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Authors: Christina Crooks

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BOOK: Rough Play
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“I asked if you’ve worn a plug before.”
The act of thinking was like trying to wade through warm, thick molasses. “I thought . . . it was a rhetorical question.”
His response was instantaneous.
Twist
. She cried out. “I’m not asking you to think. I’m asking you to answer a simple question. Yes or no.”
“No! No. I haven’t worn one before.”
His pincer-like grip eased, transitioned to a stroke. His voice turned silky as well. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
She was quick to shake her head. “No. Not hard.” A slick, startling sensation grew in her ass. Icy one moment, hot the next.
He’d added the Vicks to the lubricant, she realized. Diabolical.
He nudged the plug hard, stabbing it into her bowels. “How do you feel?” The glint in his eyes told her he knew exactly how she felt.
“Feverish. Hot and cold. Achy.” She looked at him from under her lashes. His gaze didn’t drop to her clamped nipples, which she knew stood out in hard little nubs.
“Then you’d better talk soon, my responsive little submissive.”
“I’m not a submissive.” She wanted desperately to believe it. “I just . . . I don’t want to say.”
“Why’d you leave me in shackles, Charlotte?”
Twist, twist nudge.
“Why’d you run? When I couldn’t chase you, bring you down, and fuck you hard. The way you want me to so badly.” Twist, flick, rub. NUDGE. “Why do you have a botched brand on your thigh, Charlotte? You can tell me, I’m a doctor.”
“Stop it! I’m not... oooh!” Her orgasm felt imminent. She squirmed against his fingers, hot tears of frustration wetting her face.
He stopped. He pinned her legs so she couldn’t rub them together, couldn’t come. He grinned.
She stared her resentment at him.
“Hurting you gets me off,” he explained unnecessarily. “I’m the flip side to you. I can honor what you are even while I lick the tears off your cheeks.” He proceeded to do so. The surprising warmth and tickle-sweetness of his warm tongue called up a surge of tenderness within her that brought new tears to her eyes. Conflicting emotions warred within her, feeding her lust and increasing her fascination with this man. He did honor her. She could tell it from the stern and gentle touch of his hands and tongue, from his words, from the sound of his voice. His palm traveled up her belly to caress her left breast. He brutally yanked off one alligator clamp.
She howled.
He laughed, yanked off the other.
She cursed him with the same amount of creativity she put into her clients’ dating-site profiles, though with a very different intention. She meant every word. How could he be so cruel?
How could she be enjoying it?
“You might even be ready for the chain trick. Or maybe I should save that one for later.”
“The chain trick?” She looked down. Her nipples felt lacerated, alive to every air current, too sensitive. Reddened. But perfectly healthy and still peaky, as if asking for more abuse.
She scowled at him, not knowing whether to shout her safe word or beg him to mount her, fuck her hard, relieve the burning need he’d stoked inside her. “I think I hate you,” she told him.
“Excellent. We’ll save the chain trick for later, then. You need punishing, not rewarding.”
“I do not!” She thrashed in frustration. Paused. Then again, curiously, “What’s the chain trick?”
“No.” Martin delved into yet another drawer. He pulled out a long rectangular black strip of stiff leather. Two pieces, joined at the handle.
“Never you mind about the chain trick.” He slapped the paddle into his palm. It made a double whapping noise. “Are you familiar with slapper bats?”
“Actually . . . yes.”
She closed her legs tightly as she watched him move to the foot of the examination table.
“Explain.”
“I think it’s obvious.”
He slid the slapper bat up the inside of her legs, right up the middle. He pried them apart. “You’re so very vulnerable right here. Such an exposed sensitive area.” His fingers opened her, exposed the tiny pearl of her clit. He rested the narrow leather against it.
A wave of apprehension swept through her.
He spoke with stern dispassion. “Do you want to apologize for your disrespect? Tell me how you experienced a slapper bat. Tell me how you got that scar on your leg.”
13
S
he tensed, her thoughts in a riot. Tell him? She couldn’t! Not about the scar. Even if it meant the kind of pain he implied. Especially if it meant the kind of pain he implied. Would his playing finally get rough? “An apology under duress wouldn’t be worth much.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. Such a smart mouth you have. Such a dirty girl.” He flicked his wrist, and the double slap of the bat impacting her clit made her jerk. The first slap thudded down, the second one following immediately to make a snapping sound of leather meeting leather. The paired impact drummed into her. Not too painful, she thought with relief and regret.
But he wasn’t finished. Smiling as if he knew her thoughts, Martin gave another deft flick, slapping it down again. Then again.
The stinging impacts, backed by the relentless thuds of the echo-slaps, developed a fiery rhythm that soon had her squirming, then making small animal noises as the pain increased and deepened.
Without stopping the cruel hits of the slapper bat, Martin brought the fingers of his other hand into play once more, pushing the plug in cruelly with each slap.
The biting sweetness of the leather impacts paired with his clever fingers pushing the hard rubber repeatedly into her ass sent her hurtling off the edge with a shout.
He kept his rhythm fast and hard, shattering her soul into a thousand glowing pieces even as his eyes narrowed and his lips tightened with cruelty.
He didn’t stop.
Even as her orgasm faded and her oversensitive clit broadcast messages of pain undampened by pleasure, he didn’t stop.
She yelled her pain. She was going to have to say “red.”
Or she could capitulate. “Okay! Okay! I’ll tell you.”
He stopped immediately. “Speak.”
Rather than dirty or used or guilty, a deep sense of satisfaction pervaded her. Aftershocks thundered through her body, little echoes of the pleasure and pains he’d caused. Relaxation unfurled within her, almost as intensely pleasurable as a second orgasm. Every inch of her radiated a kind of bliss, too deep and all-encompassing to last more than a few moments.
And yet it did.
Her eyes focused slowly. “Wow.”
He tapped her with the bat once more.
“Ouch! Okay, damn it.” She spoke quickly to get it over with. “I married my boss, even though I never saw any movies with him and me. We started playing fetish games, at my instigation. Master-and-servant stuff. I liked it, I’ve always had a secret taste for a little bit of pain and dominance, but I wanted more dominance and aggression than he was willing to give. Neither of us were in the fetish scene. I just liked it when we played those games. But something was missing. Sex was sometimes unfulfilling for me. Then one day he read some weird novels. He did some research. And . . . he changed. He went from uncertain and frustrated to arrogant and cold. From playing to dead serious. Women were biological slaves, he said, and he meant it. The next time we played, things went wrong. Terribly wrong. I taunted him, just in play. You know?” She darted a glance at Martin but barely registered his calm presence. She was back in that house, being a brat, smarting off to Cory. Instead of starting a dominance game, though, he’d backhanded her. Casually. As if the action meant nothing to him.
It had succeeded in shocking her, making her wary if not respectful. Being hit that way was outside her experience.
She continued. “Then he put a tight metal collar on my neck. He tied me up and treated me like an animal. For two days. He made me kneel, and crawl, and dance for him until I ached, then service him in every imaginable way. He punished me frequently with whips and his hand and tight rope. He made me eat from a dog bowl. Then he . . .” Her voice failed.
She took a deep breath. “He heated an iron and he branded me. He said he wanted a slave with his brand. The bastard branded me. Despite the ropes, I moved around. I jerked away. The brand came out wrong. It hurt and damaged me more than he’d expected. He saw it, too. I watched him turn white with shock.” She laughed, a little wildly. “He doctored me then, Doctor. Salve and pills and chicken noodle soup. He knew by then I didn’t like what he’d done. I hadn’t responded to it the way he’d expected. Not at all. Not even a little. He apologized over and over again. I asked for a divorce. We’re still friends. The end.”
The catharsis of telling someone, finally, made her sag in her bonds. Her body shuddered with the force of her emotion, with the jerking sobs.
He removed the padded forearm cuff restraints and the plug efficiently. His gentle fingers stroked her, lifted the paper gown to cover her.
The warmth of Martin helping her to sit up, then wrapping his arms around her in a gentle hug, was an unlooked-for rapture.
She clung to him, tears running down her cheeks.
Just a postorgasm effect, she told herself, even as she marveled at the lingering bliss and resonating feelings of relief, fondness, respect, and fulfillment from exactly what Martin had given her.
Such emotion. She rubbed her cheek surreptitiously against Martin’s shirt, inhaling his scent and feeling a deep languor totally new to her. Tears seemed a natural response. She knew they were tears of profound release. “Thank you,” she breathed.
He nuzzled her hair.
She basked. “You. That was magnificent. Superb. Wondrous.”
“Stop, I’ll get a big ego.” He hugged her tight for a moment, then gently, rubbing her back with a savoring touch, as if he enjoyed touching her as much as she did. “Mmmm.” His nose in her hair and his deep growling exhalation of pleasure gave her goose bumps. “Thank you for your trust, Charlotte.”
She tried to gather her thoughts. She should feel shame. That’s what she’d always felt after her desires rose up. Shame as a constant sexual paradigm.
But she didn’t with Martin. “This feels so good. Right now. I got a massage, once. It made me feel a pale echo of this. It’s delicious.”
“It’s aftercare.”
She hadn’t heard the word before. “It’s very nice.”
Martin cradled her. “Submissives love aftercare.”
Martin still thought she was a submissive. Cory had, too.
She felt some of her tension return.
A few minutes ago, she’d taunted Martin, trying to inflame him into a kind of rough rage so he’d fuck her hard. She’d done something similar to Cory, and look where it had gotten her.
“Why do you keep calling me submissive? I’m not. Not like that.”
“Like what?” He leaned back just enough to look at her.
“Like a slave. Like someone who has a servile heart, ‘yes, master,’ ‘no, master,’ and all that.”
He frowned. “We played a game. A fun game, I hope?”
She smiled, tentative. “Definitely fun.” She still tingled from the slapper bat, her nipples ached, her legs had the slight soreness that heralded bruises, and her labia and the inside of her ass felt icy and hot.
Alive
. “It is fun. It’s just . . .”
“Yes? This has to do with your ex. And the scar. And you mentioned something about a movie? You can talk to me, Charlotte. I hope you know that. I haven’t met anyone as interesting as you in years.”
“Thanks.” A twinge of appreciation and pride shot through her. She interested someone like Martin. “You’re a good listener. I just didn’t think I’d ever do anything like this again, after the divorce. Too dangerous. The scar reminds me. Cory does, too, when he talks about Gorean philosophy . . . what?” She’d seen Martin start.
“Nothing. Please continue.”
“That’s it, pretty much.”
Martin had taken control and pleasured her with the intensity she craved, without making her feel like some kind of slavish subspecies. It made her want more of him, all of him.
All that the movies promised.
The truth was she wanted full rapture of rough sex with someone who’d have no mercy, but, conversely, someone who made her feel safe.
Someone exactly like Martin.
Dread and hope warred within her. Would Martin respect her perverse cravings, or was it too large a risk to take?
“And the movies? What about the movies, Charlotte?”
She opened her mouth to confess everything.
At that moment, the door swung open and Amethyst walked in.
14
“
H
ey, big guy, got a problem—oh.”
Amethyst noticed he had company. Martin ground his teeth. How like her to barge past Ratty. How rude.
He looked at Charlotte. She just blinked for a moment, still deep in the relaxation of aftercare. So cute. He watched as she finally moved to pull the exam table tissue up around her fun bits. She smiled at the intruder. “Hi, Amethyst.”
He didn’t feel so kindly disposed toward his friend. “You’re interrupting a scene.” He scowled at Amethyst.
Both women looked at him. “Well? Do you
mind?
” he asked the one with the purple streak in her hair.
Amethyst’s timing was atrocious. He finally felt as if he was getting somewhere with Charlotte. The woman had appeared in his life so unexpectedly and touched him so deeply in such a short period of time. She piqued his ardor and his interest in ways he’d all but forgotten were possible. Not only was she the sexiest woman he’d ever played with, she represented mysteries he wanted to solve. And depths he craved to explore.
Soon.
Now would be preferable. He walked toward the door, intending to usher Amethyst out. “Where’s Ratty, he was supposed to watch the door.”
“I told him to fetch me a drink, that I’d wait here and play guard dog for him. I think he enjoyed the thought of me as a guard dog.”
“I’m sure he did,” Charlotte said.
Martin looked from one woman to the other. They’d only just met but spoke as if they already knew each others’ secrets.
Women,
he thought with exasperation.
He looked at the wide-open door pointedly. “You’re doing a great job of guarding.”
His sarcasm bounced off her. “You need to hear this.”
“I don’t need to hear anything right this moment.” He gave her a quelling stare. “Please go.”
Amethyst continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Kartane’s back, picking up fresh meat like it’s going to spoil overnight. He even put the serious moves on me again, trying to get me to play downstairs! How many times do I have to tell you he’s bad news? He’s going to hurt someone, get my club closed down. You have to toss him out. And not let him back in.”
“I don’t have to do anything. And it’s not your club.” From the corner of his eye, he could see Charlotte getting dressed. Charlotte was pulling on her sweater.
The scene was ending poorly. Damn it, he was just getting Charlotte to open up! He glared at Amethyst. “I’m sorry Kartane’s sexist attitude screwed things up between you two. I regret his being here upsets you. But it’s time to quit running to me whenever you have a personal problem.”
“Personal problem?” Amethyst glared back. “I don’t run to anyone. This problem isn’t personal, you jackass, it’s professional. He’s bad for business. Bad for Subspace.”
“Not your concern.”
“Not yet, maybe . . .”
“Not ever.” The regret tasted bitter. If he could only sell Subspace to her. But he couldn’t. He sighed. He could cheerfully strangle the blackmailer for putting that look of frustration on his best friend’s face. “I’m sorry, Amethyst.”
Charlotte spoke up, clearly trying to ease tensions. “Kartane sounds like a real jerk.”
Amethyst was already nodding. “You have no idea. He’s involved with some weird science fiction shit, which is fine, and some nonconsensual stuff, which is not. Goreans are into total power exchange, but even the regular Goreans think he’s way the hell out there. What? What is it?”
“Kartane’s a Gorean?”
Martin watched Charlotte’s throat work as she swallowed. Suspicion was confirmed even as he heard her speak the words. “Is Kartane a blond guy with light blue eyes, really good-looking, dresses a bit too formal for most occasions . . . ?”
“Holy shit. You know him?” Amethyst stared at Charlotte. So did Martin. “Oh, you poor girl.”
“We’re kind of friends now. Only friends. Now.” She stood with her arms wrapped around herself, leaning against the table. She wore her jeans and sweater once more. She looked paler than she should.
He went to her. “Are you okay?”
“Checking in on me?” The vulnerable smile she offered him made his heart beat strangely, strong and fierce. He wanted to protect her from everything.
“That’s right.” He looked deeply into her eyes, evaluating. “Amethyst,” he said, turning back to his friend. “You might have a point about Kartane.”
“Hallelujah. The man sees sense.”
“If he’s an irresponsible player, he could be dangerous to the newbies in the fetish scene.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying, if only you’d listen—”
He continued, overriding her. “It’s my responsibility. I’ll talk to him.” He looked forward to talking to him. He’d ask the guy how he could look at himself in the mirror after what he’d done to Charlotte. He’d tell him in no uncertain terms his kind wasn’t welcome here. He’d kick his ass out and then ban him for life. Maybe he’d throw in a parting punch in the face in payment for the brand. That’d be only fair. That’d be—
“Well, this looks cozy.”
Charlotte paled further. She stared past both of them. “Hi . . . Kartane.”
Martin whipped around in time to see Kartane’s blue eyes widen with surprise. “Charlotte? What are you doing here? You told me you never went to these kinds of places.” He stared at her, then shook his head with vigor, as if trying to shake out water. “How do you know my club name? Could I have been so very wrong about you? No, I couldn’t have been.” He visibly recovered even as he spoke, until his expression matched his perfectly tailored clothes: smooth, appropriate, attractive.
She clearly wasn’t recovering as quickly. Seeing Cory/Kartane here, now, obviously didn’t fit with her concept of him. Martin remembered her tale of her ex’s regret, his tears of remorse after the branding. Doubtless she’d been convinced he’d have nothing to do with fetish activities ever again.
She’d been wrong. Of course she’d been wrong. She’d put the guy on the road to S and M, after all. Why be surprised he’d kept exploring it?
Charlotte’s arms wrapped more tightly around her own body. “I’m not exactly a regular.”
Martin edged in front of her, his muscles tensing as if for battle. His loathing for the guy narrowed his eyes and made him hyper-vigilant. He was surprised to feel Charlotte’s slender hand on his arm, a quelling gesture. He looked at her questioningly. She kept her gaze locked on Kartane.
The guy leaned against the doorway. “It’s just so surprising. Charlotte, what do you think you’re doing here?”
“Same thing you are. Kartane.” She said the name slowly, as if tasting it.
Amethyst sneered. “Picking up women by the truckload, dumping them, then coming back to restock?”
“Don’t take it so hard, love.” Kartane gave Amethyst a quick dismissive wink. “Dominant women—like you’re playing at being, at the moment—aren’t my type.”
Amethyst marveled at him. “You have King Kong–sized balls. For the record, you aren’t
my
type. You use women without the slightest regard for what they want.”
“That describes most guys here. But, not me.” He stared at Charlotte. His voice turned gentle. “Are you okay? This can be a rough place.”
“You’re the expert on rough.” Martin heard the growl in his own voice. Kartane was Cory, the guy who’d hurt Charlotte with a brand. Her ex. What right did he have to speak to her in that lover’s tone? The throb of Martin’s own heartbeat pounded in his ears with barely controlled rage. The strength of his detestation of the man shocked him.
Kartane glanced at Martin. “Rough for its own sake isn’t my area of expertise. I’m not a part-time play sadist. Like you.”
Martin’s fists clenched.
But Amethyst wasn’t done. “You’re completely full of crap. You don’t care what women want in the slightest.”
“I don’t care what they say they want, because I already know what they really want. Each one of them secretly wants a strong, steady hand. Every woman nurses a biological longing to surrender to a master who makes them feel fully like a woman. It’s the natural order.”
Amethyst made retching sounds.
Kartane gave her a lazy smile. “You know it’s true. Search deeply inside yourself.”
“I’m sick of you trying to get deep inside every available female in a square mile radius and then dumping them hard afterward. Leaving them broken!”
“Both of you, give it a rest.” Martin glowered at him.
“It’s not.” Charlotte’s raised voice made everyone turn to look at her. “It’s not the natural order. Women as slaves? Seriously? You still believe it after what happened with us? That isn’t something from nature. That belief just makes you a garden-variety misogynist.”
“Amen, sister!” shouted Amethyst.
Kartane stared at Charlotte. “Don’t believe the rumors about me. At least one source is highly biased.” He glanced briefly at Amethyst. “Charlotte, your desires got me into the scene. You might not frequent the clubs, but even you know there’s too much gray area inside this world to call me a misogynist.” The very intensity of his look seemed to almost compel her agreement. A creepy sort of charisma radiated from him.
Martin’s skin crawled watching Kartane at work. The jerk was good. Really good. Like a high-dollar lawyer. Or a usedcar salesman.
“Feel the truth of what I’m saying, even if you don’t want to admit it. Might you have a little bit of a slave’s craving, Charlotte? You’re here. You’re playing at submission. You enjoy being dominated and controlled, toyed with and conquered. I failed you there. I still had much to learn. You may not like hearing it, but my research does show that despite this world’s traditional relationships, the evidence is overwhelmingly in favor of natural female servitude to some degree or another. There are occasional exceptions.” He glanced at Amethyst. “Aberrations. Women who remain in deep denial. But normal, healthy earth women like you simply won’t be completely happy lacking a strong master.”
“See!” Amethyst pointed at Kartane, while looking at Martin. “ ‘This world.’ He talks about it as if there really is a planet of Gor. A planet of barbarians and pretty slave girls. An adolescent fantasy of horny little boys. He takes it seriously and inflicts it on naïve submissives.”
“You don’t run with the usual Gorean crowd here,” Martin said. Kartane bothered him for more reasons than he could count, but a new reason began to stand out. “A small Gorean group meets at Subspace each week. I’ve never seen you there.”
Kartane shrugged. “Ceremonial and online role-play Goreans don’t embrace the full spectrum encompassed within John Norman’s novels. Gamers focus on some valid things, but only when it suits them: integrity, honoring the Home Stone, caste loyalty . . . ways for a man to live a truthful and fulfilled existence.” He smiled, warming to his subject. “Of course, they also spend quite a bit more time on issues of slavery, slave etiquette, slave dances, slave punishments. It has a strong BDSM flavor, don’t you think? Masters and servants, dominants and submissives. Their so-called slaves submit but don’t ever fully surrender. Everyone plays the game, then steps out of the role to go on with their lives. It’s false. They aren’t true Goreans.” He gazed for a long moment at Charlotte. “I have you to thank for introducing me to the possibility of a Gorean lifestyle even though it didn’t work out between us. I presented it improperly, and for that I have regrets.”
“All year . . . every week when I visited Hoagie . . .”
“You had no idea I still craved a household full of kajirae, and all that other Gorean nonsense?” He grinned, boyish, and Martin saw Charlotte’s nod and answering smile.
She took a step closer to the guy. “You’re always nice to Hoagie. And to me. You’ve been nothing but supportive and kind.”
Kartane reproved her with a soft voice. “Maybe Goreans aren’t as bad as some people would have you believe?”
Martin intercepted a quick glance from Charlotte that she couldn’t control.
Kartane nodded. “It’s true that for me it’s not a game, it’s a lifestyle. But I respect your discomfort with the subject. I will always regret mishandling that part of our marriage.” Kartane looked at Charlotte with a knowing gaze that had Martin itching to slug the guy. “Maybe one day I’ll convince you of the need for a strong Gorean master to conquer you. That anything less than a slave’s full surrender isn’t authentic and won’t completely satisfy you.”
Charlotte looked shaken. Repugnance and recognition warred on her face, the expressions trading places. “Maybe you’re right,” she whispered.
Enough
.
“Kartane. I think it’s time you left. Now.”
Kartane ignored both Martin and Amethyst. He looked at Charlotte thoughtfully. “I should’ve never let you go.”
Martin made a small sound of fury.
Kartane oozed toward Charlotte.
Intolerable. Something snapped in Martin. He took a single step forward, swung his fist at the man’s face. His knuckles connected with the strong chin, driving Kartane back.
BOOK: Rough Play
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