His Devil's Chains

by Linzi Basset

  “No, Sir.”

  “Your limit list indicated that whipping is a soft boundary for you, am I correct?”

  “It was, but since…” she gestured to the young Doms, “it’s become a hard limit.”

  Jack’s jaw turned rigid. “So, in other words, you don’t trust me?”

  “No, that’s not what I mean,” she protested lamely. “But I can’t … you saw what they did to her.”

  “Yes, my pet, what they did to her, not me. I wouldn’t endeavor to use an impact tool I wasn’t qualified to, Emerald. I’ve been teaching Doms the art of whipping for years and I’ve got twenty years of experience behind me.”

  “Twenty years?” Her eyes widened. “Just how the hell ancient are you?”

  Jack’s laughter married with that of his friends who stood watching. “It’s a little late to wonder about that, my pet.”

  Jordan blushed. She bore the tip of her toe into the hard surface of the floor.

  Jack’s cock twitched. She had no idea how endearing she looked at that moment, how hot and sexy her vulnerability made her appear. A surge of desire shot to his groin. He wanted her with a lust he found difficult to comprehend. It was a feeling he’d forgotten. It felt good. Energizing, and filled him with hope.

  “Emerald.”

  She looked up. “Yes, Master Black?”

  “What are the two most important aspects that guide the success of a D/s relationship?”

  “Trust and communication, Sir.”

  “Correct. So, I ask again. Do you trust me, Emerald?”

  Jordan stared at him. Long and hard. He returned her look unblinkingly. She instinctively knew the question went deeper than this moment. That it wasn’t a test of her submission to allow the demonstration. It was a desire, or rather a deeply vested need that shone in his eyes.

  Of what? What exactly does he want from me?

  Jordan reached deep inside her. To the same place where the words had come from earlier. No matter what had brought her to him, he was it. Jack Blackmore was the man she’d been searching for all her life. She’d be damned if she fucked it up.

  “I do, Master Black,” she said in a soft whisper.

  “But you’re scared.”

  Her eyes shot sideways again. A tremor shook her body. “I am.”

  “I’ll never hurt you, my pet. No more than I believe you can endure. Not in punishment and definitely not during an erotic whipping. You know the power is in your hands to stop me during a scene, Emerald, even while I’m doing a demonstration. Correct?”

  “Yes, Sir. My safe word.”

  Jack didn’t say anything further. He just waited and watched as she struggled to find the inner strength she desperately needed at that moment. He felt pride rise inside him as she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.

  “Very well, Master Black.” She hesitated. “H-how many strikes?”

  He brushed his finger over her cheek. “Until you climax, my pet.”

  “Then I guess it’ll be over in two ticks.”

  A red blush bloomed over her cheeks as everyone burst out laughing. She pressed her thighs together in a desperate attempt to stem the flow of arousal that spiked following Jack’s deep chuckle. Her loins had been pulsing with lust since she’d crawled down the stairs on all fours, knowing his hot gaze was glued on her exposed pussy.

  “That wouldn’t say much for my skill with the whip, my pet. I think I’ll make it worth your while. At least for twenty minutes.” He called one of the club coordinators closer. “I need to talk with Rhone to take over as CM while I do the demonstration. Please prepare her for a whipping. Make sure her thighs, ass, and back are well oiled.”

  “Oiled?” Jordan asked with a frown.

  “It will protect your skin and ensure no marks are left. Not that I aim to leave any sign of the whipping on your skin by the end of the night. Relax, Emerald. It’s a precaution every Dom takes.” He glanced at the two young Doms. “Something the two of you seemed to have omitted.”

  Julie, the coordinator, led Jordan to the St. Andrew’s cross. She smiled at Jordan as she began to rub an odorless oil over her skin.

  “You can relax, Emerald. There’s no one better with a whip than Master Black. The subs fall over their feet when they hear he wants to do an erotic whipping scene. If I’m you, I’d worry more about all the climaxes he’s going to give you than the strikes of the whip.”

  All too soon, Jordan was tied to the cross. Her face was pinched with worry. She looked like she was preparing herself for a fate worse than death. Her breath wheezed from her chest when Jack pressed his hard body against her back.

  “Easy there, my pet. We don’t want you over stimulated too soon, now do we?”

  “I think it’s a little late for that,” she mumbled under her breath, then felt heat sear her cheeks when he chuckled in her ear.

  “Keep your body relaxed. Don’t tense your muscles when you hear the swish of the whip. Lean into each strike, feel the heat as it brushes against your skin and concentrate on it spreading to that enticing pussy of yours.”

  “Master Black, I … ohh,” she moaned as he brushed his palm with a feathery caress over her nipples, which immediately sprang to attention. He rolled the taut tips between his fingers and tugged on them with teasing pulls. Jordan had never realized there was a direct connection between her clit and her nipples. A shard of desire shot south to set her clit tingling.

  “I’m going to start with a horsehair flogger. It will heat up your skin and prepare it for the whip. This won’t hurt at all, my pet. Ready?”

  “Nooo,” she wailed as she leaned her head back to rest on his shoulder.

  Jack planted soft nibbling kisses along her jawline before he caught her lips in a quick hard kiss. Then he was gone. Jordan was still trying to catch her breath when the first brushes of the flogger fell on her skin. She relaxed immediately. She’d been flogged before and had learned to lean into the strikes. Soon, her mind and body were so in tune with each soft lash that she didn’t even notice when Jack turned up the intensity and reddened her skin.

  “Now, my pet, you’re ready,” he said against her temple. He traced the curve of her hip while he rolled and pinched a nipple.

  “Oh, lord,” Jordan puffed as his fingers found her clitoris. He began to strum it with lazy taps and circles around the hard nub.

  “So eager and responsive to my touch. I believe I’m going to enjoy this trial period, Emerald. Very much so, indeed. But first,” his drawl was wicked, “we need to get rid of this little toy.”

  “Ahh, fuck!” she cried when he pulled out the butt plug with one strong motion. Her body shuddered at the sensations that rushed through her.

  “Now, you’re ready.” Before she could respond, he continued. “Keep your body relaxed, my pet, just like that. Remember, this is an erotic whipping with the purpose to arouse and give you pleasure rather than pain. The sting of my whip will quickly culminate into the ultimate pleasure.” He pinched her nipples before he stepped back. “Here we go.”

  The swish of the whip was so soft, the leather strip connected with her buttocks with an unexpected stinging kiss.

  “Oh,” she gasped in surprise as the second lash snapped like a flickering flame against her ass, followed by more, in what felt like a passionate dance of stinging caresses that soon settled into a soothing rhythm. Jack crisscrossed the strikes over her back, her thighs and her ass cheeks until she pushed onto her toes, pushing her hips outward to meet each strike with a resounding moan.

  Jordan was floating on a cloud of sensations she found impossible to decipher. Pain and arousal mingled to confuse her equilibrium. She craved more, something to elevate her a little higher to reach the elusive bliss that kept toggling at her loins.

  “Talk to me, my pet. Give me a color,” Jack said in her ear as he stepped against her. His hand circled her waist to stroke her breasts before he sharply pinched her nipples.

  “Ooh!” Jordan groaned, her hips jerked in reacti
on to his fingers that circled her clitoris with teasing taps in between. She gulped air into her lungs. A shiver of pleasure raced down her spine as Jack nibbled on her ear.

  “I’m waiting, sub.”

  “Green. I’m green, Master Black,” she croaked, pumping her hips in desperation as he pushed two fingers deep inside her pussy that immediately soaked them with her juices.

  “Ah, I see my recalcitrant sub is enjoying the whipping.”

  “Yes,” she whimpered, humping his hand in earnest now. The heat of the impending climax began at the back of her heels, like the sting of a thousand needles. “Please, Sir, I need to come,” she begged in a broken whisper, shocked at how the heat from his body against her stinging back increased her lust.

  Jack dropped his other hand and rubbed her clit with confident hard and fast motions. Jordan’s breathing spiked, her hips danced wildly against his hand. Her clit swelled, pulsed with demand, her nipples throbbed.

  “Come for me, my pet.”

  It was all Jordan needed. She arched her back. The scream that echoed through the chamber was raw and carnal as she climaxed. “Oh, fuck!”

  She was still in the roiling maelstrom of the aftermath from the orgasm when the whip cracked, a tiny whoosh that snapped against her skin leaving her gasping, shocked at the unexpected painful sting. He continued, landing one after the other, like the bite of a lava over her skin, over her back, down her ass, a few touched her thighs. The intensity increased, Jordan strained against the cross, then helplessly offered her ass for more. She couldn’t understand her reaction. How the painful brush of the whip caused her to be aroused—again! Within minutes of climaxing.

  “Deep breath, my pet,” Jack’s stern voice penetrated her frayed mind.

  She tried to obey but screamed as the whip cracked with the most painful snap against her ass yet, intensifying with each sharp lashing stroke that followed. Just when she thought she couldn’t take anymore, he would ease off to sweet brushing strokes, only to snap his wrist harder again when her cries subsided. It was those stinging, sharp lashes that shocked Jordan into cries of pain, only to be tumbled right back with sweeping, teasing strokes that elicited moans of arousal.

  “Please, Master Black,” Jordan cried. Her hands were fisted tightly in an attempt to hold on to her sanity.

  Jack flicked the tail of the whip over his shoulder as he walked closer.

  “Please what, Emerald?” he breathed into her ear.

  “I need … oh gawd,” she squeaked when he pumped two fingers inside her pussy without any warning. Her hips jagged in response.

  “What do you need, my pet?” Jack leaned back to examine the crisscross welts, then pressed against her, satisfied that it was no more than a heated sting she’d feel.

  “You,” she begged sweetly. “I need you. Please, please fuck me.”

  Jack had expected it but it still hit him with the force of a tsunami—her sultry voice begging for his pleasure. He reached for the zipper of his leathers.

  Then he stopped.

  He had more control than this. He had no intention of rushing the first time with her. Especially not when his body screamed at him to treasure her. To honor her with every inch of his large frame, which in lieu of the fact that he didn’t trust her, made no sense and confused the hell out of him.

  On the other hand, little Emerald needs to learn that I’m not the kind of Dom to play with. He grunted in his mind as he belatedly remembered the reason he’d agreed to the trial. To be made a fool of even less.

  He increased the speed of his hand plunging into her wet pussy, growling at the squelching sound that filled his ears. The spicy bouquet of her arousal and earlier climax filled his nostrils. It triggered his cock to surge to full arousal. He forced down his lust. He had the benefit of age and years of learning how to control his own desires.

  Jordan Clark would soon learn he wasn’t a young whelp who would bend to lust and the wiles of a woman. In the meantime, it didn’t mean he couldn't enjoy playing with her.

  “I am fucking you, my pet.”

  “That’s not what I … ooh jeez!” she wailed as he pinched her nipple, twisting it sharply as he turned his hand to strum her clit while he fucked her with a controlled rhythm of his hand.

  “Now, Emerald. Come.”

  Her scream drowned the order as she shattered under his ministrations. And still, it wasn’t the end. Jack continued to wring one climax after the other from her until she slumped weakly against him, hanging like a limp noodle from the cross.

  “No more. I beg you. Please stop.”

  “After,” he said in a deep growl.

  “Noo … god no. After what?”

  Jack pushed his hand deeper, searching for the bundle of nerves on the inside of her vagina. He began to rub her clit. Fast, hard, and with a motion that drove her on her toes as he pushed her to the edge with a primal growl. It echoed in his ears when he felt the walls of her pussy clench around his fingers. He tapped and jiggled the swollen twin nubs, inside and out.

  Jordan’s eyes widened as she felt a flush of heat fill her lower body, almost like when she needed to pee. She screamed as her body turned into a taut wire, on the verge of snapping. A gush of liquid flooded her pussy to stream down her legs.

  “Fuucc-kk, fuck, fuck,” she wailed, moaned, and screamed, all intermingled into one inhumane shout.

  “After this,” Jack said as he continued to fuel her climax, watching with his own arousal hot and heavy in his gut as she squirted in helpless surrender a second time.

  Chapter Three

  In the blinding light of the early morning sun, the Potomac River was like a semi-molten mirror. Rhone stared out over the wide expanse of the tranquil water from the Precision Secure boardroom window. One of Washington DC’s landmarks that marked it as a national river. All because George Washington had decided to build his home on its bank. The cultural and historic lifeblood of the USA’s capital which remained a living, pulsing force that provided sustenance and vitality to the most important estuary in the East.

  Rhone shook off the historical contemplation to focus on the problem at hand. The Sixth Order. He turned to face the room. He thanked his lucky stars for the eight men who chatted animatedly among themselves sitting around the massive boardroom table. Seven of them he’d known most of his life and trusted implicitly. Keon, who was like his twin brother, and his cousin Bruce, as well as Ethan, Max, Jack, Lance, and Alex White. He would give his life for any of them and he knew they wouldn’t hesitate to do the same for him. His gaze moved to the muscled black man in the wheelchair, the latest addition to their team, Richard Alma. He’d single-handedly proven his trustworthiness. It had bothered him at first that Richard had a history with Samantha Frazer, Rhone’s sub but not anymore.

  His thoughts drifted off again. This time to the delectable and seductive picture of the very same woman who had managed to unsettle his equilibrium. More than unsettle it, she’d fucking shot it all the way to hell. Yet, Rhone didn’t experience the same feeling of doom and imminent failure as he used to in the beginning. Not since she’d left him and he’d come to realize how empty and meaningless his life was without her. It had shaken him. Completely shattered every belief he’d come to live by … that happy ever after didn’t exist. Since she’d given him a second chance, he wanted to believe in it. With her.

  “That silly smile on our fearless leader’s face can only have one name.” Max’s taunt broke through Rhone’s musings.

  “Hell yes, and if any of us had any doubt who it was, you only have to look at the bulge in his pants to know for sure,” Jack added with a chuckle.

  “Still intimidated by my crown jewels, mate?” Rhone smiled as he sat down.

  “Not since I’ve come into my own,” Jack said dryly. “I might have been a late bloomer but now … well, the drooling subs cooing for my attention at the club says it all, as you very well now.”

  Savannah, Rhone’s assistant, arrived amid the gentle banter. She pl
aced a platter on the table, filled to the brink with their usual morning snack: freshly baked chocolate croissants. She filled the coffee machine and switched it on.

  “Anything else, Rhone?” she asked, watching the men as they joked around.

  “No, thanks, Savannah. Just make sure we’re not interrupted.”

  “Of course.” She quietly left and closed the heavy wooden door behind her.

  Everyone grabbed a cup of coffee and filled their plates with the hot delicacies. Their smacking lips echoed in the room as they enjoyed the soft pastries.

  “How did Brad Flint manage to be a front man for the Sixth Order without anyone knowing, Alex?” Rhone took a sip of his coffee, watching Alex with a penetrating look. “I find it hard to believe no one was aware of his association as the owner, despite the fact it was as his alias, Paul Burgess, of the lucrative and well-known company, Crown International.”

  Alex White, the Governor of Maryland, took a bite of his croissant as he considered his response. His expression was pensive. “I personally questioned Paul Burgess’ assistant. According to her, he only spent a couple of hours once a week at the office. I checked his schedule and calendar as Secretary of State. Those days correlate with his weekly golf dates.”

  “How was it possible that no one recognized Burgess as the Secretary of State? I find it inconceivable that he would expose himself like that. He stood to lose a lot more if he was recognized as a traitor in that position,” Jack interjected.

  “Because he wore a prosthetic mask with a red beard and hair,” Max volunteered. He typed on his iPad and flicked the picture to appear onto the massive wall mounted monitor—a photo of the masked Paul Burgess attending the Black Diamond Corporation’s Christmas party. He was in deep discussion with another traitor and one-time friend, Adam Baxter, who had been the frontman for the Sixth Order before they had exposed and killed him.

  “We also just uncovered that he had transferred the ownership of Crown International into a trust, a week prior to his execution.” Richard typed a couple of entries on his iPad to open the relevant files and flicked them onto the overhead screen as well.