Challenge to Him (7 page)

“Ah, sweet, you do look wicked! What would your Russian think, hey?” He leant forward to pinch her nipple, triggering a shock of pleasure, but backed away before she could make contact. “Did your precious poet ever bind you outdoors, in full view of polite society?”

“No, sir…” Dmitri had confined their deviant games to the garret they’d shared. She’d sometimes wished otherwise.

“Ah—a first then! And do you like being exposed, Miss Alcott? Does it arouse you?” He still wouldn’t come closer. Olivia caught a whiff of her own ocean aroma. Her pussy clenched on emptiness.

“You know it does, sir.” Heat climbed into her cheeks. Heat pulsed in her core.

“Yes, yes, I do know. I know you, Olivia. I know what you need.”

As he gloated before her, he was unbuttoning his trousers. His cock sprang free, arching up towards his white cummerbund. She whimpered, overwhelmed, incoherent with desire.

“Ah—poor Olivia! Do you want something?”

“Ah—yes, yes, sir…”

“Ask me then. Tell me what you want.”

Olivia hung in her bonds, silent and needy.

“Ask, my sweet. Be brave.”

The bravado in his voice was gone, replaced by tenderness. He caught her chin in his fingers and raised her face to his.

Olivia swallowed her fear. “Sir—please—your cock in my cunny…”

“You want me to fuck you?” Not waiting for an answer, he stepped between her spread thighs and rubbed the swollen tip of his organ over her slick folds. A premonition of climax shuddered through her.

“Yes…oh, yes…”

He sank into her depths. She moaned as he filled her—hot, hard, perfect. Crushing her to his chest, he worked his hips, grinding against her sheathed clit.

The friction undid her. She flew into orgasm, jerking in her bonds as he pounded her without mercy.

“All you needed to do, darling,” he murmured, as she came back to earth, quivering in his arms, “was ask.”

Chapter Nine

“Another strawberry, Mrs MacIntyre?” Andrew dangled the scarlet fruit an inch above her open lips, letting the cream that coated it dribble onto her tongue. Bound hand and foot to the four corner posts of the Louis XVI bed, Olivia could do little more than wriggle.

“If it pleases you, sir…”

He allowed the berry to drop. Sweetness exploded in her mouth as she bit into its firm flesh.

“It does please me. You please me, my little crusader, more and more every day.” He stretched his naked body over hers and mingled his coffee and tobacco taste with the fruit flavour in a luscious, lazy kiss. He was hard again, though fresh jism from their latest coupling still leaked from her cleft. His pubic hair scratched and stung against the welts he’d painted on her thighs with the new martinet. They’d found the toy yesterday at one of the city’s many flea markets, along with some iron manacles Andrew claimed dated from the Revolution. The lingering soreness in her pussy transmuted into an ache of need. She wanted him again, deep inside—as surely as he wanted her.

“We have an appointment this afternoon with Monsieur Fronchet at Van Cleef and Arpels on Place Vendôme. I plan to buy you a proper wedding ring.” The plain gold circlet he’d acquired so hurriedly in Newport gleamed in the morning sunlight. After they’d been discovered in flagrante, his trousers unbuttoned and her gown in tatters, Andrew’s mother had insisted on a rapid, private marriage and a long trip abroad. Andrew had been eager, for once, to obey his mother’s dictates.

Olivia had been mortified when Gannet had strolled up to the tea house. Now, though, the recollection of his knowing smile thrilled her. Andrew had vowed he’d share her with his devoted and discreet friend after they returned to America…

Her husband licked at the corners of her mouth, gathering powdered sugar and residual cream. “And then, later, I’ve booked us a cruise on the Seine. A
private
cruise.”

Warmth surged through her as he applied his deft fingers to her soaked quim. A premonition of climax scattered her fantasies of what he might do to her on the boat. But he snatched his hand away just as she teetered on the brink, then chuckled at her moan of frustration.

“You’re insatiable, my darling slut.” He leaned in for another kiss.

“And you love that fact, don’t you, sir?” Olivia countered when they broke for breath.

“I do. I love you—your body, your mind, your eagerness to serve me…”

“Even my liberal social philosophies?”

“I raised the millworkers’ wages, didn’t I? And the steel men’s, too.” He twisted one engorged nipple to the point of pain. She swallowed her cry, determined to endure whatever delicious tortures he saw fit to bestow. “You drive a hard bargain, Mrs MacIntyre.”

His rampant cock slipped easily between her sprawled thighs and into her slick folds—where it belonged. Olivia gasped. “Ah—oh, sir…” A new crisis shimmered on the horizon as he stroked in and out. She gazed up into the mischief-filled eyes of her lover, her lord, her master.

“But it’s worth it. You’re mine now, tied to me by law and lust. And no matter what anyone says, I’m never letting you go.”

Also available from Total-E-Bound Publishing:

Mastering Maya

Lisabet Sarai

Excerpt

Chapter One

“Who the hell is she?”

The crack of the Domme’s single-tail whip punctuated Stephen’s question. Raven hair cascaded to her waist, swinging in time with the steady strokes she layered on her bound victim’s naked back. She danced around the flogging bench like a ballerina, bringing the leather thong down on the still-unmarked areas of skin with astonishing grace and precision. The brawny blond man stretched lengthwise along the padded trestle jerked each time the whip found its mark. The sub’s gag effectively muffled any vocal reaction, but Stephen had a clear view of his engorged cock poking through the hole in the bench. Pre-cum slicked the shaft. Meanwhile, the blond’s buttocks clenched around the plug embedded in his anus each time the Domme’s lash struck. Obviously, the sub was enjoying the woman’s expert beating.

It was the woman who held Stephen’s attention, though. Her simple, severe outfit—a white crêpe blouse, narrow navy skirt and broad belt—highlighted her lush curves. The half-buttoned top revealed the shadowed valley between her breasts. As she travelled from one side of the bench to the other, seeking the optimal angle for her next stroke, he noticed the slit in her skirt, facilitating her movements but also offering glimpses of creamy thigh.

His own cock swelled in his tight leather trousers, but not because of her extraordinary body. Stephen—Master Shark, as he was called by others in the lifestyle—had known many beautiful women, in the most intimate of senses. No, her face—her expression—was what transfixed him, making his balls ache and his palms itch to stroke and slap that ripe flesh. She wore a look of utter calm and total concentration, even as she brought the lash down with increasing ferocity. Only her eyes betrayed her excitement. As she applied the whip to the submissive’s reddening backside, she did not smile. He saw none of the manic glee he felt when administering a flogging. Her self-control was absolute.

“The Ice Queen,” his friend Tom—Master Thomas—replied to his almost-forgotten question. “Amazing, isn’t she?”

“The Ice Queen? That’s her scene name?”

The woman paused to murmur in the sub’s ear and gently knead his crimson butt. The blond shook his head, clearly indicating that he wanted more. For the first time, her lovely mouth curved into the ghost of a smile. Stationing herself where the sub could see her, she unfastened her blouse one slow button at a time and slipped it off her shoulders. Now Stephen could see the rise and fall of her breathing—so her exertion had taken some toll, at least—and the dark nipples peeking through her white lace bra. The Domme was aroused after all, despite her impassive demeanour.

Her mini-striptease had the desired effect. The naked yearning in the shackled man’s face made Stephen grin. His own imprisoned erection throbbed, mirroring the sub’s urgency.

“No, no, that’s just her nickname. No one would dare call Maya that to her face. But you can see where it comes from.”

Stephen inclined his head in silent assent, watching as the kinky scene continued to unfold.

The black-maned beauty stepped closer to her bound victim and fondled his cock. The man writhed against the padded horse. “You’re such a pain slut, James. I imagine you want me to use the cane now, don’t you?” Her voice was a low alto, smooth and warm as single-malt Scotch.

The man’s straw-coloured locks fell into his eyes as he gave a vigorous nod. She swept them back from his brow and captured his gaze. “Are you certain you can take it?”

Another nod. Stephen realised he was holding his breath. He forced himself to exhale.

“Very well. You do know better than to come, correct? You wouldn’t want to make me angry.”

Stephen found it difficult to picture what Maya would look like angry. Emotion scarcely seemed to touch her.

“And if it’s too much, squeeze the rubber duck. Squeeze it now, so I’ll know you understand.”

A cartoonish squawk filled the public dungeon. Laughter rippled through the audience, easing the tension a bit. Most of the other tops in the cavernous space had halted their own scenes to admire Mistress Maya’s proficiency, leaving their subs to gape from a distance.

“Good boy. Hold on tight, now.”

The sub clasped the bath toy in his right hand.

“I’ll be right back.” Maya stalked over to the equipment rack on sturdy heels that added at least three inches to her already significant height. Acting as if she were unaware of the eyes following her, she selected a slender fibreglass cane and whisked it through the air. The sub cringed at the vicious sound.

“Let’s see if we can satisfy your desire for pain, shall we?”

She stood well away from the bench, pulled her arm back, then brought the flexible rod down on the man’s already battered rear cheeks.
Thwack!
A bright scarlet line appeared, blazing against the dull redness generated by the flogging. The sub grunted behind his gag. More blood rushed to Stephen’s cock.

Whoosh! Thwack!
The cane landed again. The sub keened and writhed, straining against the cuffs that bound his wrists and ankles to the bench.
Thwack! Thwack!
Maya wielded the cane with the same confident skill she’d shown with the whip. Every stroke made contact exactly where she intended, if one could judge from the marks spaced regularly across the victim’s ass and down the backs of his thighs.

Stephen found himself anticipating each blow, guessing when she’d strike, where and how hard. He’d rarely seen such an expert caning. She knew when to apply the cane in a rapid flurry of cuts, when to wait and let the bottom recover. Not once did a wayward blow hit the danger area near the kidneys. The stripes she raised created an exquisite grid across the sub’s punished flesh, almost perfectly regular.

He understood the high she must be feeling, the sense of power at having someone willingly place himself at her mercy. Yet little of that showed in her countenance. The cane slashed through the air and bit into the blond’s flesh, faster and harder as the scene progressed. A slight sheen of sweat appeared on her forehead, but otherwise Maya appeared as composed and focused as if she were balancing her cheque book.

The caning was fierce—it must have been excruciating. The sub had long ceased to struggle, though the force of Maya’s blows still made his body quiver. Stephen dragged his eyes from Maya’s virtuoso performance to check her victim’s face. The man’s eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply. Despite the gag that stretched his mouth, he looked incredibly peaceful.

He’s had enough,
Stephen thought. Apparently Maya reached the same conclusion at the same moment. She crouched beside the submissive, set the cane on the floor, and unbuckled the gag.

“James,” she murmured. “Come back, James. It’s all over. You did very well. You pleased me.” She unfastened the cuffs as she spoke, chafing the man’s wrists, brushing that unruly hair out of his eyes. “Are you all right?”

Even from fifteen feet away, Stephen could see devotion lighting up the man’s face. Vicariously, he found that intoxicating. “Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress.”

“Can you stand?” Maya supported the submissive, trying to help him to his feet. Instead, he sank to his knees and pressed his lips to the polished toe of her shoe.

“Let me serve you, Mistress. Please, allow me to give you pleasure.”

Annoyance flickered in the Domme’s eyes. “No, James. The scene is over. You may go to the lavatory and make yourself come, if you wish.”

“No, please—I beg you. You said that I’ve pleased you, but I want to do more. Let me taste you.”

Anger, fear, doubt and desire chased each other across Maya’s lovely features in quick succession. Stephen read her emotions—it was all the easier after her previous impassivity—but he didn’t understand them. She gazed down at the man who grovelled before her as if she wanted him to disappear.

Most of the crowd had returned to their own spankings and whippings when Maya released her victim, but Stephen continued to watch in fascination as her feelings waged war with one another. Finally she shrugged.

“Very well. But be quick about it.”

She sank into a nearby bondage chair and hiked up her skirt. Stephen’s cock leapt when he saw that she wore nothing underneath. Spreading her thighs, she crooked her finger at poor James, who crawled to her feet, awkward and eager, his plug bulging between his battered butt cheeks.

Maya’s lewd position revealed the copious moisture coating her rosy folds. So she was aroused after all! The realisation thrilled Stephen, almost as if he’d played some role in inducing that state. Her swollen clit peeked out through her trimmed thicket of jet-black pubic curls. Stephen licked his lips. The ache in his groin was nearly unbearable.