Sweet and Dirty (14 page)

“You realize she’s never played before?”

Sylvester sounded concerned, caring. Unexpected, under the circumstances. Maybe that’s why her heart throbbed with gratitude at his thoughtfulness. Was an emotional hair trigger a side effect of being tortured?

Master Andre flicked at the chain snaking up her ass crack, making her gasp at the twin tugs on her nipples. “I find it difficult to believe. Such responsiveness and lack of inhibition isn’t common for beginners.”

“Yet it’s true. But, please continue.” Sylvester sounded amused. Had she imagined the caring in his voice? “I’ll be delighted to help in any way I can.”

“In that case, I propose to give Nora a proper initiation ritual. I’m sure she won’t mind if I paddle her ass until it’s a nice bright red. Then pass the paddle around to whoever wants to take a whack. Will you, Nora?”

She felt her head sink down as if weighted by shame. Could she go through with such a humiliating initiation? They talked about her as if she were just some object. And what about the plug? What would happen to the—

Whack!

She cried out. The paddle landed squarely on the fleshy part of her butt, hitting both base of the plug and the fastened chain. Her nerve endings shrieked the message: sharp fire as the chain tugged her nipples, stinging skin where the paddle impacted, and a startling thrust inside her bowels.

Master Andre paused to fondle her. “Are you doing okay?”

She could only nod her head and whimper. And, as his fingers converted the residual pains into a rainbow of pleasure, she moved her hips.

“I think you need more. Much more.”

“She seems to agree.” Sylvester’s voice, closer. Nora burned for his touch, needed some violent culmination of the teasing seesaw of pleasure and pain of Master Andre’s. She craved Sylvester. Wanted him to carry her off, then throw her down, pin her with his body and split her open with his cock.

Instead, she got another whack.

Her nipples ignited, her ass felt like fire, her bowels contracted in a delightful spasm around unyielding rubber.

And another, harder.

And another.

Master Andre settled into a new rhythm, spanking her ass and her thighs. He used sharp blows interspersed with more teasing fingering, caressing her slit with fluttering taps or slow, deep, circular strokes, until the combined assault had her nearly out of her mind. The barrage of sensation seemed to split her off from herself, even as all her feelings fused to a single awareness of Sylvester watching this happening to her.

The thought of him as witness diminished her more than her spread nakedness, more than the butt plug, more than the shameful obviousness of her arousal. And she found, in the diminishment, further glory.

When the paddle impacted, she imagined Sylvester mounting her like an animal, shoving deep. When the nipple chain tugged, her mind transformed it into his cruel fingers pinching and twisting.

“She’s not going to last much longer. Sylvester?”

“I’ll go last.”

“All right. Who’d like to participate in this little hazing ceremony, have a go at this beautiful reddened rump? Ah, Mage…an honor.”

Silence.

Cool air chilled her bare skin, despite the nearby fireplace.

WHACK!

She yelped at the brutal hit, the pain overwhelming pleasure for a long moment. “Ouch…” She panted, riding out the yanked nipples, seared rear, and suddenly deep thrust of the plug. Mage had a heavy arm.

“She is noisy. I will give her a reason for such a production. Tomorrow. Yes, little one? You will present yourself to me.” His voice chilled her further, making her skin pebble as if the low, gravelly voice stroked her obscenely. It sounded vaguely foreign. New. Exciting. She recalled Sylvester saying Mage played with electricity. She nodded, frightened yet feeling wealthy with the opulence of offered new experiences. Shivering with anticipation, she jumped when he touched her: just a simple stroke of her hair. “Tomorrow.”

Everyone she’d met proceeded to take one turn with Master Andre’s paddle. She surprised herself by being able to distinguish between each, even on such short acquaintance: Black’s evil laugh and sadistic aim, which landed half on her pussy lips and half on her thigh. White’s sympathetic cooing and gentle tap on a less-abused part of her left cheek. Kitten’s butterfly-soft touch, barely felt at all. Mistress Kiana’s brisk blow aimed precisely in the middle. Little Peter’s awkward landing on her right cheek, more paddle’s edge than flat surface.

Then Master Andre, who paddled her briskly until her ass heated to ignition once more, and fondled her until she gasped.

Then it was Sylvester’s turn. He grabbed her hair, yanked her head back to speak in her ear. “You feel welcome now, don’t you? A little ceremony to initiate you into the mystery of BDSM. It’s quite the turn-on to watch how you respond to it. You’re just a little pain slut, aren’t you. Do you like it so much? Or were you lying about being new to this? I’m going to find out.”

His words, spoken directly into her ear, slid right into her brain. She was afraid, but still so intensely aroused that it wouldn’t take much to push her over the edge. He still held her by the knot of hair. His large hands grasped it by the base. It didn’t hurt, much; it was just another sensation added to the melody.

He laughed then, and shook her head slowly by her own hair. Then he released the knot, letting her hair fall down to shroud her face in a sensual, silken slide.

“With your permission?” he asked Master Andre.

“By all means. I’ve always wanted to see how you do it. I’ve heard rumors—”

“Hmm,” Sylvester made a noncommittal noise. “Please stand back.”

Nora tensed, but nothing immediately happened. The silence engulfed them. She could hear White whispering something to Black, somewhere in the distance. The sound of Ryan rustling in his cage, and the crackling fire, and Master Andre clearing his throat…

Whack!

Only he didn’t remove the paddle from her ass cheeks, but left it there. The authority of it pressing against her, trapping its stinging heat under its flat surface, was bad enough.

Worse awaited. As she reeled from the blow—ass, nipples, plug—he brought his left hand into play, fingers adjusting the plug, thumb roughly massaging her clit. A final scratch with his thumb elicited her first scream, even as he drew his right arm back and paddled her again.

This time he left his left hand on her. He rubbed the paddle back and forth, making the plug press against first one of her inner walls, then the other.

He massaged.

And paddled, assaulting her senses inside and out.

It hurt, more than before, but the pleasure he gave was greater still. The brutal paddling picked up tempo, but so did his fingers, and his prodding of the plug.

Suddenly she was hurtling up, on the verge of orgasm, and as if he knew, he spanked violently, but there was no pain. Only a heavenly heat uncoiling in her belly and taking over her body.

And it was Sylvester again, in her mind, riding her harshly, without mercy, making her welcome his brutality, making her enjoy the perversity of his actions. The forbidden heat incinerated her as it always did: a gasping pleasure that drove her mind from her body, both up high into the farthest stars and down below to grub with the depraved, among whose numbers she surely belonged for enjoying such a thing.

She became aware that she’d screamed, hearing the memory-echo of it as she returned to herself.

Master Andre had removed the plug, clamps, belt, and unbuckled her leg restraints without her realizing it. And it was Master Andre who slid off her blindfold, covered her with a blanket, and gathered her into a gentle embrace, holding her and whispering soothingly. She surprised herself by clinging to him. It was a point of pride with her that she never clung, never truly needed anyone, yet she snuggled into Master Andre’s chest. Her emotions surprised her: emotional vulnerability, cat-stretching physical contentment, confidence in her own desirability, affection for everyone present including Master Andre. She listened more to his calming tone of voice than to his compliments and reassurances. She soaked it up as a much-needed balm.

But her gaze kept returning to Sylvester from the moment her blindfold was removed.

He looked back, expressionless. Completely unmoved.

“Y
ou were magnificent, superb, responsive. Your presence here is a gift. Welcome, my dear.”

Master Andre’s words penetrated the pleasant fog of her mind, and she tore her gaze from Sylvester.

“Thank you. You were amazing, too.” Didn’t hurt to return the compliment, and he certainly deserved it. He didn’t need to know her nerve endings convulsed most strongly when she thought of Sylvester. Master Andre’s skill was beyond reproach. “Remarkable. Unique. There isn’t a word.”

“Magic.” Master Andre smiled. “But it’s nothing compared to the ultimate submission of slave to master. To trust body and soul to his keeping, to wear his collar, to let him guide you to the stars and beyond.” She could feel the heat baking off him, now that her own fire had been quenched. Through the folds of blanket and the material of his pants, his erection felt huge, overeager.

Still basking in the warm glow of comfort, she didn’t mind it. His words intrigued her. But at the moment she only wanted to be held. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“No need.”

She shifted to a more comfortable spot. The blanket began to feel claustrophobic. Master Andre’s arms felt good, though, so rather than moving from his embrace, she looked around with her head still resting against his chest.

Her experience gave her vision a new lens. Instead of a strange, intimidating space of unknown people and dangerous-looking furniture and toys, she saw a welcoming dungeon, a place of fantasy. And the people were friends. Strange friends, she admitted, watching White adjust a full leather hood on Ryan’s head. The woman positioned the sole opening, a tiny rectangular slit, over his mouth. It was his only article of clothing. When White refastened Ryan’s cage and stood back to admire the effect, his nakedness made him look small and vulnerable.

Elsewhere in the dungeon, play appeared to be winding down. Mistress Kiana spoke softly with Little Peter. Mage had disappeared. Kitten wasn’t anywhere to be seen either. Someone had turned the music down. And Sylvester…

She let herself look at him.

He was gone.

She felt a twinge of disappointment.

She’d wanted to view him with her new vision, as well. How might he look? She certainly felt different. More experienced. More desirable. She didn’t understand it, but she felt it. Stretching, she basked in the newness.

Master Andre tightened his grip. “How do you feel?” The knowing, almost smug tone in his voice made her smile. She supposed he’d earned the right to a little smugness.

She laughed. “I feel drained. In a great way, but…”

“Mmm?” He bounced her on his lap as if she were a child. Once. Twice. “I imagine you’re feeling sated and sore. The welts from the cane might last a day or two, but the redness and the prickly sensation on your skin’s surface should mostly be gone by tomorrow.”

“Good to know.” He smelled nice. Of leather and clean sweat and fresh warm breath. She liked him quite a bit, she realized.

“Nora, I’d like to collar you and keep you. In my home. Naked, of course.”

“Of course. Business casual is so dull.”

He gave her a steady look. “Think about it. I pushed you pretty hard tonight, but it’s nothing compared to what I can do. At my home, I have resources. And less distraction. Sylvester, for example. I don’t know what possessed him to finish you off that way.” He said it lightly, but Nora heard the irritation underneath. “You should know something. I do very well for myself, and enjoy travel. I keep a private plane, fueled and ready to go, for whenever I get the urge to visit Paris, or Amsterdam, or Australia. At dinner, you’d talked about your travel-marketing job, and mentioned your interest in seeing the world. Wear my collar, and you won’t have to just look at pictures. I’ll give the world to you.” The words were offered up in all seriousness.

To travel. To travel the world, to see the source of all the pictures she viewed every day. To engage senses she’d only just learned she had. It tempted her.

“Think about it,” he repeated. He patted her thigh. “You are a rare woman, and it would be an honor to collar you. Now!” He stood, letting her slide from his lap. She gathered up folds of blanket to hide her nudity, then felt foolish for it. He’d seen it all. “Drink plenty of water, and rest up for two more days of playing.” He bent to kiss her, a chaste peck on the cheek. “Hopefully with me. See you later.”

“See you later,” she promised.

The chill on her bare shoulders reminded her the fire burned low.

She dressed quickly. Moved by an impulse to confide in Ryan, she approached his cage. Nodding to Mistress Kiana, who sat with her submissive, and waving a little self-consciously at Black and White—White grinned at her, Black only stared—Nora observed her ex-fiancé. The cage backed to a generous corner space, strewn with more pillar candles, carved masks decorating the walls, and statues and artwork that drew the eye.

Ryan seemed almost a piece of art himself, lit from above by track lights throwing his well-defined muscles, his flat stomach, the gentle waves of his short blond hair, and even his flaccid penis into sharp relief. She saw the way his hands clutched the bars when he heard her approach. Was he frightened? She felt a need to reconnect with him, talk with him about how much she’d liked her experience. About how much he’d enjoyed his, too.

She touched his cage. “Hey, you. It’s only me.”

His blinded, mask-covered face turned toward her. “Nora.” His mouth formed a thin line. “I saw you, earlier. I saw what they did to you.”

She couldn’t help her blush, her reflexive shame…until she remembered his erection from earlier. “I guess we’re both learning a few things about ourselves, huh, Ryan?”

He replied with simple dignity. “I screwed up, and I regret it. I’m doing this for us.” He aimed his leather-covered face at her. “What’s your excuse?”

Great, now she felt ashamed
and
guilty. “What did you think, I’d just watch TV for three days?” She bit her lip in dismay. The lovely peace and sense of accomplishment she’d felt were slipping away.

“I thought you’d keep your clothes on, at least.”

“Says the man who’d planned on getting me raped.”

“It was your fantasy!”

“No it wasn’t! Not like that. You don’t understand anything about it.” Her resentment flared. She could’ve been seriously hurt. She could’ve been psychologically scarred for life.

Sudden silence told her the music had been shut off, and the others all ceased their own conversations to listen to theirs. Nora turned toward them, intending to apologize for raising her voice, when she heard breathing nearby. Not Ryan’s.

Already disconcerted, she pivoted toward the heavy breather. She saw only the hanging artwork, the pink bag containing the fetal-curled statue of a man.

The statue moved.

Nora screamed.

“What? What is it?” Ryan tried to tear off his mask, but it was locked at the neck. “What the fuck is it?”

Nora stared. It was a man, a real man inside. The stretchy, pink-colored material smoothed his skin tone to look like marble, the pink wrapping minimizing human flaws and hair, and nearly disguising the catheter she could now see attached to his penis. His eyes had opened to mere slits.

“His name is Osmond.” White had crept up beside them, speaking in a low tone. “The shouting woke him.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…”

“It’s okay.” She frowned at Ryan, who was still shouting. Black glided toward him like a malevolent spirit, a gag in her hand.

White urged Nora away. “Come with me upstairs.”

“Nora! Don’t go! What was it? I can hear someone nearby. Who’s there?” He whipped his head back and forth, trying in vain to see. “Nora?”

“Good night, Ryan.”

“Nora! God damn it, Nora, you bitch! Don’t you…mmmpph.”

White smiled. “Gag placed. Shall we?”

“We shall.” Nora glanced back. Ryan looked cowed, with Black stroking his head in a gesture that might have been motherly if it weren’t for her sadistic expression. Nora wondered how many hours Ryan would spend in the cage, listening to the breathing in the air near him, trying to guess who Osmond was. And what it was that had made Nora scream. He’d conjure up the worst possible boogeyman, she knew.

Nora laughed, still looking back.

Black met her gaze. She finally smiled at Nora, as she wrapped a fist in Ryan’s short hair and pulled his head back with a jerk. Ryan’s erection stirred.

“Intense,” Nora murmured. Her reality whirled as her own nerve endings responded to the scene.

“Hmmm. Interesting.”

Nora looked at White, saw the evaluation in her gaze. “What’s interesting?”

“You, honey. Seems you might like dishing it out, as well as taking it? A switch,” she explained at Nora’s look of confusion. “Someone who enjoys either side of S and M play. Top or bottom. Dom or sub. Like me. Maybe.” She stared at Nora, then grinned, shaking her head. “There’s something about you. Hard to pigeonhole. C’mon, let’s get something to drink.”

“Is being hard to pigeonhole a bad thing?” Nora smiled back. White’s straightforward manner charmed her. But as they made their way upstairs, then to the now-deserted kitchen, Nora felt a return of her guilt. “Ryan…he’ll be okay down there, won’t he? In that little cage? And why is Osmond hanging in that bag?”

“Your guy will be fine,” White assured her. “More than fine. You could see that.”

“Um.”

“Don’t worry.” White filled two tall glasses with tap water. “Good mountain water. Drink up; you’ll have lost plenty in that scene. Okay, so about Osmond. Long story short, he’s doing it for kinky and nonkinky reasons. He wants a rebirth. So he’s being encased and cared for as a fetus right now—breathing through a snorkel, fed through it, too, wearing diapers. He’s only taken out a few times per day during this “pregnancy.” Soon he’ll have the experience of being born anew. I just hope Kiana’s up to the task of the birth. She’s agreed to midwife, but she seems tired.”

Nora shifted on her chair. Winced.

White noticed. “Master Andre’s divine, isn’t he? And Sylvester, too! Lucky you.”

Nora kept her voice neutral with an effort. “I understand Sylvester doesn’t usually participate.”

“Never, to my knowledge. And I’m here once a month, at least.”

“Why doesn’t he? Participate, I mean.” Nora drained her glass, then yawned, covering her mouth. White charmed her, the conversation fascinated, but her body and mind felt sluggish, as if being dragged down into sleep. “Excuse me.”

“Post-scene plunge. Perfectly normal. You’ll sleep like the dead, too.” White tapped her long, lacquered nails on her glass. She looked at Nora sideways, and her demeanor became suddenly more guarded. “Sylvester is very gracious, to allow us to play in his home this way. If he doesn’t participate, I’m sure he has good reasons.”

“He said he likes to keep an eye on things. To be a…what did he call it?…a dungeon monitor.”

White nodded her head. “And he’s a damn fine one.” She smiled politely, drank more water.

Even tired as she was, Nora could tell White held something back. Sylvester had loyal friends, and he had secrets. Good to know. Nora changed the subject. “You come here pretty often. Do you travel much, other than here?”

“Oh, no. I’d love to. I’d go to Italy. Eat Italian food until I’m round. But I have a little girl at home, and a full-time job. Police dispatcher,” she said, with evident pride. “But, travel? No way, no how. They don’t exactly give dispatchers a month off for their European vacations, if you know what I mean.”

Nora did.

“Coming to Twisted Wood is my vacation, when the ex has his custody weekend. But enough about me.” She put her empty in the sink, held her hand out for Nora’s glass. “One of the service subs will take care of these. Isn’t it great? So. Do you have a job that lets you travel a lot?”

“I’ve seen the world in photographs. But I’ve never been out of the country.” Nora thought of her job. Her job dangled tempting fruit before her, she realized. Not just the generous salary. She tracked down the most alluring photos of ancient architecture, read tempting descriptions of white sand beaches in tropical paradises, edited reports about luxury cruises to exotic destinations. She wished she could be one of those tanned, happy-faced tourists in the pictures. But the fast-paced company said it couldn’t get by without her for more than a week. They’d bitterly complained about just four days.

Nora frowned. If she accepted the position of vice president, she’d quickly accumulate enough money to go anywhere she wanted…but have zero time to do it.

Her conundrum of a career bound her up and teased her, in its own way, more thoroughly than Master Andre ever could.

As she heard herself explaining it to White, she felt a measure of self-directed contempt. What a complainer she was. No doubt she made more money than the friendly black woman, and her job had to be less stressful than a police dispatcher’s. She made herself shut up.

But White surprised her. “Well, of course you need time off; being a workaholic’s no fun. Got to go places and have fun, or maybe just sit home staring at a TV or reading a book. They’re called mental-health breaks.” She laughed. “As you can see, I don’t get nearly enough of ’em.”

Nora smiled, genuinely liking the other woman, but her words inflicted doubt: did Ryan have a point? Was she a workaholic, her priorities in need of a shake-up? She’d condemned him for what he’d done, and he’d accepted his penance. Even in the face of her letting Master Andre strip and penetrate her with a butt plug, he was still subjecting himself to discomfort and imprisonment. For her.

She didn’t exactly have the moral high ground.

Guilt resurfaced, flooding her tired body with just enough energy for her to straighten, determined. She’d set Ryan free from his imprisonment. They would discuss things. That was how normal people in relationships handled conflict.

A small headache started. “I should probably say good night.”

“Get lots of rest,” White approved. “We sleep in, here. There’s a late breakfast, informal buffet style, in case Sylvester didn’t tell you. You should really ask him for a tour of the place; tonight you got kind of waylaid, didn’t you?” Her eyes twinkled. “If I’m not mistaken, tomorrow looks like more of the same. You’re like a new toy, you know. They’re just getting started.”