Stolen Lives (Blood Brothers Book 1) (31 page)

“Come!” He’s obviously made a decision as he gently pushes me off his lap and then moves beside me. “Over here.”

‘Over here’ is a strange-looking device in a corner of the room. It has a table part to support the torso, and from the top two supports for the arms and, at the other end, two for the legs. The arm and leg supports could be moved into any position. If I lie on that, I suspect Nijad will carry out his threats to spank me. He’s warned me about it, but never before touched me except for a playful swipe. I’m not sure about this. Am I the type of person who will enjoy being slapped around for someone else’s pleasure? I take a step back, unable to move far as he’s tightened his hold on the leash. My lack of control seems to increase my excitement, making me clench my legs together to ease my discomfort.

“Easy,” he says gently, but in that dominant voice. He’s looking at me, studying my reactions. After I’ve taken a deep breath to relax, he nods. “You’re going to lie on this bench, and I’m going to bind you in any position I want to. Tonight’s all about finding out what you like, and what you don’t like. Using your safe word is not an admission of failure, but a demarcation of a boundary that we’ll observe in the future. Do
not
be afraid to use it.”

His words both help to calm me and, if possible, arouse me even further. What will it be like to be bound? To let someone else have total control over my body? To fully submit? I feel exhilarated at the thought of giving up all control. He removes my leash.

“Lie over the bench. On your back,” he instructs.

No longer attached to him, I have to obey him of my free will. Without hesitation, I find myself following his directions. He helps me position myself on the unfamiliar equipment, making adjustments here and there. I end up with my arms parallel to my torso, but my legs moved open, exposing myself fully to him.

“Perfect.”

As he speaks, his movement shows he is adjusting himself in his jeans, and I feel a moment of feminine pride that it’s me who’s affecting him in this way.

“I’ll have to thank Jasim for this bondage table.”

He leans down, picking up something that I hadn’t noticed lying at his feet. It’s a coil of bright red rope. There must be brackets or hooks or something around the table I’m lying on because he starts to wrap the rope around me, first wrapping my torso. From the start, I realise I won’t be able to escape without his assistance. I shudder, not sure I like the feeling of claustrophobia that his actions are invoking.

He wraps the rope around my breasts, along the bottom, and then the top, and then crossing over between them. I raise my head as far as I can and see my small breasts have never looked as prominent as they’re pushed up in this position, and my nipples are hard, pointing up to the ceiling as though begging for his attention. He is intent on his work but pauses and frowns slightly as he sees me watching him. With a sinister grin he pushes my head back down and wraps the rope around my forehead, and then another loop more loosely round my neck; enough so I can feel it’s there, but not enough to restrict my breathing. Even so I feel an instant of panic.

Watching me so closely, he sees my reaction immediately. He puts his hand on my head. “The rope is attached to quick-release brackets, sweetheart. The minute you say, I can undo you. Are you still at green?”

I attempt to nod, but can’t move my head. I swallow and try to control my breathing. His eyes shine with approval, and the impulse to please him overrides my distress. “Green.” My voice comes out as a whisper.

After that brief pause to check I am OK, he continues. Pulling my arms into my sides, he binds them to my body. Then he moves lower. Instead of strapping my legs flat he bends them and fastens my ankle to my thigh before attaching my limb to the arm of the table. He then does the same to the other. I’m wide open for him, and I feel the blush redden my cheeks. I’m trussed up like a chicken, completely unable to move and wholly at his mercy. As he stands back and stares down in admiration at his handiwork, a sudden thrill rushes through me. My whole body tingles in anticipation of what he is going to do next.

For a few moments he does nothing, simply watches. Tension rises through me; my insides are tightening, my heart is beating fast and I’m clenching every muscle in my body. I need release and I’m unable to do anything but beg. As he continues to remain still, I become more and more agitated.

“Nijad, please.”

He moves at last, but only to trace the collar around my neck.

“With this on, in this place, you call me Master,” he tells me, and then gives a sinister laugh. “But even begging your Master will not get you what you want. I’ll give you what you need when
I
feel you need it.”

He’s speaking in riddles but, at last, he moves to action. From a small table he collects something. Then, holding it out of my sight, he looms over me and takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking, biting on it. I’ve been tied so tightly I can’t even writhe. I just have to take what he’s giving me. The impossibility of movement, combined with his mouth on me, causes arrows of stimulation straight down. I need to come so much I can hardly breathe. Suddenly his mouth moves away to be replaced with what I realise must be a nipple clamp. He adjusts the screw and a bolt of pain shoots through me. He pauses, and waits, and I feel the pain transform into heightened arousal. Blood rushes through my body, turning my skin red all over, but I get no reprieve as he turns his attention to my other breast, and repeats the same process there.

I’m not sure how much longer I can stand this. I’m not in actual pain or discomfort, except for the overwhelming desire for release. I’m tense everywhere, on the verge of an orgasm but unable to go over without his help. Incoherent, I’m unable to form words, and can only moan.

I feel something hit my stomach, my thighs. Opening my eyes I see it’s a flogger. He’s using it gently, only enough to invigorate my skin cells, until the whole of my body is tingling. He draws back; I have a moment’s reprieve and then he scores a direct hit between my legs. I let out a loud scream and try to pull against my bonds, but there’s nowhere for me to go.

“It was forbidden for anyone to see, or hear, women in the harem.” As he speaks in a normal voice, I wonder why the hell he thinks this is a good time to give me yet another insight into the harem’s history. “You can, and will, scream. But however loud you are, no one will hear you but me. The walls are thick and insulated.” He pauses. “And, little one, I love to hear you scream.”

I hear something dropping on the floor and almost instantaneously feel his lips against my core. He’s teasing me, his tongue sweeping along my slit, dipping inside, but avoiding that place where I need his touch so much. I groan loudly. I can’t thrust myself up into his mouth. I have no control over this situation at all, and can only take what he gives me.

With a wicked laugh he commands, “Come for me!” and, at last, moves to that throbbing place and circles me with his tongue while thrusting two fingers deep inside me to press on that hidden spot. I explode, my shriek so loud it would shatter glass. I wail and yell as wave after wave of orgasm washes over me. Every muscle feels like it’s in spasm, totally out of my control, jerking and twitching as my climax goes on and on. Nijad continues to lave me with his tongue, his fingers still massaging, extending my pleasure, and then easing the way down from my peak. But his insistent attentions mean that before I can relax, I’m reaching up and up again. As I struggle to reach that peak he takes hold of the nipple clamps and removes them both at once. I shriek; the pain is unbelievable, but changes almost immediately into a feeling of warmth, as if a line of fire is tearing down my body, reaching that point where his teeth bite down. I’m gone; another orgasm hits me even more intensely than the last.

Just as I feel I can take no more I feel Nijad pull away, hear the zipper come down on his jeans, the tearing of a condom wrapper, and then he thrusts inside me, my wetness easing his passage so he fills me in one strong surge. He feels so wide and thick, harder than ever. He is obviously not unaffected by what has taken place and he starts to take his own pleasure, pounding into me with desperation. To my amazement, at his command I come again, my muscles clenching around his cock. He stills and I feel him pulse, and then he pumps and pumps into me, emptying all of himself into the condom that he’s using to protect me. For a moment, I wish he was coming inside me; feeling a strange desire to feel his cum running out of me.

He collapses over me, careful not to crush me. He’s breathing heavily as he pulls his cock from me. Then I feel a chill as his warmth disappears and he goes to dispose of the condom. Shortly afterwards I feel a warm cloth gently washing me. A strange floating sensation floods through me as he undoes the ropes holding me captive and then, taking me in his arms, he carries me back to the couch, wrapping me in a blanket and cuddling me close. He reaches for something and I find a bottle of water at my lips. I drink greedily, unaware that I’m so dehydrated. When I’ve had my fill I lean back against him, trying to get my thoughts in order after having what was literally a mind-blowing experience. Nothing I’d read had prepared me for the intensity of a relationship between Dom and sub. I’d thought the vanilla sex we’d so far been having was incredible enough, but what we’d just done … Wow! Just. Fucking. Wow! I’m aware of the strong arms around me holding me safe and secure, and as I snuggle into him, his chest rises and falls beneath my cheek. I realise I could never be happier than I am at this particular moment; so cared for, so cherished. I’m unable to resist the fatigue slowing creeping over me and I drift off to sleep.

It’s some time later when I awake. Somehow he’s carried me back through the sultan’s secret passage back to the bedroom in the suite. The lights are turned down low and he’s lying on his side, regarding me carefully.

He speaks when he sees me move, gently caressing my head as he does. Then he touches my braided hair, takes out the tie and undoes it.

“How do you feel?” he asks, gently.

I turn my head to the side and think carefully, remembering what happened and analysing my feelings about it.

“Truthfully?”

“Tell me, Cara. I need to know.”

I can’t stop a big grin coming to my face. “I think I like your dungeon, Master.”

I interpret his sigh as one of relief, and relish the tender kiss that follows.

“We’re going to have such fun together, Cara. There’s so much I want to do, to explore, with you. In the dungeon and out of it. You’re the perfect wife for me, and the perfect submissive. I think we’re going to enjoy living in the palace.”

He’s right, I believe we are. But I can’t stifle a yawn. I’m exhausted. Both physically and mentally.

“Turn over and go to sleep,” he instructs quietly. As I obey him he pulls me to him, my back to his chest, spooning around me, once again keeping me safe and secure. A wave of emotion sweeps through me, and there are words on the tip of my tongue which I don’t allow to escape simply because he hasn’t said them yet either. But I think we’re close. The words will come.

Cara

Apart from waking in an exquisitely and richly furnished stateroom rather than in a tent, this morning seems, at first, like any other I’ve woken up to over the past couple of weeks. I’m not too bothered that the warmth which surrounded me during the night has disappeared, now familiar with the fact Nijad’s an early riser. Not a morning person myself, I’ve come to appreciate the way he’ll dress quietly, allowing me extra time to sleep. Finding myself in bed alone is far from unusual. It was his habit in the desert, and he seems to be continuing it here, in the palace. The palace. I feel excited as I think of how I can spend the day exploring my new home. And, perhaps tonight, the potential of the dungeon beneath the suite. Will Nijad – my Master, I correct myself with a grin – take me there again later? I finger my collar. Last night I couldn’t resist looking at it in the mirror; it’s a delicate filigree pattern in white gold, with sparkling diamonds making it glisten in the light. The design subtle enough that I could wear every day without anyone questioning it, and only we would know it carries both of us. I vow quietly, never to take it off.

Outside the sun will be shining, harsh and bright, but here, inside this luxurious room, with the heavy curtains still closed, muting the light, it’s perfect. I yawn, still sleepy. Lamis had followed us to the palace, so I expect she’ll soon be arriving to help me get ready for the day, and bring my breakfast. I don’t really need the assistance, but I’ve come to enjoy the company of the woman who’s quickly become more friend than maid, taking the quiet time we have together to help me understand the ways of the people of the desert. I’m looking forward to our chat today, wondering if she knows her way around the palace and can help me explore.

Stretching my arms over my head I grimace, feeling twinges from muscles overused the night before. I flush at the memory of the ropes and of being tortured almost to distraction. But, oh, the reward at the end of it; God, that made it worthwhile. My hand creeps up to my neck and I finger the necklace, no, the collar again, feeling so proud to wear it. My cheeks grow redder as I remember Jasim, for one, will know exactly what it means. I hope I won’t meet him again anytime soon.

But I can’t stay in bed all day. Time to get up. As I reach for my robe, Lamis enters.

“Good morning.”