by Renee Rose
“I got casting-couched. The director wanted me to suck his dick to show how much I wanted the part.”
My nostrils flare, and I let out a string of curses in Russian. That man will pay. But… “Why didn’t you want me to know?”
“I just—” She stops herself from speaking and swallows. She’s still hiding something again.
A massive alarm goes off in my head. Everything flashes hot and cold as my brows slam down. “Wait… did you do it?”
Her outrage couldn’t be faked. She slaps my face hard, and relief flushes through me.
“Sorry.” I catch her wrist and bring her fingers to my lips to kiss them. “I’m sorry, Kayla. Of course, you didn’t.” I shake my head, still trying to make sense of it. “It’s just that you lied straight to my face. It scared the shit out of me.”
Her eyes swim with tears.
“Why didn’t you want me to know? What did he do?”
She still resists, lowering her chin and drawing back a little.
I rub my hands up and down her arms as if she were cold. “What’s his name?”
Kayla shakes her head.
“No?” I didn’t mean to put a dangerous edge on the word, but she draws back at my tone, and her ass hits the suitcase. I still have her wrist, which I use to steady her.
She wets her lips. “Sasha said you’d kill him.”
I let out a humorless chuff of laughter as her reluctance to be forthright suddenly makes perfect sense. But then the notion that Sasha thinks I will kill this guy—that he deserves to die for what he did to her—sharpens the ruthless part of me to a lethal point.
“His name.” It’s a command, and she doesn’t miss the tone.
She swallows. “Are you going to kill him?”
“Did he touch you?” This man is fucking dead if he did.
She shakes her head repeatedly but then says. “He...he put my hand on his cock—o-over his shorts. But when I pulled away, he let me go.”
I nod slowly, considering what I’m going to do with this cocksucker.
“Does that mean yes, you’re going to kill him?”
I draw in a slow breath then shake my head. Kayla doesn’t want me to. Her soul’s too pure to have that on her conscience. “What do you want me to do?”
Her expression is uncertain. “Please don’t kill him.”
I consider and nod. “If you don’t want him dead, I’ll respect that. You have my word. But I am going to make sure you’re the last woman he tries this shit on.”
I wait for her to soften, then I slowly draw her into my arms. “Are you okay, little flower? You swear that’s all that happened?” She wraps her arms around my waist, pressing her face to my chest. I kiss the top of her head. When she doesn’t answer, I say, “Talk to me.”
“I’m okay. It was upsetting, but I’m fine. And you’re here.”
The last three words do something foreign to my heart.
“Tell me what you need.”
She lifts her head and peers up at me. She’s soft and supple and totally submissive again. “Just you,” she murmurs. “Us. To be your slave tonight.”
“Hm.” I tip her chin up, drinking in her unconditional surrender like it’s the fuel that keeps me alive. The electricity sparks between us and a haze of filthy ideas flash through my head. “You definitely have a punishment coming for lying to me. But I’m going to feed you and make sure you’re all right first.”
Her eyes dilate, and her nipples poke through her red scoop-neck blouse. “I’m not hungry yet. Honestly. I just want to play.”
“Come here.” I take her hand and lead her into the bathroom where I turn on the shower. “Strip.”
She’s instantly eager, kicking off her heels, shimmying out of her top and slacks. I lean back against the counter to watch her bra and panties come off, my dick lengthening in my pants.
“Wash off your day, blossom. Take your time.”
“Yes, Master,” she murmurs, head bowed.
I marvel at my urge to kiss that bowed head. How affectionate she’s taught me to be in just a few short weeks. That first night at Black Light, after I broke her as I’d known I would, the urge to walk away—hell, to run away was so strong. But Maxim directed me back to her. Said I owned her now. That she was mine. And that weight, that responsibility felt so light and heavy at the same time. I’d never held a woman before that night. I’d fucked. I’d scened with some women, though I was new to the BDSM world. But Kayla curled up in a blanket in my arms, needed to be held, and it forever changed me.
Whatever it is that she calls up in me is what makes me unwilling to walk away. This relationship is impractical at best—probably unhealthy for her, yet I’m here for the seventh weekend, more invested in seeing her again than I am in my next breath.
I stay where I am and watch through the glass shower doors, enjoying the view for a bit, then head into the bedroom to prepare for our scene.
This is the part that disturbs me. How excited I am to hurt Kayla. How hard I get when she whimpers, when she pleads. How much the idea of punishing her, then soothing it all away makes me feel like a mountain.
The justifications I have in my head—that she wants this, that she asked for it, that she enjoys it, too, only go so far. She just had an upsetting experience at her audition. Bad enough to make her cry. Should I really go through with this?
But she said it’s what she wanted. She seemed excited. And she has a safe word. I keep reminding myself of that. She has a safe word, and she doesn’t want me reminding her that she’s free to walk out that door any time she wants.
So it’s up to me to figure out how to give her what she needs.
I prepare for our scene.
The water in the shower turns off. Kayla doesn’t dally. In just a few minutes, she walks out of the bathroom, her naked body flushed from the heat of the shower. I watch her from the armchair by the sliding glass doors as she comes to me, stealing a glance at the implements and pillows I laid out on the bed before she kneels at my feet.
I take a mental snapshot of yet another magnificent picture. Kayla’s wet hair falls over her shoulders, sending rivulets of water trailing over her puckered nipples. She sits on her heels, her open thighs inviting my fingers to stroke between her legs to find out just how wet it makes her to submit to me.
“I’m sorry for lying, Master,” she murmurs.
I doubt either one of us is very sorry now. But I do want to make this point. I nearly choked on my heart for a minute there thinking we were over. Not understanding why she would ever try to deceive me.
“Thank you.” I don’t touch her—not yet, even though I can see she wants it. She leans forward, her pretty face tilted up, those eyes trained on my face. “Don’t keep things from me again, blossom. I don’t lie to you; I expect the same respect. We don’t lie to each other.”
Her chin wobbles. “Yes, Master.”
“Listen, I don’t want you scared of me. I like to run the show, but that doesn’t mean I won’t respect your wishes.”
She blinks. “What if I wished you to not do anything?”
Blyad’. She wants me to give this guy a pass? No fucking way. “Nyet. Someone puts their hands on you, they’re going to answer to me, end of story. You’re mine, Kayla. That means I protect you to the death.”
She shifts her butt on her heels, like that turned her on. “Yes, Master.” Her voice is soft and honey-sweet.
I unzip my jeans. “Show me you’re sorry.”
10
Kayla
A shudder of pleasure runs through Pavel when I lick around the head of his cock and then take him into my mouth. I love sucking Pavel’s dick. I love how submissive it makes me feel, how glorious the ultimate act of service is. This time, though, I’m determined to make it the best blowjob of his life. I’m a pleaser. I hate feeling like he’s disappointed in me, and the need to get out of trouble and earn his praise drives me to use everything in my arsenal. I take him deeper than I have before, going slowly to practice
relaxing my gag reflex until I get his full length into my throat.
His hand fists in my hair, but he makes no sounds. This guy always holds himself back. It makes me try all the harder. Sometimes I wonder if a guy was just nice to me, I’d be bored. I’m certainly never attracted to the nice guys.
Not that Pavel is mean. He’s attentive, and there’s an outline of respect even when he’s being completely disrespectful. He takes care of my needs. He’s just… not nice. But who cares? Some of us like rough. There’s nothing wrong with that, no matter what my roommates think.
I suck hard, drawing my mouth slowly back, listening for Pavel’s harsh intake of breath, sensing the tightening of his fingers in my hair. I wait long enough to create urgency before I take all of him back into my mouth, into my throat. He lets out a groan.
I’m wet just from his pleasure, from my subservient act, from taking on the role of slave.
Pavel’s breath grows ragged as he starts to gently guide my head, and then eventually takes over, directing the action with his fist in my hair.
I nearly come myself when he chokes and then groans, shooting his essence down my throat. The salty taste burns a little, and I pull back to swallow. I wipe my face with the back of my hand. “Master?” I chose this moment strategically. He’s always more generous after he comes or after he’s broken me.
He looks at me with those cool, grey eyes. I know I pleased him because he just got off, but it doesn’t show in his face.
When he doesn’t answer, I rush forward, “Can I be over your knee for my punishment?” I saw he’d laid out pillows in the center of the bed, and I know exactly how he intends to use them, but I would so much rather have the intimacy of being over his lap—being close to him, especially because this is real punishment. At least I think it is. It’s so hard to tell if anything’s real with Pavel.
My emotions are real—that’s what matters. I’m already close to breaking, and he hasn’t even started. I crave connection.
“Is that what you need?” He brushes his thumb across my lower lip, and my body responds like he’s a musician bowing my strings.
“Please, Master.”
“Da. Come here.” He tucks his cock away and stands, lifting me by my wrists to stand. He walks to his suitcase and pulls out a small pocket paddle—the kind that’s round like a small ping pong paddle, just big enough to strike one buttcheek. He hasn’t used it on me before, and a shiver of mingled excitement and fear runs up my spine.
He walks the edge of the bed and sits, tugging me over one knee, my torso resting on the bed. “Take a pillow, blossom.”
I reach for one of the pillows piled in the center of the bed and hug it under my chest, resting my cheek on it.
He spanks me with his hand. The first few slaps are hard—hard enough to take my breath away. He delivers five and then stops, reaching for something. I brace myself for whatever he has planned. I relax when I sense something hard and rounded at the entrance of my sex. He pushes in a small bullet vibrator and turns it onto low.
I’m already dripping with desire, and the vibrator has the effect of waking up my entire pelvic region. My next exhale has a moan to it. Pavel doesn’t stop with filling my pussy. He spreads my cheeks and drops a dollop of lube on my anus. I gasp, tightening against the surprise sensation.
Pavel rolls the rounded end of a stainless steel buttplug against my asshole then pushes in.
I squeak at the pressure.
“Take it,” he growls.
I work hard to relax, forcing out a slow exhale and gradually releasing the tension in my sphincter muscles. As soon as they go slack, he pushes in. It’s a crazy mixture of pleasure and pain—the ring of muscles stretching open burns, but the sensation is counteracted by the buzzing against my G-spot and the internal fullness as the plug enters my body and finally seats.
I whimper, feeling fully surrendered now, fully his. The position is humiliating but hot. There’s something I adore about my entire body being owned and controlled by my demanding lover.
“Please,” I mewl, even though I don’t know what I’m begging for.
Certainly not for him to stop. I know he won’t. And not for more, either. The sensations are already too much—I’m on overload.
But he does give me more. He starts spanking me again with both holes full. Every spank jiggles the plug inside my ass, sending fresh bursts of sensation through me while the vibrator takes me right to the edge.
“Master, please,” I plead. Now I understand what I was begging for. “I need to come.”
Already.
I need to come desperately. And I’m almost certain he will refuse.
“No.” The syllable is harsh—a rebuke for even asking.
His spanks fall fast and hard, lighting up my ass and making my back muscles tense.
“Please, Master.” I’m not really asking anymore. I know the answer is no. I’m just losing my sanity. Begging is all I’m capable of. And it’s what he wants to hear.
I hug the pillow tight to keep from covering my butt with my hands because the burn grows in intensity with every slap he delivers. The harder he spanks, the harder I have to come. I start to buck and wriggle over his lap. “Please, Master...please, Master.” I’m so close.
He stops rather abruptly. I expect him to give me a break, maybe rub my ass while I pant and catch my breath, but instead, he pulls me up to stand in front of him, between his knees.
I’m hot and discombobulated. My hair falls across my face, and I’m close to tears. I hold my ass. Pavel tugs and rolls my nipples and puts tiny alligator clamps on one of them. I nearly come the moment he closes it. I have to shift and press my thighs together to stop. I’m more prepared for the second one.
“Master,” I whimper.
Those grey eyes meet mine, and I catch the flash of approval before he hides it. He likes me this way—pleading and begging and at his mercy. Desperate to come.
He reaches around to cup my ass, pushing my hands away. He kneads it, pulling me closer, then he starts to play with the buttplug, pumping it slowly.
“Oh!” I can’t control the quivers that explode in my belly. He pumps again, short fast pumps. I press my fingers over my clit as I throw back my head and come, unable to stop myself.
“I’m sorry, Master,” I gasp as soon as I can catch my breath. My hands fall onto his shoulders because my legs won’t hold me up.
A tear streaks down my face although I’m not even sure what it’s for.
Pavel thumbs it away, studying my face. “It’s okay, blossom,” he murmurs. “It was an accident.” He adjusts the nipple clamps, then guides me back over his knee.
This time he uses the paddle on me, and I jolt with the intensity. It’s way different than his hand—much harder. And hurty. He spanks me quickly, alternating buttcheeks, right, then left.
I squirm and writhe under the spanks at first—I can’t help it. But when he continues paddling, my last bit of resistance lets go. I surrender to his will, to the pain. At the same time, the upset of the audition, my stress over not telling Pavel, his disappointment in me all bubble up to the surface.
A sob breaks from my throat, and then I totally lose it.
Pavel stops immediately. “Oh, malysh.”
Pavel
Tonight I want to tear out my hair when Kayla cries. It happens sometimes. She cried the first night we played—not during the scene, but after. She needed aftercare, and I didn’t give it. Even though I know it’s probably just an emotional release from the strain of her traumatic day, I feel like the biggest mudak.
I don’t show my distress—that would only make her bottle her release in an effort to please me. I rub her ass with one hand and her back with the other. I don’t interrupt by asking her if she’s okay or what went wrong. I may not be the most experienced dom, but I know enough to make this a safe space for anything that comes out.
But as she lets out a torrent of tears, I’m sorry I promised not to kill the television director
. I really, really want to pound his face right now. Or maybe it’s just my own face I want to pound.
After a while, her sobs slow and then stop. I gently remove the plugs. She’s still dripping wet, so I know no matter what happened emotionally, my little flower is turned on.
“Crawl up on the bed, blossom.” I keep my voice soft—there’s no command in my tone, only gentleness. I’m not sure if she needs to be fucked or held right now, so I’m trying to read her.
Kayla instantly obeys, crawling up farther on the bed, lying on her belly with her legs spread wide in clear invitation.
“Is that how you want it, malysh?” I break my own rule and ask. I stroke and squeeze her reddened ass, making a sound of contentment in my throat.
When I rub between her legs, she makes the same sound. “Yes, Master. Please.”
Another mental snapshot. So damn sweet.
I strip out of my clothes and crawl up behind her, pushing her damp blonde hair from one side of her tear-stained face to brush my lips over her temple. She arches her ass up when my cock trails between her legs.
I push in easily, her channel is soaked and swollen. I move slowly, arcing in and out with reverent glides. Filling her, reveling in the glory of everything Kayla—her tight cunt. Her punished ass. Her sweet, sweet submission.
It starts without urgency. Just pleasure. Easy strokes. The communion of two bodies. But Kayla starts crooning, “Master… Master” over and over again in that breathy, need-soaked voice, and my dick can’t take it any longer. I pick up my speed, pumping into her, riding the wave. I take off her nipple clamps so the rush of blood returning to them will stimulate her orgasm, then I work a hand beneath her pelvis to rub her clit. She immediately comes.
Her climax brings on mine, and I’m lost in it. It’s not rockets and fireworks this time. More like a safe space. Home. Not that my home was ever safe. But this is the way home should feel.
I lower my body onto Kayla’s and kiss her neck.
She sighs contentedly. “I love you, Master.”
My heart—the poor organ that’s already been strained beyond recognition—bursts open at her confession. I pull out and flip her to her back, pinning her wrists beside her head, blanketing her body with mine again. “You are fucking everything to me,” I swear fiercely. I don’t know anything about love. I’ve never known it. But my words are the truest I’ve ever spoken.
