“I am so glad you are here,” Rachel was saying now as she began moving her setting to the other side of the table. “We will have so much fun. Do you like the Jonas Brothers? Of course not, they are way too immature. I used to like Green Day, now I like Nickelback. You know all their songs are about sex, the women are pure sluts and the men love trying to control them. Wouldn’t it be off the hook if they sang about BDSM?”
Cameron just stood there. It was like trying to follow a whirling dervish.
This chick gave new meaning to bipolar.
The new arrangement left Victor at the head of the table with Cameron to his right and Rachel to the right of her.
Victor helped both women to sit, holding out their chairs for them.
“A toast,” he said after the champagne was poured. “To new beginnings.”
“To new beginnings,” proclaimed Rachel, rather louder than the other two.
Cameron had her doubts.
Sure enough as soon as the soup arrived, Rachel had something to say.
“I’m not sure I’ll be very hungry with all the protein I’ve had today.”
“Do your best,” said Victor, his tone serving notice that the topic was to be dropped.
“I only meant that I swallowed a lot of come,” she said, as though spelling out the obvious would somehow serve a purpose.
“Rachel Francine,” Victor pronounced. “This is your last warning.”
Rachel hung her head. “Yes, Sir.”
“So tell us Cameron,” said Victor. “What do you think of our humble abode so far?”
Cameron fished for words. “It’s…enlightening.”
“Cameron, tell us about the Doctor,” said Rachel.
Cameron flushed red. “I…I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Did he use his little clit tweezers?” she whispered more than loud enough to be heard by Victor.
“Cameron already said she didn’t want to talk about it,” said Victor.
Rachel looked contrite. “Sorry.”
“You need some thinking time, young lady,” Victor decided. “Go and find your spot.”
“But we’re talking,” Rachel whined. “I’ll be better, I promise. Please don’t do this to me in front of company.”
Victor snapped his fingers. “Corner, now.”
“Yes….” Rachel rose from the table, all trace of rebellion instantly vanished.
Victor held out his glass for more champagne. The server quickly obliged, though he had half an eye on the waif doing her sexy shuffle across the tile.
Rachel slipped off her sandals as she reached the far wall. Hands at her sides she slipped into place, her face obscured now, her buttocks exposed, only the dress to protect her from prying eyes…or punishing hands.
“Let’s keep that back straight,” said Victor, not deigning to look at his young slave. “And that pretty little nose tight to the wall.”
Rachel obeyed, pressing herself more tightly.
“How…how long will she stay like that?” Cameron wanted to know.
“A few minutes, an hour, it all depends.”
“On?”
“How contrite she seems.”
Cameron guzzled her champagne. So Victor wasn’t a pushover. He had his dominance over the young, tempestuous beauty. And yet there relationship was more complex than mere master and slave.
She longed to learn more about it.
“Her contrition doesn’t seem to last,” Cameron noted.
“Neither does anything else in this world.”
The champagne was kicking in, emboldening. “That sounds evasive. Is Rachel a failure…as your enslavement projects go?”
Victor smiled. “You could ask me the same about Veronica. She is hardly a textbook submissive.”
“Not like cage loving Chloe, who, by the way, has someone else’s initials on her ass, ZS, as I recall.”
“ZS is not a person. It’s an entity, the Zanzibar Association. It is a community of consensual masters and slaves,” said Victor. “I acquired Chloe from them several years back.”
“Acquired? That doesn’t sound consensual.”
“Chloe made certain agreements, pledges when she joined the Society. She could quit, but she has her vow to obey.”
“You make it sound like marriage.”
“Oh, it’s much more than marriage. A slave commits body and soul, his or her literal life in exchange for the caring protection and discipline of a master.”
“You haven’t mentioned love,” said Cameron. “Then again you already made it clear you live your life without it.”
“That is my choice.”
“To deny your humanity?” Cameron wasn’t sure why this conversation was upsetting her so much. Probably it had to do with Craig. “That doesn’t seem like much of an option.”
Victor’s eyes were deep, cold, unblinking. Cameron wanted to flee from them, but something held her focused. The need to convert him, to pull him into her world—or did she want to be in his?
“I have seen enough of this humanity you speak of,” he declared. “I prefer the beasts of the world. They are more honest at least.”
Cameron reached to her lap for her napkin. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Planning on running…again?”
“I’ve never run from you.”
“Your whole life is about running,” Victor said. “Don’t look so surprised, you’re not the only one who studies the human psyche. Inside you is a hurt female, a wounded rejected girl. She knows what it will take to heal her, but she is scared of the price—rather you are scared of paying it for her.”
“Mumbo jumbo,” she dismissed. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Victor laughed.
“Is there a frigging joke here?”
“You’ll have to forgive me, but I’ve rather seen through to the end and it’s a bit comical. You’re baiting me right now, secretly hoping I will tell you to sit back down and mind your manners. We’ll circle the issue a while, etc., etc. By morning we’ll have blasted through the possibilities and you will vow to hate me for the rest of your life.”
“You’re not worth hating.”
“Let her go,” called out Rachel, still in her place in the corner.
“Silence!” shouted Victor, making the chandelier tremble.
Rachel began to cry.
“Feel more like a man now,” Cameron taunted. “Maybe you should take her back to the solarium, although that doesn’t seem to work does it.”
Victor was on his feet, something new in his eyes. His movements were slow and deliberate as he removed his jacket and for the first time Cameron saw it, the very thing that Veronica had been saying. His real power lay in his ability to enjoy.
He was playing.
It was all a fucking game, including the yelling.
Rachel wasn’t out of control. She was the creature he wanted her to be.
She had been trained, that’s what he had meant when he called her a pet. An over indulged one.
Didn’t masters spoil pets for their own pleasure?
But a man like Victor was easily bored. He needed new mountains to climb.
The flavor of the day, Veronica had called Cameron.
“Rachel,” said Victor. “I am afraid we must leave you for a while. Do be a dear and wait for me, will you?”
Rachel’s shoulders shook as she sobbed, silently.
“What do you think you are doing?” Cameron said as Victor stepped around the table reaching for her.
“I believe it’s called cutting to the chase.”
In one smooth motion he lifted her into his arms, pulling her against his muscular chest. She tried not to inhale his scent, fresh musk with a hint of sheer masculine essence. He was so strong and she was so frail.
She ought to be fighting, saying no.
But she wanted it.
And god knows she needed it.
***
Victor carried Cameron up the stairs, three long, winding fli
ghts straight up to his bedroom. The décor took her breath away almost as much as the man himself. It was fit for a king with gold leaf furniture and an enormous four poster bed. The bed was covered in red velvet. There were matching velvet ropes, one at each corner.
Cameron felt a hot stab in the belly. It was built in bondage.
A riding crop sat atop one of the monogrammed pillow cases.
Was it a usual part of the furnishings or had he anticipated having someone in here tonight…her to be precise?
Somber looking men frowned at her from the paintings. Their eyes were dark as Victor’s, though they lacked that dancing light of play.
Victor wasted no time depositing her in the center of the bed. He did so with such gentleness that she was almost lulled into a false sense of security.
His next words cured her of any illusions.
“Since the clothes you are wearing are technically mine,” he said. “You will understand if I take the liberty of ripping them from your body.”
“You’re a gentleman for warning me,” she said. “Though I had my suspicions.”
Victor smiled, that trademarked angling of his lips that made him look like the devil in the disguise of an Adonis. “You may not think me a gentleman when this is all over. I have a tendency to push to the limits.”
“You’ll give me a safety word, then?”
“No,” he said, rather surprising her with his answer. “That would spoil the fun.”
“So you have no qualms about raping me?”
“On the contrary, Cameron, the moment you say no, it will end. And I won’t gag you, either.”
“What’s the catch?”
He laughed, letting forth that rich, deep sound she was coming to crave like a fresh cup of coffee in the morning. “You really don’t see it, a brilliant student of the mind such as yourself? I am choosing to deny you any cover. I am not content to conquer your body. I will have your mind’s acquiescence. You will collaborate each and every step or you will be cast aside.”
“You’re a bastard,” said Cameron. “Truly.”
“Thank you,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt. “I pride myself on the point.”
She watched him strip himself to the waist, baring his lean, swimmer’s physique, the washboard abdomen, the firm pectorals and rounded biceps.
Hands at his waist he said, “Shall we begin, Cameron?”
“Yes,” she replied, the sound of her own voice deafening and almost frightening in her own ears.
“It is my desire to be rough with you, Cameron, I want you naked as a preliminary to that end.”
Her heart slammed in her chest. Her breath grew shallow.
“Cameron?”
His voice held little patience…the clock was ticking.
“Yes…”
“That’s not enough, I want it spelled out.”
“Be—be rough with me…strip me…”
Victor moved very quickly, pinning her. The kiss let her know what was to come. She tasted her own blood, felt his tongue probing, stabbing, invading, their teeth clicking against each other, no chance to breathe, no opportunity to respond back.
Oh, god, she wanted to offer herself…
But this wasn’t about offering.
Face cold as stone he turned his attention to her breasts. Savagely he tore at her bodice, efficiently moving to expose her breasts. When the bra got in the way he simply tore down the entire top of the dress, pulling the bra straps over her shoulders.
She burned with the heat as he looked at his prize. She was nothing else at the moment to him but this, a pair of tits, round fleshy mounds to do with as he pleased.
Asking mercy would be futile.
He devoured them now, looking for his pleasure, not hers. God help her, she enjoyed, rose to the moment as he suckled and nibbled and bit.
Apparently the whimpering was not affirmation enough.
“Is this too rough for you, Cameron?”
Fucking…bastard.
She wanted to scream, how was she supposed to talk?
“It’s…it’s all right…”
He clamped with his teeth, leaving her no option but to squirm and push at his head with her hands.
“You want this over?” he challenged. “You want out of here?”
She shook her head.
“N—no…”
“I can go on?”
“Y—yes…”
The stakes went up considerably.
Yessssss…
His knee between her legs, making her spread, his hands, pulling up her dress, forcing it up past her waist, her panties, yanked down, shoes off, thrown across the room, all in rapid succession, a flurry of male centered energy, reducing her to object, an impending shelter for his pounding lust.
No—not just an object, a creature, a being of fantasy, pure energy. Mental pinup, spiritual jerk off…
Victor had her ankles obscenely apart now, a wishbone in his grip. “I don’t want to touch it, Cameron, no fucking foreplay, I don’t want to look at it, I don’t want to know what you’re thinking, feeling, or how goddamn wet you are…I want to be inside you, I want to make that happen…do you agree?”
He was looming, oh, god, he was there, he had opened his pants, he had done all the things necessary on his end. But he wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t stick it to her, in her, until she said.
“No…foreplay,” she gasped, waving all rights, though ironically this reality of sheer overpowering, indifferent male power was what was making her wet.
No foreplay was foreplay.
Even Victor seemed to be feeling the strain now. He collapsed on top of her, his cock pushed up inside her, slid between the lips, jammed, exploded down within like a penetrating missile. She tried to remember what it had looked like, summoning from memory the split seconds she had seen his erection, that precious interval between the moment he took it out and when he used it…used her.
Victor extracted himself once, twice, slamming down in between. She was the favorite ride at the amusement park, the challenge of the hour…flavor of the day.
They fit, jeezus, they fit, in the heat, the mutual agreement to abandon humanity, playing the part of animals for just a few minutes.
He hadn’t even remembered to whip her.
This was deeper than BDSM.
Primal.
His orgasm was hers, she soaked in the come as it spurted, clenching, unclenching her pussy walls, timing the waves of release with his own tight projections.
Nothing like this had ever happened with Craig or any other man. She was his beginning and he was her end. It was a circle, an uncoiled whip, snapping, unsnapping, curling out into eternity.
Dominant, submissive, what did it matter as he lay above her, gradually taking on weight, readjusting to human form until finally they remembered, or rather their souls remembered.
He was muscled, strong, on top. And she was underneath.
She couldn’t breathe.
She asked him to relinquish, which he did, moving himself to the side. His arm stayed across her waist, his hand naturally cupping her breast. She wanted to cry.
But not from pain.
He had wanted to be rough…but somehow he had taught her tenderness.
Cameron was afraid to fall asleep. She wanted this to last. She wanted to keep her dreams intact…her illusions.
This Victor was no knight in shining armor.
Then again, what kind of princess wants her clothes ripped off, her body thrown in place like a rag doll.
A princess like her, she thought, as her consciousness drifted away.
A dark princess…into the dark night.
Chapter Nine
Rachel prodded Cameron awake, hours later, maybe days it hardly mattered.
Cameron’s head pounded, her mouth was dry. She lay in a shambles, her tattered dress strewn across the bed in pieces.
“Someone had a good time last night,” sing-songed Rachel.
Cameron wasn’t in the mo
od. “If you’ve come to taunt me…”
“Actually you have a phone call. It’s your stupid cell. It kept ringing so I answered it. It’s a guy named Craig. He sounds cute. Is he hot?”
Cameron snatched the phone from Rachel’s hand. “Craig, is that you?”
“Cameron, thank god,” he said. “Who was that who answered the phone?”
“It’s nobody,” Cameron said glaring at Rachel.
Rachel stood there smirking. She had pig tails today and a white tee shirt that said “Goofy and Gorgeous.”
“Rachel, please give me some privacy.”
Rachel rolled her eyes and sauntered out of the room.
Where was Victor? Cameron wondered.
“I’ve been worried sick about you,” Craig was saying now. “Where are you?”
“I’m…safe.”
“You don’t sound safe. Look, I want us to talk, I’ve done a lot of thinking and I’m not willing to end what we have just because of one little…incident.”
It was a lot more than that now, Cameron thought glumly. “I want to talk to you, too, Craig.”
“Good. You’ll come home, then?”
She swallowed hard. How would she face Craig in the home they had built together, humble as it was? She didn’t deserve to be under that roof, not anymore.
“Can we meet someplace else?”
“I suppose…”
“It would mean a lot to me.”
“Fine, name the place.”
She suggested a café, realizing too late it was the same place she had met Victor. “I can be there in an hour,” she said, having no idea what time it was now.
“I’ll be waiting,” he said. “I love you…”
“Me, too,” she answered, voice trembling.
She disconnected before he could say anything else.
A half hour later she had managed to shower and get dressed. She asked the butler to arrange a ride for her to the café. She gave no thought to what would happen next, after she met Craig, whether she would go back to him or return to Victor.
Assuming he wanted her.
She hadn’t the nerve to ask where he was.
Craig was true to his word, waiting outside the front door of the café.
Teach Me Tender, Teach Me Rough Page 10
