sex had swelled, engorged with blood from the spanking and her arousal. With each step she took, her labia brushed together, making her want to wrestle free of her bonds and pleasure herself.
Her ass still blazed from the crop welts, but she welcomed the zing, the tingle giving her a better edge than a stiff cocktail. Besides, she was grateful he didn't make her crawl like a dog beside him. She didn't mind a little kneeling, but her thirty-nine-year-old knobs wouldn't take extensive crawling on the hard stone floor. David—Master D—had not yet proven himself cruel. Perhaps he truly did not know her identity. She clung to that hope.
He led her to the ballroom, where people were filtering in from watching the fireworks outside. They mingled, socializing and making choices for their scenes. Master D sat on a sofa.
She waited for instructions, standing before him like a good little slave. Or doggie.
"Sit." He snapped his fingers and pointed toward his feet.
God, that should not turn her on, but her entire pelvic floor lifted, lurching at the command. She knelt at his feet, grateful that yoga had at least made this action available for scenes. Since he'd commanded her like a dog, rather than a slave, she lifted her gaze to look up at him, waiting for his next order.
He stared back, his eyes cold and assessing. She saw the glint of sadism in them, or at least she imagined that what she saw indicated a desire to inflict pain.
Her throat went dry. She said nothing, since he hadn't given her permission to speak. Once more, she appreciated the rule, finding a great freedom in being released from words. So long as she could remember to heed it.
David Dean reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a ziplock baggie, from which he removed a pair of nipple clamps. Portia bit her lip, not a fan of nipple torture. She hadn't listed it as a hard limit, because she could stand it—she just didn't like it. He leaned forward and attached the alligator clamp to one nipple.
She pressed her lips shut on the squeal in her throat. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. She willed the tight cords of her neck muscles to relax, for her breath to return.
He tugged on the chain and she jerked up on her knees, her eyes flying to his face for guidance. Did he want her to move forward? Or just to experience pain at his dominance?
He seemed to see her uncertainty, because he said softly, "A little closer, pet."
She walked forward on her knees, following his direction, halting when he stopped tugging. She didn't want to admit that the arrogant bastard was a decent Dom, but his ability to read her—a perfect stranger with whom he'd never scened before—showed at least a basic level of connection and skills.
He attached the second alligator clip, and despite being prepared for the pain, she flinched. David tugged the chain between the two and she followed, rising up to her knees, then to her feet, where he pulled her to stand between his legs.
Blood rushed in her ears, the room narrowed to only the man in front of her.
He gripped her hips, stroking around the globes of her ass and kneading them. It renewed the sting of the crop welts, rubbing the pain in, deepening it. He had large hands, with a strong grip. She couldn't stop wondering how they'd feel spanking her. She imagined the paddle-like strength they'd pack.
As if he'd read her mind, he patted his lap. "I think you need another spanking. I still owe you one from Master Grimsley."
She almost answered "Yes, sir," reflexively, but bit back the words just in time.
He quirked a brow, as if he'd heard the strangled syllable in her throat and knew exactly what it meant.
Getting into position proved difficult with her arms behind her back. She had to kneel on the sofa cushion beside him to lower her torso down over his hard thighs. He bounced his knees to adjust her position, sending her nose closer to the floor. She gave a little shriek, her wrists jerking against the ribbon cuffs, trying to pull free to catch her weight.
"I won't let you fall, pet," he assured her. Another point scored for the arrogant bastard on the side of Decent Dom. So he did know what he was doing. Well, that should come as no surprise. He knew what he was doing in his kitchen, too, but that didn't mean she had to fall at his knees and worship… well, except, in this instance she did have to—
A sharp slap jerked her to the present. David rubbed the sting away with a firm, possessive kneading and repeated the procedure to the other side. He contin
ued the slow warm up, smarting one cheek, then the other, with intermittent rubbing. The tail in her ass bobbed, or maybe it wagged—she couldn't see, but it certainly moved enough to remind her of its presence.
She wanted more. More spanking. More tail wagging. More of everything, except she wished it didn't come from David Dean Marone.
His finger brushed between her legs and she moaned at the near contact with her pussy.
"Kitty's getting all riled up, isn't she?" her smug Master observed.
Part of her wished her body didn't respond so easily to his ministrations. That it matched her mind and emotions, which were completely closed to this man. But her submission button had been switched, which turned her into the most pliable and receptive mass of flesh ever spanked.
He began to pick up his tempo, abandoning the rubbing in between, and striking her buttocks with firm, hard strokes.
God... it hurt so good. She'd been right—his hands felt like paddles, and each smack packed both surface sting and the deeper pain that left residual soreness. She gasped and wriggled on his lap—not to get away, although her body instinctively tried that too, but to relieve the growing need in her molten core.
She thought he had been spanking her with his full strength until he increased the intensity even more, making her yelp with each smack, panic overtaking sexual need. She crossed her legs and tried to keep from kicking, but his hand came down too hard and fast for her manage her responses. She began to sweat, whimpers and cries leaving her throat.
"Do you like a good, hard spanking, Kitty?"
Thank God she didn't have permission to speak, because she could not have gathered herself to answer.
"Of course, it doesn't matter what you like, does it? All that matters to you this New Year's is what I like."
#
Portia's ass had turned a beautiful shade of dusky rose, with the weals from the crop blending as the rest of her flesh swelled to meet them. She had a remarkable capacity for pain—he was spanking harder than he could ever remember spanking a sub before. And damn, it felt good. The dominance brought a powerful high, power surging through his veins with a desire to inflict more pain, even as it increased his affection for her. Funny how those two things were not mutually exclusive. Only in this world.
David slapped her over and over again, the little dog tail bouncing as her cheeks flattened and rebounded. Her thighs swam in and out, trying to adjust to the onslaught. He jostled her forward a little more, tipping her lower ass up, and spanking in the low middle, right over her pussy.
She wriggled and moaned, crying out with each blow. Then she completely wet his hand in the most beautiful display of female ejaculation he'd ever seen. He stopped spanking and patted her swollen ass.
"You do like your spankings, don't you, pet?"
She moaned. He knew she hadn't orgasmed yet—squirting and coming weren't always the same thing—but he intended to make her wait.
"On your knees, slave," he ordered, gently pushing her lower half off his lap while lifting her torso, so she landed upright.
Her eyes looked wild, her face flushed with color.
He unzipped his pants and she leaned forward, anticipating the order.
"That's right, little pet. I want you to suck me off. And make it good, or I won't let you come for the next two days."
She opened her mouth, lengthening her tongue in the most inviting way.
He gripped his cock, guiding it over her tongue and between her lips. She licked all around the head of his penis, clumsy without the use of her hands, but with an enthusiasm he hadn't expected from her.
He took a mental picture, wanting to remember that the food critic Portia Sands had sucked his cock like this—eyes half closed, drool spilling from her mouth as she bobbed up and down over his shaft.
Cum surged up his channel and he sucked in his breath, holding back. He wanted to make her work for it, to service him until her jaw ached and her pussy wept. He looped a finger under the chain connected to her nipple clamps and tugged upward.
She made a panicked sound, but with his cock stuffed deep in her throat, it came out muffled.
"Show me you're a good girl," he said, as she took him deeper. "Try to please your Master."
She worked herself into a frenzy, bobbing up and down the length of his shaft. Turning her lips over her teeth, she popped over the rim of his cock's head in glorious repetition. A few drops of pre-cum had mixed with her saliva, making the perfect viscosity of lubricant to slick the way.
"Ah... God. That's so... damn... good," he groaned, grasping the back of her head and urging her on.
Feeling his orgasm coming, he did not let her off the hook, but held her head in place as he spurted streams of hot liquid down the back of her throat. "Swallow, slave," he ordered and reached down, pinching the lips of her pussy together and giving them a tiny shake.
She came, her hips jerking, her knees sliding out from under her. He caught her with one arm around her back, holding her up as he rubbed her clit with the other hand until they both had spent.
"Good girl," he murmured, still rubbing as she sank dazedly to sit on her heels, her knees spread wide. He gave her pussy a pat. "Very good girl. Stay just like that—don't move. I'm going to get us something to drink."
Chapter Three
Was it possible to want to kill someone and throw oneself at his feet at the same time? Because that was how she felt about David Dean in that moment. She had never come with such little attention paid to her. One rough pinch of her outer lips had her bucking? What the hell? And the quick rub he'd given her clit as she orgasmed hadn't been finessed, either. His attention had been demeaning, humiliating and... exactly perfect.
She could leave the Castle that night and be fully contented—she had already received what she came for. And the fact that it came from David Marone ate her up. She did not want to give him one ounce of appreciation.
"There you are. I thought you were in the maids program. I was looking for the wrong costume."
She looked up to see her would-be suitor, or Dom wannabe, from the tour.
Go away. She still didn't like him. Some guys just spiked on her inner sleaze-meter, and this was one of them. She opened her mouth, but hesitated. First of all, she wasn't sure what to say. Secondly, she didn't have permission from her Master to speak. Would it be feasible to just ignore the guy?
To her shock, he unbuttoned his pants, pulling his cock out and flapping it in her face. "Since you're on your knees, little wench…" he drawled, dick-whipping her.
She jerked her face away and glared up at him.
"What. The. Fuck. Do you think you're doing?" David's cold voice saved her from answering.
The cock still waggled in front of her face, so she kept her head turned away. Unmistakable masculine aggression poured from her Master as he put his fingertips on the would-be Dom's chest and pushed him back.
"Hey, I'm just having a little fun. What's your problem?"
"My problem, asshole, is your cock in my sub's face. Did you not see her collar? She belongs to me. I paid a lot of money to take ownership of her for the next few days, and I do not intend to let anyone else grab a freebie."
A knot formed below her solar plexus. She loved the fantasy of being a sexual slave, but this conversation made it a little too real. Like she really was nothing more than a piece of property to be fought over. And while some women might love being the cause of a fight, the aggro-male thing made her want to crawl under a table.
"Is there a problem here?" a huge security guard asked, towering over both men.
"Yeah, I have a problem," David said. "This guy was messing with my slave."
The security guard took the would-be Dom by the elbow. "Did you see the collar around her neck?" he asked, as he deftly led the guy away, diffusing the situation.
For a moment, Portia thought David would follow them to get his satisfaction, but instead, he turned and crouched in front of her, cupping the side of her face in one
hand and stroking her cheek with his thumb. "I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have left you unattended. Are you all right?"
She had never in a million years expected David Marone to humble himself with an apology. Nor did she expect the sudden gentleness of his touch, especially after the testosterone-charged confrontation a moment earlier. She stared at him, unable to gather her thoughts enough to answer.
"You may answer by shaking your head or nodding. Or, if you wish to speak, lick my hand."
Right. There was the asshole she remembered. She nodded her head.
He offered her a sip from a cup of punch he had somehow managed not to spill during the confrontation. "Do you want to leave here?"
She nodded again, even though she wasn't ready to be alone with him. She remembered feeling the same way when he'd asked her out all those years ago. She'd been terrified of him—of his charisma, his cocksure attitude. She'd brought her girlfriends along on the date to take the pressure off and ensure she wouldn't do something she'd regret, like let him into her pants or rip off his.
He'd been annoyed, she could tell, even though he made light of it, teasing her about making a statement. That had been just a few days before he'd totally humiliated her in front of the whole program.
He stood up now, and tugged the chain between her nipples to make her follow. She gasped, rushing to stand, despite the fact that her legs had fallen asleep kneeling. David put an arm around her waist, once more showing his awareness of her needs. She stamped her feet to get the blood back in them, trying to ignore the needles and pins. He shook her leash, then used it to tug her body closer to his, clearly enjoying the leverage it afforded.
"Come on, Kitty," he said, his voice low and sultry.
She trotted behind him, no longer enjoying the pressure of the tail in her ass. Not used to wearing a butt plug for any length of time, her anus had grown sore from the movement of the stainless steel against her tight pucker. She also wished she had more clothing on. After the unwanted attention from the other Dom, the extreme nudity contributed to a raw vulnerability as she walked through the throng of people and down the corridor.
When The Gavel Falls (Masters of the Castle) Page 28
