Another Appointment (3 page)

The slave had been apprehensive before, but now her every nerve jittered. She was helpless. She was blind, almost nude, and completely unprotected. Anyone could come into the park or wherever she was, and anyone could touch her. They could examine her, or play with her, or worse. She was so exposed and available that she felt her sex flutter, roused to readiness and to openness by her plight. She was anybody’s now; her master had abandoned her. He’d made a gift of her to whomever wandered by.

Will someone come?

She trembled, imagining strangers reaching for her, groping her, defiling her. What if some man out for a late-night walk was to see her vividly striped bottom and decide to add to its heat? What was another spanking to add to her redness and her pain? Her silky juice ran down her thighs just at the thought.

The slave’s sojourn in the gazebo was tense and unrestful. The day had been long and full of intense sensations, yet even though she’d slept in bondage before, she was too uncomfortable and too excited to doze now. Time passed strangely, and it could have been hours or even a scant few minutes before she heard first footsteps, then heavy breathing, close by her. There was another long moment while she stood there with her heart pounding so hard she was convinced she could hear it thud, thud, thudding in the night air, and then strong hands settled upon her, careful and warm.

Fingers that felt elegant and narrow rested against her skin and then began an exploration of her hot, naked bottom. The squeezing and pinching was painful and deliciously insulting, rousing her desire. When she was gasping behind her gag, a hand slid around her front and fingertips dove crudely between her legs, working her with rough, turbulent strokes, just the way she liked it. In moments, she climaxed heavily, but her unknown caresser spoke not a word throughout this process. He could have been anybody, a handsome, desirable lover or some thug or lowlife who’d just wandered by… But his cologne was distinctive and familiar, and she’d smelt its spicy citrus tang recently.

Was it her master who’d sent his chauffeur to touch her and use her, or had the servant simply come of his own volition? She hardly had time to wonder before the hand that had given pleasure landed stingingly against her bottom, spanking hard.

The strikes were unremitting. Again and again they landed, turning preexisting heat into a raging inferno and making her squirm and struggle and rock in her bonds, uncouth noises issuing helplessly from behind the gag in her mouth.

And yet still the punishment stirred her. Her sex screamed silently for more contact, the imagined, phantom sound louder in her head than any real cries of pain and anguish would have been if she could have uttered them. Even when the blows ceased, her body twisted and turned of its own volition, filled with a mad energy, trying to dissipate the fierce sensations even while she relished them.

“Be still!” The voice was low, gruff, barely more than a growl. The hands that had been both gentle and cruel slid over her body, swooping down, and in quick, deft actions, her unseen companion freed her ankles. A moment later she was turned and forced back against the unyielding wall. Then, even as she groaned at the wall’s hardness against her boiling bottom, she felt her assailant fall to his knees again and press his face between her thighs. He parted her bare labia with his fingers, then plunged at her clitoris with his tongue, alternating long, velvety licks with fierce suction, pulling hard on the sensitive little organ.

Again she soared, and again. New delicious orgasms—one, two, three… more. He was as ruthless in conferring them as he had been while beating her. He consumed her. He exalted her. He annihilated her.

Then, sagging in her bonds, not really sure whether she was still coming or just dreaming that she was coming, she heard the sound of a zipper, the sticky tussle of fingers and stiff flesh… and then a gasping shout of pleasure, not her gag-muffled outpourings this time, but a clear and telling cry from his lips.

A most familiar cry too, as semen spattered across her belly and her thighs.

The room was warm and cozy, and Mary-Anne felt supremely pampered and comfortable, even though she did have to lie naked on her belly on the crisp cotton sheets. Her bottom simmered quietly now, not really painful any more, just deliciously and glowingly hot still.

After he’d climaxed over her, her master—her beloved Benedict—had half staggered away from her and sat on the garden bench for a few moments, getting his breath back and regaining his composure. And then he’d returned to release her, folding her lovingly in his arms so she didn’t collapse.

“You’re magnificent,” he’d whispered as he so often did, helping her into her trench coat again, even though it was but a few steps up the back garden path and into the house.

Squirming against the mattress now, although not with pain, Mary-Anne grinned to herself. All that driving about… they’d doubled back along the country lanes around the periphery of Little Marplethorpe and returned to exactly the place from where they’d started. The scary gazebo of dangerous exposure was actually tucked away in the secluded rear garden of Benedict’s small but luxurious country getaway.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs and the landing, and as Mary-Anne twisted around to greet him, her master appeared in the bedroom doorway. Handsome, smiling, and completely and marvelously naked, he was carrying a silver tray, bearing Moët on ice and a pair of elegant, exquisitely cut vintage champagne flutes.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart,” he asked, setting down his burden on the adjacent sideboard and then perching on the bed beside her. “Do you want some more ointment on your bottom?”

“No… it’s fine, thanks. I’d love some of that fizz, though.”

Barely noticing any discomfort at all, she twisted on her side to share their celebratory toast.

“You’re magnificent,” her lover repeated, a soft smile lighting his narrow, beautiful face. “I really don’t think I can say that often enough, love.” His attention settled on a small item on the bedside table, and the smile broadened. “Do you want me to wear it again for you? I will, if you fancy me in it.” He lifted up the small, dark, carefully crafted false moustache and held it against his upper lip.

“Oh, I think I fancy you just as you are for the moment.” Mary-Anne glanced down at his penis, which was starting to rise again, stirred no doubt by the reddened curves of her bottom. “But maybe we could play another scene soon that requires you… er… in disguise?
Your
fantasy this time… Something from the backlist… or maybe something new?”

He’d done it all so cleverly. Hiring the limo, intercepting her at the station, playing his roles to perfection. He
was
her master, but although he was an excellent driver, he wasn’t usually a uniformed chauffeur.

“I’d like that,” he said quietly, and when she’d drained her glass, he took it from her and lay down beside her on the bed, looking into her eyes as he faced her. Resting his hand on the curve of her waist, he went on, “I love you… you do know that, don’t you? Whether we play games based on our stories or whether we don’t, I feel the same.”

“Me too,” said Mary-Anne, her heart swelling with happiness as she leant forward to kiss him. “Me too.”

Benedict’s pale, intense eyes grew serious for a moment, lambent yet also somehow slightly nervous. Which was so not like him at all.

“There is one scenario I have in mind, sooner or later, if you’re amenable. A new one, not yet written…” Leaning in close, he whispered in her ear, describing it.

Mary-Anne’s heart pounded even harder than it had in the gazebo or during any part of the fantasy adventure they’d just enjoyed. “But… that’s a bit elaborate, isn’t it? I mean… it’s just a story this time, isn’t it? We’d need a cast of dozens for that one, wouldn’t we, to make it seem real.”

“Not a cast, my love, just wedding guests and a vicar…” He hesitated, serious again, but with hope in his eyes. “And it wouldn’t have to
seem
real because it
would
be real. Will you marry me, Mary-Anne?”

She didn’t hesitate. She couldn’t wait. It was everything she wanted, the final perfect jewel in their relationship.

“Oh, hell yes. Of course I’ll marry you! I love you, Benedict.”

He inclined forward and kissed her softly.

“Very well, then, I’ll have to devise a plan again, won’t I?” His pale eyes glittered, bright and happy. Mischievous now.

“Please do… the sooner the better.”

He laughed, a familiar thrilling huskiness coloring the sound. “Are you trying to order me around, sweetheart?” He was trying for stern, but somehow it didn’t quite come out that way this time. “You know what will happen if you do that, don’t you?”

I do… Oh, how I do…

She held his gaze and then half sat up, pushing hard on his shoulders and making him fall back on the pillows. This wasn’t the time to hide her grin of triumph. She beamed at him as she swung her leg across his body, ready to ride him.

He
was
her master—he always would be—and she, his slave. These were the roles that had brought them together and made their love bloom.

But tonight,
she
was the one in ascendant, she, the one about to take charge… and wield her happy, loving power over her fiancé.

Many thanks for reading
Another Appointment
. I do hope you enjoyed discovering the second installment of “His by Choice,” Mary-Anne and Benedict’s unfolding BDSM love story.

If you haven’t read the story of their first meeting, check out “
An Appointment with Her Master
” in which Mary-Anne discovers that the reality of erotic punishment far exceeds her wildest fantasy… at the hands of handsome Benedict.

If you’d like to be notified when there are new installments of “His by Choice” or when I have other books and stories up for release, you can
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Portia Da Costa is a
Sunday Times
bestselling British author of romance, erotic romance, and erotica, whose short stories and novels have been published in the UK and elsewhere since 1991. She loves creating stories about sexy, likeable people in steamy, scandalous situations and has written for various publishers over the years, including Black Lace, HQN, Spice Briefs, Samhain Publishing, Carina Press, and a good many others. Though her best-known titles are mainly contemporary erotic romance, she also enjoys writing super-hot Victorian historical romance and erotic paranormals. She’s even turned her hand to a bit of erotic sci-fi and horror on occasion.

Recently, her Black Lace contemporary erotic romance
In Too Deep
, reached Number Five in the
Sunday Times
paperback fiction chart with only books by E L James and Sylvia Day outselling her!

When Portia isn’t writing she’s usually to be found loafing around, watching television or reading the works of Agatha Christie, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, or Stephen King. Sometimes all three at once, which can be confusing. She lives in the heart of West Yorkshire in the UK with her long-suffering husband and their four beloved cats: brother and sister Mork and Mindy, curmudgeonly but lovable Felix, and Monsieur Le Prince, a rescue cat from France.

Find out more about her at the following…

Twitter:
http://twitter.com/PortiaDaCosta

Website:
http://www.portiadacosta.com

Blog:
http://wendyportia.blogspot.com

Portia is also on Facebook

An Appointment with Her Master [His by Choice #1]

Another Appointment [His by Choice #2]

Daring Interludes

Delicious Pain

Erotic Escapades

Fire and Ice

Forbidden Treasures

Glint

His Secret [Secret Pleasures #1] - coming soon

In Sebastian’s Hands

Lessons and Lovers

Object of Desire

Naughty Thoughts

Power of Three

Tempted by Two

The Efficiency Expert

Their Secret [Secret Pleasures #2] - coming soon

Wesley and the Love Zombies

More information about Portia's Self Published titles here

The Accidental Trilogy

The Accidental Call Girl

The Accidental Mistress

The Accidental Bride

Black Lace Contemporaries

The Gift

The Red Collection

The Stranger

In Too Deep

Entertaining Mr Stone

The Devil Inside

Suite Seventeen

The Ladies’ Sewing Circle [Victorian setting]

In The Flesh

Diamonds in the Rough

A Gentlewoman’s Quartet

Three Colors Sexy

Discipline of the Blue Book

Ritual of the Red Chair

Ecstasy in the White Room

http://www.portiadacosta.com

When Alice Porter finds a chest full of vintage curiosa at an antique market, she little realizes how her discovery of the forgotten treasures of an Edwardian disciplinarian will change her life. The sexy hoard includes a punishment ledger and a well-used rattan cane, and the bygone items intrigue her husband Julian too. Sharing and experimenting with the writings and the wicked implement, the lovers begin a voyage of forbidden sensuality that shocks and thrills them both, revealing dark secrets from Julian’s past and bringing the two of them closer together than they’ve ever been before.