Mastering Melody (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (9 page)

“N–No, Sir,” I say, hoping that by remembering to use the correct title he’ll go just a little bit easier on me.

“Middle of the bed, facedown,” he orders as he drags the bedding to the floor. With that tight grip he guides me into the position he wants. “Don’t move.”

I want to lift my head. I want to see what’s coming. I have no idea what he has planned. But a good healthy dose of self preservation keeps me exactly where he put me, my head turned away from where he’s rummaging in a drawer.

I jolt a little in fright when I hear something being unwrapped. I think one of them steps into the bathroom for a moment because I hear a tap running, but he’s back quickly.

“Hold her open, Master Bradley,” Ryan says in a deep voice that sends both fear and arousal skittering through me. Hold me open? What the hell does he mean by that?

I almost crawl away when I feel Bradley’s big hands press against my ass, his firm pressure prying apart my butt cheeks, exposing my anus to their gaze. I can’t deny the dark thrill that sweeps through me. I’ve long been curious about anal play. I’ve just never had the courage to try it.

The cold liquid against my hole is shocking, but I barely have a moment to adjust before something that seems flexible, maybe rubbery, rolls over my anus again and again.

“Breathe out, little sub,” Ryan instructs as the thing—a butt plug?—pushes past the tight ring of muscle. I gasp as it widens, forcing open my virgin hole. I whimper as the sting grows unbearable. “Almost there, little sub.”

I sigh with relief when my muscles close around a thinner part. Ryan wiggles it slightly, adjusting it to a more comfortable position, setting off nerve endings I’ve never dreamed were there.

“Good girl,” Ryan says as he helps me off the bed and back onto my knees. “Now, behave, little sub, and I won’t have to punish you further.”

“Yes, Sir,” I say a moment before Bradley once again slides his hand into my hair and his cock into my mouth. He pushes to the back of my throat without warning, holding me there, forcing my compliance.

“Swallow,” he growls in a tone of voice I’ve never heard from him before. I try desperately to do as he says. “Breathe through your nose and swallow.”

I’m grateful for his order. With his cock so deep in my mouth I almost forgot I still have my nose to breathe through. I suck in a deep breath, trying to stay calm as I work to find the muscles necessary to swallow around something my fear tells me will choke me.

Finally, I manage to do what my Dom ordered, and he rewards me with a groan. Again and again he slides into my mouth, holding still, waiting for me to swallow before pulling back out and starting over again. Each time he moves faster, slides a bit deeper, forces me to accept just a little bit more of him. He jolts suddenly, pulling his cock from my mouth for a moment.

“I’m about to come, little sub. Swallow all of me.”

“Yes, S—”

His cock stifles my words, his movements more forceful, faster, more urgent. I try to swallow around him, and he groans, releases his grip on my hair, places both hands on my cheeks, and sort of moves so that I can lift my gaze to his. “Swallow, baby girl.”

Streams of his cum fill my mouth, the salty taste surprising in its appeal. He caresses my cheeks with his hands, watching me as I lick him clean, suckling his cock as it slowly softens in my mouth.

“Thank you, little sub,” he says before he steps away. “Be a good girl for Ryan. I’ll be home before seven.”

He dresses quickly, presses a lingering kiss to my lips, and then hurries out the door. A few moments later I hear what I assume is the outer door of the wherever we are thunk closed.

I’m still on my knees, butt plug up my ass, shivering with need, and I haven’t been given any orders. I want to turn and ask Ryan what I should do, but I get the impression this is some sort of test. I really don’t think that life as a full-time sub will suit me, yet I find the idea of being powerless strangely appealing. It’s kind of what I expected to happen in the club. Maybe not to the same level of intensity, but I think I’m beginning to understand why Bradley and Ryan insisted that we try this for a full week. Before we can make a commitment to such an unusual relationship, we should all understand our own needs.

“Good girl,” Ryan finally says. I hear him move past me to the door. “Time for breakfast, little sub. Come.”

* * * *

Ryan could see Melody’s natural instinct to argue burning in her eyes. He smiled with pleasure as she nodded instead and slowly got to her feet. Wickedly, he considered ordering her to crawl to the kitchen but dismissed the idea as unnecessarily cruel. He’d never been fond of humiliation. That wouldn’t, however, stop him from using it as a punishment if she pushed him.

Bradley had played his part perfectly. They’d known last night that there was a chance of her telling them both to go to hell, so Ryan had been relieved by her reaction to Bradley’s orders. He’d never been particularly fond of the full-time Dom-sub protocols—he preferred a woman willing to make some decisions for herself—but he and Bradley had both agreed it was a necessary step to gauging what might work for all of them.

Melody had been interested enough to find her way into a BDSM club. To be that curious suggested that there might be a chance she was looking for a full-time Dom. He certainly hoped not, but by at least living the Dom-sub lifestyle twenty-four hours a day for a full week she should be able to judge from a position of experience. Melody was the only woman he would consider doing this for. If she wanted a permanent Master, then that’s who he would be. He shook his head, nearly laughing out loud at the revelation. Of all the submissives he’d met over the years, Melody was the only one he’d be willing to change his own preferences for. No wonder his brother had been willing to live a vanilla life.

Simply put, Melody—their best friend and the woman they’d both loved their whole lives—was worth it.

I follow Ryan into the kitchen and have absolutely no idea what to expect. He didn’t offer me any clothes, and I know enough about Dom-sub protocols to know that if my Dom wants me naked, getting dressed is a very bad idea.

I notice he, however, has dragged a lightweight robe over his shoulders and fastened it with a knot in the belt.

“Kneel,” he says, pointing to a flat, padded cushion that seems to have been placed there for that express purpose. I’m a little annoyed at being ordered around like a pet, and I do briefly consider barking like a dog, but since I still have a plug up my ass for my outburst earlier I’m not really prepared to argue. My nipples remain a little sore from the clamps last night, and my lips feel swollen thanks to blowing my fiancé before he went to work. As a list of grievances goes, I’ve got a pretty good case for keeping my mouth shut no matter how annoyed and turned on I am.

I settle onto the mat, taking extra care to find a comfortable way to rest my bottom on my heels without putting pressure on the butt plug. It’s not my idea of relaxing, but I suppose things could be worse.

“You have permission to speak, little sub, but I warn you to be respectful. You will not enjoy the next punishment I have in mind.”

“Yes, Sir,” I say in the most respectful tone I can muster. I want to ask what prompted this change in tactics. The last I’d heard we were going to mess around with a few “scenes,” not live the lifestyle full time. Of course, I’m fairly certain his answer will be that my Doms’ decisions are not my concern, so it seems fruitless enough—and possibly annoying enough to lead to me being punished again—that I choose not to ask it.

He gives me an assessing look, perhaps confused by my previously unheard-of ability to stay quiet, smiles, and then turns back to the kitchen.

“Do you have any food allergies, little sub?”

“No, Sir,” I reply, trying to keep the curiosity out of my voice. If I know one thing about Ryan, it’s that he rarely says or does something without a reason behind it.

“Perfect,” he says as he starts mixing the batter for what appears to be hotcakes. I try not to indulge too often, but I’m quite partial to hotcakes, fresh fruit, and warm syrup. Apparently Ryan remembers that.

I sit quietly while he finishes making breakfast. My instinct is to offer my help, but since he ordered me to sit here I’m finding the forced exclusion both annoying and somewhat enlightening. It’s very interesting to watch how confidently he moves around the kitchen. In recent years most of the meals we’ve shared have been family gatherings or me, Bradley, and Ryan at a restaurant. Until I wandered into his club two weeks ago, I hadn’t actually seen Ryan since I agreed to marry Bradley.

I’m a little disconcerted when he piles all of the food onto one plate.

Perhaps subs don’t get to eat with their Doms? Will the bastard make me watch as he gobbles down my favorite meal before ordering me to clean up his mess and then make my own breakfast? I admit to not having done much research on the day-to-day Dom-sub scenario, but I’m pretty sure I hate it already—well, except for the lesson on how to give a proper blow job. That was kind of hot.

“Beside me, sub,” he says as he walks past. “Bring your cushion.”

Fantastic. I don’t even get to sit at the table. Although, considering that I’m naked, wearing a butt plug, and a part of me is still very wet, I find the idea of actually sitting at the table unappealing as well. Maybe he’ll let me stand.

My brief hope is dashed when he indicates with his eyes for me to kneel at his feet. Very carefully I kneel down, groaning softly as my knees creak. Seriously, I’m not
that
old, but a lifetime of high-impact sports has left my knees a little less durable than they probably should be.

“Are you in pain, little sub?”

“Not yet, Sir,” I answer honestly. Although, I suspect if I’m required to kneel a lot I could be by the end of the week. He nods in understanding, so I find that semicomfortable spot and breathe a sigh of relief.

“Dom-sub protocols can be very intimidating,” Ryan says as he turns in his seat to face me, “but you still have the options to use your safe words. I have no wish to permanently damage my new pet, so I expect you to tell me if something is beyond your physical endurance. Do I make myself clear?”

Sheesh, I’m not sure whether to be pleased by his caring or irritated by his assumption that I won’t kick his ass if he actually hurts me. I might be playing the role of sub for two men I care for deeply, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let them treat me badly.

“Mind your expression, little sub. If you make a face like that inside my club, I will attach you to the St. Andrews cross and take the whip to your ass.”

Holy heavens, as threats go that one isn’t very convincing. I watched Ryan whip Sandra two weeks ago, and it was obvious even to my newbie understanding that the woman enjoyed every moment of it. I suspect by the way that I reacted to both my spanking two weeks ago and the paddle hit I received last night that I kind of like that type of pain. It is, after all, why I sought out a BDSM club in the first place.

Ryan smiles at my reaction, shakes his head, and turns his attention to his breakfast. Several forkfuls later I’m salivating at the delicious smell of warmed syrup and ready to mutiny over his tactics. I shuffle on my knees before I realize I’m begging like some sort of pet at the dinner table.

He notices and holds a strawberry to my lips. I reach up to take it from him, but he shakes his head and waits for me to open my mouth. Suddenly, I’m not hungry at all. Just the smell of the hotcakes and warm syrup is making me feel ill. I can feel the blood draining from my face as nausea takes over.

Shit. Talk about messing with my head.

I don’t like the way this is making me feel at all. I feel tears prickle my eyes, and damn the man, he notices before I can blink them back.

* * * *

Ryan felt like an asshole for making her cry, but he’d never been comfortable with many of the more stringent full-time Dom-sub ideals. Admittedly he’d deliberately pushed all of Melody’s hot-temper buttons to try and end this part of the protocol quickly. He’d never enjoyed feeding a submissive from his own plate. To him it felt more demeaning than caring, and by Melody’s reaction it seemed she felt the same way.

He’d promised Bradley that they would expose Melody to all this life had to offer so that she could make an informed choice. He didn’t really want to make his own feelings toward this part of the lifestyle known without at least giving her a chance to decide if she liked it or not. “Problem, little sub?” he asked in a neutral tone of voice.

She shook her head, but it was obvious she was struggling to keep her emotions in check. He leaned over, caressed her face with the backs of his knuckles, and whispered, “You hate this, don’t you?” For a moment he thought she might lie, but several more tears fell as she nodded her head. “Thank you for being honest, little sub.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and then moved into the kitchen to grab another plate and utensils. He quickly divided the food between both plates and indicated for her to sit down in the chair beside him. When she hesitated, he quickly grabbed a large, fluffy towel from the bathroom and placed it over her seat. She sat gingerly, obviously still adjusting to the butt plug, but she looked much happier.

“Better?”