Flashback (6 page)

How she’d missed simplicity.

“You are beautiful, little dove, and you will
learn to obey. There will be ten blows in total.”

Ten. Just like before. Athena felt a quiver
deep inside at the realization of what would come afterward. All
she wanted was more.

“Nod your agreement.”

Athena shook her head, determined to defy him
again. Ten was not nearly enough, not now. She wanted at least
twenty from him on this night, a criss-cross of welts across her
ass, a complete merging of her defiance and submission.

The Count gripped her chin, forcing her to
remain still. “Fifteen, little dove?”

Athena made a howl of protest, which came
through the gag much muted.

“Such a hungry puss,” he murmured, then she
felt the leather handle of the riding crop against her pubis. He
smiled at her, his eyes shining, as he eased it between her thighs.
Oh yes, this was perfection. She closed her eyes as she felt it
collide with her clitoris and moaned despite herself at the
pleasure that shot through her body.

“Look at me,” he commanded and she did as she
was told. The Count slid the handle back and forth, coaxing her
response, making her body hum and her knees weaken. She stared into
the darkness of his eyes, and knew she was his possession.

“How naughty you are,” he chided, his voice
low. “You want more, but the decision is not up to you.” He rubbed
the riding crop against her with such resolve that she nearly came.
“Your defiance must have a price.”

Would he deny her the blows completely?

Athena had a heartbeat to panic. The Count
moved away so suddenly that she sagged and swayed against him, her
body burning with need. He strode to a side table, then opened the
drawer. He removed a pair of nipple clamps that had a chain between
them and Athena’s heart clenched.

They were silver or steel, and looked fierce,
even with the bit of fur lining the inside them. Athena disliked
nipple clamps herself, even though she liked the look of them on
her own slaves. She moaned and struggled, trying to put distance
between herself and the Count.

Of course, it was useless.

He smiled as he came to halt before her. “I
am the master here. Your desires will be submerged in mine,” he
said, his tone low and hypnotic. “You are mine.” He pinched her
nipple, drawing it easily to a taut point. He looked her in the
eye. “You will endure this for me.” Athena shivered as he opened
the clamp and lifted it toward her nipple. “Moan for me,” he said
softly. “Moan to concede control. Moan to acknowledge that I will
decide upon your discipline, not you.”

Athena moaned. She moaned with all her
strength and all her heart. She moaned as the teeth of the clamp
closed over first one nipple and then the other, constricting and
constraining her. The weight of the thin chain was a sweet torment,
making them tug even more tightly on her aching nipples. Yet at the
same time, she was dripping wet, thrilled beyond belief at his
attention. The tumult filled her, then submerged her. She felt a
tear slide down her cheek.

The Count eased away the tear with his gloved
hand, appearing for a moment to be overwhelmed. “Very good,” he
whispered and her heart filled with love for him. “Now, kiss the
crop even through your gag.” He held up the handle before her face
and Athena leaned closer to kiss it. The move stretched her arms,
made her strain to her toes, left her achingly aware of her
body.

And thumping for more.

She felt the hardness of the handle through
the leather gag, watched the Count’s eyes gleam as he slid it back
and forth over her mouth. Her lips tingled. Suddenly he caught his
breath and stepped back, spinning her with a touch.

Athena was hanging in a timeless place, lost
in sensation.

The next blow from the crop was a relief,
sending a surge of mingled pleasure and pain through her body.
There was nothing for Athena but the heat of her skin and the
hunger of her sex. The sight of the room blurred through her tears.
The rhythmic sound of the Count’s blows, the sense that her skin
was alive, the pain and the pleasure mingled to take her beyond the
moment. She ached and glowed, her body alive, her mind focused only
on the present moment. She was trembling and slick with a patina of
perspiration, out of breath and yearning for more. She hung before
him, slave to his discipline, and wanted to be nowhere else in the
world.

It was so blessedly simple.

She lost track of the number of blows,
although the welts burned across her hips and thighs in a most
delicious manner. The mix of strikes and strokes seduced her
completely.

Just when she was sure she could endure this
sweet torment forever, the Count cast aside the crop and dropped to
his knees in front of her. He unclipped her ankle shackles and
lifted her knees, bracing them on his shoulders. He locked his
hands around her feet, his thumbs on her insteps, then pulled her
closer. The stroke of his thumbs nearly undid her.

“Very good, little dove,” he whispered, his
breath hot against her puss. “Isn’t this why you called yourself
The Countess? Because you are mine?”

Athena moaned in agreement. The Count caught
her buttocks in his hands, squeezing numerous welts. Athena gasped
just before his mouth closed over her.

The flick of his tongue against her hot sex
nearly drove her wild. She gritted her teeth and fought against the
orgasm that threatened to break, even as the Count settled in to
devour her. She knew that if she came quickly, he would be
displeased. All defiance had been taken from her, and she knew only
to obey.

He knew her well, understanding exactly how
to alternate his movements to build her pleasure. Athena was
certain she would explode. She was hot; she was wet; she felt as if
her skin was on fire. She was captive to the Count’s demanding
touch, but she knew that if she came he would throw her out.

He was a drug she wanted forever. He alone
commanded her pleasure. She fought to remain silent, to hold back
her moans, to keep from letting the pleasure wash over her. She
writhed and shuddered as he mercilessly drove her onward, and just
when she was sure she could bear it no longer, he lifted his
head.

“Now,” he murmured, the rush of his breath
intoxicating against her sex. He tightened his grip on her feet,
then drove his tongue against her clitoris. For a heartbeat, Athena
feared she’d held back too long and wouldn’t be able to come on
command, then the Count pinched one of the new welts rising on her
butt.

Hard. The surge of mingled pain and pleasure
drove her over the edge. It reminded her of secrets and forbidden
pleasures, of nights awakening in her room as the Count tied her
down to her bed, of days when she pinched the welts hidden beneath
her skirt at school at his secret clue. The bonds between them were
more than physical, more enduring than she’d believed, more than
she had ever found elsewhere.

Destined to be.

Athena came in a torrent, a rush of release
that left her shuddering and emptied.

And utterly in the possession of the
Count.

It was perfect.

Chapter Three

Rex wrapped the rope around Leya’s waist
again and knotted it once more over her spine. He then began to
steadily bind her arms to her back. He bound her forearms to each
other, keeping her arms crossed so that each hand held the opposing
elbow. Then he bound her arms to her torso, wrapping the rope
around her body over and over again.

When she was tied to his satisfaction, there
was still a good bit of the rope left. He walked around her to
survey his work. The coils of black rope winding repeatedly around
her body made it look as if a python had wrapped itself around her
and might squeeze her tight. He couldn’t imagine adding more rope
around her torso. The contrast between the leather and her own skin
was perfect.

He wished for his camera, but knew he’d have
to just remember this sight.

“Too tight?” he asked and she wriggled,
looking all the more enticing as she did so. Her breasts swung and
he noted that her nipples were beaded tight.

“Just fine,” she said. She arched a dark
brow. “Should I run and let you catch me?”

Rex grinned. “You won’t have a chance.”

Leya bolted then, but he caught her
immediately and tossed her on the bed. He sat over her knees and
reached into the side bin for a black leather lace. He bound her
big toes together, loving how she squirmed beneath him.

“That tickles!” she complained.

“It won’t for long,” Rex threatened. He
flipped her over to her stomach and tugged her feet up toward her
butt. He grabbed one of the ends of the heavier rope and passed it
around the bond that held her toes together. He tugged it so that
her feet were right behind her butt and her knees were splayed wide
open.

“You wouldn’t take me like this,” she
chided.

“I’ll take you however I want, and you’ll
thank me for it,” he replied. She might have protested, but Rex
took the other length of rope and placed it in her mouth. He slid
it so that it was taut as well, her head tipped back and the length
of rope gagging her. She made a sound that might have been a moan
as Rex knotted the two ends together tightly behind her waist.

She was hog-tied and helpless.

“Squirm,” he instructed, stepping away from
the bed. Leya wriggled and writhed but she was unable to move much
at all. She moaned and Rex decided the sound was too loud. He
sauntered to the bins and strolled the length of them, taking
pleasure in his options. He chose a padded hood in white satin, one
that left the eyes and nose exposed, then showed it to Leya. She
groaned but he didn’t care what she thought. He knew it would look
perfect. He smoothed it over her head, loving the feel of her head
between his hands. She was so much finer than he was, so vulnerable
and so captive. She was his for the taking and his for the keeping,
and he would ensure that she never thought of another man
again.

She blinked when she could see him through
the openings in the hood and he smiled at her even as he tightened
the gag over her mouth. “Shout,” he instructed, and the sound she
made was barely audible. He left the rope in her mouth for the
moment, wanting her head to be tipped back as it was.

He was going to take her from behind. Slowly.
The pose would ensure that she could breathe well, even as he did
that. Her skin gleamed like gold atop the white fur, the black
leather making her look like a wild animal leashed for his
pleasure.

She was wet, her sex glistening like a hidden
treasure, her labia swollen and red.

He peeled off his jeans and kicked them
aside, then prowled around her. She looked fabulous. On impulse, he
rolled her in the fur, ensuring that she was surrounded by its
softness. He doubled it so that the fur was against her skin and on
the outside as well. Then he lashed it around her waist, trapping
her inside it. The fur was as soft and thick as a cloud, her wet
red puss shining between her thighs like an invitation. He carried
Leya across the cabin, placing her on the box so he could see her
sex.

“Scream,” he instructed, then reached between
her thighs to caress her. “And struggle.”

Leya tried to scream. She rolled and fought
against her bonds, as if struggling to escape him. That she made so
little difference in her situation and so little sound was
thrilling to Rex. He loved that this woman, who had bound him
helpless, was now bound helpless.

His reward to her was a gift to himself. It
was ideal.

And Rex was determined to make the moment
last. He fingered her and touched her, feeling how hard her
clitoris became. He got harder, too, aware of the race of her pulse
and the increasing wetness of her puss. When he couldn’t stand it
any longer, he gripped her buttocks in his hands, opened her wide
and drove himself deep inside her. He knew the moment that the nub
on the cock ring collided with her clitoris because she arched her
back.

Rex pulled back, not letting her come just
yet. He worked himself against her, coaxing her pleasure and
driving her higher, teasing her and pulling back. He was perspiring
himself, salt on his own lip as he fought to keep himself from
coming. Leya’s wriggling was exciting him and finally he knew he
couldn’t hold back. He drove hard into her, pounding her into the
box and ensuring that she felt every increment of the hard nub. She
didn’t flinch but tried to spread her legs wider, inviting him
deeper and swallowing him. She was tight and hot around him,
demanding more from every stroke.

Rex gave it. Leya came suddenly with a
muffled cry, her puss locking around him so tightly that Rex came
immediately after her. He roared with his own release, half-certain
his orgasm would last until the end of time.

It was only after he was completely drained
and leaning over her to catch his breath that he realized what he
had done. Once again, he’d taken Leya and not used a condom. He
supposed he should have been more worried about it than he was, but
she always distracted him.

Rex couldn’t resist her or deny her.

Which made him think that his future might be
bound right in front of him.

* * *

The only bright spot in Athena’s life is Mr.
Rossini. He teaches Italian and Classics at her new school, the one
she loathes. He’s not as ancient as the other teachers - in fact,
he’s handsome, like the star of a movie. He speaks slowly, letting
words linger on his tongue like chocolate, and all the girls are in
love with him. He often gives Athena a little smile when he turns
to write a phrase on the board, and she dares to hope that he
thinks she’s pretty.

She works harder in his class than any
others, but he always has a correction to make to her work.