Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
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Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
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Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
Phaze Fantasies Vol. VI an anthology of erotic romance by YVETTE HINES AUGUSTA LI JUDE MASON D. MUSGRAVE JESSIE VERINO AND ****
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Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
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Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI copyright 2008 by Yvette Hines, Augusta Li, Jude Mason, D. Musgrave, Jessie Verino, and N All rights reserved under the International and PanAmerican Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. A Phaze Production Phaze Books 6470A Glenway Avenue, #109 Cincinnati, OH 45211-5222 Phaze is an imprint of Mundania Press, LLC. To order additional copies of this book, contact:
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Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
www.Phaze.com Cover art © 2007 Debi Lewis Edited by Michelle Dowdey eBook ISBN-13: 978-1-59426-858-8 eBook ISBN-10: 1-59426-858-4 First Phaze Edition—March, 2008 Printed in the United States of America 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
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Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
CONTENTS Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Precious Things by Augusta Li Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Epilogue Sam, the Man by Jude Mason Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Continuing Education by D. Musgrave Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Epilogue 8
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
iSUBmiT (I Submit) Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Epilogue Statues by Jessie Verino Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven About the Authors ****
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Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
Chapter One From To Have and To Hold by Yvette Hines "Brett is gone." Patricia ran back out of the sanctuary of the church. Kelli looked at her mocha colored friend with her platinum colored hair cut in a bob around her face. "What do you mean Brett is gone?" "G.o.n.e. Like as in not at the altar," Patricia emphasized with a sassy tilt to her head. Gathering the satin and tulle skirt of her wedding gown in her hands, Kelli brushed past her best friend and marched over to the open doorway. Glancing down the aisle to the altar, Kelli expected to see Brett, her fiancé and expectant groom, standing between the minister and his best man, Dan. Scanning the wedding party, who stood up there with odd expressions on their faces, she saw two groomsmen, one bridesmaid and the junior bride. The cute ring bearer and flower girl were making their way down the aisle to the pianist's beat. Gloria continued to play as if she hadn't been told that the groom was absent. But no Brett. Kelli turned away from the packed church of two hundred guests and faced Patricia. "Where is he?" Shrugging, Patricia said, "I don't know. When I came out I didn't see him. But everyone is standing around like he just walked away to go to the bathroom or something. When I look at Carl, he just hunches his shoulders." 10
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
This is not happening. Kelli's heart felt like lead as it dropped into her stomach. She and Brett had been planning this wedding for the last year. She sold her condominium, because they would be moving to Charlotte where Brett would be working with his father at their law firm. She quit her job, because Brett wanted a stay at home wife. He'd made a big production of her not renewing her birth control because he wanted them to start a family as soon as possible. Now she had less than a month before she would be out. Anger boiled in her veins and poured out of her heart like hot lava from a volcano. Brett had a lot of nerve to do this to her after everything she'd sacrificed for him. He professed to love her. But if this was his damn idea of love she didn't want any part of it. "Weren't Dan and Carl driving with him to the church?" Kelli asked, stepping away from the open doorway. "When it became apparent that Brett wasn't coming out I signaled to Carl to check on him. When he came back out without Brett, Carl pulled me to the side and said that Brett was acting funny this morning and had decided he wanted to drive to the church alone. Said he needed time to think. Carl said Brett seemed fine while they were waiting in the minister's office, but that Brett told them to go out first and start the wedding and that he would be right out. He said that when he went back there to check on him, Brett was gone. When he looked out Father Riley's window Brett's car was gone as well." Patricia grabbed her hand and squeezed as she finished talking. 11
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
Carl was one of the groomsmen, as well as Patricia's husband of four and half years. They had met and married shortly after their college graduation. Unlike she and Brett, who had decided to wait until after Brett graduated from law school and passed the bar exam. Now, to have this happen after her years of patience, felt like a slap in the face. "I've heard of the runaway bride, but the groom..." Kelli could feel her throat become thick with emotions. She knew soon she would be in tears. "...this is a first." "What are you going to do, Kelli?" Letting her hand go, Patricia moved to a side table in the foyer area, grabbed a tissue, and handed it to her. She wasn't going to cry. No way she would allow herself to break down in the church where she was supposed to be promising her future husband she would love, honor and obey. What a big joke. Kelli figured she looked like she was about to cry. Swallowing hard and taking a deep breath, she shook her head letting Patricia know she didn't want the tissue. "I don't know." Turning, Kelli marched back to the dressing room she and Patricia had used to change into their wedding attire. She tossed clothes and other items around until she located her purse. "Where are my keys?" "In my purse. Why?" Patricia sounded unsure of giving her the information. "Kelli, what are you doing? Why do you need the keys?" Her eyes were beginning to burn as she clutched at pants, tops and shoes, throwing them over the back of the couch. I am not going to cry. When Kelli finally located her friend's 12
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
purse on the cushion of a couch, she dug inside. She heard Patricia's voice waver with caution. "Kel, you can't leave." Swinging around, she looked at her friend who stood beside the open door. Kelli could hear the notes of Richard Wagner's Lohengrin begin to play from the main sanctuary. She wondered if Brett's Aunt Gloria was deaf, dumb, and blind not to see what was going on around her. Over the wedding music murmurs and whispers were beginning to echo through the guests. "The hell if I can't, the groom didn't see an issue with doing it." Gathering a handful of her dress one hand and her purse and keys in the other, she brushed pass Patricia. Kelli felt the quick grip of her friend's hand as she halted her exit. "Who's going to tell the guests what's going on?" A bark of laughter erupted from her chest as Kelli looked at Patricia and said, "Tricia, as if they haven't figured out by now that the wedding is off. Not going to happen. Then they're not as smart as I am." With that, she pulled her arm away from Patricia and ran toward the door. "Where does she think she's going?" Kelli heard Mrs. Cardwell, Brett's mom call out to Patricia in her wake. "She needs to talk to the guests." Kelli shook her head at the woman's audacity and continued racing down the steps of one of the oldest cathedrals in Charlotte, North Carolina. Mrs. Cardwell wanted someone to speak to the people, she needed to locate her damn son. 13
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
Pushing all thoughts of Brett and his overbearing mother out of her mind, she sprinted by the black limo decorated with white ribbons and bows and a large sign that said 'Just Married' on the back bumper. In an hour it would have been taking them to the reception. But not anymore. Arriving at her Carolina blue convertible Mazda MX-5 Miata with its hard top, she unlocked the door. Shoving the bulk material of the skirt of her wedding dress into the car, she closed the door, not caring if any of it got trapped in the frame. She would never wear this dress again. Starting the car, she pulled out of the parking spot and shifted into drive as she pressed the control to make the hard top retract. "Kelli!" Mrs. Cardwell bellowed, her face noticeably beet red even from the distance. "You get back here this instant!" Ignoring her, Kelli drove away as the wind pulled her wedding veil from her head, signaling her departure. She watched her rearview mirror as the pearl headpiece that landed in the middle of the road and Brett's mom both became specks. The feeling of water streaming down her face as she traveled down the street drew her eyes to her face in the mirror. Damn, I'm crying. **** Will walked into the Early Girl as he did every Saturday. Most weekends he was in the office working on something, so he always treated himself with a down home southern style breakfast. His family lived hours away in Raleigh and he 14
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
couldn't go home to get his mother's cooking every weekend, so he was happy when he'd located this place a few months after he'd took residency in Asheville. He was looking forward to some time off. This week with Mayor Tiffany Braxton on summer vacation with her family, he was considering visiting his mother and father, whom he hadn't seen since Easter weekend. The restaurant was filled with families and couples of all ages enjoying the food and atmosphere of the place. Seeing a table available next to the window, he headed towards it. Something odd and out of place with the normal casual diners caught his attention. Looking toward the back of the restaurant at the last table in the corner, he spotted a woman in wedding dress. A few of the other diners were giving her side glances as well, all probably wondering as he was, who the woman was and what had happened to place her there instead of at an altar with the 'man of her dreams'. Will chuckled to himself. It wasn't that he didn't believe in love, no, he'd loved once and loved hard. But, he knew his feelings for the woman were futile and would never find a place in the woman's heart, so he had loved silently and from afar. Now, he was so consumed with his busy work schedule that he never found time to seriously date anyone outside of an occasional affair or two with women who wouldn't ask for more. To be in a more serious relationship would require him to reveal everything about his private life and he hadn't met anyone he would be willing to share that level of trust with. The woman's head was down as she sipped from her hot beverage. Blonde curls in a wild and very unattractive array 15
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
swarmed around her head like an angry nest created by a blind bird. Will shook his head, wondering if the police had located the body of the hairdresser yet. Arriving at his table he pulled his chair out, preparing to sit down. His gaze was drawn once again to the mysterious bride. She lowered her cup and lifted her face staring across the eatery with vacant eyes, not seeing anything or anyone. Will froze. The beautiful angelic face surrounded by that mess of a hairdo was one he would never forget. His body went on full alert, his muscles tensed, causing a bead of sweat to trickle down the center of his back and his cock instantly began to harden. She was the only woman that had ever caused such and immediate jolt to his system. The hell of it was that he'd never even slept with her. Taking a deep breath to calm his raging hormones, he rose and crossed the room to the woman dressed in what could only be described as a white cloud. "Kelli Delaney." He spoke to her once he'd reached her table. Oblivious to anything around her, she turned at the sound of his voice. Will saw her steel blue-gray gaze go from expressionless to recognition. A smile broke the somber look on her face and stopped his heart. Launching herself out of the seat, which had to be a feat considering the size of the skirt on her wedding dress, she threw her arms around him in a quick embrace. "Will Robertson! OhmyGod..." He had no other choice but to wrap his arms around her and squeeze. The perfume, oil or scented lotion that she used 16
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
surrounded them. Will couldn't put his finger on the smell, but the sweet subtle scent touched his senses like a caress. He cleared his throat and stepped back. If he hadn't broken contact with her, his body would let everyone in the restaurant know how he felt about her. In a bold way. Her hand rose to her mouth, in shock. "It's been so long." "Do you mind if I join you? Or are you awaiting the groom?" He could feel his heart beating against his ribcage as he awaited her answer. "That's doubtful." Waving her hand in the air, she resumed her seat. "Please, sit." Will claimed the light brown wood chair across from her as he watched her push and finagle the puffy material under the table away from her drink. A waitress with a name tag that read Vera stepped over to them. "Can I get you something, sir?" Peeping across the table into the porcelain cup, he asked, "What are you drinking, Kelli?" "Their natural ginger tea with cream and sugar," Kelli told him. Raising an eyebrow at Kelli, but refrained from commenting, instead he turned to Vera and ordered, "A carafe of the tea and coffee as well." The waitress jotted down the information on a hand pad. "I'll be right back with it, sir." When she walked away, Kelli was the first to speak. "So, Will, how have you been?"
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Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
"Let's discard the elephant in the middle of the room first." He leaned back in his chair, making himself comfortable on the hard seat. "What brings you to Asheville?" Raising her cup, she sipped from it again. He noted she didn't return it to the saucer, but instead clutched it as if the item were her sole salvation. "I'm not really in Asheville, I'm just passing through. I needed some gas so I got off the interstate. After two hours of being in the car I just wanted to sit still somewhere and think." Gesturing toward her dress, he questioned, "So, am I to assume you're on your way to your wedding?" Her teeth seized her bottom lip. The plumpness of it didn't escape his notice. Redirecting his gaze back to hers, he waited. "From is more like it." She pulled the cup toward her, but didn't drink. For a brief moment she just inhaled as if the smell of it aided her in someway. "The runaway bride?" "The dumped bride." The sullen look returned to her eyes as she looked past his shoulder for a moment. "Who's the fool?" He vocalized his thoughts. She set the cup down. "The one and only Brett Cardwell." Damn. Will had observed his fellow baseball teammate's relationship with Kelli and had always hoped that after graduation she had come to her senses. Apparently it had never happened. "I always knew he wasn't a smart man." "You would never be able to convince his mother of that fact. Brett made them proud the day he passed the bar, now 18
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
he'll be holding the firm's reigns with his father." She pasted a broad smile on her face. "How is Mrs. Cardwell?" "As bitchy as she always was." She took a deep drink of her creamed tea mixture. The waitress chose that moment to bring the two carafes and another coffee cup for him. "There's cream and sugar in the bowl. Let me know if you need anything else." "Thanks, Vera," Will said, as he filled his cup with coffee. Raising the cup, he tasted the bitter smooth blend. "I guess that means there's no love lost there," he responded to Kelli's comment. "Not." She glanced off in the distance, then returned her gaze back to his face. "Not having her as a mother in-law is something I'm very happy about. With that woman, there was no pleasing her." She paused and gave a dry laugh. "Unless she got it her way." She added more tea to her cup. "Then she was happy as a dog with a damn steak bone." Laughing, Will watched her add two creams and four sugars to the small cup of tea. He wondered if the tea was just used to heat up her cream and sugar. Syrupy sweet. The words played in his mind as Kelli took a healthy sip of the drink. He didn't have a sweet tooth and rarely did he indulge in desserts, but he had a weakness for Kelli Delaney that went beyond rational thought. When her pink tongue slid out of her mouth to take away a small drop of tea from her bottom lip he almost groaned aloud, and his dick awakened for the second time that day. An urge to lean over the table and kiss her just to see if the flavor was captured on her 19
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
tongue caused tension to curl at the base of his spine. If his arousal heightened any further he'd need to undo his pants so he didn't get fallout from blood flow constrictions. This woman had the power to bring him to his knees. He wondered what she'd do if she knew. Over the years he'd been around her and since, he'd learned to master his desires. It had become a survival skill to him. Distracting himself from his thoughts, he rubbed his hand across his chin, and he felt the prickly sensation of his low goatee on his skin as she continued. "Everything always had to go how she wanted it. No one else's opinion mattered." She grabbed a napkin from the holder on the table and began picking at the corners in frustration. "Like what?" He encouraged her, seeing her irritation and wanting her to talk through it. She made an unladylike snort. "The entire wedding. I wanted to have the wedding at an old church in Fayetteville, where my grandparents married, because I wanted to feel like they were there. A part of it. Since my mother died while I was in middle school, they were all that I had until they died while I was in college." Her eyes filled with water, she used the napkin to dab at the tears. By the soft grey smudge underneath, Will could tell it wasn't the first time she cried that day. "Mrs. Cardwell put an end to that. She said that the church wasn't big enough to hold the guests who were coming. 'Their guests' is what she meant. One hundred and seventy-eight people she had to invite, to be exact." She focused on her 20
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
hands as they continued plucking at the corners of the napkin. "I wanted cream and Carolina blue—" "Your favorite color," Will chimed in. "Yeah." The look in her eyes became warm, appearing more blue than gray. "You remembered. Brett never did." One day they'd talked for an hour while he walked her back to her dorm room when Brett had been too drunk after a winning game to do it. She had told him that her grandparents didn't have much money and could only afford for her to attend an instate college. So, she had chosen University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill because of the colors. "I remembered a lot of things, about you," he said, his tone low as he gestured for her to continue. "Like how stupid I was to stay with Brett, especially considering he made cheating his minor." Will raised his eyebrow at her. "I knew. Everyone thought I was oblivious, but I wasn't." She shook her head, then pushed the curls away from her face, but determined to stay put, the curl returned. He would have laughed if the moment wasn't so serious. "Brett and I got into a big fight the next day after he was too drunk to get me home. I'd had it and I was going to break up with him. Then the dean called me to tell me that he'd been notified of my grandmother dying in a car accident and my grandfather's heart attack." She stopped talking, closed her eyes, then took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, Will could almost feel the intensity of her pain. 21
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
"Brett was there for me. For once in all the time we had dated and he was all that I had. So, I stayed." "People have done the same thing for less." He wanted to pull her into his arms and comfort her. He could tell that losing her grandparents was still a deep hurt for her. "Five years, four months and three days ... to end up with a hairstyle I wouldn't give to my poodle and a dress that looks like a ballerina's tutu gone wrong." She started laughing. He joined in. He always loved the sound of her laugh even though in college she had done it rarely around Brett. He had to agree with her the dress was ridiculous looking in all of it's layers and mass, not to mention the puffy sleeves that made it down right hideous. "Tell me, Will, who picks apple and citrus?" Her words were still filled with mirth and the light had returned to her eyes. "For a fruit basket or a wedding?" He was almost afraid to ask. "A fruit basket ... only if. I don't know if you remember Patricia Hargrove." "Your crazy best friend who would attend the games and yell at the umpire and make silly comments about the other teams players." She laughed harder. "That's her. Well let's just say that citrus doesn't compliment her platinum colored hair at all." "The blue would've looked good," he told her. Kelli graced him with one of her sweet smiles. "Yeah, it would have." She sighed. "I will agree with Mrs. Cardwell that Barrington's would have been nice." 22
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
Nodding, he agreed. "I've been there before, it's very nice." He finished his coffee and refilled it. "So, where are you headed?" She pushed the shredded pile of napkin away toward the wall side of the table. "A cabin in Gatlinburg. The only thing I did get to chose was the honeymoon." "Gatlinburg, my family did a few summer vacations out there." He drank from his fresh cup of coffee and returned it to the saucer. "Isn't it going to be weird being at the place you and Brett chose and would have started the rest of your life?" "No. Brett couldn't be bothered with the arrangements because of school and studying for the bar, so I got to do everything on my own." A sly smile graced her mouth. "Outside of Patricia, he was the only person who knew where we were going and I made him promise not to tell his mother." "I'm sure it will be a much needed rest. It'll be a great place to rejuvenate yourself." "Yes, it will." They both sat quiet for a moment. There was an awkward silence at the table. Will knew it was the moment he was supposed to politely say, have a nice trip and leave, but he couldn't push himself to say it. He didn't want to end this time with Kelli. He thought about her over the years and had wondered what she was doing, if she was happy. Pondered a million what ifs in his mind. Now, to have her close once again he didn't want to let her go. "Come with me." 23
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
[Back to Table of Contents]
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Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
Chapter Two He wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly, believing his imagination was playing a wicked trick on him. "Excuse me?" Leaning forward as if she didn't want him to miss her words. "Come with me, Will." Nope, he'd heard right. "Kelli, you just had the love of your life stand you up on your wedding day. The last thing you need is an old college friend intruding on that time." Damn, those were the hardest words he had to say. "Besides, Brett may come there looking for you." "If Brett wanted to look for me, he could've started at the altar today." She pushed her cup over to join the paper pile. "You're right, Will, this has been an embarrassing day. But the last thing I need or want is to sit up at that cabin and have a pity party." "Meaning?" he encouraged her to say the words he needed to hear. Even though he knew he must turn her down, once in his life he wanted to know that Kelli wanted him. Needed him. "I'm not sure I'm the one that should be up there holding your hand. Maybe Patricia can meet you there." For a long moment she just stared at him, as if she were contemplating the state of the world. Then her hand glided across the cool wood surface and held his. "What I need, Patricia can't give me." Electric currents leaped from the contact of their skin and warm heat radiated from under her hand and snaked up his 25
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
arm, but he never ventured away from her gaze. "And that is?" Tell me you want me. Will's inner voice pleaded. "I want you," she confirmed. Will's heart sang, he felt like Gene Kelly in Singin' in the Rain. He wanted to run outside and yell at the top of his lungs. But he resisted the urge. Kelli didn't know what she was asking. She didn't know what being with him would truly entail. "I don't think it will be wise—" "Why, are you seeing someone, Will? Is that the issue?" He noticed a shadow moving across her eyes. Did that mean that it would hurt her to know someone else was in my life? "No." He looked down at her hand, a classic peaches and cream color, resting on his light brown one. "Kelli, there's more differences between the two of us than the color of our skin." She pulled her hand back and cool air replaced the warmth that was there from her touch. "What do you mean?" His eyes met her blue-gray ones. "There's things about me you don't know. Things I'm not sure you'd be ready to find out or could even handle." Lifting his cold drink to his mouth he sipped, giving her time to process he statement. "Will, are you gay? Is that the problem?" she whispered. Swallowing quickly, he assured her, "No, I'm not gay." He had to laugh. If Kelli could read his mind, she would know that he was a very heterosexual male. "Why would you think that I was?" 26
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
"I've known you for years and while we were in college I've never known you to date anyone. Hell, Patricia said she asked you out before and you turned her down." Yeah, her best friend had asked him out, but he knew she wasn't serious. Not to mention he couldn't find anyone to take his mind off of Kelli long enough to date anyone. "That's because Patricia only wanted to go out with me to make her boyfriend jealous. Did she and Lee finally marry?" "No, they broke up shortly after graduation and Patricia met and fell in love with a wonderful guy name Carl, who was an officer in the military and married him in traditional Tricia way, fast." They both smiled and nodded their heads in agreement. He and Patricia had a few courses together and the exciting, smart black girl with the platinum hair always provided entertainment. "So, if it's not a relationship, then I guess your job won't let you off." She sighed and slumped down some in her seat. "I'd say that I can understand that, but since Brett made me quit working over a month ago..." Her words drifted off. "My job is not a problem. I actually started my vacation today. I work for the mayor and when she takes time off with her family during the summer, she makes the office do the same." I take it you didn't want to give up your career." It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact he'd gathered from her tone. "Nope, but where Brett is concerned you don't get much choice." A half-hearted laugh came out of her mouth then she fell silent. "Will, I know you think that I'm just having some 27
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
random spur of the moment decision I'm making. And you know what, you're right. But, over the last two hours alone in my car I had a lot of time to think." Will noticed the water beginning to fill her eyes again; the sight caused his heart to ache. "I've spent the last years of my life living it how Brett wanted. Maybe because I didn't have enough backbone to tell him no or because I just wanted to hold onto someone since my grandparents left. I don't know. But, I did it. Now, I want something for me." "Honestly, Kelli, I care a lot about you." He pushed his pride aside and revealed part of the truth to her. "I always have, but I will not be your rebound." His cock leaped in disagreement with his words. It would have been happy for any reason to slide inside of Kelli Delaney. "You won't. Will, you'll be my freedom. Being with you will be my declaration of independence." Reaching across the table, this time she clasped his hand in both of hers as if imploring him to understand. "Not from Brett, but to myself. Brett was the only guy I've been with and if I have sex with you, I'll be able to cut all ties forever." Squeezing her fingers intertwined around his. He looked down at their hands once again, giving himself time to think. Can I do this? Can I go away with Kelli and make love to her? He refused to listen to his libido that was roaring loudly to commit, say yes. A clear mind was what he needed. Over the years he fantasized about all the things he wanted to do with and to Kelli. He wondered a million times over how she would 28
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
respond to his dark passions. The side of himself he had only revealed to a few close friends. But his heart pushed him to be honest with her. If she truly wanted to spend the time with him at a cabin made for lovers, then she'd have to know what she was in for. Then if she wanted to change her mind, they would part as friends and walk out of each other's life once again. Please let her agree. The small voice inside of him made a supplication as he pulled his hand from hers. He could feel sweat sliding down his back again and he was afraid his hands may have been next. "Kelli, let's go outside. What I have to tell you isn't for family diner's ears." His life was private and over the years of being the public relations person for the mayor he had learned to maintain an impeccable public appearance. He wasn't ashamed of his fascinations, just didn't want them publicized and reflecting negatively on his employer. When she agreed, he tossed enough money on the table to cover their beverages and then some. Standing, he waited until Kelli maneuvered the bulk of her dress out of the seat, then placing a hand on the small of her back as he walked out the restaurant with her. He had to admit he was impressed. Kelli was the only person he knew who could walk around in a wedding dress, making it appear to be a sophisticated fashion statement. As if people dressed that way everyday. The bright afternoon sun beat down on them as they strolled in silence until they reached her car and stopped. Will wasn't surprised at all at the color. 29
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"Kelli, before I accept your offer I need you to understand some things about me." Taking a deep breath he then released the air from his lungs and began, "Have you ever heard of BDSM?" He watched her brow furrow. "Yeah, I've heard of it." She paused and gazed at him, her expression unreadable. "Are you into that lifestyle?" With a dry chuckle, he said, "I don't think you can call fantasies and a few parties with friends, being in a lifestyle. Hell, I don't even fully know all that it entails outside of my own research and experimentations here and there. I told you that so you have some foundation of understanding of what I'm interested in." "Wow." She said and sank back against her car. Will could feel his heart pounding. "Kelli, you said that you wanted to be free of Brett and find yourself, I want to help you do that. Sexually, at least." "So, you want me agree to let you tie me up, spank me, beat me with whips, chains and let you fuck me in the ass all while I'm wearing a collar around my throat and calling you Master?" All at the same time, his heart stopped beating and his dick went rock hard at her words. Images and scenes flashed before his eyes. Her expression was blank and he couldn't tell how she felt about the idea. "Yes ... yes ... yes ... no ... maybe. I'm not into collars around the neck." His voice sounded thick to his own ears. This time he caught the subtle rise and fall of her breast above the heart shape cut of her bodice. His gaze trailed from 30
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her full breast up her neck and watched her skin begin to flush. When he reached her eyes he noted the constriction of her pupils. He was shocked to see that Kelli was having a reaction to her own words. But was it positive or negative? "I've never been in any position beside missionary," she replied openly with a slight timber to her words. "You're asking me to be your slave for four days?" She spoke in a hushed whisper, almost breathless. "Not a slave, more like a sexual submissive." Stepping toward her, he cupped the side of her face and stroked her cheek with his thumb. "Can you do that, Kelli? Can you trust me not to bring any harm to you? Believe that everything I plan between us will be done in a rational manner?" He lowered his hand to her neck, caressed down the soft side to her shoulder, and watched her eyes shudder and close. "Nothing will happen between us that we both don't agree with." Moving his body closer to hers he placed his lips next to her ear and whispered, "Say you want this, Kelli. Say you want me. Touching and tasting you. That you want to feel me buried deep inside of you. I want to imprint your flavor on my tongue. Smell your prefect essence for the rest of my days. Hold you in my arms and feel your soft skin against mine. Tell me what you want, Kelli." He could hear the soft panting of her breaths, he didn't know if it was from excitement or anxiety, but either way her response was setting him on fire. The desire to peel the wedding dress from Kelli's body piece by piece and make love to her with his mouth overwhelmed him. 31
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"I want it, Will. I want you." Turning her head, she brought her lips in contact with his and sealed the deal. Momentarily stunned by her actions, it only took Will seconds to join in the kiss. Remembering they were in public, he kept himself on a tight leash but made sure Kelli understood the level of passion she would be getting once they arrived at the cabin. Using his hand at the base of her neck to pull her against him as he deepened the kiss. He began with what he had wanted to do since he'd watched her sweep the droplet of tea from her mouth. He glided his tongue along her bottom lip, lightly tasting her. When she opened for him, he slipped into her hot mouth and stroked her tongue. Coaxing her to play with him orally. With a moan she joined in and suckled his tongue into her mouth. His cock became hard as images of her mouth wrapped around his stiff shaft played in his mind, but he refused to give into his dick's demands for him to grind his hips into hers, seeking her heat. This was neither the time nor the place. Soon, he promised his erect member. When they parted, they stared at each other with their heavy breathing echoing around them. The sound of applause and whistles jolted them out of their trance. Turning they saw customers and employees in both the windows and standing outside cheering them on. "I think it might be time for us to leave," he said, refocusing on her. "I think you might be right." Kelli still appeared a little off balance but there was an air of anticipation around her as well. Or maybe he was just hoping there was. Whichever the 32
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case, he would make the most of the next few days, showing her a level of passion she would remember for the rest of her life. "Follow me to my house. Do you need anything?" Kelli pulled her keys from her purse. "No, my suitcase was still in the trunk for this trip. Patricia was going to put it in the limo at the reception." "Great, then after I pack we'll be on our way." She nodded her agreement, still looking a little unsure. Pulling her into a hug he kissed her on the forehead than waited for her to get into her car before he walked over to his own. The rush of his blood pumping in his ear felt like ceremonial drums being beaten inside his head. The thought that within a few hours he would be buried deep inside Kelli Delaney, the only woman he had ever loved, made him almost dizzy with anticipation. [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter Three "This place is even more beautiful than it was a week ago when Patricia and I brought the groceries here." The cabin stole her breath as she glanced around the blond wood interior, taking in the vaulted ceiling with its skylights. The room was comfortable and homey looking with the fireplace and taupe leather furniture. "It is something. This cabin is nothing like the big eightroom family house we rented when I was younger," Will said from behind her, as he carried in their suitcases. "Point me in the direction of the bedroom and I'll put these down." "It's the door to the right. The other door goes to the kitchen and dining room," she explained. Will headed into the room with their luggage and Kelli used the moment to escape onto the back porch. Stepping into the balmy night air she walked over to the railing and gripped it. She couldn't believe she was here with Will Robertson. Tall, broad-shouldered, honey-colored Will with the sexiest hazel eyes she'd ever seen. Kind, sweet, and intense Will from school. He had always kept to himself in college, never giving in to reckless behavior like the rest of the guys on the baseball team, Brett included. She had promised to allow him to do things to her body that she probably couldn't even name. Would he want her nude now? Bow to him and call him Master? Turning around she stared into the cabin through the glass door and wondered what secrets the place would be able to tell once 34
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they left in a few days. Her hands began to shake. Shifting back around, she gazed out at woods and the Great Smokey Mountain view. It had turned to dusk during their drive west, up interstate forty from Asheville, and now she could see the twinkling of cabin and house lights off in the distance. The town of Gatlinburg was close enough to get to by car, but far enough away to render couples' privacy. She knew other cabins like theirs were hidden among the trees. For a moment, she pondered how many other women had come to this place to renew and find themselves. Do I really want to go through with this? her heart questioned. At that moment, she felt Will step up behind her and slide his arms around her waist. His embrace was strong and his body warm. She felt secure and protected, a feeling Brett had never given her. Yes, she wanted to do this. When this trip was over she and Will would go their separate ways, but she would have memories to last her for a lifetime. For once in her life she didn't want to live vicariously through Patricia and Carl's passionate sex life. No, she wanted to experience one of her own. "Neither of us ate at the restaurant. How about I start dinner while you get out of this get-up?" He placed a light kiss on her cheek. "Are you sure?" Wasn't I supposed to be serving him? She looked over her shoulder at him, seeing if it was some kind of test. But he just smiled at her.
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"Positive." Squeezing her waist, he turned her around to face him. "I can cook if that's what you're worried about. I've made it a practice of surviving on my own for years now." Smiling, she said, "Good. Then I'll go shower and change and be right out to help you." Before she could step away, he pulled her back against his body and gave her a kiss that caused her thighs to quiver. Moving away from her, he gave her a slight push toward the door. "Take your time." With lips tingling and legs shaking, Kelli gripped her dress and headed toward the room. Reaching the bedroom, she pushed the door closed and leaned against it. Placing a hand on her trembling stomach she wondered how she'd gone through four years of college and not noticed Will Robertson. Sexy ... panty wetting, Will Robertson? That was for sure. She didn't have to check her underwear to confirm that fact, she could feel her swollen sex lips pressing against the drenched fabric. That was another first. Sex with Brett never got her wet like this. Never this soon. Usually he was in such a rush, because he was horny after sports, too drunk to get her excited or needing to study for law school, and due to that fact it was halfway through their lovemaking session before her body lubricated itself. Which meant she spent the first few minutes in pain. She didn't think that was going to be an issue with Will. Stepping away from the door she moved to her suitcase in search of some comfortable clothes. Glancing over at Will's bag, she was tempted to open it and see what he'd packed 36
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for their 'sexual adventure', but decided that most likely snooping into the master's bag of tricks was a big no-no for a sexual submissive. **** "Oh my, God, this feels good," Kelli purred as she sank into the hot tub on the back porch. Her eyes closed when she was chin deep in the water. "I thought you might like it. You've had a rough day." Reaching down, he grabbed her feet and placed them into his lap. He felt her slight flinch, but she yielded to him. Skittish wasn't the word for Kelli. She went from smiling to a bundle of nerves within seconds. Lifting one foot he pulled it out of the water and massaged it. "You needed to relax, Kelli." She settled back against the side and sighed. The night insects and animals serenaded them as they sat in silence for a moment. He alternated treating one foot after the other. Will watched her through the night as they had eaten dinner and talked about his job with the mayor and her old interior design work. He could tell by the way she spoke and the light in her eyes she had enjoyed her work a lot. Brett had been so many kinds of fool, Will had lost count. If his old teammate had really loved this woman, he would have never asked her to give up what she'd worked hard in achieving. When she came out of the room, he had been glad to see she'd taken the time to wash the poodle out of her hair. Now, her hair was fashioned in normal Kelli style with her long, 37
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sandy blonde strands hanging in layers around her face ending below her shoulders. Pressing his thumb in a circular motion in the arch of her foot, he commanded, "Sit up and take off your top." He wanted to see her and begin to learn every shape and curve of her body. At first she didn't move, she lay in the water still and he thought Kelli would pretend not to hear him. But slowly she opened her eyes, looking at him with eyes more blue than grey. Rising out of the water until its small waves lapped below her breast. She reached behind her and unclasped the hook of the peach colored bikini top that looked good against her tan skin. Her arms slid from the straps. Keeping her gaze locked on his, she peeled the wet material away from her body. She sat still and poised, revealing the mauve areoles that complimented the light gold tone of her breast to his gaze. Beautiful, was the word that came to mind as he admired one of the sights he'd dreamed about over the years. He took note of how her nipples responded to the soft breeze in the air, they beaded up perfectly like two delectable treats. He began a conversation as if it were perfectly normal for her to be around him with her bosom bare. By the time they left the cabin it would. "So tell me, Kelli, do you normally orgasm during intercourse or only by oral stimulation?" It was quite the sight to see the blush move from her breast, up her neck, and into her cheeks. Will grinned at the colorful display. He would miss her blushes when they stopped appearing. 38
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She cleared her throat, "Umm, during ... I ... umm ... think. Yes, during," she finished, with an attempt to sound more confident. "You don't know what sexual act has given you an orgasm in the past?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow at her, letting her know he wasn't convinced. "Besides, if you've never had one there's nothing to be ashamed of. Amazingly, a narrow percentage of women achieve orgasm before they are in their late twenties, and an even smaller number can have one during sex." Kelli guffawed, trying to sound outraged. "Of course I do. I've only come during ... at the end to be exact." Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she said, "I guess I'm just one of those women who like to hold onto hers until the end." Liar. Will had no doubt that she was lying about her orgasms. All of her mannerism and pretentious words just clarified that fact the more the longer she spoke. "What about by masturbation?" his voice was calm and steady, not giving anything away. "Brett never masturbated in front of me so I don't know if the sight of his act would have caused me to orgasm." She continued her nervous chatter as she waved her arms around in the water. "Probably not, because women usually aren't prone to visual stimulation like men." "Is that it?" He hoped he was wrong about his impression of her sexual experience, because that made Brett even more of a Jackass. Will knew from personal experience of his fellow teammate's freakiness. A few times in college he and the rest of the baseball team had shared some of the party girls on 39
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campus. Brett had always claimed he kept Kelli on a pedestal as the perfect wife. Evidently the dais was so high even Brett couldn't reach it to properly love her. His gaze drifted down to her ripe full breasts. The way she deserved to be loved, thoroughly and often. He had a plan for tonight. He was going to take his time with Kelli. Tonight he would make love to Kelli and show her the sensual side of herself. "Thanks for the info on Brett, but I was talking about you." Lifting one eyebrow, he let her know he wasn't fooled by all of her babbling. "Oh." Biting her bottom lip, she gave him a direct look and said, "Then to answer your question ... I've never masturbated." The air became charged with the desire rising between them. He wondered if she was as aroused as him. Releasing her feet, he instructed her, "Go get ready for bed, Kelli." Without question, he watched her rise out of the water looking slick, graceful and stunning. If Aphrodite was looking down from the sky, she would have been jealous. The view of Kelli's bikini bottoms conforming to the shape of her ass was enough to make his hands itch to touch her. "When you put the towel on, don't cover your breasts." Nodding, she climbed out of the hot tub and grabbed one of two white fluffy towels on the wooden chairs. She quickly dried the top of her body, then wrapped the towel around her waist and paused so he could see that she had obeyed. Her decision to trust him warmed his heart in a way he was speechless to explain. Beckoning her over with a single 40
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finger, he watched the subtle swing of her hips accentuated by the white towel. When she reached him, he leaned out of the tub, cupped one breast, and then captured the mauve peak in his mouth. He wanted to moan as her erect nipple stabbed against his tongue. For a moment he drew on it until he felt her body begin to tremble. Allowing it to pop out of his mouth he caressed it with his thumb, then let go of her supple skin and told her, "You're now dismissed." "Thank you," she whispered, and left the porch. Slipping back down into the water, he looked out into the night. The cabin was secluded and on a hill, allowing them privacy and an awesome view of the area. He looked forward to all of the things they would be able to do here without the curious eyes of others. Taking a deep breath, he decided to wait a few minutes before following Kelli in. Rock hard, he needed time to get himself under control. Soon he would find himself gloved inside of her wet heat and he had no plans of rushing the night in response to the demands of his impatient cock. During the ride up they had discussed protection and he'd learned that Kelli was on the Pill. He'd also discovered that she and Brett had not had sex in the last year leading up to the wedding, because supposedly the groom was under a lot of stress from law school. Kelli suspected that he'd been sleeping with someone else and even though he denied it, she'd insisted they get blood tests before applying for their marriage license. Will had reassured her that he'd been tested a few months ago during a blood drive the mayor was sponsoring and he'd been celibate a while before and since. 41
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That bit of knowledge had placed both their minds at ease for the coming days. After several minutes he pulled his body out of the water and dried off briskly, pulled his trunks off and wrapped the towel around his hips. He deposited both his trunks and her top on the back of one of the wooden chairs to dry. Walking into the living room he shut off most of the lights on his way to the bedroom. The door to the master suite and sleeping area in the cabin was open. That made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up seeing Kelli hadn't closed it for added privacy. She was getting comfortable with him. Stepping into the room, the only lights shining were the one nightstand lamp and the bathroom light that illuminated her body in a seductive pose in archway leading to the bathroom. The sight of her stopped him in his tracks like someone had cemented his feet to the floor. "Take it off or I'll rip it off," he barked. **** Kelli couldn't believe the anger in his words. Was this the same sweet gentle Will who'd cooked her dinner and massaged her feet just moments ago? "What's wrong with it? You don't like it?" She could hear the nervousness in her own voice. He hadn't moved from the doorway as he pierced her with his intense hazel eyes. "Kelli, there's no way I'm going to make love to you in a nightgown you purchased for your 42
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wedding night with another man." His words growled across the room. Shit! He had a point. She'd never considered he would react in that way to the outfit. She'd just thought it was pretty and wanted to show him this night was special to her. Raising her arms to loosen the satin halter ties from behind her neck, she allowed the bodice to fall and gather at her hips. Pointing toward her suitcase he said, "If you've any other lingerie with you that you bought for this weekend, don't wear it." She could see the tension lines around his mouth and tell that he was hurt and upset. "I'm sorry, Will. It wasn't my intention to offend you." She pushed the gown down her legs and stood before him naked and shaking. Sticking her chin out, she feigned bravado. Before this weekend was out, there wouldn't be a place on her body Will wouldn't see, she might as well begin now and brazen it out. "What would you like me to wear instead?" His gaze heated her flesh as it traveled the length of her body, pausing for a moment at the triangle cut hair covering her sex. Her pussy pulsed in response to his stare. Then Will's eyes continued to her feet still surrounded by the pool of satin on the floor. "I want you just as you are." His voice now husky, rich and intoxicating, like a select blend of cognac. Returning to her face, he continued, "From now on, when I tell you to get ready for bed, you will come into the room, disrobe, kneel in 43
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the center of the bed with your hands clasped behind your back and your knees spread apart." Not waiting for him to ask her if she understood, she showed him she did. Stepping over the gown, she moved swiftly to the bed and assumed his requested position. He advanced toward the bed and she noticed the rise and fall of his chest. As he stood with his shins pressed against the side of the bed, she could see his eyes darken with lust as the green took over the amber in his hazel eyes. "Wider," he commanded. She complied. Pressing her knees out along the comforter she could feel the air caressing her wet pussy. Will hadn't even touched her and she was more aroused now than she ever recalled being with Brett their whole relationship. "Good girl," he complimented her actions as he strolled around the bed observing her position. He walked over to his suitcase and unzipped the outside top pocket. For a moment her heart began to accelerate, wondering what he would pull from his bag. Is this my initiation moment? Will he spank me now? She noticed her clit began to throb at her own thoughts. Before she had time to analyze her response, Will turned around with a long gold chain in his hand. Approaching her he wrapped it around her waist and fastened it. Twisting it to get it how he wanted it. She could feel the light weight of the chain as it hung low on her hips. Circling around to her back, he said, "Lift your hands." When she raised them, he adjusted the waist chain, until she felt the extra links fall along the crease of her ass. Then 44
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she had to bite down on the inside of her lip not to move as Will's finger caressed the length, following it down. Both of his hands palmed her bottom briefly. Once he was in front of her again, he placed his hands on her waist. "Lower your arms, and look at it, Kelli" Replacing her hands behind her again, she looked down and saw his strong hand clasping her and the roped chain with a small heart that dangled against the top of her pussy. Gazing down, she gasped at seeing the heart so close to her sex, it was the most erotic view she'd ever observed. "You will wear this while we are together, Kelli. It will signify that you're mine and you willingly submit to me." Glancing at his face, she said, "I won't take it off. I trust you." "Excellent. From here on out, I want you always to respond by saying, 'Yes, Will'." He stared at her, waiting. It's begun. "Yes, Will." He climbed on the bed with her, kneeling in front of her. At first he didn't touch her any further than the hands he'd placed on her waist, and just gazed into her eyes causing her heart to thump with anticipation. Then he pulled her body flush against his and began to kiss her. Kelli gave into it fully, proving she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Opening her mouth to him she felt the silky glide of his tongue as it caressed hers. As the kiss continued, she gripped her fingers together to keep herself from wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him closer to her. The tips of her breast tingled as her erect nipples brushed the well defined muscles of his chest. 45
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On and on, their mouths took and received from each other. One of Will's hands palmed one of her ass cheeks and squeezed as his other hand ventured lower. It moved along the outside of her thigh then back up the inside. He paused when his fingers glided across the wetness coating her thighs; evidence of how he was making her feel. Ending the kiss, he leaned back and looked at her. She panted in expectation as his seeking hand continued upward until it reached her pussy. Biting down on her lip, she attempted to stifle her moan. "You're quite the wet little kitty, aren't you?" Humor laced his words. His finger grazed her sensitive clit and she pressed herself to his hand. Accepting her offering, Will stroked her more. "Yes, Will." The urge to spread her legs wider bombarded her system. She could smell the heady scent of her own sex perfuming the air between them. A part of her wanted to feel ashamed at her level of excitement until Will said, "I can smell you, Kelli, and your scent is driving me wild. I need to taste you." Still with his hand idly playing between her thighs, he guided her down to the bed. Flat on her back against the comforter, she had an unobstructed view of him kneeling between her wide spread legs. The erection tenting the white towel knotted around his hips let her know he wanted her. The feel of his hand's continuous stimulation of her pussy made her want to close her legs and trap him there for a lifetime. If asked, she would have said it was the most 46
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wonderful sensation, up until the moment Will bowed his head and licked her. Her hips launched off of the bed at the initial contact. Will showed her no mercy. He slid his tongue up and down her slit. Alternating between suckling her clit or flicking it fast, then back to slow precise strokes. When he dipped his tongue into the needy opening of her sex she began to whimper and moan as the talented appendage began to fuck her as he held her ass in the palm of his hands keeping her fused to his mouth. Will pulled out, then guided his tongue up and along her aching lips then swirled around her clitoris then back inside of her again. She thought she heard moans of satisfaction other than her own, but she wasn't sure because one strategic lick as soft as a butterfly kiss across the tip of her clit and everything shattered inside of her. Bowing her back from the bed she screamed and bucked uncontrollably as Will continued his sensual assault. When she could see beyond the stars in her eyes, she felt the weight of Will's body as he positioned himself between her trembling thighs. Looking into his passionate gaze she reached her hand up to his face. The heady scent of her aroma was more obvious with him lying above her, but it didn't revolt her, it warmed her heart to know that he would give her pleasure in that fashion. In a way Brett never had time for. "Are you back with me, beautiful?" he inquired. **** "Yes, Will," she confirmed breathlessly. 47
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"Good, because we've only begun." Giving her a quick kiss, he snatched the towel away from him and flung it toward the side of the bed not caring where it ended up. Tasting her sweet pussy had nearly been his undoing and watching her climax had been the most beautiful thing he'd ever witnessed. She let go completely, without skilled restraint used by women who'd been having orgasms for years. Without a doubt, Kelli had never climaxed before, he'd seen the look of wonder clearly apparent in her gaze as she'd opened her eyes. He was glad he'd been the one to give it to her. But, he wouldn't confront her, he'd keep her secret. Needing to be inside of her, he took hold of his hard length and guided it to her moist heated cunt. Her wetness coated the sensitive tip of his penis. Groaning he pushed forward and slid inside of her. She was so tight, his breath hitched as he felt her walls encase him. Pulling back, he thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt. "Will ... ohmyGod," she chanted, her sex gripping him as her nails dug into his shoulder. Rotating his hips to seat himself deeper, he said, "I know, baby, it feels good." Beginning to pump his hips in and out of her body, he finished with, "You feel good." Then all speech ceased as Kelli wrapped her legs around his hips and met him with every movement. They moved as one and it felt like heaven being with her. Will couldn't believe his fortune to have his dream wrapped in his arms. He attempted to keep it slow and gentle until Kelli began to call out. 48
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"More, mo—" Breaking off her own speech, she spread her legs wider trying to take more of what he was giving her. She placed kisses on his face and neck, then pulled him to her and gave him and open mouth kiss that made a frisson of heat race down his spine. He could feel the quivering of her stomach and the twitches along the channel of her pussy, letting him know she was near release. Hooking her legs up over his arms, he raised them toward his shoulders and buried his knees below her perfect ass as he propelled his hips forward repeatedly. He must have angled correctly and massaged her in the right spot inside of her delicious cunt, because her vagina muscles clamped on to his shaft as she shook underneath him into an orgasm that had her arms flailing against the bed and clutching him, as if searching for an anchor. "Yes, Will, yeessss!" As he watched the glorious expression of astonishment that crossed her face again as she entered into sexual bliss, something happened to him. He joined her in ecstasy and the earth shifted like he'd had sex for the first time. Correction, made love for the first time. His groan was almost barbaric as he held her tight and filled her with his hot seed. Once his heart returned to normal, he rolled over onto his back and brought her with him. Exhausted she draped her body over his with her head on his chest as he lightly brushed his fingers along the length of her spine from her neck to her ass feeling her heart beating in time with his. 49
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"You know, Will, I didn't lie to you earlier when I told you I've had orgasms before. I thought those little tremors I got after sex was over were my way of climaxing." She rested her hand on his chest, a platform for her chin so she could look at him. "But, after what I just experienced with you, tonight, I can honestly say I've never climaxed until now." Leaning forward she kissed him. "Thank you." Touched by her honesty, he said, "You're welcome, sweetheart." He brushed her hair away from her face. "You know, Kelli, a lot of dominants use withholding orgasms as a way of teaching their submissives control and obedience. Seeing you reach your peak is the most breathtaking sight, so with me I'll give you a million just to watch you get fulfillment." Stroking her back again, he continued, "Never hold back with me." "Yes, Will." [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter Four Feeling a tickle along the crease of her ass cheeks, she opened her eyes in search of what had awakened her. Last night had been wonderful and she wouldn't have minded a repeat performance. Opening her eyes, she turned to her side, still bare, and saw Will seated on the bed beside her dressed in sweatpants and no shirt, with a long red feather in his hand. "Is the sun even up yet, Will?" "Soon. Good morning, Kelli." Glancing at the pale orange yellowish sky through the bedroom window, she refocused on him and smiled. "Yes, Will, good morning." "Ahh, she learns quickly," he said. Stretching, she asked, "Shall I cook you breakfast this morning?" Standing, he slid the feather from her shoulder to the back of her knees, making her squirm on the bed. Her body was so sensitive with heightened awareness of Will, that even the light touches were making her body respond. "We'll do that later. For now, get up and take care of whatever you need to in the bathroom and I will meet you on the back porch." "Yes, Will." Sliding out of the bed bare, she strolled toward the bathroom feeling an extra spring of contentment in her steps. "Naked, Kelli," he informed her. 51
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Stopping, she pivoted toward where he stood, but he'd already headed out of the room. Turning back in the direction she was going she felt butterflies fluttering around in her stomach as she wondered what he had in store for her this morning. **** Leaving the bathroom, Kelli walked through the living room and stopped at the porch door. Will stood at the wooden banister looking out in the distance, his body silhouetted by the rays of the rising sun. The muscles in his back were well defined, tapering down to his narrow waist, making her want to touch him and run her tongue over his skin. She sighed and noticed along his shoulder blades were half moon nail marks and small scratches. The warmth in her cheeks let her know she was blushing, she didn't know what had come over her last night. She never felt so wild, but at the same time free. With Brett their sex had always been quick, no time for foreplay, except were he was concerned and even in that she was rushed. Brett always made the excuse that she excited him so much he couldn't wait, but now she knew he didn't want to take the time to make it enjoyable for them both. But, no more. Being with Will was showing her that she deserved more. "Join me, Kelli," he entreated, his voice rich and steady, giving nothing away. She took a deep breath, being out bare chested at night was one thing, but now he wanted her to stand on the porch naked in imminent broad daylight. Can I do this? 52
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Will glanced at her over his shoulder, his hazel eyes assessed her as if to see what she would do, if she would balk. "Yes, Will." Pushing her shoulder back and lifting her head, she took her first tentative step out onto the porch, then another. Before she knew it she was standing beside him. He smelled like mint and Lever soap and his own male blend. Smiling, he leaned toward her, kissing her on the lips. Without deepening it, he pulled away. "Now, turn towards the cabin and assume the ready for bed position, but don't kneel." Her sex went on instant notification. Desire and need began to flood her system, mingling with the blood headed south toward the apex of her thighs, where her nether lips began to pulse as if awakening. Hell, two orgasms and my body's starting to act like it can't live without them. "Yes, Will." She turned, spread her legs shoulder width apart, and placed her hands behind her back. Walking over to the small table between the two wooden chairs, Will retrieved some items he must have placed there earlier and came back to her. Between her legs, he place a large bowl filled with water, her razor, a small cloth, a small pair of scissors, shaving cream and an oil of some kind. Then he stood in front of her with a rope in his hand. Stepping behind her, he worked the rope around and between her hands. The bands were snug, but not tight. When he moved back in front of her, she tugged her hands slightly, but didn't have much leeway and assumed he'd fastened it to the railing. Thrills of excitement caused goose 53
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bumps to pop up on her body. She would have never thought she will enjoy being tied up, but her heart began to thump as if someone were playing ceremonial drums inside of her. "First things first." His fingers brushed her lightly between the legs. "I don't know how attached you are to this..." He winked at her. "But, I like it bare. After the weekend is over, you can let it grow back if you choose. Who knows, you may even grow to like it." He grinned. She laughed at all his little puns. "Yes, Will." He walked away and grabbed one of the chairs and set it beside her. "Place your foot on the arm." Swallowing down her nervousness, she raised one leg and put her foot down on the flat wooden arm. She could feel the rising sun warming the length of her backside and the cool breeze of the remainder night air playing across her exposed pussy. Kneeling in front her, Will discovered her secret. "You're already wet and I haven't even started, yet." Looking down, she watched his hand disappear between her legs and at the first glide of his fingers across her slick slit she couldn't help pressing her hips forward as if chasing his hand. His touches made her want more. Bring those to glistening fingers to his mouth, he licked them clean. As she observed him, more of her sex juice began to flow at his intimate action. "I will never get tired of your taste, Kelli." Adoration weaved in his words as he stared at her, the sun reflecting in his eyes making them appear more amber and sincere. Gazing down, he lifted the small cloth and dipped it 54
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repeatedly in the bowl, then pressed it against her accessible sex. He did that several times until water ran down her thighs then he draped it over the side of the bowl. Picking up the scissors, he pulled firmly, but gently on her hair and snipped the longer pieces; then set the scissors back on the wood planks. Shaking the can of her shaving cream, Will sprayed a small mountain into his other hand then set the can aside before pressing the gel substance to her mound. Biting down on her bottom lip to keep herself under control, she watched Will's focused movements. He coated the skin between her legs, leaving no area with hair untouched, she even saw him lean down and apply the cream to the hairs between her ass cheeks. Rinsing his hands, he picked up the razor, glanced up at her and smiled. He looked like a kid in a candy shop given permission to buy his favorite treat. She was amazed at her calmness, as she stared at his hand with the blade, and wondered where Kelli Delaney went. A week ago, if someone would have told her that she would be allowing a man to shave her, she would have thought that person had lost their mind. But, here she was being shaved by Will Robertson with no fear or embarrassment cloaking her. Nothing but exhilarating arousal as she felt each meticulous swipe of the razor around her sex. Her sex started to bloom from the stimulation. She was becoming more turned on by the minute as Will lathered, shaved and touched her pussy. Each breath became heavier and beads of sweat popped up on the back of her neck. She 55
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would have liked to blame it on the sun's rays as they beat down on her, but she knew that wasn't it. It was all do to Will's attentive skills. Sliding his fingers over her lips and ass, he searched, then said, "Well, I think I've got them all." Glancing up at her, she could see his hazel eyes had darkened to green. He was just as affected. "You okay, sweetheart?" His voice was husky. "Yes, Will," she said, her voice breathy. "Good. Now all I have to do is rinse you." He gave her a sly smile. She didn't have time to wonder what was behind his smile, because he rose and walked to the other end of the porch and grabbed the water hose and turned it on. He advanced toward her with the clear water streaming out of the end of the hose then squatted before her with it flowing like an arch between her legs, not touching her yet. "This will be a little cold, Kelli. Let me know if you need me to stop. Okay?" Nodding her understanding, she said, "Yes, Will. I'll tell you when I can't take anymore." She gave him a small smile. "I'll try and be quick," he told her. Will's thumb slid over part of the spout causing it to spray out forcefully in multiple directions. The first blast of the icy current to hit her pussy caused her to squeal, she wanted to recoil away from it, but held her ground. Fuck, that's cold. She could feel the frantic bursts moving up and down her sensitive cunt at Will's guidance. Amazement struck her as the frosty licks of the water and the 56
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fierce jet streams began to heighten her arousal. Before she knew it her hips were arching towards it, wanting the sensation to continue. The trembling began in her legs and a heavy sensation filled her abdomen. Widening her thighs, she squatted lower to receive every chilly stroke. "Like that, do you?" Tossing her head, back she moaned and uttered, "Yes, Will. Don't stop." She prayed he'd never stop, it felt so good her toes curled into the wood flooring. Her movements became choppy and erratic as her climax built. The water began to flicker rapidly across her aching clit and she came hard and fast, making her body bow forward. Her breathing came out rough and audible. When she opened her eyes, Will's face was before hers as he leaned up and kissed her, deep and passionate, stroking his tongue along hers. "Beautiful." He went and turned the water off, then returned and began drying her lower body with the towel. Carefully, he coated her freshly sheared skin with the oil. Pushing the supplies to the side, he stood up in front of her and pushed her hair back. "How do you feel? Can you take more?" "Yes, Will, I can take more, I feel fine," she reassured him in a breathless whisper. The smell of mint permeated the air, accompanied by a tingling sensation on her pussy lips, causing her to wiggle. She gave Will a curious look. "It's wintergreen oil. In a minute you'll love it." He winked at her. Sliding his hands around her waist, he untied her hands and then reached out and squeezed and rotated her 57
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shoulders as if he wanted to make sure she was okay. "Now, turn around I want to see that pretty ass of yours." Giving him a sultry smile, she complied with his request and pivoted slowly until she was facing the mountain view as the high sun warmed her front. The old Kelli would have attempted to cover herself, but a new Kelli was emerging out of the ashes of the crushed heart Brett had left. She was going to embrace her wholeheartedly. **** Will smiled to himself as he watched her sassy little turn. He stepped beside her and fastened her onto the porch rail again. Last night, he had purposely made love to her slowly to show her how it felt to have a man care about her needs in bed. Today, they were entering a new level of sensuality and trust, one that would connect them on a deeper level. Kissing her shoulder, he went to the small table and picked up the classic cat flogger he had purchased several months ago, but never found an opportunity to use. When he ventured out to a few play parties with friends, he'd been taught the different ways of using it, but this would be the first time he used it in private on someone he desired. Holding the braided handle in his hand with the short leather straps dangling, he approached Kelli and noticed the trembling in his body, a combination of nerves and excitement. Admiring the chain around her waist as it sparkled in the sunlight, he glided his hand from her shoulder down to her ass and cupped one cheek. Her peaches and cream 58
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complexion was smooth and unblemished. "I used to dream of how you would look standing before me naked." She turned her head at his honest statement. "You di—" her words died off as she saw the whip at his side. His hands shook even more when he realized that she trusted him enough that she hadn't been watching his every move. "Are you ready? Or would you like to change your mind about this weekend?" Kelli's gaze rose from the flogger to his face, shaking her head, she said, "Yes, Will, I am ready." Her voice quivered. There was no doubt in his mind that she was scared, but she was going to brazen it out. He prayed he didn't disappoint her. "Close your eyes and feel. Don't try and anticipate the hit, just relax into it. Let your mind and body receive every sensation." Turning away from him, she answered as instructed, "Yes, Will." Stepping back and to the side, he positioned himself at the proper angle, rotated his shoulders, took a deep breath, and swung. Th-whack! The sound of the first stroke sent heat directly to his groin. He'd been semi erect all morning, but his cock was on its way to being fully extended. "Aw." Kelli flinched, paused for a moment, then settled back. His heart pounded in his chest at her action. He swung again. Th-whack! "Hmm," she moaned. "It's tingling more." 59
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He knew she was talking about the oil. The spanking was intensifying the effects. When a woman became wet and her pores opened up it allowed the oil to seep into her skin. Sweat popped out on his forehead and a bead ran down his spine. He switched sides not wanting to bruise her delicate skin. Th-whack! Th-whack! "Oooh," she cried out and arched her back down so that her ass rose higher and stuck out further in anticipation. Th-whack! Th-whack! Rosy red cheeks beckoned him to give her more. He was so hard the crown of his cock peeped out of the top of his sweat pants. Th-whack! "Yes, Will, give ... I'm ... me ... want..." she never finished her gibberish babbling, as he watched her body shake and her legs went slack as she came, crying out in ecstasy. He could restrain himself no longer, dropping the flogger he stepped toward her. Shoving down his pants, he gripped the brick of flesh extended out from his body and slid into her quivering, tight pussy. "Yes." His groan joined hers. She was dripping wet and hot, her cunt was on fire, proving to him how turned on she had become. "You've stolen my heart, baby," he told her as he pushed her hair aside and placing his lips beside her ear. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he steadied her. His other hand clutched the railing beside hers as he thrust his hips against her tender ass. 60
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The warmth of her supple backside pressed into his abdomen, elevating his arousal. Burying his face in the crook of her neck, he inhaled her sweet scent; she was a walking aphrodisiac to him. "Spread your legs, baby. I need more." Kelli took action. Widening her stance, she lowered her chest toward the railing, resting her breasts on both their hands. The move gave him deeper access, grabbing her hips he held her secure as he pumped into her. The sweet scent of wintergreen oil mixed with the spicy musk of her pussy fluid made him teeter on the threshold of his own orgasm. Giving her one more spank with his open palm and feeling her skin tremble against his was enough to take him over the edge. Tossing his head back, he came hard and clenched his teeth to keep from crying out in rapture. He and Kelli didn't move for several minutes. When he slipped his semi erect cock from her body, he admired the glistening of her juices on his skin in the sunlight. Reaching around her he untied her hands, then brought her around to face him. He noticed the wet tips of her lashes. "Did I hurt you, sweetheart?" Had those been cries of pain, not joy? She shook her head, "You were amazing. Yes, Will, absolutely amazing." Sighing, he stepped forward and placed his lips on hers. Licking her bottom lip, she parted them for him. Sealing his mouth to hers, he slid his tongue into her mouth, tasting the passion of the morning. When she joined in, he deepened the kiss. It wasn't a kiss for arousal, but one to communicate 61
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respect and gratitude. Ending the kiss, he bent over and placed his arm behind her knees he picked her up, pulling her into his chest. Kelli curled against him, burying her head in the curve of his neck and shoulders. Walking through the cabin, he didn't stop until he entered the bathroom. Setting her down on the toilet he ran the bath water, added some bubble solution from the side of the tub, placed there by the service staff. Thankfully, the staff only came after the guests left. Otherwise they might have walked in on a show. That was the last thing he wanted. What he and Kelli did together was just for them. Once the tub was filled with warm water and bubbles overflowing, he assisted her into the tub. When she sighed, he knew the bath was just what she needed for her warm and tender parts. "Call me if you need me, I'll be getting breakfast together." He headed to the door. "Yes, Will." She sank lower in the tub, the bubbles almost covering her mouth. He left and went to the kitchen to start breakfast. He washed off fruit and made pancakes out of some instant mix. Thirty minutes later he returned to the bathroom to check on her. With her head lulled to one side she was asleep. Grateful that she hadn't slipped and drowned, Will released the valve holding the water and grabbed one of the terry cloth robes hanging on wall hooks. Groggy awareness was the best way to describe her as he lifted her from the water, stood her beside the tub and wrapped the thick garment around her. 62
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Gathering her in his arms once again, he entered the bedroom and laid her on the bed. Returning to the kitchen, he placed the pancakes in the microwave and the fruit in the refrigerator. "It will keep," he said out loud as he moved back to the bedroom. Once in there he pulled off his sweats, crossed the room to the bed, removed the robe from Kelli's body and pulled the blanket up around them as he snuggled behind her and encircled her body with his arms, and slept. [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter Five They spent the day eating, play board games, and laughing. Neither of them wanted to venture out of the cabin. Kelli marveled how they were perfectly content solely in each others company. She felt so at ease with Will, she could talk to him about anything and he just listened and never made her feel as if she were keeping him from something more important. If she didn't watch herself she would fall in love with her old college friend and not be able to walk away from him when it was over. But Will had only agreed to a weekend and she was being presumptuous to think he'd want more. The way he touched her and the things he said to her made her believe that possibly his feelings ran deeper, but she didn't want to get her hopes up just to be let down by a man once again. She asked Will to show her a new position. She wanted to learn everything. Insatiable, she couldn't get enough of him or sex; she felt as if she'd been living in a sexual fog all of her adult life and it had just lifted. Will had cleared it away, with his smile and gentle touch. "I want you to get ready for bed, Kelli, but in here," he said from the opposite end of the couch as he held her feet in his lap. "Yes, Will." She felt fire crackers of excitement erupting inside of her just at his command. Wasting no time, she stripped out of her jeans and strapless green baby doll top. Her panties came down next. Pushing the heap of clothes to 64
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the side with her foot, she put her hands behind her back and lowered herself to her knees. Spreading her knees wide on the rug, she waited. Will pushed the glass and wood coffee table out of the way then removed his own jeans and grey t-shirt. After he stood before her bare and his clothes combined with hers off to the side, she couldn't help feasting her gaze on his delicious form. The man was gorgeous and well hung ... or not hung since it was rising high and proud under her watchful vision. She licked her lips. "May I taste you, Will?" "It would be my pleasure to please you." He walked over to her, his thick shaft jetting out in front of him like it was eager to be pleased. When he stopped directly before her, placing her at eye level with his cock, she paused and took a moment to close her eyes and inhale his scent. Will was a mixture of Drakkar Noir and his own robust scent. He was quickly becoming an addiction to her. Sadness rested on her shoulders like a weight as she considered how her life would be without him, but she pushed it to the side and opened her eyes focusing on her task at hand ... and mouth. Giving head was something that Brett had required of her, with him it had always felt like a chore, but now flutters of excitement raced down her spine. Wrapping her hand around Will's dick, she allowed the warmth of his velvet skin to seep into her palm as she stroked him lightly down the sides. Purposely she disregarded her normal speedy method in which she would perform this act on Brett and took her time in pleasing Will. 65
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Sliding her thumb along his length, grazing the underside from behind his engorged tip to his sacks, she felt his pulse beating through the large vein. When she heard his sigh, she glanced up for a moment toward his face and saw he was watching her. His hazel eyes intense, he waited patiently, even though the evidence of his restraint was clearly defined in the taut corners of his eyes. Rewarding his endurance, she brushed the tip of a finger on her other hand and slid the moist drop from his slit around his tip then brought her finger to her mouth and tasted his essence. "Hmm, delicious, Will." Wasting no more time, she leaned forward wrapped her lips around the shiny head. She drew it into her mouth and swirled her tongue around and up and down the opening. Will exhaled loud and audible breath. She would have smiled if her mouth wasn't full with his thick member, instead she parted her lips further and consumed more of his length until she felt him against the back of her throat and she bumped into her fist holding him. As she began to suckle the part of him in her mouth, her hand pumped up and down the fist and a half of his remaining length. Drawing back, she circled the head again, then back down. Her hand began to rotate up, down and around his length, squeezing him at the base. She loved the feel of him in her mouth, hard steel covered by satin. As she drew on him with her mouth, working the muscles in her jaw, she allowed her tongue to undulate along the bottom and sides of his cock. A growl came forcefully from Will as he slid his hands into her hair and began to 66
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pump his hips into her eager mouth. She hummed her appreciation of his participation. Lifting her other hand, she dragged it up the inside of his leg, passing his calf, knee, and paused at his thigh to scrape his sensitive skin. His legs began to tremble as she continued on her path, once she reached his balls, she held them gently and massaged with her fingers and palm. "Damn, Kelli, this feels good ... but if you don't stop I'm going to end right here." Giving his tight sacks a delicate squeeze, his cock a rotated stroke and suckling him one last time, she slowly drew away, not releasing him until she got to the tip. She licked his slit one final time, tasting the salty sweet evidence of his excitement. "Yes, Will." Releasing her head, he placed his hands on his hips and gazed up at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling greatly as he consumed deep breaths. Lifting his hand, he wiped the beads of sweat from his brow and gazed down at her with a smile. Assuming her submissive position, she returned his grin with one of her own, full of satisfaction. She had enjoyed herself thoroughly, her mouth felt sore and raw from the avid attention she'd performed on him, but she would willingly perform the act on him from dusk until dawn. The feel of him in her mouth had aroused her to an almost unbearable level, for the first time in her life she wanted to place her hand between her thighs and get herself off. Will lowered himself before her. Kissing her lips, he swept his tongue along the inside of her mouth. That act almost 67
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made her purr, knowing that he was secure enough to allow her to share his own taste with him. Breaking the kiss, he said, "Enjoyed doing your little deed, huh?" "Yes, Will. I relished doing it very much." She gave him a coy smile. "Then let's see how you like riding." Lying on the carpet beside her, he pulled her over his body, causing her breasts to dangle before his mouth. "Hmm, just where I want them." Cupping them, he leaned up and took one erect nipple into his mouth. She had to place her hands on the floor to support herself. Panting and wiggling against his firm abs, she wondered if he could feel the wetness of her pussy. Her cream was flowing freely from the intense desire he created as he moved from breast to breast with his attentive behavior. He moved one of his hands down between her legs and stroked her clit. "Ooo, yes, Will." Bowing her head, she closed her eyes and gave over to his hand and mouth. She was going to come. She could feel the tension building between her thighs. Grinding her cunt against his hand and stomach she pushed herself closer to the avalanche preparing to roll over her. Slipping his hand further into her wetness, Will stroked down her slit and then slid a long finger inside of her and ground his palm against the stiff nub of her desire. "Let go, sweetheart."
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Obeying his command, she pumped her hips allowing her climax its release. Shaking and trembling, she buried her face in his shoulder until her muscles stopped quivering. She became aware of Will tapping against her throbbing center with the tip of his cock. Lifting her head, she peeped at him. "Yes, Will." "You think we can finish this, sweetheart, before I burst into the air like a fountain?" Giving a sultry chuckle, she leaned up and scooted her hips back toward his thick, elongated shaft. "Yes, Will. Anything you need ... or want." Sitting up, she took hold of his manhood and without breaking eye contact with him, rose up on her knees and maneuvered his cock inside of her. Pressing down against him and pushing his hard dick into her pussy made Kelli's breath catch. He was long and wide. Holding her hips, he permitted her to set the pace, not rushing her along. It always took her a second to adjust to his size. Rising a little, she swiveled her hips as she went down his length, allowing her juices to ease the way until she took him in completely. Spreading her legs wider beside his hips, she tucked her feet under his thighs and began to ride. Moving up and down as she gyrated against him. Will caught her rhythm and joined in with her. She set the cadence; flexing her thighs into his hips, she rode him hard. "Damn, baby, you're good," he called, out lifting his hips off the floor to meet hers. "Yes, Will." She agreed, moaning. "I was ... Four H.... club ... hmmm ... high school..." 69
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"Really...?" He clutched her hips, halting her movement. Giving her a seductive smile, he said, "Turn around, let me see how your skills work in reverse cowgirl style." She wasn't sure that she understood what he meant. "Turn around?" The sting to her ass and Will's lifted eyebrow let her know she hadn't responded properly. She could feel her cheek begin to warm from the contact of his hand and it made her wiggle and squirm, wanting more. Sighing, she said, "Yes, Will." Raising her hips so that he slid from her body, shifting, she now faced the opposite direction. This was a new experience for her. She never even considered that a woman could ride a man backwards. Taking a hold of his wet hard cock, she guided him back into her heat and moaned as he filled her once again. She could hear Will's groan of enjoyment as she slid his stiff member deep inside of her. Placing her hand on his brawny thighs for support, she started to wind, grind and bounce her hips against him, up and down his shaft. "Hmm, Will, that feels good." She oohed and ahhed at the new sensation as the crown of his cock rubbed along the back wall of her sex. "Yes ... it does, baby." Will's hand moved around her waist and swirled around her stiff clit, fondling it. She opened her legs wider to give him better access. "Join ... me ... Kelli." Boldly she touched his forearm, sliding her hand down past his wrist until her fingers intertwined with his. Her own sleek 70
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fluid felt warm and wet as it coated her skin. Under the guidance of Will's hand, she learned different ways to touch herself and discovered which gesture felt good, causing her to undulate her hips even more. When Will moved his hand, she amazed herself as she continued caressing her pussy, enjoying the feeling of him inside of her and her own touch. She paused for a moment when Will began sliding his wet finger down the crease of her ass, but she was unable to deny the anticipation coiling in her stomach. Her movements became slow and controlled. Will swirled his slick finger around her puckered hole, and then push inside of her. Her first reaction was to tense her body. The finger felt foreign and wicked. "Relax, sweetheart." He pulled out, then returned and pressed further repeatedly until she'd taken the entire digit. Against her will, she began to notice her body relaxing and adjust to the exotic touch. She couldn't help dipping her back, begging for more. Will gave it, arching his hips and pumping his finger across her rear walls. Her toes curled, her hands became frantic in their stroking along her drenched slit and she started riding Will's cock vigorously. Tossing her head back, she didn't recognize her own voice as she cried out and cooed as her body tensed; her orgasm was imminent. Biting down on her lip, her body began to buck and jerk as she came. Hot liquid shot inside of her, filling her core as Will joined her in ecstasy. 71
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Her muscles quivered like gelatin. Will eased her off him and turned her toward his chest. The two of them stayed that way until their heart rates slowed. Then he rose and stacked wood in the fireplace and lit it. Once the fire was roaring, he retrieved the blanket from the bedroom then placed it over both of them and held her as they talked through the night. She would truly miss so many things about him when this was all over. **** "Are you sure you want to go on a picnic, Will? It looks like it's going to rain," Kelli asked, staring out the window over the sink in the kitchen as she washed the breakfast dishes. A couple hours ago they had awakened in front of the cold fireplace and made love. They had showered, cooked breakfast and eaten. He looked over his shoulder at her, She stood in the window in shorts and a t-shirt that rose seductively and revealed peek-a-boo shows of her midriff. The sky did look gray, but he believed that it would hold off until after their outing. Stuffing their lunch into a basket he found in one of the cabinets, he said, "We should be okay. Do you want to wait until tomorrow?" She pulled the stopper out of the drain and picked up the towel and dried her hands. Turning around to him she smiled. "If you're game. So am I." Crossing the tile floor to her, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. As always the heat exploded between them, he slipped his tongue into her mouth and stroked the inside of 72
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her lips until she sighed, giving a little shiver. He nipped her bottom lip then broke off the kiss. "Okay, then. I'll finish getting the things together and you go get dressed." "I think I can do that." With a quick peck on his lips she moved away and headed to the bedroom. He watched the sway of her hips as she crossed the room. He admired the new confidence and assurance in her walk. It would be chauvinistic for him to take credit for it. Instead he put ownership of her assurance on who it belonged to, her. Out of the shadow of Brett she was coming into her own and he loved watching the changes. He just hoped that when this weekend of exploration was over she'd hold on to it. It brought out a deeper sensuality to her beauty. "Kelli." "Yes, Will," she said, her voice low and throaty as she pivoted slowly to face him. His mouth watered. "Wear something short and sexy if you have it." Her gaze traveled the length of his body, as if he were undressed in his jeans and t-shirt, and then returned to his face, a sexy smile adorned her lips. "Yes, Will. I think I can find something that fits that request." Turning, she continued her strides into the room adding a more generous swing to her hips. Playful. There was a playful side to her that he enjoyed as well. Grabbing some water bottles out of the refrigerator he placed them inside the wicker case. There was one more thing he needed for their trip. Walking to the bedroom, Kelli was already in the bathroom as he went to his suitcase and 73
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pulled out the item he needed. Then he grabbed an extra blanket out of the linen cabinet and returned to the kitchen. "So, what do you think, Will. Will ... I ... do?" she asked, drawing his attention to her as she stood in the bedroom doorway in an outfit that on any other woman would have looked casual and ordinary, but on Kelli it made a totally different statement. She wore a light purplish colored Polo shirt that was snug to fit, but the blood racing part of the shirt was the fact that she had three of the five buttons undone, revealing the swells of her breast. The cotton material hugged her breasts and made her nipples into two distinct pleasure points. Glancing lower, he noted the Khaki cargo miniskirt she wore that ended high on her sweetly toned thighs. Lastly, he smiled when he noted the laceless white sneakers she had on. He should have known she would be smart enough to wear appropriate shoes for hiking. "So, are we ready?" She began walking to him. He eyed her outfit again. "Do you have on panties?" She stopped mid-stride almost looking comical. "Yes, Will. I have on ... underwear." Her anticipation was becoming apparent in her breathy speech. "Take them off," he commanded. Without question, she reached underneath and pulled them down. Cotton panties that matched her top lowered down her legs, she stepped out of them and held them out to him. As if trusting him to return them if the need arose. Winking at her, he retrieved them from her hand and slid them into his pocket. "Now, we're ready to go." He grabbed 74
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the basket and blanket from the counter, opened the door and waited for her to precede him out of the cabin. [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter Six "So, what are your plans for your future, Kelli?" Will asked, sitting beside her on their blanket beside the river. She stared out into the clear water, watching it ripple as it passed them. What was she going to do? She'd been mulling that question over and over in her head since she had left the church. She knew there wasn't any way she was moving back to Charlotte, she would have to collect her things from Brett's house and she wasn't looking forward to doing it. Patricia would have to go with her, she would like to avoid a confrontation with her ex-fiancé if she could. She no longer cared why he had left the wedding. The only thing she wanted was to get on with the rest of her life ... without Brett. Glancing at the man beside her, as he chucked small rocks into the water, she knew the same wasn't true for her feelings about him. Will Robertson was a force to be reckoned with in many ways. In three days he had revealed a side of herself she had never suspected was there. The passionate sexual side. But, sex wasn't the only thing Will had taught her, he'd taught her what it felt like to be loved, honored, respected and cherished by a man. A man who saw your worth. Repeatedly over the days, she'd wanted to rub her eyes and see if she was dreaming. But, she was wide awake. Even better, she'd removed the rose colored glasses she'd been wearing for years and she was seeing clearly. All those years she'd wasted with Brett she should've realized what a good thing Will was, and approached him. 76
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"I suppose I'll get a job." He glanced her way. "In Charlotte? Or are you going to try and get your old job back in Chapel Hill?" Shaking her head, she said, "No, I'm definitely not going back to Charlotte to live. And my position at my old job was filled two weeks after I left." She looked back out over the water, then returned her focus to him. "But, I'm looking at new perspective for my life." Wordlessly he reached his hand out and stroked her cheek, then sifted his hands through her hair and pulled her forward. She couldn't tell from his expression how he was responding to her words. His eyes were greener, matching the foliage around them. Leaning forward she closed the small gap between their bodies and kissed him. Slipping her tongue into his mouth, she attempted to communicate her feelings about him. Passionately she tried to express how he'd warmed his way into her heart and was making her consider a more serious relationship with him. One that lasted longer than a few days. Parting their lips, but not moving out of her embrace, he asked, "Are you hungry?" "I'm famished. All this fresh air is making me ravenous ... for something good." She licked his full bottom lip, letting him know what she wanted. A clever man, he asked, "Do you want me, Kelli?" She noted the tightening of his pupils. He was becoming aroused. A frisson of heat skated down her back with the knowledge that she had the power to turn him on so quickly. 77
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"Yes, Will." She attempted to move closer to him for another kiss, but he shifted away from her. "Prove it to me." Lounging on his side, he stretched out along the blanket a few feet away from her. Giving him a saucy look, she made her voice seductive, husky as she said, "Yes, Will. How would you like me to prove it?" "Masturbate." He told her, as he rested the weight of his upper torso on his elbow. Masturbate? Was he serious? Out here in the open? She knew that the bushes and trees protected them from anyone coming along their side. She glanced across the water to the other bank, she couldn't see anyone over there. With the smoky colored sky looming over their heads they hadn't seen anyone in the two hours they'd been out, but someone could decide to brave the weather as she and Will had. Do I want to risk someone seeing me pleasing myself? Can I even get myself off? Looking at Will, relaxed and calm along the blanket, not rushing her, he was patient. His gaze was hot and intense as he stared at her. For Will she could do this, with him she could be persuaded to do anything, for him she'd already done more than she could have imagined doing. Why stop now? "Yes, Will." Maneuvering her body to give him an optimal view, she unfolded her legs from underneath her hips. Rising to a kneeled position, she placed her hand on the sides of her skirt then pushed it up slowly. She didn't think about the fact that she was about to fondle her body in the open and in front 78
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of anyone who passed by and all of God's woodland creatures, instead she aimed all of her attention on seducing Will. She wanted to excite him to the point of blind lust. Make him want her like never before. Inch by titillating inch, her skirt rose. The light breeze began to flutter across her throbbing sex. She wanted this ... needed, this moment of ecstasy. She didn't stop dragging her cargo skirt up her thighs until it was bunched high around her waist and all of her bare, hairless pussy could be seen by Will. Holding her hands at her waist, she gradually pushed her legs open, widening her stance and then leaned back until her ass rested against her heels and her knees dug into the soil underneath the blanket. The extra links of her belly chain tickled the skin of her nude derriere. Will's gaze lowered to her sex, she noted the swelling of his cock in his pants and the rise of his chest as he took a deep breath. "For you, Will. Only for you." Dropping one of her hands from her skirt to her aching lips, she touched herself. She could feel the slight trembling in her fingers as they parted her puffy lips and began to caress her slick skin. Amazed how good it felt to stroke herself, she wanted to close her eyes and enjoy the feeling. But she didn't allow it. This pleasure was for Will's enjoyment, as well as her own, and she would share this moment with him. As if he could hear her thoughts, she watched him glance up from her crotch to her face and winked at her. She smiled in return with quivering lips. 79
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Her hand became busy in its stimulation. Up and down, she glided her fingers through her warm creamy juices. She became covered with her own essences as her scent wafted up to her nose. Flicking and swirling around her clit, like Will taught her the other night, she felt the muscles in her spine tighten. It felt so incredible. She wondered why she'd never performed the act on herself before during so many years of being unsatisfied. But looking at the honey colored, hazel eyed, compassionate man she knew why ... she'd never been inspired before. "Do you want to come, Kelli?" Rich baritone words poured from his mouth like melting chocolate as he captured her gaze. "Yes ... Will," She was beyond breathless; she panted. "Then do it. I told you I never wanted you to hold back," he directed. "Yes, Will." She gritted out, as her hand moved faster, determined to take her to ecstasy. She would have thought that Will would have returned his eyes to the activities happening between her thighs, but instead his eyes never wavered from her own. Watching him watch her made her eyes sting with the need to cry, to think that maybe this moment meant more to him than just visual stimulation. She dipped two fingers into her needy pussy and stroked as deep as she could reach as her thumb attempted to brush her clit, but she didn't have the skill for the feat. In frustration, she dropped her other hand down and began to caress her stiff peak between her legs. That did the trick, her body became taut then began to shake as her stomach 80
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constricted and she bowed forward into frenzy of blissful ecstasy. Will caught her in his arms, lifted her hand to his mouth head and began licking her milky pussy sap from her fingers. Sucking them between his lips, he swirled his tongue around each coated digit. "Mmm, delicious and beautiful as always," he spoke tenderly. She kissed him, collecting her taste from his mouth, thanking him for his words. "Lay on your stomach for me," he said after he broke the kiss, his lips brushing hers. Dreamy and compliant, she responded, "Yes, Will." Lying down on her stomach, she availed herself to him. The touch of his hands was both strong and gentle as he caressed the length of her back down to her buttocks. He squeezed and massaged her derriere, making her sex begin to pulse all over again in expectation. One of his fingers slipped down into her liberal juices, making shivers dance up her spine. As he lifted that same wet finger up between her ass cheeks, she instinctively parted her legs wider. Last night she discovered how sensitive she was in that area and her own enjoyment of being touched there. Will performed the same act several times, causing her to wiggle against the blanket, moaning. When she felt his tongue execute the same move, she had to bite down on her lip to keep from screaming, but the vigorous rotation of her hips should have clued Will into how much she relished what he was doing. But she wanted more. She pressed her lips 81
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together to keep from calling out to him to put his thick finger inside as he'd done the night prior. "On your knees, baby," he commanded. "Yes, Will." The words rushed out of her, she was almost pleading, ready to agree to anything if he would squelch the fires of desire blazing between her legs. Inside of her, is where she wanted him. Lifting her ass high in the air, she was practically shimmying in front of him, begging him to take her. The sound of a top popping open grabbed her attention, but before she could turn around to see what it was, she felt the slick touch of Will's hands as he stroked her ass and cunt. Then he dipped low and played with her clit before moving back up, moving the dangling links of the belly chain aside and sliding his finger inside of her furrowed entrance. Sparks of delight caused her nipples to tighten and the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck to stand up. Will pushed his finger deeper, repeatedly fondling her until she was pressing her hips back against his adventurous hand. "Do you like this?" She couldn't deny it. "Yes, Will. I ... like it. Very ... much." His hand continued its pleasuring as another oiled finger entered her, stretching her hole. "Tell me you want me." "Yeees, Will. I ... want you," she cried out. "Here, Kelli baby? Tell me you want me here," he sounded out of control. The sound of his zipper being released broke into the quiet sound of the forest.
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That knowledge made her even more excited. She wanted him any way she could have him. "Yes, Will ... there ... fuck me there, baby." Will's fingers left her body, leaving a void until she felt the pressure of the tip of his cock. The initial moment of entrance gave her pause. Made her think she had possibly lost her mind in requesting he perform such a hedonistic act on her. A slight burning sensation began. She was a breath away from telling him to stop, but he pulled back some, then entered further, a lubricated glide. Her pussy started to throb and her own juices began running toward her clit and down her thighs. It was pleasure like she'd never experienced before. Out and in again. The walls of her ass were on fire but she couldn't help spreading her knees wider and pushing back toward him. He controlled her movements by his hold on her hips. The urge to scream for him to let her go was on the tip of her tongue. The fourth stroke final buried him to the hilt in her ass and made her toes curl. "Are you okay, Kelli?" His voice quivered, "Do you want me to pull out?" She shook her head, she was speechless. Taking her hint, she heard his sultry rumbling laughter as he began to pump inside of her. Bucking against the hips that slammed into her ass, she began to cry out, not caring who heard her. Digging her nails into the soil and grass at the edge of the blanket, she 83
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repeatedly asked Will to give it to her harder. Give her more. Don't stop. Will fucked her, spanked her firmly with his open hand to her cheeks, and caused currents of gratification to shoot into her clit. Her movements became erratic and uncontrollable when he reached underneath her hips and rubbed her clit. She screamed out her release sending birds screeching off into the distance. The muscles of her ass clutched and sucked at Will's cock as she came and he joined her with a roaring orgasm of his own. Heaving and panting, they both collapsed onto the blanket. Lunch forgotten, disregarded, and not missed. Pulling out of her, Will turned her to face him, pushed her sweat slick hair away from her face. "Thank you, sweetheart." She wrapped her arms around him, fitting herself tighter against him. "No, Will, thank you. These last few days have been perfect and I don't want it all to end to—" "Shhh." He placed his fingers on her lips. "Let's not talk about it being over until we have to." Allowing her gaze to rest on his strong features, her heart swelled and she smiled. "Okay." Laying her head on his chest, she permitted herself to relax as she listened to his calming heartbeat. After a few minutes, the weather showed up just as she'd predicted. It began to rain; fat droplets of water came down upon them. "Damn it, I guess you were right." Will said, as they rose and straightened their clothing. He tossed the small lubricant 84
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bottle back in to the picnic basket, then folded the blanket and passed the spread to her. They stood facing each other for a moment, then began to laugh as the sky opened up and showered down on them. Dashing back toward the cabin, they held hands as they stepped quickly and carefully around branches and rocks. Twenty minutes later they arrived back at the cabin and Will said, "I'll hang the blanket from the canoe under the porch, you go in and start us some coffee." Kissing him, she said, "Okay. Maybe I'll make some soup with these sandwiches if they aren't soggy." He swatted her on the butt. "A delicious idea, sweetheart." Her ass was still a little sore from all the attention it had received, but she still turned and headed toward the stairs, pausing a moment to wiggle it at him temptingly. She heard Will groan as she trotted up the stairs. She was beginning to love him calling her sweetheart and baby. Brett had never given her endearing nicknames. Pushing the thought of Brett out of her head, she entered the cabin. "There's my wife. I was beginning to worry when it started to rain." [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter Seven Live and in blue-eyed, ebony-haired color, Brett sat on the couch with his arms spread wide across the back of it. Looking too comfortable and arrogant for words. "First off, I'm not your wife. You missed that chance when you walked out of the church. Secondly, what in the hell are you doing here?" Walking deeper into the cabin, water dripping from her hair and clothes, she confronted him. "What do you mean, what am I doing here? This is our honeymoon suite and when no one had seen you after the wedding, I contacted Patricia on how to get here. I knew she'd know," he answered in a snide tone, still not rising from the couch. Patricia and Brett had never gotten along. She was amazed her friend had even wasted her breath in giving Brett directions. "Well, now that you've seen me, you can go." He rose from the couch. She hoped it was to head to the door but she had no such luck. "Listen, Kelli, I came here so we could ta—" "Sweetheart, I hope the soup is ready because I am star— " Will's words died on his lips as he came face to face with his old college friend. Kelli shifted her gaze from one man to the other. One man who she had catered to for years and the other who she'd willingly submit to for life. Before she could say anything Brett exploded. 86
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"What in the fuck is he doing here?" he bellowed from across the room looking from Will to Kelli as if waiting for an explanation. Will stepped up beside her as if to protector her from Brett. "I think you need to decide to calm down and we can all handle this like mature adults." Glancing at her knight in shining armor, she admired his restraint and tact in such a volatile situation. She was sure that it was a skill he had honed and crafted through his job as the public relations man for the mayor. But, as reserved as he appeared she didn't miss the muscle in his jaw leaping repeatedly, letting her know that it took a lot for him to restrain himself. "Mature adults don't go around screwing their friend's girl." Angrily, Brett jabbed his finger in the air toward both of them accusingly. "Don't try and deny it." Will spoke in low tones. "If you haven't noticed, Brett, she hasn't been a girl for a while now. Besides, we weren't friends, we were never friends, just players on the same team." "You can try and twist this how ever you want to, Will, the shit is still dirty." Brett shook his head. Crossing his arms over his chest, Will refused to answer the statement. "Look, Brett—" Her words were cut off by the vibrating sound of Will's cell phone. Will retrieved it from his pocket and checked the mini caller I.D. screen that was lit up. "I need to get this. Are you going to be alright?" Will squeezed her hand. 87
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"Who in the hell—" Brett began. She threw her other hand up toward Brett and spoke directly to Will, saying, "Yeah, I'll be fine. Arrogant he is, but violent he's not." "Okay." Turning, he left the room. "Robertson here," she heard before he closed the door. "Listen, Kelli, I won't hold this silly fling you had with Will against you." Brett approached her with his hands out as if he were going to touch her. She stepped back out of his reach. After the time she and Will had in the forest, she refused to allow Brett's touch to taint the intimacy she and Will shared. Brett dropped his arms. "Brett, the last thing I need is for you to forgive me for something. As many women as I've caught you with or found out about over the years ... you have a nerve." "None of those women meant anything to me. I've always known that you were the one." "And that's how you show it?" She sighed, attempting to control her anger. Dealing with Brett was the last thing she wanted as the residual effect of sex with Will was still pulsing through her body. "Can't we discuss this in Charlotte?" "I didn't drive all this way not to talk about what happened with our wedding." Her head was starting to throb. She needed a break and a moment to get her thoughts together. "Brett, I need a second. I need to change. You can sit or you can leave, but give me some time." 88
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"I'm not leaving," he declared. "You don't have to change your outfit on my account. I think it's hot and sexy. Of course you could never wear it around my mother; she'd probably think you became some kind of whore." Does he really think that I still care about his damn mother's opinion? Shaking her head, she lengthened her stride to reach the room as fast as possible. Once inside she pushed the door closed. Will still talked on the phone to someone, nodding at her, he continued to speak. Crossing the room to her suitcase she pulled out a pair of jeans and a tshirt. As she prepared to get undergarments she noted the lavender panties dangling in her view. Blushing, she glanced up at Will, who winked at her as he listened intently to the person on the other end. Grabbing them, she began to undress for a quick wash up. Conscious that Brett was waiting in the other room, she wasn't trying to provoke him to come storming in, catching her naked. Leaving her clothes on the bed, she dashed into the bathroom. Minutes later, she re-entered the bedroom with a towel around her body to find Will was hanging up his cell phone. "Is everything okay?" she asked, crossing the room to him. Stepping toward her, he brushed her hair back from her face. "No, they aren't. I have to go. That was Mark Hamlin from the school board. Some middle school kids were smoking around the school grounds and started a fire. Only the gym caught fire, but a lot of the school has smoke damage. So, I'm going to need to call the mayor and meet with the school board and see what is the best course of 89
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action for the next few weeks until we can get the kids from that district back into the their school." Her heart sank. She knew that her time with Will was over tomorrow, but with the arrival of Brett and now this, things were ending too fast. Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she said, "Give me a second and I'll be ready to go." Will shook his head. Placing a hand under her chin, he stroked her bottom lip. "Sweetheart, I would love for you to come with me, but we both know that's not what's best." "What do you mean, not best? Will these last few days have been amazing. I've neve—" He kissed her. Sliding his tongue into her mouth, tasting her and sharing with her the passion they'd brought out in each other many times while in the cabin. Ending the kiss, his hazel eyes captured hers. He remained silent and just stared at her, then said, "Kelli, baby, I will never forget this time we had together. As much as I would love to get in the car with you and not look back, I know this is something you need to handle and deal with." "But, there's nothing left between Brett and me." He gave a dry chuckle. "That's not what he thinks." Stepping back he looked away, then back at her again, his eyes reflecting more amber than green. "If you're honest with yourself, you and I happened in a spur of the moment decision. But, you and Brett had years." Her eyes stung and she could feel the tears beginning to well up in her eyes, she felt like the rain outside was pouring onto her soul. She loosened the towel around her and allowed it to drop to the floor, standing before him revealed, confident 90
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and proud, dressed in nothing but his chain. "Do you want your chain back?" Reaching behind her back with shaky hands, she was prepared to unclasp it. "No." The single word came out harsh, almost a bark. His chest lifted and dropped as he took as deep breath. "Just keep it. If you decide you don't want it ... then mail it back to me. I left my information on the pad by the phone." Quickly she released the chain and lowered her hands. "Yes, Will." She allowed the submissive response to roll off her tongue like a cherry sliding down the side of a mountain of whipped cream. One side of his mouth lifted in a half smile. "If you need, I can call a car to come pick you up or I'll come back after I settle this stuff with the school." Turning she grabbed her clothes from the bed and put on the pants, shirt, bra, and the panties that had been nestled deep in Will's pocket for hours while they'd made love in the woods. "There's no need. As you said there's a lot out in that living room I need to straighten out, so I might as well head back to Charlotte with him." She didn't want to say Brett's name. Her ex was enough of an intrusion right now without giving him more involvement. Slipping her feet into her sandals, she said, "Are you about ready to leave?" "Unfortunately." He picked up his suitcase and headed toward the door. "Will," she called out to him as he placed his hand on the door. 91
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When he turned she sprinted the few feet across the carpet to reach him and was caught in his embrace. He buried his face in her neck and he held her pressed against him. She wanted to tell him she loved him, but knew that he wouldn't believe her and would probably think that she was just using him to fight her feelings for Brett, especially in light of everything happening now. He let her go and she slid down his body like melting butter. "If you're ever in Asheville..." She grinned and attempted to keep her voice calm. "I know—look you up." Nodding, he took up his suitcase again and pulled the door open. She followed him out. Brett was standing by the patio door, staring out. He turned at the sound of them entering the living room. She wondered for a moment what he'd say if she told him that Will had spanked her for the first time just a few feet from where he was standing. Or if he knew that in the forest straight ahead she'd taken Will into her ass and liked it. If Brett would regret all the years he'd wasted, treating her to his lukewarm missionary loving. Shaking herself mentally, she realized that she didn't care what Brett said or thought. The one person she cared for was walking out the door. Will Robertson. "It's about time," Brett griped. "Look, Brett, I'd love to catch up on old times, but an emergency calls me away. Can I trust you to get, Kelli home safe?" Will asked. 92
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Brett stepped closer to them. "Will, I've been taking care of Kelli for years now," he scoffed. "I think I can manage this little issue." Will moved toward him, Kelli noticed his hand clenching tighter on the handle of his case. "Well, this time take care of her right," he growled his lips barely moving. Shrugging, Brett responded off handedly, "Yeah, whatever." Facing her, Will said, "You know how to reach me." "Yes, Will." She paused purposely, Will's eyes changing to a deeper green made her aware that he understood her. "I know how to find you." He smiled and then walked out of the door. The urge to chase him was strong. Instead she turned around and faced her problem. "So, Kelli, have you come to your senses yet?" His sarcastic question irked her. "Brett, let me get my things and we can talk on the way to Charlotte." [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter Eight "Good afternoon, may I help you?" The strawberry blonde woman in her mid-forties asked when Kelli stepped off the elevator on the third floor of the city hall building. "Yes, I'm here to speak with Mr. Robertson, is he in?" Kelli questioned in her most professional voice. Today she was dressed to kill and impress, her outfit epitomized the trophy wife look she'd perfected over the years. She wore a dove colored stretch cotton suit consisting of a two pocketed blazer and matching fishtail knee length skirt with a pair of gray stiletto sandals. She hoped that Will's secretary believed she was just a spouse looking to get the mayor involved in a charity event. "No, he's in a meeting. I'm not sure when he'll return," the woman responded sweetly. Kelli understood a "he doesn't have time to see you at the moment" brush off when she got one. This woman was one of the best, never blinking or showing any hint of not being kind and biddable. Showing no signing of being pushed aside, Kelli said, "I'll wait for a few minutes and see if I can catch him. If not, I'll come back tomorrow, maybe." "Okay, ma'am, if you'd like." The woman gave her a professional sing-song voice. I like, I definitely like. Kelli sat down in one of the two vinyl chairs in a side waiting area. She grabbed a magazine from the small table between the seats and made sure that 94
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she could still see the strawberry blond out of the corner of her eye. Occasionally, she made sure to make sighing sounds as if she didn't know how much longer she'd be able to wait for him. "Excuse me, Ms..." Kelli faded her voice away hoping the other woman would supply her name. "Duncan. Mrs. Duncan." She gave her a sweet smile. "Mrs. Duncan, what time does Mr. Robertson leave work?" "The offices close at five." Excellent receptionist, never give away more information than required. Kelli glanced down at her watch again and added a few taps of her feet. She had roughly and hour to go. Fifteen minutes later, the moment she'd been waiting for happened, Mrs. Efficient Duncan got up and took some papers into Will's office, closed the door behind her when she came out, and then walked down the hall towards what Kelli assumed were the restrooms. Pretending not to pay any attention, Kelli focused hard on the magazine. When Mrs. Duncan entered the bathroom, she pitched the magazine back on the table then walked briskly to Will's office. Praying his door was unlocked she tried the handle. Fabulous, her heart screamed as she quickly entered the office and closed the door silently behind her. Glancing around she took note of every available place to hide, just in case the secretary came back in. The only area she saw with enough space to conceal her was Will's desk that thankfully had a front wood panel that touched the floor. 95
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The only other furniture in the room was a couch and two metal legged chairs across from his oak desk. Perfect. **** "Are you headed out now, Teresa?" Will asked his secretary as he moved closer to his office. Teresa Duncan had worked with him for the last four years. Her husband, Dennis was his weekly racquetball partner. "Yes, I'm gone. Stacy has her last ballet recital practice tonight and if I don't make it home on time I'll never hear the end of it." He laughed. Stacy was the oldest of their three children. "Well, tell her that I'll be there on Sunday to see her in action." Teresa turned off her computer, grabbed her purse and locked up her desk. "I'll do that. Have you decided who you're taking with that extra ticket?" Stepping closer to his door, he said, "No one. I'm going it alone and I just bought the extra ticket for charity." "Well, Minni would love for you to invite her." He frowned at his soon to be ex-friend. Minni was a burly female security guard whose voice was deeper than his. She was more likely to apply the whip to him than allow him to treat her to the leather straps. "Bite your tongue and get out of here before Stacy starts calling." Laughing she headed to the elevator and pushed the button. "By the way, a woman was here earlier looking for you. Probably volunteer work. I'm sure she'll be back 96
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tomorrow or later this week." The elevator doors slid open and Teresa stepped in. "Got it," Will called out as he grabbed his doorknob and advanced into his office. Closing the door behind him he moved toward his desk with the stack of papers in his hand and froze. The smell of something floral caught his attention. Pivoting, he turned toward his couch. "Hello, Will," Kelli called out to him in a soft purr from her seat in the center of his couch, sitting cross legged and sexy. It had been a month since he'd seen her last in the cabin with Brett. Walking out of that house had been the hardest thing he ever had to do. "Kelli. How's Brett?" He could have kicked himself. Rising, she asked, "Do you really want to discuss Brett?" She began to take steps toward him. Slow torturous steps allowing her hips to swing dramatically drawing his eyes to them. The suit she wore clung to her body like a wet kiss. He had to swallow twice to keep himself in check. "Is he still in the picture?" He lifted his gaze from her hips to her face. "Do you think I would be here if he was?" Stopping in front of him, she said, "No, Will. He is no longer a factor in our life." Our life. She'd said our. "Is that why you're here? To tell me it's over between the two of you?" She laughed and light illuminated her blue-gray eyes. "I could have called to tell you that." Turning away from her, he moved toward his desk and leaned against the front of it. He needed space to keep his 97
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head clear. Her body and scent were playing havoc with his senses. "Speaking of calling, it's been a month since we parted that weekend. You didn't even leave me a note when you picked up your car from my house." No guilt colored her features. "You're right." She glanced down at the carpet floor under her 'fuck me' stiletto heels. He stifled a groan. "So, now what? You had some time to kill and thought you'd swing into my city again." "No, Will. The day in the eatery weeks ago was totally out of character for me. You knew me in college, spontaneous is the last thing I am." Shrugging a single shoulder, she continued. "But, I was hurting and sacred that day. I needed something or someone to help me forget." "So you used me." His statement of fact had a bite to it, but he couldn't help it. Even though he'd gone into that weekend with no promises and open eyes, he couldn't stop the fact that he'd loved her for many years. "I used you, to find myself." There was a slight tremor to her voice. "Are you expecting me to say you're welcome?" "No, Will." She approached him again. "I'm expecting you to say you love me." He blinked. There was no way he'd heard her correctly. "Will?" Standing in front of him now, she reached out and touched his face. Turning his face, he brushed his lips across the palm of her hand. "Kelli, you're confusing sex with emotion."
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Pulling her hand back, her voice laced with pain, she said, "Will, I'm not some teenage girl lost in false images of puppy love and infatuation." "How do you know for sure, Kelli ... that it's love?" Shooting off his desk, he moved to the center of the room. "Over the last month, I've pieced my life back together. For me. I found a job that I love and an apartment in Asheville. I've resumed horseback riding and a lot of other things that I've wanted to do for myself, but was too worried about if Brett and his mom would approve or if it would fit into their plans for me." Her voice sounded thick and gritted, as if she were holding back tears. She'd been here and he hadn't even known. Glancing at her, he noticed she stepped out of her shoes. "And?" One button of her blazer came undone. Then the second and third followed. When she parted it, Will saw that her breasts were bare underneath, and his dick received instant messages from his brain. The jacket dropped soundlessly from her arms to the floor. "And, Will, every moment of everyday I thought about all the things you made me feel." Reaching over to one hip, she unzipped her skirt. "I remembered all your words of encouragement and your confidence that I should never have to give up the work I love." She pushed it down her legs. "The way you touched me and held me at night." Two things he noticed simultaneously, her bare pussy lips and the chain around her waist. His chain. "Kelli." Her name slipped from his lips in adoration. 99
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Stepping out of the skirt at her ankles, she crossed the carpeted floor until she was a few feet away from him and lowered herself to her knees. "I didn't come to Asheville that day looking for love, but I found it." Her hands went behind her back. "I found you." Tears spilled down her face. "The first time you kissed me by my car, my world shifted and I felt complete." "Sweetheart," he whispered, his heart was swelling so much with each of her words that he could barely breathe. She spread her knees wide and continued, "Will, you told me to return the chain when I wanted to. Did you mean that?" Her voice quivered. The thought that she had done all of this just to give him his chain back made his heart ache with the thought of losing her, but he answered truthfully. He would never hold her if she didn't want to stay. "Yes." "Then I'm now returning it ... the only stipulation is that you have to take it back with me inside of it. Or not at all," she whispered. Staring down at her, he asked, "For how long, Kelli? A week ... maybe two this time?" She shook her head. "As long as you want me." He dropped to his knees before her. "That's for life, sweetheart. I love you. I've always loved you." Placing his hands on her hips, he brushed his thumbs across the chain that marked her as his. "Do you think you can plan your perfect wedding in six months?" "Oh, yes, Will." A broad smile graced her lips. 100
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"Good, then let me lock the door and I'll show you a little of what the honeymoon will entail." He quickly turned the lock and began stripping out of his clothes. "Can we go back to the cabin for our honeymoon?" Her eyes caressed his skin as she watched him reveal his body to her. "And every year after that," he confirmed as he strolled toward her, bare and ready for the woman who held his heart. Placing kisses along her collarbone, he said, "By the way, are you busy Sunday, I think I need a date?" "I might be open to you performing a little volunteer work in exchange for my time," she whispered coyly. "Let's see how well I can convince you," he said, moments before his hand soundly met her ass cheek. Kelli moaned in anticipation of his persuasive methods. [Back to Table of Contents]
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Precious Things by Augusta Li [Back to Table of Contents]
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Also by Augusta Li Celeste [Back to Table of Contents]
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For T., who is Leannan to my Rin. [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter One Leaf's home, unlike those surrounding it, lived. It sat at the crest of a hill, overlooking the corrugated metal dwellings of the rest of the city-state of Alexandria. Stone stairs, flanked with cinnamon ferns, wound up the knoll, across the emerald lawn that contrasted sharply with the bare dust or cracked asphalt patches below. Hundreds of years ago, before the third Great War and the subsequent plagues had ended the Golden Age, the red brick structure and its grounds had served as some sort of a temple and school. Sons and daughters of a forgotten god had filled the rooms and stretched languidly across the grass. Sometimes, especially when he'd been left alone for a long time, Leaf thought he could hear their phantom laughter. From the corners of his eyes he saw them standing in front of the arched front entrance: girls in pleated skirts clutching books to their chests, boys, at the threshold of manhood, slinging bags over their shoulders. Dusk was the most felicitous time for spirits. As the setting sun gilded the foliage, the ghosts danced on the springy moss between the great trees. Leaf perceived them as smoky shapes, as if white vapor had been channeled into a humanshaped mold. They seemed to favor the copse of birches behind the building, and each night flitted and wove in and out of the alabaster trunks. Their presence didn't frighten Leaf. He knew all too well of the things waiting beyond the grounds of the school, eager to hurt him. The child-ghosts, 105
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though, dispersed into the sapphire sky like frightened doves at the young man's approach. The chain-link fence that surrounded the haunted sanctuary, topped with razor wire, deterred most everything else. As an added precaution Leaf's Master, Leannan, had invented a way to electrify the barrier. Times were dangerous, ever since a faction of the militia had overthrown the rest of the army in a bloody revolt. As he did each evening when he was alone, Leaf poured corn oil from plastic jugs into the generator his Master had built. The rattling machine would provide luxuries very few possessed: music from shiny silver disks, hot water, light and security. After his trembling hands had lifted the last jug of viscous, yellow fluid and sent it gurgling down the chute of the generator, Leaf prepared to walk the property's perimeter and check the fence for breaches, as his Master had instructed him to do. While the spirits didn't scare Leaf, almost everything else did. He hated to walk alone through the darkness, hurrying from one pool of bluish light to the next, clutching a rapier he didn't really know how to use. It felt as though things, men mostly, waited in every patch of shadow or behind every clump of bracken to snag Leaf's ankle or seize his waist. Strange sounds reached Leaf from the hovels of the settlement below: eerie howls, the shouts of drunken confrontations, the keening of people being victimized in ways Leaf understood all too well, little explosions, and the rapid fire of ancient weapons restored to deadly use. Each noise, whether a scream from the city or the snap of a twig, made Leaf jump. Oftentimes he dropped the glass 106
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lantern he carried. It fell to its side in the dew-slick grass, the candles within sputtering out. Chill wind whipped Leaf's pumpkin-shell hair into his mouth and stung his creamcolored skin. As Leaf crouched, shaking hands fumbling with the matches, he longed for the return of his Master. No one would dare to touch Leaf with his Master beside him. No one would even dare to consider it. But Leannan was still away on some secret errand. It fell to Leaf to protect his Master's home and guard his Master's most precious possession: himself. Terror-stricken though he was, Leaf edged the property three times, stopping only when he was certain everything was in order. How disappointed Master would be if he returned to find his beloved home vandalized or his favorite amusement damaged. Leaf couldn't bear the idea of failing the Master he loved. After securing the property's boundaries, Leaf retreated inside the school's thick stone walls. Despite the partition of brick standing between him and the dangers of the night, the electric barricade, and the other, imperceptible protections Master had cast, he didn't feel safe until he checked each of the many rooms for trespassers. He began with the East Wing. It contained rooms unused by Leaf and his Master, rooms which had once been used for teaching. Most stood empty except for slate boards hung on the walls. Overturned desks and chairs littered a few. The windows had broken out of many of the classrooms, allowing them to fill with brittle leaves, broken branches, and cobwebs. With so little furniture for a potential thief or rapist to hide behind, Leaf was able to lift his lantern above his head and simply scan the space 107
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before being satisfied. It pleased him to leave this part of the house, which radiated sadness for a world long ago destroyed. The West Wing, long ago dormitories, held Leannan's things. Leaf's Master possessed so many ancient and modern treasures that only about a quarter of the fifty rooms stood vacant. The weaponry, art, armor, clothing, jewelry, books, and dishes had been categorized in a way that escaped Leaf, possibly, he thought, by the historical periods in which they'd been made. It took Leaf hours to check behind every velvet chair, carved wardrobe, splattered canvas, and chest of silverware, but he didn't mind because he could touch and be with the things his Master loved. To caress an embroidered pillow, lift a crystal vase, or gaze at a faded picture of a mermaid combing her hair, made Leaf feel closer to Leannan. Like Leaf, these sculptures and boots and appliances had been fortunate, because Leannan favored and would protect them. They would be honored, from time to time, with his approving gaze or the touch of his fingers. Unlike the firehaired young man, the scrolls and beads and silver mirrors would remain eternally beautiful, a comfort to Leaf's Master long after Leaf's body lost the ability to please him. It made Leaf happy that his Master wouldn't be left entirely alone when Leaf was gone. Leannan and Leaf lived in the central section of the schoolmade-house. This wing stretched out of the back of the structure at the center, making the building resemble, in Leaf's imagination, a male body reclining on its side, the member long and erect. It contained a former dining hall, 108
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with a great fireplace, flagged stone floors and arched windows edged in amber glass. Though Leannan had left most of the long wooden tables and benches in place, he and Leaf never ate in the hall. Standing beneath the vaulted ceiling made Leaf feel tiny and quite alone. Echoes of longlost conversation and laughter, the clang of forks on plates, reverberated. Another room, once a sort of common area for the students to relax, felt cozier. The fire Leaf had built before venturing out to the spirit-sprinkled lawn still crackled behind the screen. A marble statue of a vanished goddess holding a lamb stood beside the hearth. She'd been beautiful, but Leannan detested the many idols around the school, and had broken off her arms, chipped away her lips and nose, and painted black x's over her eyes and heart. Master's sumptuous green velvet sofas encircled the blaze. A sculpture he adored, a rounded stone carved with spirals, sat on the carpet. He'd also left some of his ancient magazines on an end table. Leaf stretched out beside the warmth and read about the people of the past, of the Golden Age. They seemed to have been pre-occupied with dressing themselves, painting their faces, and eating rich foods while trying to keep their bodies thin. From the pictures, Leaf discerned that there had been many more women in the past, and that they lived without the fear of capture or assault. None even carried weapons. After reading until drowsiness crowded out loneliness and nerves, Leaf bathed in the round stone tub in the kitchen, so he'd be clean and pleasant if Leannan returned in the night. 109
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He could've taken the violet sleeping draught his Master had concocted, but it would leave him defenseless. So he applied to his nails a lacquer his Master had chosen: terracotta flecked with gold shavings. He untangled his marigold locks with a silver comb, shaved and oiled his legs, and replaced the expensive jewelry his Master had purchased for him. From a ring in each of his nipples delicate gold chains dangled down. At the end of each chain hung a jade leaf so intricately carved it looked freshly plucked and miniaturized. Matching decoration swayed from his earlobes and brushed his shoulders. A gold horseshoe twisted through the skin above his navel, an emerald bead the size of a pea at each end. More emeralds, each valuable enough to feed a man for a year, twisted onto the ends of a barbell through the loose skin where the base of Leaf's cock met his scrotum. Leaf lifted his penis and tugged the spear of gold, stretching the skin and remembering when his Master had inserted it into his flesh. Leannan, his eyes pale sea foam green that day, had crouched in front of Leaf and called him beautiful. His lilypetal lips had brushed Leaf's stomach from Leaf's belly button to the triangle of fire-colored hair below. Leaf's heart had swelled and tears that had nothing to do with pain sparkled down his speckled cheeks. Leannan had let Leaf touch his hair, as a reward for patiently enduring the piercing. This thought and more, all the memories of his Master's love, both stung and comforted Leaf as he lay on the mintsatin sheets of Leannan's huge round bed. All around him, dagger-shaped windows glowed aubergine with the coming of morning. An old winged deity, holding a flaming sword and 110
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stepping on the head of a serpent, looked out from an ornate gold frame. The figure might have been disconcerting, if Leannan hadn't smeared cerulean paint over his vengeful face and castrated him, symbolically, with a red crescent. Leaf's last conscious thought before plummeted into sleep was that his Master could keep him safe even from the gods. **** When voices woke Leaf late the next afternoon, he fastened his pea-colored sarong across his hipbones. Alone with his Master, Leaf had no use for garments. Today, however, he heard at least one other person. Confused, he stumbled sleepily from the octagonal bedchamber and to the edge of the sitting room. Two heads rose above the back of the sofa: one covered in messy, matted black spikes held back by thick goggles, the other blanketed in hair so radiant and smooth that it looked like a flawless piece of silk. Leaf's heart leapt at the shining tresses he knew so well, ivory with the faintest hint of rose today, like the blush of dawn illuminating a white lotus. The other head bewildered Leaf almost to the point of panic. Since he'd come to live at the abandoned school, he and Leannan had been the only living souls to venture within it. Leaf didn't know how his Master would want him to act in front of a guest. He considered creeping back to the bed and hiding beneath the sheets; neither his Master nor the stranger had noticed his presence yet. But curiosity compelled him forward, and he came around the couch to stand with his back to the fire. 111
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Leannan looked as he always did in those ways in which his appearance was consistent: surreally smooth skin that glowed subtly white like moonlit mist, a lean, graceful body, slender oval face, pointed chin and eyes a bit too large. His legs and fingers stretched longer than those of most men, and he was far more beautiful. Today his eyes looked like orbs of rose quartz with shimmering veins of amethyst. He wore the tight bodysuit he always donned for work. It glimmered dully, like moist blacktop, when he shifted his torso, but wrinkled no where, and his sword belt lay across his lap. His pointy-toed boots still stretched to his knees, as Leaf had not yet been asked to remove them. The stranger was a man around Leaf's age, but with a worldliness and wisdom about him that Leaf might never cultivate. Until now, Leaf had never seen a man compete with his Master for beauty. The stranger's amber skin and obsidian, almond-shaped eyes couldn't have been more different from Leannan's pale, mutable countenance, but he was nearly as lovely. His clothing practically matched Leannan's, except that he wore a breastplate of what looked like hard plastic or black rubber. A symbol resembling an abstracted, five-petaled flower was embossed at the center. The same material made up his knee and elbow guards, as well as the five-inch soles of his boots. Over his armor he wore a long coat with a high collar that could be snapped together to conceal his face. Only his black eyes would show over the vinyl edge. Leaf stood, palms against the outsides of his thighs, waiting, hoping to be instructed. The strange man rose and 112
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approached him, stopping three feet away. Like a cat, he moved with all the outward appearance of leisure and disinterest, while being instinctively ready to strike. Two swords, unlike any Leaf had seen in his Master's collection, hung beside his right hip. Left-handed, Leaf noted. "Ah, kirei da!" he said, his eyes moving over Leaf's body. "What a pretty plaything you have, Leannan." Leannan grinned. "Can you believe I found him? He's just like the lads I'd carry off under the hills of Connacht, all those years ago." "Better!" The stranger took a small step nearer Leaf. His hand rose to Leaf's cheek and stopped, close enough to Leaf's skin that Leaf could smell tarnished metal, but not touching. Then he looked over his shoulder to where Leannan sat on the couch. Not until Leannan nodded did the stranger trace the line of Leaf's jaw or rub a strand of Leaf's hair between his thumb and finger. Leaf sighed with relief. If this stranger, this new, beautiful man, deferred to Master's authority, then everything would be fine. But why didn't it bother Leannan that the stranger's calloused hands explored Leaf's slender chest and graceful torso, all of the things that belonged only to his Master? Blushing, eyes downcast as he'd been taught, Leaf endured the groping until the stranger's gold fingers grazed his cock. "Enough," Leannan said. Master never raised his voice, neither in excitement nor anger. The icy formality with which Leannan spoke stopped the stranger's hand as effectively as a 113
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blow, though it didn't wash the mischievous grin from the man's full lips. Master, a generous man, often took gifts or beverages to the homes of friends or business associates when he called. Leannan selected a glossy-paged book picturing women in skimpy, bright attire, a tin of dried fruit or a jug of dark beer to share. Those acquaintances lucky enough to have a wife or female slave might receive a glass bracelet or bright scarf. Other things, though, rare wines of ruby and topaz, handwrought tiaras of intricate, knotted copper, and tiny ink drawings of androgynous boys, Leannan guarded fiercely and would allow no others to see or touch. Leaf beamed at being included among the latter group of possessions. The stranger returned to the couch and draped his lean, muscled arm across the back. His fingertips rested against Leannan's shoulder, causing a feeling in Leaf's belly like he'd swallowed something frozen that could never melt. "Leaf, come," Leannan said softly, patting the onyxencased thigh opposite the stranger. Delighted, Leaf hurried over, sat on the floor, and nestled his head in his Master's lap. Long pale fingers burrowed into Leaf's hair and sharp, clear nails scratched his scalp. Rapt, Leaf's eyes fluttered shut. He hoped Master would soon instruct him to remove the knee-high boots, to draw the bath. Instead, the stranger spoke. "Oh, how nice. Lovely." Annoyance overshadowing his training, Leaf lifted his head and said "Master, who is this?" As soon as he'd spoken he knew he'd done wrong and braced himself for his punishment. 114
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It came, but mildly, in the form of Leannan's hand withdrawing from Leaf's hair. "I am Rinko Miyamoto," the stranger said, standing and bowing, making his blades stick straight out behind him. "Child of Ama-Tsu-Mara, Vanquisher of Eighty-Seven Men, Slayer of Kuro-Ryu, whose blades strike like lightning. I am called also Deceiver. I am a Highwayman." Leaf gasped. Nothing could be more dangerous than roaming the wastelands outside the walls of the far-flung City-States. Few really knew the threats of the vast, desolate stretches between the tiny, frightened clusters of human civilization, but Leaf had heard tales of demons, sorcerers, mutated monsters, roving gangs of those gone mad with disease, and of those with an unquenchable lust after violence. Supply trains, naturally, employed the most ferocious and well-armed men. Leaf could scarcely imagine the bravery and skill necessary to assail and rob them. He scuttled closer to his Master and squeezed Leannan's delicate kneecap. "What are you called?" Rinko asked, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning down to be nearer Leaf's face. The Highwayman's poor etiquette astounded the red-headed slave boy. It would have been proper to ask Leannan what, if anything, he called his slave. Horrified, Leaf looked up at Leannan, hoping for his Master's even voice to guide him. "You may answer," Leannan said, and Leaf, his voice trembling, spoke his name. 115
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Next the Highwayman Rinko produced a wooden box, which he sat on the sofa between Leannan and himself. Though he certainly didn't raise his eyes, Leaf could hear the amusement dancing in the outlaw's voice when he said "A gift, Leannan. Nothing special I'm afraid. Rather common, but still, please accept it." Twisting his torso, Leannan faced the offering, casting Leaf from his lap. As he'd been taught, Leaf sat on his heels, folded his hands above his groin, and looked at the floor. He couldn't resist glancing up, through the curtain of his fiery fringe, as his Master lifted the wooden lid. Nothing so novel had happened since he'd come to live at the school. Leannan took a bottle from the package and dusted it with his pearly palm. His eyes and mouth opened wide as he held it inches from his pointed nose. His usual aristocratic frigidity melted a bit, and he smiled, shaking his moon-bright head with ecstatic disbelief. "Rin, how?" Stealing a look, Leaf saw deep golden liquid inside the bottle, and a paper sticker across its front that read "Jameson's." The reddening light flickered across the edges of the glass, making it glow as if burning. "A Manx wizard had it stored up in his coastal fortress," the radiant criminal replied. "He was plundered by pirates, who brought the treasure across the sea to be sold. A particularly nasty gang looted them and burned their ship. I, in turn, robbed the robbers. Most everything I took I traded or sold. I remembered you were fond of this spirit, though." 116
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Leannan caressed the neck of the bottle as if it were a lover's supple leg or wrist. "It's all in here," he whispered wistfully. "The tang of the sea, the scent of the thyme and heather, the voices of the pipes and drums, the blood of the warriors and the stories of the poets. I didn't think there was any left in this decimated world. But how is it any good, Rinchan? It must be five hundred years old." "A preserving charm," the other man answered. "Shall we sample it now?" After placing the bottle reverently by the foot of his favorite sculpture, the swirl-scarred stone, Leannan stood and said "I must meet with a business contact at dark. Please enjoy my hospitality while I am gone. I'm well stocked with food and drink. Bathe or rest, if you'd like. I only must insist that you don't use Leaf. Anything else I own I offer you freely, Rin-chan." "Thank you for your gracious generosity, Leannan," Rin said, also standing. Even in his platform boots, the spikes of his hair just reached the lobes of Leannan's ears. "I'm not worthy of your kindness." The highwayman's tricky way of talking mystified Leaf; he never spoke as he obviously felt. His gift to Leannan had been monumental, yet he called it poor. He called himself undeserving but held his chin at a prideful angle, eyes always sparkling with amusement the way the blackest night glistened with stars. "I have a better idea," Rin continued. "Why don't I join you? How long has it been since we've been out together, my old friend?" 117
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"Too long," Leannan agreed, his thin lips stretching into a smile. "Very well." Leaf had never seen a person so adept at evoking both emotion and agreement from his Master as the Highwayman Rin. He wondered what had happened to forge the bond between the two men. "Might we bring your pretty toy?" Rin asked. "I like looking at him." **** Occasionally Leaf accompanied his Master to the cavernous club called The Bunker. It took its name from its past function as a storage facility for the magical weapons of the past: pointed cylinders that flew hundreds of miles through the air and exploded when they reached their enemies' territory. Master said these missiles could destroy an entire City-State, but that they'd all been used in the Great War and the knowledge to construct them had been lost. Now The Bunker housed mainly soldiers, as they were the only ones safe to venture out after dark. Also, no one else in could afford to spend money on revelry: booze, whores, and sex slaves. As the three of them entered the building, which reminded Leaf of a food can cut in half from top to bottom and lying on its side, they passed a few vendors selling their wares. A dark-skinned dwarf with his beard in three braids sold spirits. Leaf could see from the mismatched bottles and jars that held the yellowish stuff that it was home-made, not like the liqueurs Leannan let him sample. Still, soldiers in their sandcolored trousers, red shirts and black coats, lined up to 118
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purchase the alcohol. An older man with a bandaged eye displayed daggers on a piece of cloth on the concrete floor. A whore, her head shaved and tattooed, was at work on her knees with her large body-guard standing behind her. A line of military men stretched out behind her. Some held their cocks, others chattel to trade for the prostitute's mouth: loaves of bread, cans of vegetables, soap or coarse-woven socks. The Bunker also housed a slave market. Pickings looked slim inside the large cage tonight, and the fat, bald man who watched over it looked bored. He licked his chubby thumb each time he turned a page of the old magazine he read. A reeking cigar burned between the fingers of his other hand. As they passed, Leaf looked over. Three men and one woman, all of them much older than the red-head, peered out with eyes deadened by despair. Like ninety-nine percent of humanity, they had beige skin and bark-colored hair and eyes. Master said that in the distant past there'd been more separation between the different races of people, more people with deep, black skin, golden like Rin, and crimson and cream like Leaf. Each slave bore a star-shaped brand on his or her left breast: the mark of the vendor who'd captured or purchased them. As Leaf, Leannan and Rin walked by, a pair of low-ranking infantrymen approached the cage. The fat man, clearly unhappy to be made to leave his seat, unlocked the cage door with a large key. He called to one of the male slaves, who approached with his head hanging. The two soldiers stepped up to inspect his teeth. Then the slave turned and bent at the waist so his potential masters could 119
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examine his bottom. They did, spreading his cheeks apart and testing his tightness with their thumbs. The other three cowered in the corner of the pen. These slaves were naked; they had no jewels. No one, Leaf realized with a rush of pity, loved them as Leannan loved him. Leannan's fondness for his slave was plain to see. Before they'd left home, Leaf's Master had chosen his slave's attire scrupulously. He led Leaf through the throng of soldiers by a harness that criss-crossed over Leaf's heart, the green vinyl straps meeting at a gold ring in the center. Another gold ring rested just over Leaf's tailbone, and two more green straps buckled at his hips, with a third between his cheeks. His cock and balls were held with a metal cup, like a codpiece lined with thick silk. The mushroom-shaped plug in his anus shifted tauntingly from side to side as Leaf walked beside his Master. The third green strap held it in, and the entire apparatus was locked securely to protect Leaf's body from the eyes and hands of those he didn't belong to. The delicate golden key hung from a hoop worn in Leannan's left ear. As they walked, greedy eyes devoured Leaf's body and the gemstones that enhanced its beauty. This reaction pleased Leannan as much as the soldiers' fear of his Master, the way they hurried out of his path, pleased Leaf. Rinko, in his armor, stalked silently behind them, his long coat rustling around his ankles, admired by many but approached by none. They stood against the thick metal wall, waiting. Leannan's hair and eyes had turned snow-cloud silver, an effect enhanced by the blinking blue bulbs hanging from the steel 120
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rafters high above them. He looked striking, and Leaf hoped the meeting would go quickly so they could return home. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and wished the thing prodding inside him was something paler, rarer and more alive than a shaft of gold. "I see the man now," Leannan said finally. "Will you watch Leaf for me Rin?" "Hai, of course," the Highwayman answered, and the green, gold-studded leash changed hands. Leannan left them, the crowd parting to let him pass. Rin said to Leaf "Let's sit down. Come." They found a vacant table, and Rin perched on the edge of a metal chair so that his swords angled down gracefully beside him. "Sit," he told Leaf, who obediently dropped to his knees. Leaf's heel pressed the plug deeper into his ass, making his cock dribble within its golden prison. Soldiers mingled around the warehouse, drinking from jars, playing card games, comparing the length and quality of their weaponry. A few had hired prostitutes for the evening, but hardly any of them led slaves. Slaves cost exorbitant fees to purchase, and then had to be fed and kept healthy. For them to be really impressive, symbols of their owner's wealth and status, they had to be polished when brought out. Leaf, sitting at Rinko's feet, made the Highwayman a prince in the eyes of those who noticed them. They waited in silence for Leannan, Rin rubbing circles over Leaf's hairline and neck. In contrast to his intimidating weapons and apparel, Rin's fingers were as gentle as a May afternoon. "Is the floor chilly, Leaf?" Rinko asked. 121
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"Yes, Master. A bit." "Sit on my lap." Leaf didn't know what to do. Would Leannan be angrier at Leaf for disobeying his friend, to whom he'd entrusted his precious Leaf, or for letting some one else fondle his rightful property? Leaf decided to comply with the command, though he silently cursed Rinko for placing him in the predicament at all. He sat sideways across Rinko's thighs, his bare arms around the other man's armored shoulders and his leash hanging between his legs. The only soft flesh he felt was the side of Rin's face when it grazed Leaf's neck. Everything else was covered in sharp, stiff black. Even his hair felt hard when it scraped the underside of Leaf's chin. Leaf hadn't noticed before that Rin's ear had been pierced many times with tiny, metal rings placed so close together that the edge appeared to be plated with a single steel coil. But the Highwayman stroked the line of Leaf's waist, and before long Leaf relaxed, curving his spine into the crook of Rin's arm and leaning against his rigid chest. An older soldier, decorated with medals that showed he ranked highly in the army that ruled the City-State, approached the table. "Excuse me, sir," he said to Rin, "I wonder if I might sit down." "Go ahead, what do I care?" Rin answered. Undaunted by the Highwayman's discourtesy, the soldier pulled up a chair and said, "I've been watching you." Rin blew air between his teeth and said, "You're not my type." 122
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A tiny trace of irritation showed on the soldier's tanned, lined face. "It's your boy I'm interested in. I wonder if you'd be willing to sell him." To Leaf's utter astonishment, Rin said "Go on." "I have a female I'd be willing to trade." "I don't think so," Rin replied. "Two of them, then," the older man continued. "Two women for that boy. Sisters. Twenty years old." "No." "The sisters, a pound of salt, and four bottles of French wine." "No." "You're being unreasonable! It's just one boy slave!" "I'm attached to this one," Rin said calmly. Leaf couldn't fathom why in the world Rin didn't just tell the soldier that Leaf wasn't his to sell. If the older man knew Leaf belonged to Leannan, he'd never persist in trying to acquire him. The soldiers feared Leaf's Master with his magic, guile, poisons, and skillful sword. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, the soldier said "Very well. I'll throw in a good sword and a barrel of fish, if his ass isn't worn out." "Get out of my sight," Rin hissed, soft and dangerous. His arm tightened around Leaf's waist, a small fist closing around one of the green straps of Leaf's harness. Leaping to his feet, the soldier reached inside his black coat and pulled out a metal barrel: a deadly ancient weapon few possessed: a gun. He pointed it at Rin's small, round chin 123
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and said "Who do you think you are? I made you a fair offer. Now you'll give me that boy or I'll blow your head off." Rin jumped up, sending Leaf sprawling on the floor. In one impossibly fast, fluid motion, the Highwayman unsheathed the longer of his two swords, severed the soldier's head, flipped the hilt in his hand, and returned the blade to its case. It happened so fast that Leaf saw only a flash of silver and heard the subtlest whir of metal parting air. The soldier's head hit the floor and bounced once before the blood began to spill from his neck stump. For a few ghastly seconds, the body remained erect. Then it crumpled, crimson fluid flying in spurts from the throat. A red pool quickly framed the dead man. Leaf covered his mouth, gagging. All music and conversation around them ceased as quickly as the soldier's life. Rin knelt and offered Leaf his hand. Three drops of blood formed a triangle on his right cheek. He helped Leaf up saying "Gomen nasai. I am sorry if I've upset you, Leaf-san." Then, odder still, he bowed and added "I hope you will forgive me." Abandoning everything he'd been taught, Leaf threw his arms around Rin and squeezed hard, trembling from head to toe. He pressed his forehead against the Highwayman's warm neck and whimpered. Rin's arms crossed protectively over Leaf's back, drawing him close. The tip of the outlaw's nose brushed the apple of Leaf's pallid cheek. "There now, beautiful," he cooed, his voice soothing Leaf like one of the sedative potions his Master brewed if nightmares plagued the red-head. 124
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Soldiers whispered to one another, forming a haphazard ring around them. A few gingerly drew their weapons: machetes and daggers mostly, trying to decide whether to retaliate and avenge their comrade. Rin looked each potential attacker in the eye, smirking, daring them to test the lightning speed of his blades. No single man mustered the courage, but groups of five or six crept toward them, hoping to outnumber the supernaturally quick swordsman. Just then Leannan re-joined them, his hair tucked behind his ears and his arms crossed over his chest. His pale hand dropped nonchalantly on the gem-encrusted hilt of his saber. He looked at the body, and then at Rin, who still held the distraught Leaf. His presence further deterred the conflicted military. Leannan sighed, audibly and dramatically. "I crave my whiskey," he said. "Shall we go home?" He turned on his heels and strode toward The Bunker's exit, followed by Rin, who practically dragged the shaken Leaf. No one stood in their way. [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter Two "Wash your face, I abhor the sight of blood," Leannan commanded Rin as soon as they returned to the school building. The Highwayman left the sitting room for the sink in the kitchen while Leaf lit candles and built a fire. His harness had been replaced with a pair of saffron silk shorts. "My boots," Leannan said next, sinking into a padded green armchair. "Thank you, Master." Leaf crouched down. He felt better now, away from the chaos of the city and safe in his Master's presence, but his hands still shook, and he fumbled with each of the seven buckles on the side of Leannan's left boot. More than anything he wanted his Master to soothe him, to cradled his head and speak softly, telling Leaf not to worry as Rinko had. But this was a ridiculous notion. Leannan didn't do such things. He didn't appear to notice Leaf's distress. But why should he? Leaf existed to serve and entertain his Master, and had no right to desire more. Even so, Rin's soft voice at The Bunker had awakened a long buried memory, a blurred vision of comfort that refused to crystallize in Leaf's mind. "Leaf," Leannan said softly and sharply as his fingers squeezed and twisted the tip of Leaf's ear until it burned and throbbed. Looking down, Leaf realized he'd become distracted trying to dredge up the recollection. The shiny black of Leannan's boot hung open like the pod of a pea, exposing the duller fabric that stretched over his willowy calf. Without hesitation Leaf grasped the squared, two-inch heel and 126
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pulled. He massaged the arches of his Master's feet and kissed their perfect white tops, hardening inside his shorts. He wanted to thrust his cock between Leannan's soles, let his seed spill over his twig-like ankles and drip from his heels. But, like the hope of consolation, it was a far-fetched fantasy. Rin returned with three glasses. Instead of sitting on the sofa as he'd done before, the criminal crouched on the carpet with Leaf. He looked up at Leannan with all the awe and devotion the slave-boy expressed. Leaf felt another icy stab in his stomach. "May I serve it?" Rin asked. "You may." He broke the seal, opened the bottle, and splashed two inches of amber liquid into each glass. Leannan took the first and held it out, so that it caught the firelight. "To the old world," he said. "And to old friends." "Kempai!" Rin said, clinking the rim of his glass with Leannan's, and then Leaf's. The first glass burned Leaf's throat and stole his breath, making Rin and his Master giggle as he gasped for air. The second felt pleasantly warm in his belly, and in the third he detected the taste of flowers and of blood and steel. It made him sad with longing, but for what he didn't know. Looking up, he saw his nostalgia mirrored in his Master's prismatic, variable eyes. Rin alone looked unaffected, though sickles of burgundy spread over his golden cheeks, and his almond eyes crinkled to slits. "Did you take the job, Leannan?" the Highwayman asked. "I did. I shall have to travel to the City-State of Rhone." 127
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"And why?" Rin continued. "What's the pay?" "A Tiffany glass shade." "But you'll have to cross the Wastes," Rin argued. "Why take the risk? Plenty of the wizards out there would kill for a sidhe servant. And you're such a pretty fey, too. They'd want more than your magic. Leannan, no matter how many old relics you collect, you can't put the world back the way it was! The gates to Tir Na Nog are closed forever, no matter how many Waterford vases, Rosetti paintings, or red-headed boys you gather—" "Miyamoto Rinko! Hold your tongue!" The Highwayman dropped his head. "Forgive me, Master. I misspoke." Rin called Leannan Master? Leaf straightened his neck. He hadn't noticed his cheek had been resting against Rinko's shoulder until he removed it. For several minutes he'd ignored the conversation, full of bizarre words he couldn't understand. It became instantly, painfully clear to Leaf that his Master had amused himself with the outlaw. Leaf shuddered. What if Leannan planned to have Rinko again? What if he preferred him to his slave? Leaf could find himself for sale at The Bunker, never again to see the luminous man he loved more than his own life. Frantically he tried to devise a way to be better, more beautiful, more impressive and precious to his Master than Rin. But, like Leaf, Rin had the slight build and lean musculature Leannan preferred. He had a pretty face. He could offer Leannan his favorite drink and a quick sword. Leaf fenced clumsily and owned nothing, not even his own skin. 128
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"How long will you be away?" Rin continued. "If it will be long, I'll offer to stay at your house and guard your things." "Well," Leannan responded, his sparkling blue-grey eyes narrowing with suspicion, "you plan to be in town anyway, do you not?" "I do." "And you haven't told me why, or to what end." "I have not." "I can't deny you my hospitality, as you well know, Rinchan. Despite your secrecy and mistrust. Of course you may stay in my home while you do whatever you need to do." He scooted closer to Leaf, and his thumb circled Leaf's whiskey swollen lips as he said "You'll share everything with me, Leannan?" A white hand caught Rin's armored wrist and wrenched it from Leaf's face. Leaf's heart ballooned with pride; his Master wasn't willing to loan him out. But then Leannan inserted the pin, deflating Leaf's buoyant happiness with the words "Not without my permission. And not here." **** At the end of the East Wing, past the abandoned classrooms, stood the temple proper. The ceiling was twice as high as elsewhere in the building. At the end of the room, an arched window illustrated a bearded man in a white gown rising up out of a cave and drifting toward the sky. A golden glass circle framed his head and azure octagons surrounded him. Birds of marbled ivory fluttered nearby. Across the surface of the window, Leannan had several times painted the 129
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word "lies." His spidery letters curved around the figure, words overlapping. Gold chains and pulleys swayed in front of the display. Leannan had also defaced each of the other, smaller windows that lined the walls. On a few he'd written phrases Leaf couldn't read or didn't understand, and on others he'd obscured the subject's eyes, hearts, hands, and genitals, transforming them into sightless, helpless monstrosities. The temple's main god, a hanging man carved from smooth wood, had been spiked with hundreds of rusty nails and moved from his place in front of the window to lean in a corner. Rows of wooden benches had once filled the room, but Leannan and Leaf had burned most for firewood. Banners suspended from the wooden rafters hung in tatters. Leannan had filled the two marble basins standing beside the entrance doors with broken bottles, oxidized coins and clippings of wire. On the raised, semi-circular dais in front of the Lies Window, Leaf entertained his Master. A thick mocha carpet cushioned the hard wood. Two massive candelabrums provided the light. The red-head knelt on the platform now, arms over his head, facing the scribbled-out deity. He wore his favorite restraints: soft PVC gauntlets that looped over his middle fingers and extended to his elbows. Three d-rings as big and thick as mug handles protruded along the outside of his forearms. Leannan had once told Leaf that the dark green of the PVC was just the color of the shadows cast by the trees of an ancient forest. Leaf had never seen, and could not imagine, an ancient forest. But he liked the way the almost130
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black looked against his fair skin. To the first ring on each hand, Leannan had clipped one of the chains hanging from the rafters. To the second, he'd attached a hollow golden bar that prevented Leaf from bringing his arms closer to together. Another gold bar affixed to the rings on Leaf's ankle cuffs. Master had also replaced the harness Leaf had worn to The Bunker. A row of seven gold rings wrapped Leaf's semierection from the base to the shelf where the head met the shaft. A piece of green silk connected each ring to the next, and tightened them when Leannan tugged the end. This prevented Leaf from coming before it pleased his Master. Leannan hadn't put anything in Leaf's backside, a good sign that he might be considering fucking the red-head. Leaf hoped he'd be so fortunate, and made a silent vow to be good, perfect. With Rin as competition, he'd need to fight for Leannan's affection. His hope that the Highwayman would go away, back to the Wasteland he'd come from, had evaporated after the conversation in the sitting room. So Leaf knelt in silence, face down, flame-bright waves of hair obscuring his face. Rin's voice behind him echoed through the empty sanctuary. "His beauty takes my breath away. His hair is like the setting sun on the sea. I beg you to let me touch his back, Master." "No. You may watch for now. Sit over there by the candles and don't speak unless I order it." He moved soundlessly across the stage, passing close enough that Leaf felt a breeze on his exposed flesh. Hidden under his hair, Leaf smiled broadly, triumphant. For a second 131
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time Rin had been denied access to Leaf. Leaf felt sure the outlaw's evening would end in disappointment. His Master would never share him. He treasured him. Loved him. "Leaf," Leannan whispered, drawing out the 'f', sounding like the wind in the birches. He stood behind his slave, dragging his nails down the red-head's stretched arms from his bound wrists to his shoulders. The gauntlets dulled the pressure until he reached Leaf's elbow, and then fiery furrows opened over Leaf's triceps. The nails only felt like they broke skin, though. Leaf knew his Master would never damage him. He closed his eyes, panting with the pain that awakened his nerves. Arousal warmed his skin, making Leannan's touch seem even colder. His cock filled, straining against the rings surrounding it. The nails continued down his sides, over his ribs and the muscles of his waist. Then Master's fingers withdrew, leaving behind rows of tingling burn. Leaf wanted to cry out at the loss, to beg for more, but this would displease Leannan. He bit his lip, struggling to control his lust. Leannan rewarded Leaf's discipline. He scratched up the sides of his slave's thighs until he reached Leaf's narrow hips. One hand came around to cradle Leaf's balls while the other cut its way up his stomach. Leaf felt the first pearls of semen leaking from the slit of his cock. Leannan had been away so long this last time, and he'd forbidden Leaf to relieve his own tensions. The feeling of Master's body behind him, the heat of his breath in Leaf's hair, the sweet fire produced by his touch was almost too much for Leaf to bear. He wanted to come so badly, to alleviate the maddening pressure in his balls, but desire to please Leannan won out and he held it back. The 132
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clear nails continued to travel over his body, scraping across his nipples and nicking his scrotum. His skin pulsed with the sting of the intersecting scores. "Beautiful," Leannan said softly, taking a step back to admire his work. "Such responsive skin. What would you like next, my pet?" "Anything that pleases you Master," Leaf answered, attempting to sound reserved. But the raw edge of his voice betrayed his yearning. "It pleases me to know what you crave," Leannan said, close enough to Leaf's ear that a few strands of snow white hair fell over Leaf's shoulder. The sparkling tendrils cascaded over Leaf's flat stomach and brushed the top of his cock. The softness felt insanely sensuous after the bite of Leannan's nails. "I c-crave," Leaf stammered. Excitement had vanquished rational thought; he could hardly form words. "Tell me," Leannan commanded softly, standing slowly so the ends of his hair caressed Leaf's chest and then kneeling back down behind him. "I want you inside me. Fuck me, Master, please!" "Ah." His arm wrapped around Leaf's ribcage, holding him immobile. Then a dew-cool finger slipped between his ass cheeks, tracing the warm, moist cleft from top to bottom. The finger stopped at Leaf's hole and circled the ring of muscle. The tip pressed ever so gently, but didn't enter. Leaf tried to wriggle backward and force Leannan's finger inside himself, but his Master's deceptively slender arm stopped him. He tried to curve his spine to drive himself against Leannan, and 133
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Leannan allowed his finger to enter Leaf's body, but only to the first knuckle. Leaf clenched his muscles, embracing his Master's skillful digit. He couldn't believe what was happening. Leannan would grant his request, though Leaf had done so little to earn it. Master planned to fuck him. But then both the finger and the chest against his gashed back left Leaf. The strand of glowing hair was whisked away before Leaf could enjoy the sensation of it gliding over his reddened flesh. Master's bare feet rustled against the carpet as he walked off to the left, saying, "Not yet, I think." Unable to stop himself, not even fully aware that he was doing it, Leaf threw back his head and growled with frustration. His chains rattled. Leannan came to stand in front of him, his cock level with Leaf's chin. The slave boy could see it pushing against the shimmering black fabric of his Master's pants. He wanted to allay Leannan's longings, to feel his long, pale cock skimming across his tongue. Leaf wanted his Master's alabaster fingers to twist into his persimmon hair as he thrust into Leaf's throat. He craved the downy feel of the straight white hair edging Leannan's cock. He wanted his Master's delicious seed to splash against his palate, so that he could slurp it down and lick his lips. Again Master denied him. Instead of guiding his cock to Leaf's willing and eager lips, Leannan's hand closed around his slave's jaw, squeezing the fragile bones and forcing Leaf to meet his eyes. They looked lemon-yellow, but probably because of the candles. Leannan's hair and eyes usually took on a purple or red hue when he became aroused. 134
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"Behave, pretty one," he warned. Then he departed again, returning with one of the candles from the side of the platform. "Look at me," he ordered Leaf. A single flame reflected off of each of his shining irises. Shadows danced across his smooth skin as the tiny fire fluctuated beneath his breath. His hair looked like spider silk sparkling after a rain. He was so amazingly gorgeous, so surreal— "I'll do anything for you," Leaf blurted out, overcome by love and longing. As a tease, Leannan leaned down and let his lips brush against Leaf's, as softly as the tip of a seabird's wing grazing the water. Before Leaf could begin to enjoy the texture he pulled away again. "I know you will," he said softly. Leaf almost thought he detected a hint of pleasure. "Put your head back. Look up. Mind your lovely hair." Leaf did as he was told. He angled his face upward, toward the rafters wrapped in chains. Shapes, thinner than steam, flitted among the ancient beams. "Lean back further," Master said. As incentive he dribbled a splash of wax on Leaf's Adam's apple. It ran down his stretched neck and solidified in the divot between his collarbones. Leaf gasped at the burn and obeyed. The tips of his hair tickled his ankles. His torso stretched taut as a bow, making his stomach muscles tremble with exertion. "Good boy." Leannan held the candle close to Leaf's chest, but Leaf never feared the flame. The molten wax sizzled against his already over-stimulated skin as it rained over his hairless chest. Rubbery caps formed over his nipples, plastering his jewelry to his skin. His belly button filled. 135
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Droplets of sweat stood above his lip. He grunted and twisted with each new scorching onslaught, fearful he'd be unable to hold his position much longer. Just as Leaf's stomach and thigh muscles began to shudder violently, threatening to give out, Leannan whispered, "Well done." Flexing his biceps, Leaf hauled his exhausted body back to a kneeling position. Leannan released the base of the candle. It floated beside him for a moment. Then he pointed toward the candelabra, and it glided over to hover near the other flamers. Leannan dropped to his knees, facing Leaf, chest grazing his paraffin encrusted nipples. He smiled. To Leaf, the storm clouds parted and the light of heaven shined down. Tears stung the corners of his eyes and his balls huddled against his body, filling. Next Leannan squeezed his ass, arching Leaf's lower back and making their groins collide. Leannan's erection smashed against Leaf's expanding dick. His gaze never left Leaf as he circled his hips, grinding their cocks together. "Master, Master please—" Leaf whimpered senselessly. Leannan's nails cut crescents into Leaf's cheek. He thrust savagely against his slave with a cock as hard as an oak branch. His other hand gripped the back of Leaf's neck, pulling his face in, jangling the chains. The primrose and rain scent of Leannan's hair, so close to Leaf's cheek yet so infuriatingly unattainable, brought more tears from Leaf's emerald eyes. A tendril, velvet as dandelion fluff, swept over Leaf's ribs, so light against his violated skin that the contrast almost hurt. Leannan's teeth crunched the cartilage of Leaf's 136
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ear, and he breathed "Remember that you belong to me. Only to me." Before Leaf could devise a sufficient way to thank his Master for these words, Leannan stood and left. Puzzled, Leaf forgot to cast his eyes to the floor, but allowed them to search the flickering light for the willowy form of the man he loved. Instead he saw the Highwayman Rin, off to the left, sitting on his heels like a slave. "Now, Leannan?" he panted, his voice higher, the odd accent stronger. In his quest to please his Master, his rapture at Leannan's touch, Leaf had forgotten the stranger entirely. "Please let me touch him!" With an almost pity, Leaf knew Leannan would deny the outlaw, leave him crouching frustrated. Leannan would no sooner let Rin guzzle down all of his mead or wear his long velvet jacket embroidered with silver. He waited for Leannan to say the words. But, "You may touch his back only." "Thank you, Leannan." "And not with your hands or flesh." "What—" "Don't make me change my mind, Rin." A familiar creak told Leaf that his Master had opened the lid of the dark wood chest with the brass handles, where Leannan stored various things for their play. Rin stood and hurried out of Leaf's field of sight. Metal clanked as the Highwayman rooted through the chest's contents. In his peripheral vision, Leaf saw the stranger's dark shape pass on his left, and then Rin stood behind him. The tool he'd chosen, 137
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a birch switch cut from the trees behind the school, traced the knobs of Leaf's spine. He smelled the fragrant wood, and it conjured pleasant memories of evenings spent with Master. He closed his eyes and let his neck droop, like a twig heavy with foliage. Rin's breath came quick and jagged as he continued to explore Leaf's physique with the wand's slender end. Back and forth across Leaf's shoulders he dragged the stick, then down each side of his back. He circled Leaf's cheeks and meandered down his thighs and calves, even lavishing attention on the soles of his feet. Each time Rin lifted the switch, Leaf braced himself for the blow. After a long stretch of uncertainty, he felt the sting: two quick cracks across each of his shoulders. He inhaled sharply and his cock jumped. Rin groaned at what Leaf knew was the bloom of the pink welts on his ivory back. Master often commented on the beauty of the effect. Then Rin returned to the teasing, light strokes, leaving Leaf frustrated. He wanted to lose himself in the intense sensation of the whip, to pass into the magical realm where pain transfigured into bliss. He also wanted to taunt the outlaw, to writhe in ecstasy before him while he was forced to watch feebly. How much more infuriating for Rin this must be than if Leannan had rejected his request completely! "More?" Rin asked in a voice saturated with need. "You may answer," Leannan urged. "Yes," Leaf panted. The switch sang through the air with all the speed of the blade that had decapitated the soldier, striking Leaf's right, 138
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and then his left side. The alternating blows rained down, striping Leaf's ass and thighs with ribbons of pulsating heat. A flame of lust and pain engulfed Leaf. His balls filled to the bursting point and his cock pointed straight out. Only the gold rings prevented his seed from splattering the floor in front of him. All of his perception split between the scorched patch between his lower back and knees and his pounding, constricted cock. By the time Rin ceased, he'd dropped to his knees, panting. His breath wafted hot on Leaf's welted shoulders. His warm hand hovered only a hair's width above the wounds on Leaf's left hip. Then the Highwayman gave in, pressing his palm to the red, raised flesh. His forehead fell between Leaf's shoulder blades, the sweat stinging. Fingers traveled over the intersecting wheals on Leaf's hamstring. Lips, and then a cool, soft tongue, moved over the tender line stretching from Leaf's neck to his armpit. Nails dug at the glaze of wax, trying for the nipple beneath. "Rinko, come here now," Leannan said sternly. With a gasp Rin withdrew, allowing the still air to chill Leaf's seared body. Master met the robber a few feet from Leaf's astounded eyes. Crumpling forward like a dying flower, Rin knelt at Leannan's feet, his spine so bent that his shoulders almost rested on his knees. "I'm sorry Master, I couldn't resist." To Leaf the stranger didn't sound sorry; his voice reverberated with a satisfied mischief. Amusement chimed in Leannan's voice, too, when he said "I'll need more than an apology. I'll need proof of your sincerity." 139
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"Tell me what you'll have me do, old friend. Master." Before he spoke again, Leannan waved his hand and the clips holding Leaf's hands to the chains opened. The metal bar fell loose and landed on the carpet with a muffled thud. Blood rushed back into Leaf's limbs. He rubbed them to assuage the tingle. "Stand up," Leannan ordered Rin. "Take off your armor and clothes." The Highwayman looked up at the taller man. Rin didn't smile, but his eyes sparkled with delight as he slid his hand over his blue-black spines of hair to remove his goggles. He stood and disrobed slowly, picking open the straps that held his chest and back plates. The armor hit the floor behind him with a heavy thump. His swords and sword belt were placed reverently across the white-draped podium in the center of the platform. The arm and leg guards fell away, and then the platform boots. He peeled the glistening body suit from his golden shoulders the way one might unwrap a fragile treasure. Leaf had to admit his eagerness to see Rin undressed. But instead of the pleasure of a nude male form, Leaf got the shock of a naked woman. Rin's body was straight and athletic, even boyish, but undeniably female where it mattered. The worry that had plagued him since he'd met the Highwayman (Rin had called herself such) fluttered away, leaving Leaf butterfly-light. He had no doubt that his Master preferred men. Calm, he watched Leannan select a short whip topped with three braided tendrils. It looked like metallic 140
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silver leather but wasn't: Leannan said leather smelled like death. "There," Leannan said, pointing to a long, low table clothed in white lace. It had been used in temple rituals, hundreds of years ago. "Face down." Rin hurried to comply, stretching her slender body languidly. With her tiny breasts hidden, she looked for all the world like a beautiful young man. Leaf sat a little straighter to get a better view. Her face rested on her bent elbow, and she winked at the red-head. Master brought the whip down. It struck Rin's ass, and she exhaled. Leannan teased, tickling the Highwayman's waist with the fringe, for many minutes before beginning to strike her with rhythmic blows. The slave-boy enjoyed the spectacle. He got so few chances to see his Master's beautiful face set with the diamond-hard clarity and focus it now displayed. He'd never observed another person enjoying Leannan's expert ministrations. He wondered if his own face flushed and glistened like Rin's, if his eyes glazed over, if his lips darkened and parted like hers. By the time Leannan dropped his spindly arm to his side, Rin's ass was as red as Leaf's hair. "Would you like to play with Leaf?" Master asked. "Yes." "Would you do anything, anything I ask?" "Yes." "Turn over." She flipped on to her back and stretched her muscular arms over her head. Leannan flogged her mercilessly, a cruel 141
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sparkle in his eyes. The whip bit her flat stomach and tiny breasts, even striking her bead-small nipples. Her back arched and lifted off the table. A soft squeal escaped her every time the end of Leannan's whip made contact with her flesh. When Master dropped his tool, the robber woman twisted and leapt from the table as if nothing had happened. Her fingernails scraped over the welts on her belly, and she licked her upper lip. "Now we play," she hissed savagely. Leaf shivered like he'd been doused in ice water. "Leaf, come," Leannan said. "Undress me." "Thank you, Master." Leaf crawled toward Leannan as fast as he could, impeded by the bar between his ankles. He'd been taught just how this task must be performed. He had to molt the skin-tight suit without touching his Master's skin. Clambering unsteadily to his feet, he pinched the zipper and pulled it carefully down, exposing Leannan's body from neck to ass crack. Peeling fastidiously, he revealed first the beautiful arms, then the flawless chest. Before long he'd bunched the strange material around his Master's delicate ankles, and Leannan stepped out of his clothes, saying "Good boy. You may look." Leaf crawled around to Leannan's front, tripping over the bar and his feet in his fervor. So rarely was he awarded the chance to stare undisturbed at his Master, the most beautiful being he'd ever seen or could imagine, that his eyes lingered on every tiny detail: the swan-like neck, the bumps of bone above the shoulders, the apple-sized biceps and reed-graceful forearms, the smooth chest and waspy waist, the trail of 142
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dove-colored hair that led from the belly button to the base of the cock. Leaf thought he'd be content to gaze forever, memorize every pore, but Leannan said "Enough," and he dropped his eyes. Master rewarded him by patting the top of his head. Then Leannan dropped to his knees. "Take my cock in your mouth," he commanded Leaf in a lust-hoarse whisper. The slave toppled forward, catching himself on his palms. His hair fell over Leannan's belly, like maple leaves blanketing a marble slab. "All the way," Master coached as his long, slim penis penetrated the soft recesses of Leaf's mouth, then throat. "Go slowly. Take your time." Establishing a heart-beat tempo, Leaf savored the texture of Leannan: stone wrapped in satin. His pulse quickened when his Master tugged at the back of his head. A small spurt of Leannan's clover-tasting come spilled out and was quickly mopped up by the slave-boy's enthusiastic tongue. "Just the head now," Leannan said. "Suck hard." Leaf obeyed, sucking until his cheeks caved in and summoning forth more of his Master's vegetative seed. Then he felt warm hands on his hips. Rin. He'd forgotten again. The idea of her and what she might do made him feel timorous and a little sick. He'd never touched, or been touched, by a woman. Maybe Master would order her to stop. Only rapid breath came from Leannan's lips, and Rin's fingers grasped Leaf's cheeks, spreading them open. He felt something small and wet glide over his ass hole and realized it was the Highwayman's tongue. The pointy tip circled his puckered opening and delved in. He purred, vibrating his 143
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Master's cock in his throat. It felt good, Rin's tongue slipping in and out of him. He liked this, and Leannan had done it to him only twice in the three years he'd belonged to him. Balls contracting, he parted his knees as far as his restraints would allow. Rin's face drew back an inch. She panted, misting Leaf's crack. One, then two, of her fingers plunged into him. They angled down and found his gland, pressing and forcing a spray of semen from his cock. She wriggled them deeper and rubbed Leaf's prostate, kneading it from inside. Semen trickled on to the floor. He'd have come like a fountain if not for the gold rings choking it back. What she did distracted Leaf so much that he couldn't concentrate on pleasuring Leannan. Luckily his Master circled his hips, driving his ivory dick deep into his slave's willing throat. "Don't come before me," he warned Leaf. Slickery cold flowed over Leaf's crevice. Rin's fingers pulled out only long enough for her to coat them. When they thrust in again, a third had joined, stretching Leaf's opening. "Leaf, Beautiful," she breathed, "can you take more?" "Umm hmm," he answered. She slowly drew her fingers out, so only the tips remained wrapped in Leaf's tight heat. Then she lined them up, all but her thumb, and said "Are you ready?" Leaf grunted an affirmative, and she proceeded to drive her hand into him, burying it past the knuckles. In spite of the tearing hurt, Leaf's cock leaked again. His desperation to come drove him to the brink of insanity, fueled by Rin's precise penetration and his Master's quickening thrusts. It felt 144
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like the more he needed release, the tighter the gold rings became, impeding him. His frustration brought tears. He couldn't concentrate on pleasing his Master, or how Leannan would want him to respond to Rin's touch. The torrent of semen threatened to tear his balls apart. Rin's nail skipped across the row of gold gauntlets. Her thumb rubbed the velvety head of Leaf's tormented cock, working the sensitive groove on the underside and moistening him with his own fluids. Pointed nipples brushed his back as she leaned forward, saying "I want you to come for me." There would be no waiting for Master to give his consent. Rin tapped the prison of gold, and the silk untied itself. The second the contraption fell to the floor, Rin jerked Leaf's glans three times, and he came hard. A seemingly endless amount of come splattered the brown carpet. His muscles spasmed around Rin's hand inside him. Leannan came then, the beloved flavor drawing another spurt of white from Leaf. Just when he thought he was empty, Rin drove her hand another inch in and down, driving out every last drop of semen until Leaf felt completely drained, too drained to swallow all of his Master's seed. It spilled from the corners of his mouth and dribbled down his chin. Eyes heavy, body exhausted, he collapsed onto his belly. Rin reclined beside him, petting his hair with the utmost relish and gentleness. The face Leaf saw through tired, unfocused eyes belonged to the boy on the couch. The lips were full, the angle of the cheeks feminine, but not enough to appear alien to some one so unused to women. The Highwayman sucked Leaf's bottom lip and mopped his 145
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smeared chin, cleaning his face with her tongue until Leannan whispered "Enough." [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter Three Leaf woke up alone the next morning. Hard light poured through the picture windows, bringing their inhabitants to frightening, neon life. Off to Leaf's right, a woman held a baby. A few men and some animals looked on. Leannan had written "Declare that the Great God Pan is dead!" Leaf wondered which of the glass people was Pan. His head hurt from Master's favorite spirit, and his mouth felt like a fish left out in the sun. He'd been covered with a knitted blanket, and all of his bonds had been removed. The wax had been cleaned from his chest. His jewelry sparkled as if polished. Still, he shivered. His back stung and his bottom was sore. He stood, stiff from sleeping on the floor, and stretched. The temple felt haunted this morning. Every few days, not long after sunrise, Leaf heard distant singing in this room. He wrapped the blanket around his slender shoulders and hurried toward the kitchen for water. Afterwards, he'd be allowed to join Leannan in bed. Leannan's pearlescent body wasn't under the mint satin sheets in the dagger-windowed room, but Rin's was. She lay on her side, knees curled up against her chest. Her swords sat neatly on a wooden shelf. Leaf didn't know how to behave toward the Highwayman. He didn't belong to Rin and wanted to ask her about Leannan. Would it be proper to question her? He shook her shoulder and she rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. "Where's my Master?" 147
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"Gone, Leaf-kun." "Where?" "To do his work." She dragged her finger over throat as if cutting it from ear to ear. "What?" "Nothing, nothing. Get into bed." Accustomed to obeying commands, Leaf spread the blanket over Rin's legs and slipped between the sheets. Two feet of satin separated him from her. Though the past night had been pleasant, Leaf craved the predictable rhythm of his old life, before the Highwayman had intruded. He'd known just what to say and do in every situation. He'd been certain of his Master's feelings for him. Now Leannan had gone on another dangerous mission and the last thing Leaf had done was disobey him, coming for Rin instead of his Master. Was Master out in the Wastes, remembering his boy with animosity? Rin had made him so crazy, made him think of his own pleasure before Leannan's. It was wrong, wrong. "What's wrong?" she asked, and for a scary second Leaf thought she'd read his thoughts. But then, "There's a melancholy look on your face. Do you like to be held?" "I like to be held by my Master." "Your Master entrusted you to me, Leaf. Come here." Her words were true, so he rolled and lay on his back flush with her arm, stiffly though. Rin wriggled closer to him, her warm skin banishing his chill. Her hand ringed his upper arm and guided him to his side. Then she squashed her chest against his back, bringing a fresh throb to the wounds there. A well-built arm encircled his ribs, and the Highwayman's chin 148
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rested across Leaf's collarbone. In spite of his suspicion of Rin, his resentment of her presence in his Master's home and interest, her body felt nice, protective. Tension melting from his muscles, Leaf closed his eyes. Torpor spread through him, promising a few more hours of sleep cocooned in cozy security. He felt content, too content to even be surprised by the source. They slept, their legs braided together, until the light from the blade-shaped windows turned late-day tangerine. Waking for a second time, Leaf found that he hadn't stirred from Rin's embrace. But he needed to relieve himself, and tried to pry her arm from around him without waking her. He thought he'd succeeded and crept across the room, the stone floor cold against his feet. When he reached the arched door, the swish of the sheets made him turn back. "Where are you going, Beautiful?" Rin mumbled sleepily. "Bathroom," he said. "Rest, Master. I'll bring coffee, if you'd like." "Mmmmm," she answered, gathering the covers around her neck. Leannan could heat water simply by wishing it warm, but Leaf had to build a fire. The generator had run out of fuel; Leaf filled with the familiar dread of replenishing the oil and inspecting the fences. Then he realized Rin could walk the perimeter with him; he wouldn't need to go alone. Overcome with gratitude and relief, Leaf prepared a breakfast of coffee, sliced apples, and some little white cakes from the bakery in the city. He placed everything on a silver tray and returned to the bedroom. 149
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Rin sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed, a black satchel open beside her, polishing her sword with a floral oil. When Leaf perched beside her, she returned the weapon to its sheath and laid it on the floor. They ate together and had the coffee. "Honey!" Rin commented, tasting the drink. "Leannan provides very well for you." "Yes," Leaf agreed, feeling a stir of longing for his Master. She took the mug from between his hands and set it aside, saying "I'm your Master while he's away." Her hands moved up his wrists and over his arms, petting gently. Then she leaned close whispering "I want you to pleasure me." Dread made him tremble. He had no idea how to please her, no experience with women. Yet he'd have to comply with her order. Leannan wished it. Noticing his discomfort, Rin stroked Leaf's back soothingly. "Don't worry, pretty one. I'll teach you what to do. It's not so different. Come here and kiss me." They faced each other and their lips met. Rin's mouth opened a fraction and drew Leaf's bottom lip inside. Her tongue urged his teeth apart and explored his soft palate. Soon Leaf's panic dissipated, and he kissed Rin back, his tongue twisting around and pressing against hers. Master didn't like kissing. He reserved it as the highest form of reward. Leaf, though, enjoyed the intimacy of the act. Opening his mouth wider and inclining his head, he plunged his tongue deep into Rin's mouth, almost to her throat. "Good. You see?" Rin breathed, pulling away. She lay back, propping her head on a stack of pillows. Her toned legs 150
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fell open gracefully, like blades of grass bending under a light rain. Folds of plum-colored flesh waited beneath a thin trail of dark hair. Her fingers slipped between her lips, and she said, "Now kiss me here." This proposition terrified Leaf. His eyes widened and he began to shake again. But he tried to obey, sitting on his heels between Rin's knees. He didn't know where to place his hands. Whether he rested them on Rin's smooth belly, taut thighs, or small, round ass, it felt wrong. "Oh Leaf," Rin said, amused. "Would you be more comfortable restrained?" "I think I'd like that," he said, calmed a little by the idea of this familiar thing. From the bag that sat at the foot of the bed, Rin took a long silk scarf. It was the deep blue of the sky at the first moment of night, and silver dragons twined across it, flowers in their claws. Leaf held out his wrists, and she wrapped an end around each of his hands, securing it in the center with a series of intricate knots. He had about a foot of space, but if he struggled, the bonds tightened. "It's beautiful," he said, approving the effect of the deep azure against his porcelain skin. "I have something else for you then," Rin said, eyes twinkling. She searched the contents of the bag until she found a red velvet pouch. From inside she took a string of rose-tinged pearls, each the size of a ripe cherry. Dangling them in front of Leaf's green eyes, she said "I stole these from the Dowager Empress of the Han. They're priceless. And 151
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look! They match your lovely complexion. Would you like them?" "Yes!" Leaf said, dazzled by the perfect jewels reflecting the fuchsia light. "Then lay back on the pillows. Put your legs up." He obeyed, spreading his thighs and pressing his heels to his ass. His bound hands rested over his belly button. Rin sat beside him and propped a small, jewel-framed mirror between his toes, giving him an ideal view of his balls and pink crack. She popped one of the pearls in her mouth like she would a sweet berry and sucked. Then she removed it and held it just outside Leaf's opening. "Leaf, watch." Holding the gem between her thumb and finger, she inserted it into his ass. Then she positioned the next pearl on the string. Leaf's hole was still stretched and swollen from entertaining the Highwayman the previous night. A trace of the lube she'd used remained, and the second bead slipped inside him easily. He observed as she continued, hardening at what he saw: the red ring of his anus opening around each of the treasures and then winking shut on the chain. Seven of the pearls disappeared into the recesses of his body before she finished. They shifted inside him, scraping together. The rest lay in a sparkling line on the sheet. "How does that feel?" Rin asked, tugging gently on the necklace but not extracting any of the pearls. "I like it. Thank you, Master." "Good. Kiss me." She placed one of her knees on either side of his face and lowered her body. His tongue slipped 152
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between her folds, savoring the novel flavor. It found the bump of her clit, and her moans of pleasure made it linger there, working in tight circles until he felt her spasm and shake with release. She slid down his body, leaving a glistening trail on his chest. Her heat engulfed his hard cock as she dropped down into his lap. Her body squeezed him rhythmically, still twitching for the orgasm he'd given her. He'd never been inside anyone before, and couldn't believe the pressure. He wanted to seize Rin's hips, pull her hard against him, drive deeper, but his tied wrists prevented it. She rocked back and forth, breasts the size of halved plums bouncing. Deep burgundy colored her cheeks, and her golden skin shimmered with sweat. Leaf felt his orgasm building and struggled to hold it back until she gave her permission. Coming a second time, she threw her head back and moaned, yanking a pearl from Leaf's ass as she did. The stimulation drove him closer to the edge. He writhed and fought to control himself. Another, and then another of the jewels opened his hole, tugged out as Rin rode him. He felt himself leaking within her. "Master," he panted. "Let me come?" "Go ahead," she said, pulling two more pearls from inside him, helping him along. Her trail of hair pressed flat against his red nest as she thrust down, burying Leaf completely in her furnace-hot flesh. Just as his seed exploded into her, she withdrew the rest of the necklace. His spine bowed under the intensity of the sensation, and Rin had to grasp his waist to keep from being thrown off. 153
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Her body collapsed forward and they lay chest to chest, Leaf's hands trapped between them. Outside the light faltered, and the windows glowed with the first mauves and indigos of evening. Rin sat up and waved at the scarf. It untied itself and she rolled it up. Leaf had never seen anyone but Master perform little charms like this. His curiosity about the Highwayman and her past with Leannan deepened. In her satisfied mood, she might be willing to answer questions. She might not, but he'd risk a slap or a whipping. "What are the Wastelands like?" "Chaos," she said. "Always something or somebody trying to rob or kill you." "I've heard there are monsters," Leaf went on, hopeful. "Men with metal teeth who'll eat you." "Yes, but the sorcerers are even more dangerous. Some of them wield the power of gods, and half of them are mad. They couldn't handle what they had to trade for their magic." "But my Master isn't mad or dangerous!" She laughed. "He's deadly. And your Master isn't a sorcerer." "Then what—" "Enough questions, Leaf. I have my own work to do tonight. Help me put on my armor." **** For the next few weeks Leaf and Rin lived together in the haunted school. They woke in the late afternoon and ate and bathed. They checked the defenses together. They played, sometimes in Leannan's defiled temple, but as often in the 154
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round bed or in front of the fire. When it got dark, Rin strapped her sword belt to her hips and snapped the high collar of her coat in front of her face. She covered her eyes with the goggles. Nothing showed but the spikes of her midnight hair, and she left Leaf to do her work. Often when Rin returned, usually just before morning, she was in such ill humor that Leaf feared to speak to her. She stalked up and down the cement paths in front of the school, swinging the longer of her swords. Once she sliced through a large statue of an old man holding a stone tablet. Leannan had already covered the words carved there with his own painted declaration: "As thou will." Leaf didn't think his Master would mind if the aged idol was now missing a hand and his head from the eyebrows up. One night, only a few hours after Rin had gone, Leaf heard a loud crash come from the school's entryway. The red-head picked up his sword and went, trembling, to investigate. His Master and the Highwayman made no more noise than the ghosts when they came home, so he knew that some one else had made it past the fences. Alone, he would have to defend against the intruder. As he walked the darkened corridors, he vowed to die before he let himself be stolen and sold. He didn't want to live without Leannan. A black shape lay on the steps leading up to the school's front door. It resembled a dead raven, wings spread. When he got a little closer, Leaf recognized the prone form. "Rinko!" Weakly she lifted her head. A dark line stretched vertically from the corner of her mouth. Her sword was still in her hand, 155
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and in a quick motion she flipped it in her fist and raised it, hilt pointing behind her and cutting edge six inches from Leaf's gut. "It's me!" he said, and she relaxed her arm. "What happened to you?" "I was standing on the wall outside the military headquarters," she said. Something gurgled in her throat when she spoke. "I got shot and fell and hit my head. Those bastards have a wizard, I know it! No one else could have sensed me—" "Are you all right?" Fear froze Leaf's blood, a fear different from the nerves he felt when he didn't know how to behave or what to say. This terror made him acute, sharpening his sight, hearing and concentration. Rather than ask for Leaf's help, Rin braced the point of her blade against the stone stair and used it to hoist herself up. She stood for a second before her knees buckled. Reflexes quickened by fear, Leaf caught her under her arms and pulled her toward the door. Her heavy boots dragged along, bouncing up the steps. "My Leannan Sidhe can fix me," she muttered. "Have your Master make a potion, my love." "He's not here, Rin. He hasn't come back." "Killing wizards is tricky work, I suppose. You'll have to fix me, Leaf." "Me!" His shock at her suggestion surpassed even the surprise of his Master's "work." They'd reached the kitchen, and Leaf lowered Rin onto a bench. "Rin, how can I do anything? I'm nothing more than a slave boy." 156
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"You're everything. Please. I'll teach you what to do." She forced a smile and touched Leaf's cheek. "Now, take off my coat. Just cut it." He did as he was told, slicing through the black vinyl with his rapier and peeling it away. As instructed, he removed the rest of Rin's clothing and armor. It took many minutes, as she cried out any time he moved her left arm. After she was undressed, Rin struggled to lay, belly down, on the bench. Blood poured from two holes near her shoulder blade, ran down her arm and pooled on the floor. "Leaf, get my wakazashi," she said. "The smaller sword. I need you to take the bullets out of my back. Hurry and cut them out!" Leaf looked at the short sword and at Rin's wounds. He'd never been more terrified in his entire life. Since coming to live with Leannan Leaf hadn't even seen a piece of meat. He and his Master ate only bread and milk and fruit. The ferrous smell of the blood filled the kitchen. The fluid had become thick and sticky on the floor. Dizziness struck, turning his legs to water. He clutched the side of the bench, clamped his eyes shut to banish the stars, and said, "I can't." With a great effort, Rin looked up and met his eyes. "If you don't do it, Leaf, I'll die." "All right. I'll do it." He sat down beside her, hands shaking so badly he could hardly hold the knife. With a white cotton towel he blotted as much of the blood as he could, hoping to expose the piece of metal he'd have to excise. But as soon as he sopped it up, more spilled from the hole. He stuck the wakazashi's point into the wound, digging in the soft tissue, 157
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choking back vomit. He couldn't even imagine how painful it must be for Rin. Her skin had turned from rich gold to a sickly pale yellow. Finally the point of the blade struck something hard. Leaf wedged the knife underneath the clump of metal and pressed the hilt down, driving the bullet to the surface. He pinched it between his thumb and finger and pulled it out. There was so much blood. Leaf tried in vain to hold the towel over the first wound while rooting for the second bullet. In mere minutes it was soaked through. Worse yet, the second bullet had lodged behind the bone of Rin's shoulder blade. Leaf had to cut an inch long gash, spread the oozing meat with his fingers, and burrow the point of the blade behind the exposed bone. Rin screamed and sobbed. By the time he'd finished, blood slicked Leaf's arms to the elbows. He stood, mopped his damp forehead on his bicep, stumbled to the sink and puked, still clutching the wakazashi. Dragging Rin with him, Leaf went to the huge stone tub. It had once stood on the back lawn, but Leannan had transported it here so they could bathe. Luckily Leaf had filled it earlier to wash and hadn't let the water drain out. Though the liquid inside was cold and milky with soap, it would at least wash away the clotting gore from their bodies. Just as he was about to plunge his arms into the frigid bath, Rin touched the water's surface and said "Atsui." At once the liquid steamed pleasantly. Leaf scrubbed his arms and then wiped Rin's body down with a wet towel. She still bled, but in dribbles instead of spurts. After he had her clean, Leaf tore a few fresh towels into strips and bandaged the wounds as tightly as he could. 158
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"I'll carry you to the bed and come back here and clean up," he told her. He hoped he'd be able to accomplish it; he only had about three inches and maybe twenty pounds on the Highwayman, and the surgery he'd performed had exhausted him. "I can walk, if you help me," Rin said. "Leave this for now and come along." "If Master sees this mess," Leaf said. Leannan couldn't bear anything dead or rotten, not even moldy bread or curdled milk. "Besides you should sleep." "No," she said. "I hit my head. I have to stay awake. You have to keep me awake." **** They lay on the round bed, passing a bottle of tawny port between them. Rin had already started to drift off. "Tell me a story, Leaf-kun. Keep me from falling asleep." Her cheek felt cold as autumn rain against his shoulder. "I don't know any." "Of course you do," she said. "Everyone knows stories. That's how we remember the past. Tell me how you came to Leannan." Bristling a little at the unexpected request, Leaf considered. Already her words had dredged up memories he'd rather forget. Nothing before he'd come to his Master mattered. His life had started the day he'd met Leannan. "Leaf, please?" "All right. Where should I start?" 159
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"Well, where did you live before you came to Leannan? Did you have another Master?" "No." All of this seemed so distant, Leaf couldn't be sure it had ever happened. It felt like a half-remembered dream. "I was free. I lived down there, in the city, with my sister. Her name was Molly. We had a little cell to live in, and we made money mending shoes. We were poor, but we usually had enough to eat. Then the civil war started. When it looked like General Waltman and his factions would be victorious, my sister thought it would be a good idea to get out of the city. She said the General was a madman, and that he hated women." "I've heard that, too," Rin said. "A lot of people had the same idea. We packed up as much food as we could carry and started for the gate. We had to be careful, because soldiers were arresting anyone who tried to leave. Lots of people were killed. We traveled at night, and in three days we made it through the crop fields and to the edge of the city-state. Then we had to look for a hole in the wall, or a place where we could climb a tree and make it over." He closed his eyes, remembering Molly's face, so like his own. She'd worn her strawberry blonde hair in a tight bun, and years of crouching over stinking boots had lined her face and bent her back. But she'd provided for her little brother, working by candlelight while Leaf slept on a cot nearby. As a child he'd open his eyes to make sure she was there, sewing by firelight. She'd protected him, too. At least she'd tried. "You didn't make it," Rin said gently. 160
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"Soldiers were everywhere, just running rampant, doing whatever they wanted. Celebrating, I guess. About six of them found us in a cornfield. Molly tried to fight. Told me to run. They beat us so badly. I remember I tried to keep hold of her hand." Rin's fingers wove into his, and he continued. "I woke up in a cell at Headquarters. I was there a few days, I think. I couldn't see the sky, so I'm not sure. The soldiers beat me all the time." They'd also raped him repeatedly, but for some reason he didn't want to tell Rin that part. "I couldn't stand up anymore. I thought I'd die. I didn't know where they'd taken my sister." He remembered being, for the first time, scared and utterly alone. "Then Master came. The soldiers stood up when he walked in; they called him Sir. I'd never seen anything like him. I thought he was a hallucination, from the pain. Then I wondered if he was an angel." "Hardly," Rin chuckled. "Yeah," Leaf said, smiling. "He wanted me, though. Asked who I was and if I was for sale. The way he looked at me, like he was amazed. Nothing has ever made me feel the way I did when I saw that look, realized it was for me. I think the soldiers were afraid to deny him. They said I hadn't been branded or processed yet, and that they'd sell me under the table. Leannan bent down and picked me up, carried me out of that horrible place. I woke up here." "And then?" "I slept a long time. Healed. Leannan told me I belonged to him, asked if that pleased me. He said I would need to do 161
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whatever he said, but that he'd make sure nobody ever hurt me again. He washed me, gave me jewelry, taught me how to sit, taught me to do all of the things he liked. He was so gentle with me, so patient. I miss him. Will he be okay out there in the Waste? What if he doesn't come back to me?" "He'll come back. He may not have the power he had access to before the gates closed between this world and the Other, but his magic is strong and he loves you. Leaf, what was your name?" "You know my name." "Before." He had to think a moment. "It was Ryan. But I'm not him anymore. Master made me Leaf." "Are you happy with this life?" she asked. "The life of a slave? Would you choose another path for yourself if you could?" He thought for another moment and said "No. I'm always happy, except when I'm alone. I feel blessed to have the chance to serve my Master." "Thank you," Rin said. Her tone told him she felt grateful for more than the sleep-stopping distraction of a story. "Why don't you tell me one now?" "Hai," she said. "Once, long ago, the smith-god Ama-TsuMara fathered a daughter with a mortal princess. This daughter went to her father and asked him to make her a sword. The smith god laughed at this request and made for his daughter a silver bowl to wash her hair. Insulted, the daughter took up a long knife used for cutting bamboo. She cast aside her courtly kimono and dressed herself in the 162
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rough clothes of a peasant. She wandered through her mother's province, challenging every samurai she met. In only half a year she had killed eighty-seven men with the bamboo-cutting knife. Still Ama-Tsu-Mara-sama wasn't satisfied. "No matter how great and famous warriors fell before the daughter's rough weapon, Ama-Tsu-Mara-sama refused her. "Next the daughter went into the mountains, to the home of Kuro-Ryu, the great black dragon. She fought with him for twenty days, and finally slew him. She carried his head to her father and set it beside his forge. No longer could the smithgod deny her the sword she sought. Ama-Tsu-mara-sama said that he had no daughter, but a fine son, and he made for this son katana and wakazashi, carving the hilts and hand guards from the horns of the dragon and making armor from the beast's black hide." The tale answered some of Leaf's questions, but inspired hundreds of new ones. What was Rinko? What was his Master? He felt intensely jealous of the Highwayman, Slayer of Kuro-Ryu, Son of Ama-Tsu-Mara-sama, for her past relationship with his Master. He wanted to know everything she knew about Leannan. Since he'd just saved her life, he decided to ask. "How did you meet Leannan?" She blew air between her teeth, looking, for the first time, a little apprehensive. "I've never told that tale. But if it pleases you." "There's so much I don't know about him. He's so—" "—aloof." 163
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"Out in the Wasteland, far to the North where the desert is cold, a wizard raised for himself a palace from the greenish, polluted ice. He was mad, and thought it might be fun to collect all sorts of creatures for his amusement. One of these was a kami. He put her in an icy cell, away from the sunrise, and he tried to dress and paint her like a doll from the Floating World. He made her short hair long, but with her mighty sword she cut it off. The wizard took the sword and made the kami's hair grow back. She tore it out. Even so she was pleasant to the wizard, and he used her body. Though he beat her every time she ripped her hair away, the girl would not let it grow in, would not let the mad wizard have his doll. The things he did to try to force her were more awful than you can imagine. "At the same time, another group of wizards grew fearful of the power the Ice Wizard had amassed. Unable to defeat him themselves, they sought out a fabled fey assassin, a white phantom who struck like Death itself. These wizards met the sidhe's price, which was, as always, high." "No," Leaf said. "That must be wrong. My Master can't stand killing. He brews elixirs and makes flowers grow. He's a healer, not a murderer." "A healer and a poisoner are the same man in different moods, Leaf. I have seen your Master kill. But he also saved me from that ice prison. He put my swords in my hand so that I could cut open the belly of that foul wizard and let his steaming innards melt the floor of his own palace. For many years we worked as a team: Gold and Silver. But no one living remembers that now." 164
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"I'm sorry to ask, but were you lovers?" "I loved, and love Leannan. I desired him in all the ways that you do. We played together a little bit. But he couldn't love me. No matter how many enemies I killed, or how many duels I won, I would never possess a body that could inspire your Master's lust. My sword couldn't make me Son of AmaTsu-Mara, not to him." She seemed saddened by this recollection, and rolled away from Leaf, curling on her side. "Let me sleep an hour. Then come back and kiss me awake." [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter Four It took another week before Rin recovered from her injuries. During that time, Leaf sat with her and told her stories. He even remembered some of the songs he'd sang as a child. He brought her meals to the bed and carried her each evening to the warm bath that they would share. He slept lightly, curved against her body. There was something very satisfying about caring for her in this way, because he chose to do it and not because he'd been ordered. One morning, early, she sat up and stretched in the lemon light. "I feel stiff from lying so long in this bed," she said to Leaf, who'd just woken beside her. "I need some exercise, and then I need your body. Do you fence, Leaf?" He smiled, proud that he'd learned the art of swordplay. "Yes. Master's been teaching me." "Well, would you like to play a game that I used to play with Leannan?" She got out of bed and swung her left arm as if it held a blade, testing how it had healed. "We'll duel, and whichever of us wins gets to be Master." The idea of being Master, of telling Rinko or anyone else what to do, was as overwhelming to Leaf as being told he now ruled the world. His nature tended toward sweetness and submission. Under no circumstances could he beat or burn another person, even if that person desired it. But since he held no hope of defeating a person who'd slain eighty-seven samurai and a dragon, he consented to play along. 166
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They went to the room at the end of the corridor that Leannan, an avid swordsman himself, had set aside for fencing. One of the few empty of the fey's possessions, it had a row of windows that provided ideal light. Nothing cluttered the space. The epees and foils hung on the wall, alongside a pastel painting of a man in white robes and a red sash hovering among cotton candy clouds. Leannan had clipped a picture of a bird's head, beak open, over the man's face. The cawing avian was disproportionately large, as was the glossy, erect cock Master had glued lower down. Leaf selected the epee he always used, because it was light and had a springy blade. He thrust forward, bending his right and then his left knee to warm up his legs. Master had given him tight leggings, made of a stretchy, copper-colored material suited to the sport. As Rin tested the heft and flexibility of the other weapons, Leaf practiced some of the parries and ripostes his Master had shown him. Most of the moves Leannan had demonstrated were simple and effective. Leaf, a novice, needed to stop an enemy quickly more than he needed to impress anyone with fancy techniques. While he practiced, Leaf pictured Leannan in his black suit, his hair pulled back but a few strands always loose, framing his face. Last time they'd dueled his hair and eyes had turned the faintest blue, like ice reflecting a winter dawn. Leaf could hear his Master's cool, even voice, encouraging well-executed attacks and correcting faulty ones. Mood changing like weather, Leaf suddenly missed his Master so profoundly that he nearly lost the spirit to fence. He dropped his weapon to his side and leaned against the wall. 167
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At the center of the room, Rin stood with her chosen blade held erect and said, "Leaf come. Let's begin." Her boots made her taller than the red-head in his green velvet ballet slippers. So ingrained was the instinct to follow a command that Leaf skulked over to face the Highwayman. They raised their blades, saluting each other. Long moments passed and Rin stood as still as one of the vandalized statues. Mostly out of boredom, Leaf attacked first, lunging forward. Quick though he was, Rin parried his blade with the tiniest flick of her wrist, pushing it off to the side and then driving the tip of her own foil into the empty space where it had been. The metal point stopped a fraction of an inch away from Leaf's ribs. Both returned to their original positions, facing off. Again Rin waited, compelling Leaf to attack out of impatience. He feigned to the left, toward the Highwayman's lower belly, and changed direction with a swift circular motion to stab toward her opposite side. Rin stepped to the side, bringing her blade up alongside her body, blocking Leaf's sword. The blades scraped together, Leaf's sliding down Rin's until they disengaged. He attacked again and again, and each time found himself dodged or blocked, even though Rin clearly didn't display the full potential of her abilities. Often her ripostes teased Leaf's ticklish waist or rattled his jewelry. Sweat coated him; his cheeks burned. She looked serene, possibly even uninterested. They dueled closely, foils at chest-level, movements tiny. Taking turns, they attacked and parried, attacked and parried, neither landing a blow, though Leaf suspected his 168
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opponent would defeat him easily if she chose to do so. But they were just exercising, moving back and forth across the room, smiling at each other as the ring of metal meeting metal banished the silence. Still, Leaf tried to poke the Highwayman with his blade, to challenge himself, to become a better swordsman. But she left no opening in her defenses, and almost seemed to anticipate his attacks. Their blades crossed vertically, inches from their noses. Both pushed to try to throw the other backward. Leaf braced himself with his back leg, so he wasn't thrown off-balance when Rin let up. Her arm recoiled with lightening speed, and she attacked just as fast. Rather than try to stop her sword with his own, Leaf stepped to the side. Rin's sword met empty space. Lunging deeply, elbow only inches from his knee, Leaf stretched his arm out. The tip of his foil bumped against the armor that guarded Rin's right knee. If they'd been dueling in earnest, and she'd been unprotected, he'd have crippled her. "Well done," said a voice. Both fencers spun on their heels toward the doorway. Leannan stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the frame. His long hair, a chaste, perfect white just now, hung down his back in a loose braid. Leaf dropped his sword; it clanged against the stone floor. He flung himself at Leannan's feet and hugged his supple calves, crushing his forehead against his Master's thigh. Leannan could punish him later, Leaf didn't care. He clung to the svelte legs, almost weeping with joy. Petting the red hair with an uncharacteristic relish, Leannan said, "I missed you, too." 169
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Stunned, Leaf looked up to meet his Master's eyes, which shone softest lilac. He couldn't believe it when Leannan smiled at him. Then Master turned to Rin. "Let's play a new game, shall we, old friend? If I win the duel, you must tell me what you're up to. I heard some interesting gossip when I returned to town." "Fine, I'll play," she said, cutting at the air with her foil. "I have my saber with me," Leannan said, touching a sapphire on the hilt. "Go and get your sword." She sprinted from the room and returned a moment later with the divinely-forged katana. The duelists squared off, and Leaf retreated to a corner, hugging his knees. Master's blade hummed softly when he unsheathed it. Rin stood, her feet wide apart, in a position Leaf had never seen. Both of her small hands clasped the dragon-horn hilt, and she held her blade so that it angled up from her right hip. It felt like an eternity passed and neither combatant moved or twitched. Then, lightening-quick, Rin shifted her weapon to her left hand and brought it over her head, the blade parallel with the floor. She attacked, leaping into the air and then bringing her blade down in a diagonal stroke as her body arced toward her opponent. Leannan deflected the blow, but barely, and staggered back three steps under the force of the assault. Recovering instantly, he thrust toward Rin's hip. The katana stopped the slender blade of the saber. After that Leaf couldn't follow their movements. Their blades collided at such speeds that he saw only flashes of silver. By the time he heard the musical chink of the meeting swords, Rin and his 170
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Master had parried each other's attacks three more times. Their hands blurred with the speed of their wrists bending and twisting. The room filled with the din of blade meeting blade. Rin's positions were unfamiliar to Leaf, but proved effective. The play slowed enough for Leaf to watch her grasp her weapon in both hands and hold it over her head with the blade pointing behind her. When she chopped down, Leannan nearly couldn't muster the speed to raise his sword in time. Holding his breath, worried, Leaf saw his Master pirouette like a dancer and avoid the blow. A few pieces of hair fluttered to the floor like snowflakes. He lunged to the left, driving the tip of his saber toward Rin's waist. The Highwayman's blade sliced down beside her, pushing the fey's sword away. Then the rapid clang and flashing silver started again, and Leaf gave up the attempt to follow the action. A few minutes later the winning blow fell. Leannan spun gracefully, positioning himself behind Rin and thrusting toward the small of her back. The outlaw would have blocked again by swiping her sword around behind her, but her wounded left shoulder prevented it. What must have been a sharp pain slowed Rin's hand just enough for Leannan to poke the point of his saber against the curve of her body. He drew no blood, but Rin dropped her head, and then sunk to her knees. When Leannan stood in front of her, she offered her sword up on her palms. "Enough theatrics," said the sidhe assassin, sheathing his twig-slender weapon. "I believe we have something to discuss." 171
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"Leaf will hear it, too," Rin insisted, standing, but still displaying a dejected stoop of the shoulders. "By Nuada's silver hand, why?" Leannan asked. "I wish him to. Honor or not, I won't speak unless he's present." **** "General Waltman is my target," Rin said, sitting with her back to the fire, a whiskey balanced on her knee. "I'm commissioned to kill him. Easy, right?" "I would think," Leannan agreed. "For some one like you." "They have a wizard. Or they've at least employed one to set up a magical barrier around their headquarters. I can't get anywhere near. Now that you know, Silver, would you like to help me? I'm happy to share my fee, which is astronomical. Brew the poison you made in the North that can kill just by touching skin." "It depends on your employer," Leannan said. "I refuse to assist anyone from the city-state of Theotopia." "It's not those religious nuts, don't worry. I've been hired by the Baron himself." Leannan knit his brows, making a single line mar his silken white forehead. "Why would the Baron care what happens here? His state is well protected and his magic is powerful." "He's a creature of pleasure," Rin said, sipping her drink and wincing at the burn. "This state borders the Barony. If that lunatic Waltman decides to expand his territory, he'll strike there first. The Barony can defend herself, certainly, but her Lord prefers more gentlemanly pursuits. He doesn't 172
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want to be bothered with a war. War holds up the delivery of wine and fine cloth. Besides, what do I care what the Baron's reasons are? I'm being well paid." "How well?" Leaf slouched. Not for the first time, he wished Rin hadn't come into their lives. He'd developed a fondness for the thief, but she stirred up trouble and disrupted the comfortable flow of his days. Another dangerous assassination attempt was the last thing he wanted his Master to undertake. Why would Leannan consider it? They were well off, incredibly so. "Think of the Barony park," Rin said. "Lakes, waterfalls, ancient trees. A whole wooded patch as big as this cursed state. There's a limestone manor house at the center. There's also a library with more magical manuscripts than anywhere else in the world." "The limestone mansion is your pay?" Leannan asked, his voice thin with greed. "A much more suitable place to hold your pseudo fairy court than this. I can't understand why you came here in the first place, Leannan." "I came for that boy," Master said, looking at Leaf with all the yearning he'd expressed toward the house in the park. Eyes wide and cheeks burning, Leaf realized that Master walking into that filthy prison hadn't been fortuitous chance. How much else had the beautiful assassin set in motion? "And consider your dearest wish," Rin continued. "If you'll ever find a way to walk in both worlds again, it might very well be with the knowledge in the Baron's archives. He's promised me access to all of his books." 173
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"I pine for home until it tears my heart, some days," Leannan said, voice dripping with a despair Leaf had never heard before. "Yet when the Good King called his children home, you stayed behind. And now the veil has become a stone wall." "Or else the sickness of this world would infect ours," Leannan said. "Still, this world offers some pleasant distractions. Come here." Leaf hurried over to lay his face on Leannan's thigh. But instead of patting his head, Master reached down and grasped his ribs, guiding him into his lap. His arms clutched Leaf, squeezed hard. Leaf nestled his head under Master's chin and hooked his knees over Leannan's leg. He'd never seen the pale man need comfort. "So," Rin interrupted, shattering the perfect moment. "We'll work together. Just like old times. Silver and Gold again." "What exactly must be done?" Leannan asked. "The Baron wants Waltman dead, and he's very specific about who can succeed him. It must be a man named Blackwell, a lieutenant colonel whom the Baron believes will rule reasonably. It should be simple to install him; the Baron's spies within the Alexandrian army report that he's liked by the men. The only man ahead of him was a Colonel Price, but I killed him that night at The Bunker. "The only problem is getting inside. I was able to scale the wall, to stand on top. But when I jumped, I didn't land on the inside, but back on the outside. No charm I used could break 174
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the loop. The same thing happened when I tried to sneak in the gate. I ended up on the outside." "Interesting magic," Leannan said. "But we'll figure something out. For a palace beside a lake, for ancient trees and fields of green, for a chance look on Faerie, we'll solve this puzzle." Though he knew it wasn't allowed, Leaf couldn't listen to any more talk about killing a man, abandoning their home, and passing into some foreign realm. He broke from his Master's embrace and ran down the hallway, past the rooms where Leannan stored his treasures. Tears sprinkling behind him as he ran, Leaf crossed the temple floor and flung open a door that led to a tiny stairwell off to the side. Sobbing and choking, becoming more upset as he thought about the predicament, he ran up four flights of stairs. By the time he reached the top, he had to double over and hold his knees to catch his breath. For the first time, Leaf wished himself in control of his fate. Until now, he'd been content to leave his destiny in his Master's hands. Leaf moved around the massive brass bell at the top of the tower, and stood with his elbows on the concrete railing. Below, the lawn spread out, cut by stone steps and dotted with clumps of ferns. Beyond the fence he could see the hovels of Alexandria, rust and grey to contrast with the vibrant green of the home Leaf loved. A touch on his bare arm made Leaf turn. His Master looked at him, not with the anger Leaf had expected, but with confusion, maybe even worry. "Come here, Leaf," he said. "Sit." 175
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Leaf obeyed, dropping his narrow ass to his heels. Dead leaves crunched beneath him. Leannan propped his back against the wall as he sat, resting an elbow on one of his slender knees. "Look at me," he told Leaf. "Why are you weeping?" "I'm afraid. I lost everything once before—" "Hush," Leannan said, as gently as Leaf had ever heard him speak. "Did I not tell you that if you love and obey me, I'll protect you? You're not doubting your Master, are you? Will I need to teach you to respect my oaths?" "No Master!" Leaf said quickly. Then, considering the question, he looked up at Leannan's eyes, the same sad grey as the sky and reflecting rain clouds, smiled and said "Maybe." "I want for you to see my home," Leannan said. "You can't imagine the beauty. I want to take you there, where you'll never grow old or die. Everything I do is for love of you, Leaf." Most of the time he felt secure in his Master's affection, but he'd never heard Leannan say the words. Tears fell, darkening the stone between Leaf's knees. Leannan's lithe arms draped his bare back like a shawl, drawing him close. Rising up on his knees, Leaf faced his Master. "It's all right, Leaf. Hold me back. Kiss me." Leaf threw his head back and let his lips fall open. Master's tongue, cool and soft and sweet as a clover blossom, wiped across his top teeth. Tears flowed into Leaf's ears. Leannan's fingers knitted with Leaf's, and with his other hand he pulled their groins together. His open mouth angled to meet with the 176
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red-head's, their lips forming a tight seal. Inside their tongues twisted around each other, pushing together, withdrawing, and meeting again like dancers. The kiss was so perfect that it banished the apprehension Leaf felt about the assassination, the sorrow at leaving their home. He reached around and untied the black satin ribbon at the end of Leannan's braid. Combing with his fingers, he separated the plaits. Master's silver hair fell, curtaining both of their faces. Leaf leaned back, supported by Leannan's hand cupping his cheek. Their chests pressed together and their cocks collided, circling, rubbing against one another. Arms falling at his sides limply, head lolling back, Leaf lost himself in rapt joy. Nothing existed but the white face in front of him, the eyes opalescent orbs of mint, lavender, silver and blue that merged and separated. Leaf's jaw went slack. He'd have been content to die in that moment. And now he drops the poison in, Leaf thought, the realization breaking his trance. No blood, no swords. Just the love spell and then the elixir. Knocking far below them dragged Leaf further into the solid world. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and went to look over the railing. A man in a red shirt stood at the front door, a soldier. Leaf and Leannan looked at each other and turned toward the stairs. Master greeted the man, Leaf standing behind with his eyes cast down. Leannan spoke civilly, but he didn't invite the soldier into his home. Leaf feared questions about Rin's activities had brought the visitor to the school. 177
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"I come bearing a message from General Waltman, sir," the soldier said. "His birthday falls in three days, and he hopes you'll join him for a small celebration at Headquarters. Pleasure slaves are permissible, but the General asks that you don't bring bodyguards or weapons." "Come without my sword?" Leannan snorted, incredulous. "I shall have to consider that carefully." "Well I hope you'll make it, sir," the soldier said. "The General mentioned you specifically." He saluted Leannan, turned, and hurried down the stone set of steps. Watching, Leaf wondered if the man could see or sense the curious spirits swarming around him. "The pig just wants a gift," Leannan said, heading up the hallway. "I'm sure he mentioned inviting everyone he thinks is rich. I'll have something for him, all right. But my gifts are never free." [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter Five Three days passed faster than Leaf would have wished. Though Master and Rin had agonized over every detail of their plan, Leaf couldn't help but worry. At least they'd finally agreed, after dozens of arguments, to include the slave-boy. Sitting alone at the haunted school, wondering about the safety of the people he loved, would be worse for Leaf than risking his life at the celebration. Leannan and Rin assured Leaf that everything would be fine, that they'd completed far more difficult missions. But that afternoon, everything they did, they did as if for the last time. When they took a late lunch, they spread a velvet cloth on the ground beneath the birches. All of the food was the best: buttery shortbread, soft, white cheese dotted with herbs, ruby-colored berries bursting with juice, apple dumplings dusted with cinnamon, and little edible flowers crystallized in sugar. Master brought out his best wines: Tokay, Australian Shiraz, French Merlot, and Ancient Port. He gave to Rin a small bottle wrapped in rice paper. She reacted to it as Leannan had to the whiskey: squeezing the fey's hands, bowing six times, and repeating "Oh, arigato gozaimashita!" They ate until they were stuffed, and remained stretched out in the amber, early autumn light, sampling various rare drinks. Yellow leaves flecked with brown spiraled from the branches to land on their blanket. Leaf lay perpendicular to his Master, his head resting on the lissome place between 179
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Leannan's rib and hipbone. The air grew cooler, redder. Rin said, "We should bathe. Get ready. Be together, in case we don't get another opportunity." When they stood to go, each of them looked long at the white trees. Without a word, their hands joined: Leaf's to Leannan's and Leannan's to Rin's. Inside the stone tub had been filled with fragrant, steaming water. Rose and lotus petals floated across the surface. Leaf undressed his Master, tarrying over the details of Leannan's body even more than usual. The three of them got into the bath. "Leaf, wash my hair," Leannan said. "Rinko, you may clean my fingernails." She worked with a small brush while Leaf massaged his Master's scalp and poured water over his head with a silver ladle. Next he cleaned Rin's hair, and then his own poppy-colored locks. He sat on the edge of the tub and Rinko shaved his legs and scrubbed his feet. She, like Leannan, didn't have enough hair to shave. The grooming complete, they relaxed in the water. Leannan pulled Leaf under one of his arms and Rinko beneath the other. The slave boy and the Highwayman held hands over the fairy's marble stomach. All of them dozed, their warm, wet skin sticking. Then Rin's hand, joined to Leaf's moved downward to fondle Leannan's cock. Her lips touched his sinuous neck, just below the jawbone. His head, which had been resting against the basin's stone lip, shot up. Rin's fingers, interwoven with Leaf's, wrapped Leannan's penis. Her thumb hooked to Leaf's behind it. They stroked, making him harden. In front of his heart, they kissed until a white hand yanked them apart by their hair. 180
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"What do you think you're doing?" Leannan scolded, but unable to completely squelch his delight. "I never gave you permission to touch me, or each other. Do I have to take you two to the temple?" Rin giggled, unmistakably feminine, seized Leannan's pointed chin, and kissed him hard on the lips. "Thank you, Master!" **** Naked, Leaf and Rin knelt on the platform, their backs to the despoiled god in the window. Leannan stalked back and forth in front of them, wearing only a black kilt that rode low on his slender hips. He swung a crop at his side, every now and then smacking his palm, producing a loud crack. Pale purple hair swung behind him like a pendulum. "What am I going to do with the two of you?" he asked. The square end of his crop pushed Leaf's chin up, so Leaf's green eyes met Leannan's violet ones, as darkened by arousal as the slave had ever seen them. "You belong to me. Do you think you can maul me whenever you like?" "No! I'm sorry, Master." The crop came down across his shoulders, leaving welts and sending Leaf's blood straight to his cock. "What are you?" Leannan asked, cracking the whip over Leaf's chest. "Your boy! Your slave!" "And what is your purpose?" "To serve you." Crack! "And?" 181
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"Obey you!" "And when will you touch me?" "Only when I'm told!" Bending at the waist, Leannan cupped Leaf's chin. "Good boy," he said softly, kissing each of Leaf's eyelids. Then, sooner than the red-head had hoped, he turned his ire and attentions to Rin. "You. I have offered you use of my home and possessions, and how do you pay me back? By corrupting my slave." "I'm sorry, Master," she said. "Not good enough," Leannan replied, striding around behind her. "Show me your ass." She leaned forward, her palms and forearms flat against the floor and her face resting between them. Pushing up with her knees, she hoisted her graceful, golden bottom unabashedly into the air. Leannan lifted the crop to strike, and then, reconsidering, hooked it through a loop on his kilt. He went to his toy chest and returned with a ferocious-looking cat-o-nine tails. Brushing the fringe lightly over Rin's angled back, he said "Twenty lashes should teach you to respect my authority." "So few? Master is very kind," she said. An entertained grin twisted Leannan's lavender lips. "Count them out," his said, raising his arm. "Ichi!" Rin said as the braided vinyl made contact with her flesh, instantly bringing raised, red stripes across her hip. "Ni!" The whip cracked across her opposite cheek. "San! Shi!" she grunted through clenched teeth as Leannan picked up speed. 182
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Leaf couldn't tear his eyes from the beautiful spectacle, though he knew he'd never be permitted to watch. But Master's movements were so elegant, the contrast of his black implements and clothing against his white skin so striking, and the sway of his purple hair so entrancing that Leaf couldn't help himself. Rin, too, looked lovely, shimmering with sweat. Her lips, cheeks, and the folds below her ass had deepened to rich burgundy. Her black eyes glazed with ecstasy. Even if his fate would be the same as hers, Leaf would drink in every detail. He thought, with a stab, that he might not get the chance to see it again. When Rin finally muttered "ni-juu", Leannan crouched behind her. He lifted his kilt and let the fabric drape across her hips. His nails traced the crimson lines his whip had made, causing Rin to whimper and squirm. "You endured that very well, my old friend Gold. I should reward you. What do you want? Do you want me to fuck you, Rin? Isn't that what you've always desired?" Amazingly, she said "No," though by the look on her face she clearly craved Leannan's body. "If you wanted me, I'd wish it. But after all these centuries I know better. Save it for someone you love. Fuck your slave, and let me watch." "As you will," Leannan said, standing. "But I do love you. Not in the way that you would prefer, but still very deeply. Leaf, come here." The slave boy joined his Master at the center of the platform, and waited while Leannan selected from the chest four golden manacles and four lengths of gilded chain. He secured one of the restraints to each of Leaf's wrists and 183
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ankles, and clipped the chains to them. With a wave of his hand, Leannan guided the chains upward, stretching Leaf's arms vertical. The ends hung in the air, attached to nothing. Then the second set of chains soared up, bringing Leaf's feet parallel with his wrists. His body hung in an ivory U, rocking in the emptiness. Leannan ran his hands over the taut muscles of Leaf's torso, circling and pinching each of his nipples, tugging at the jewelry. He smoothed the fiery hair out of Leaf's face. It hung down behind him. Leannan raised his hand again, and Leaf rose a few feet higher in the air amidst a rattle of metal links. With his slave at the ideal height, Leannan kissed Leaf's body, starting at his collarbone and working his way down, over the slender chest and toned belly. His teeth found the ring in Leaf's navel and yanked at it. The cool, light feeling of Master's lips on his flushed, aroused skin made Leaf instantly erect. "You're so beautiful," the fey whispered, ruffling the sparse red hair on the backs of Leaf's thighs. "You're perfect." He gestured again, and the chains on Leaf's ankles parted, spreading his legs. His balls dangled down, but his cock pointed straight up. Master came to stand between his thighs. Leannan's tongue traced Leaf's swollen penis from the base to the sensitive head. He let it slip into his mouth and sucked, eliciting a moan of grateful surprise from the young man. The silvery-purple head plunged down, engulfing Leaf's cock in snug moisture. Bolts of hair softer and more brilliant than silk fell on either side of Leaf's floating body. It brushed against him, raising gooseflesh. The mouth, not cold, but not hot like 184
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Rin's or Leaf's own openings, slipped back and forth. It was an exquisite sensation Leaf had only experienced half a dozen times. Normally he served Leannan this way. Quivering, Leaf panted "Master. I love you." With a damp pop, Leannan withdrew his mouth. He grasped Leaf's ankles and pulled him down, so that Leaf's ass drifted level with his groin. He unsnapped his kilt and it pooled on the floor at his feet. The erect, white cock poked at the spongy flesh between Leaf's balls and his anus. Master thrust two fingers into Leaf's mouth, and Leaf's impatient tongue moistened them. They circled Leaf's opening, wetting it, and stabbed in. "Do you want me, pretty one?" Master asked, fucking Leaf with his fingers, manipulating his gland and making his cock leak. "Yes Master, please!" And then, though he didn't need to and didn't know if it was proper, Leaf expounded, saying, "Even if I didn't belong to you. I'd give myself to you if you didn't own me. I love you." The look of astonished joy on Leannan's face outdid his pleasure at the whiskey or the promise of the limestone mansion by a hundred fold. He glowed like a May moon. He removed his hand from his slave, his lover, and positioned Leaf's ankles on his shoulders, pressing his chest flush against the backs of Leaf's legs. "Rinko, bring me oil." The Highwayman sifted through the chest and arrived quickly with a crystal bottle. She stood beside Leaf and pulled out the stopper. Thick liquid poured over him, sparkling in the 185
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candlelight. It smelled of crushed grass, morning glories, wild roses and heather. Rinko anointed Leannan's cock, rubbing its length with her hand until it glistened. Then she poured more of the fragrant lubricant into her palm and smeared it between Leaf's cheeks. Before departing, she stroked Leaf's forehead and kissed him. "Thank you, Rin," he said. Guiding himself with his hand, Leannan plunged into Leaf's body, burying himself. Leaf groaned at the stretching and arched his back. Downy hair tickled his crevice, and his balls slapped against his Master's firm stomach. Leannan grabbed Leaf's hips and pulled him hard against his body, fucking him savagely. Skin smacked against skin. Leaf's fists gripped the chains that held him, and he flexed his arms, trying to meet his Master thrust for thrust. They picked up speed. Shuddering with the effort of bracing himself, Leaf's perspiration rained to the floor. He pulled Leannan toward him with his heels. The pale man, as damp with sweat as his slave, let his chest curve forward. His arms snaked under Leaf's back and his long fingers clawed at Leaf's shoulders, leaving magenta crescents and giving him more leverage to heave Leaf's body against him. The harder they fucked, the more Leannan bent in. Soon his chest was only an inch above Leaf's, with Leaf's legs curved so that his knees bumped against his shoulders. Tired of this position, Leannan seized Leaf firmly around the waist as the chains freed themselves from the invisible hooks above. Only Master's slim, strong arms held Leaf now. Leannan raised him, latching Leaf's knees around his snow186
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white shoulders. With one hand Leannan supported Leaf's ass, and with the other he grasped Leaf's hair and yanked his head back, licking his neck as he drove viciously up into him. Leaf held fast to his Master's shoulders, with both his arms and his legs, the chains hanging behind Leannan and pounding against the floor. His oiled cock rubbed against his Master's stomach. "Master, come inside me," Leaf begged. "You come for me first," Leannan said, drawing Leaf's hips closer and releasing his hair to jerk his cock in time with his thrusts. Obediently Leaf sprayed his Master's belly with hot seed. At the same moment he felt Leannan's come splash against the walls of his ass hole. "K-kiss me," the slave boy pleaded. Leannan granted the request, smashing his mouth against Leaf's as they both released another spurt of semen. Then, unable to hold himself or Leaf, Leannan sunk to the floor and stretched out on his back. Leaf, still on his chest, let his legs fall peacefully on either side of his Master. "Night falls," Rin said ominously. "We must prepare." **** Outside of the military headquarters, battalions of hundreds of men stood solemnly in perfect rectangles. General Waltman's guests walked a path between them, toward the ancient building with the ivy-covered columns where the gala would be held. The night was chilly, and few 187
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spoke. Most people kept their heads down nervously, and walked with small, quick steps. Leannan inclined his head toward Rin and said, "I hope this isn't what they call a revel. Back on the mountaintops of Connemara, on Midsummer's Eve, we knew how to have a good time." She chuckled in agreement. All three of them still felt a little tipsy from the quantity of wine they'd consumed at their picnic. "We knew how in Edo, too." Eyes roved over the small party as they passed between the groups of shoulders. Leaf wore a long, spruce vinyl loincloth, thin enough that it just covered his crotch and his ass, but brushing the tops of his feet. Three chains of gold, polished jade, amber and crystal-cut emeralds crossed the outsides of his thighs, attaching the front strip of material to the back. A sleeve of green chain mail, delicate and designed for decoration rather than defense, covered his left arm from shoulder to elbow. All of the jewels to match his skirt glittered among the links, and a strap held it in place under his opposite arm. His chest and stomach were bare but for the expensive gems he always wore. To match, Rin wore two squares of shiny, deep green over her chest and back, thick enough to hide the signs of her gender. Women, even slaves, had been banned from the General's event. Chains of gems like Leaf's held her shirt in place. A pair of tiny shorts showed off her muscular legs. Both wore knee-high boots with pointed toes, and collars around their necks. Each had a leash, green and decorated with gold, silver, and copper leaves. 188
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Leannan wore the kilt he'd had on earlier, and a shirt of the palest mint green. Over these he wore a grey waistcoat embroidered with swirling, silver vines and studded with emerald and topaz berries and a velvet jacket with long tails and buttons made of pearls. His hair, lightest lettuce, cascaded over his shoulders like a veil. His eye color matched: creamy jade. All of them wore charmed gloves impervious to Leannan's concoction. A whip coiled from the loop on Master's kilt. Inside, some of the higher-ranking soldiers or wealthy traders had slaves with them, but nothing to compare with Leaf and Rin. Their physical beauty alone drew attention, and then there was the fact that they wore enough jewelry to purchase one's own island. Most of the evening was spent milling around, following behind Leannan as he talked to other guests, and trying to get close to the bald, ruddy-faced man they'd been hired to kill. The General always stood behind a wall of six or eight men, and moved to another part of the room when the three of them approached to give their regards. "It's as if the boar knows," Leannan hissed to Rin, frustrated. "You're an assassin. You've worked for his predecessor. Of course he knows," Rin said. Hidden within her shirt, the vial of poison waited. Rin, who'd sworn she didn't fear death, would need only to drop it on her fingers and touch the pig. It would look to all like the aging, overweight man's heart had given out. 189
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"I'm beginning to feel insulted," Leannan said. "I should have been greeted personally right away." "Good evening, Sir," a short man in crooked spectacles said to Leannan. "I just got a new shipment of old books, if you'd like to come to my shop and have a look. This one you call Leaf, right?" "That's right," Leannan said. He didn't turn his head away from his associate, but his eyes followed the General, who drew nearer to where they stood. "This new one is quite nice too. Have you named him?" "Gold." "Expensive, I bet." "Yes," Leannan said. "I don't mean to be rude, but I have to go now. I'll come by tomorrow and have a look at those books." "Fantastic!" the man said, clapping his hands. Then, eying Rin, "Perhaps we can work out a trade." Leannan wove through the throng, pulling Leaf and Rin by their necks. Soon he succeeded in getting close enough to the General that the older man couldn't ignore him without risking severe rudeness. He did, however, have his men close ranks in front of him. He greeted Leannan from a gap between their shoulders. "So glad you could make it, Leannan," the General lied. "You look very well, and your boys are quite impressive." "Thank you, General. I'm quite proud of them. Please, do me the honor of giving them a closer look." Clearly apprehensive, but drawn to the beautiful slaves, the General stepped out from behind his men. Still, five feet 190
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of space separated him from Leannan, and seven from Rin, who had the poison. Leannan tugged the leashes, bringing Leaf and Rinko to stand beside him. "Sit," he said, and both "slaves" crouched down, dropping their eyes. "Very well trained," the General complimented. "Are their bodies still supple? Tight?" He inched nearer, like a stray dog to a piece of meat, fearful of being beaten, but so very hungry. "Of course!" Leannan said. "Nobody uses them but me." "You must sell one of them to me," the General said in a commanding tone. "The markets have been so empty for the last few months. I'll compensate you fairly. Today is my birthday, and it would be very bad manners for you to refuse." "Certainly," Leannan said, tipping his shining head. Out of the corner of his eye, Leaf noticed the corner of his Master's mouth bow just a bit, an expression so subtle only a lover would catch it. "Gold, stand up. Take this one. He's timid and obedient and his ass is top of the line. We can decide upon a fair price later. Enjoy yourself on your birthday, sir. And many happy returns." The General sent one of his men to take the leash Leannan offered, but at the last second he changed his mind. "The other one, the red-head, is much more to my liking. I'll pay you anything you ask, but I must insist you give him to me." He'll say no, Leaf assured himself to allay the growing panic. Rin has the poison. Master loves me. The soldiers are afraid— 191
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"If you insist. Stand up, Leaf." "Leaf?" the General smirked. "I don't name my slaves. From now on you will answer to 'boy.'" "No!" Rin screamed, flinging herself at Leaf, hugging him. "Master you can't! Master, please don't split us up! I love Leaf! Don't sell him!" As she wailed and sobbed, her tiny hand slipped into the back of Leaf's loincloth, wedging the miniscule vial of poison between his cheeks. He clenched them to hold it in place. Before Leannan dragged her off by her short hair, she whispered "Leaf, you must do it. You're everything now." As he would be expected to do, Leannan smacked Rin hard with the back of his hand, sending her to her side on the floor. She shielded her head with her arms and curled into a ball as he unfurled the bull whip. No man with any selfrespect would let a slave talk back to him, especially in public. He'd be expected to whip her raw, and he put on a good show of it, lacerating her exposed arms and thighs. "Ugh," the General said to the soldier holding Leaf's leash. "I'm glad I didn't accept that one. It's so tiresome to have to break them. This one seems nice and docile. Look at his eyes. Terrified of his own shadow, just the way I like them." "Yes, sir," the soldier agreed, inspecting Leaf with his bulging, trout-like eyes. "He's beautiful. A real conversation piece." "Listen Calder, do you think it would be rude for me to step out for a few minutes? Try out my new toy?" "No, sir, General Waltman. I'm sure your guests would understand." The man leaned close, handing the leash to the 192
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General, and shielding his mouth with his hand, whispering, "Try not to destroy this one right away, sir." As Waltman dragged Leaf away from the party, the crack of Master's whip and Rin's moans faded until he couldn't hear them at all. There was no one to protect him. He was alone. **** "This is where you will live," Waltman said to Leaf, pointing to a closet-sized, iron cage that sat in the corner of the General's bedroom. "Sit. There's something you should know." The older man unzipped his trousers and took out his flaccid penis, waving it in Leaf's face. A diamond-shaped scar marred the head, and a chunk of flesh was missing close to the base. "My wife bit me. The bitch ruined me. I can't use this worthless thing at all any more. But I still like to watch. I like to watch people suffer. I'll like to watch you suffer. And cry. Your time with me is certain to be painful and brief." He crouched down, his useless cock still hanging out, and spoke so close that Leaf could see his yellowed teeth and smell his rancid breath. "Normally I'd bend you over a table, strap you down, and let twelve or fifteen of my men fuck you until your legs gave out. But since we're alone, I'll have to use this." He went to a box near the cage and brandished a piece of wood as thick as his arm, and only vaguely shaped like a human member. "I can't use my dick, boy, but my arms don't get tired. Take off that ridiculous costume and bend over. Hold on to the bars of the cage." 193
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Hands trembling, stomach threatening to expel his lunch, Leaf unbuckled his chain mail sleeve. It jingled musically as he brushed it off. He grasped the waistband of his loincloth, squeezing his cheeks together around the poison. In a weird way it comforted him; his Master, his true and only Master, had made it. But as soon as he bent over and spread his legs it would fall. He had to get a hold of it before then. He had to kill this vile man. If he didn't, he'd never get to travel to the limestone mansion in the beautiful park. If the assassination failed, he'd become the property of General Waltman. He'd never touch Leannan again. His hand wriggled, as Rin's had, inside the material, and his palm closed around the sweat-slick little bottle. Holding it tight with his thumb and pinky, he disrobed down to his gloves and went to stand in front of the cage. "Turn around and spread," the General said. "If you behave yourself I might use lube next time." Leaf's trembling fingers tried to unscrew the lid as he turned around. But it was tight, to prevent it from leaking inside Rin's shirt, and he couldn't loosen it with one hand. "Scream all you want, pretty one." Whirling around, Leaf said, "Don't call me that. My Master calls me that, and I don't belong to you." Something snapped inside him. He refused to be violated by this man. Instead of being sickened by the thought of taking the General's life, Leaf craved it. So many people had suffered because of this man. His sister had been taken, likely killed. Abandoning subterfuge, Leaf began opening the poison. Waltman was so shocked and angry he didn't notice. 194
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A fist hit Leaf's left eye, knocking him on his ass. He held tight to the little bottle, couldn't lose it. All the time the General battered his head with the wooden dildo and kicked him in the ribs, he clutched it in his palm. When the blows stopped, Leaf attempted to push himself up on his hands and knees to crawl away. All he needed to do was buy a few seconds to open the bottle. The General hauled Leaf up by his hair and punched him in the diaphragm, winding him. Gasping for air, Leaf heard the tiny chime of the bottle falling from his hand to the floor. It rolled until the leg of the General's narrow, spartan bed stopped it. It didn't matter. He'd kill Waltman without the poison. With his bare hands, if he had to. They'd planned for it to look like the old man had a heart attack while exerting himself with his pretty new slave boy, Gold. It wasn't supposed to look like a murder. But the newly erupted wellspring of violence within Leaf couldn't be corked. He picked up a glass lamp and swung for the General's head. Whatever else he might have been, Waltman was a soldier. He dodged Leaf, laughing. Leaf swung again, and when he missed, threw the fixture at the General. It shattered against the wall behind him. "I'm going to tear you in half," he spat. "No you won't," Leaf answered. "You'll never touch me. I belong only to Leannan." He dove toward the bed, where the poison had landed. Waltman swung, swelling Leaf's ear, but his fingers closed around the bottle. 195
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"What's in your hand?" the General asked before Leaf could get back to his feet. His heavy boot crashed down, shattering Leaf's fingers and the glass container. A toxic pool oozed out, scorching the stone floor. With another kick to the ribs, Waltman flipped Leaf from his hands and knees to his back. Poison dripped from the red-head's ensorcelled glove, but the old soldier's foot pressed down on his windpipe. He couldn't reach Waltman's hands or face. Choking, fighting for consciousness, Leaf reached for the only bit of exposed flesh he could: the withered stalk dangling from the General's fly. **** Outside was chaos. Soldiers had broken rank and poured into the building, shoving civilians aside, trampling them. They yelled to one another, "Find Blackwell!" or, "The old fool had a heart attack! Too much rough sex with young guys!" "Out of the way!" "Blackwell will lead us." It was terrible. Smoke rose from something burning in town. People screamed, just as they had on the night Leaf and his sister had tried to escape the city-state of Alexandria. "Master?" Leaf called, trying to push his way through a crowd of people much larger than himself. "Rinko?" "Leaf?" Even Leannan looked disheveled. His jacket had torn and his hair hung matted in his face. Some one fired a gun, and Leaf jumped, screaming. "You're safe," Master crooned, taking his boy in his arms. "You did it. All by yourself. I was so worried. And I'm so proud." 196
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"Master my hand is broken. A few ribs, too, I think." Just as he had on their first meeting, Leannan picked Leaf up and carried him in his arms. The crowd parted to allow him passage. "I'll fix you," he said gently. "But now we must leave Alexandria. There'll be civil war. It'll be brief. Blackwell's men outnumber Calder's faction, but there are always casualties. Rinko is waiting to guide us through the Wasteland. She has transport. Will you be all right?" "Yes, Master. I'm back where I belong." [Back to Table of Contents]
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Epilogue Leaf hadn't thought there were so many trees left in the entire world. Their trunks were as wide as entire room, and their branches, heavy with autumn foliage to rival the sunset hues of his hair, shaded the house where he and Leannan would be living. Raising a bandaged hand to shield his eyes from the sun, Leaf looked out across the sapphire lake, toward the rocks and expanses of grass on the far shore. A soft breeze rippled the water and rustled the leaves. A few triangular yellow ones drifted in front of Leaf's amazed face. Looking down, he saw chrysanthemums in earthenware pots. All manner and color of flowers bloomed, their perfume scenting the air the way pollution had tainted the atmosphere of Alexandria. "This is heaven," he gasped. "Wait until you see Tir Na Nog," Leannan replied. "But it will do for now." "Save me a room, for when I return," Rinko said. "I believe you own sixty-four of them now." "What," Leannan joked, "so you can come back here and corrupt my slave boy again?" "Slave boy?" she said, her voice rising, feigning confusion. "Surely you know that the Baron has outlawed slave trading. Leaf can see spirits, and he'll make a good swordsman soon. I'm afraid you can't prevent him from going off on his own." Looking from Rin's mischievous smile to his Master's disguised discomfort, Leaf saw strands and strands of 198
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meaning and purpose, twisting together, disappearing underneath one another and looping back around like the knots decorating Leannan's favorite jewelry. Perhaps he'd never be able to see the complete design as his immortal companions did. The overthrow of the Alexandrian government had been, at least in part, a game between his sidhe lover and the half-divine Highwayman. "Will you go?" Leannan asked, tracing the edge of Leaf's ear. The trepidation in his voice surprised the red-head. "I don't own you now." "That doesn't mean I'm not yours." He hugged his Master, cringing at the grating of his fractured ribs. "I belong only to you." "But sometimes I can borrow?" Rin giggled, draping her armored arms over their shoulders. "Only if you bring me whiskey," Leannan jested. "And pearls," Leaf said. "I will," she promised, waving to them as she walked away, a black slash under the flaming canopy of leaves. "I love you both!" [Back to Table of Contents]
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Sam, the Man by Jude Mason [Back to Table of Contents]
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Also by Jude Mason An Acquired Taste Pink Ribbon Scorpio Tattoo Stage Fright Jesse's Homecoming "Of Death and Desire" from 413 Remembrance Lane Amber's Toy Cat's Claw Yes Ma'am (print collection) "Flaming Rescue" from Coming Together Under Fire [Back to Table of Contents] 201
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Chapter One Pulling the car door closed, Sammy leaned back in the seat and sighed. Friday, finally. It'd been a long week and an even longer day. A client who'd needed babying took more than two hours longer than they'd scheduled for him, and a late dinner grabbed between meetings left both him and Cynthia short tempered. He needed to unwind. Taking a deep breath, he sat up straight and pulled his suit jacket off. He thought of Cyn's face the first time she'd seen him in his purple. It'd been so hard to keep her mouth from gaping open; she'd told him that later, and they'd both laughed. Since then, he kept her on her toes, fashion wise. He loved to dress outrageously, and their clientele seemed to like it, too. He tossed the jacket in the backseat of the little Accord, and turned on the ignition. It purred to life, and he pulled out into the surprisingly light Friday rush-hour traffic. Heading home, he felt the tension in his shoulders ease. He loved his job, but sometimes the pressure got to him. Being Cynthia Lyon's assistant was no picnic and after her husband died, she'd been a mess. He'd taken care of the business for a few months, but now that she had a new man in her life, she was much happier, and the office was running like it had a year ago. What with her needing extra help, and the new man, things were never dull. He thought of his empty house, and decided to change his evening plans. Checking over his shoulder, he switched lanes 202
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and headed for Greg's. His thoughts turned to sex, and he smiled. He'd met Greg at his night job. Three evenings a week, he helped out at the hospice foundation, where he'd first met Greg's wife, Jean. Riddled with cancer, the doctors had given her a year. She'd dragged it out almost twice that long before going into hospice care. Sammy was given her case. The first night he sat with her, the lovely blonde woman who peered up at him had the dead eyes of someone who knew the end wasn't far off. She was terribly weak and the meds had cut in, so they didn't talk a lot, just shared time while she floated in her drug induced nirvana. She was more asleep than awake, and at her stage of the disease, he thought that was probably for the best. He'd just finished checking her vitals, when in walked the most gorgeous man he'd ever seen. Six feet tall if he was an inch, Greg Jackson had those bad boy looks that drove both men and women to distraction. Long, shaggy, dark hair hung to his collar, a dimple in his chin and a couple of day's growth of beard that begged a caress. His eyes reminded Sammy of the old, 'blue as the sea' thing he'd read in romance books when he was younger. White t-shirt, tight blue jeans and a pair of scuffed cowboy boots finished the picture of the perfect man, or so Sammy thought. He had muscles where Sammy was sure he didn't even have places, and it took all his effort not to reach out and stroke. With a handful of roses held out in front, Greg looked as if he was trying to shield himself from the horror of what was coming. 203
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Sammy rose from the only chair in the room and extended his hand, a little limp wristed, but that didn't seem to bother the newcomer one iota. He reached out and took hold. "Hi, I'm Greg Jackson." He shook hands carefully; as if afraid he'd break the delicate bones if he squeezed too tightly with his much larger, more masculine, fist. "Jean is my wife." He dropped his hand, and went to the bed. He perched on the edge, careful not to disturb any of the tubes running from her to the myriad of machines. He leaned down and kissed her on the lips, and then the forehead. He stroked her face, and then turned to face Sammy. "How is she? I can only get here late in the evenings, so I don't see the doctors as often as I'd like." "She's about the same." Sammy ran his hand through his short blond hair and for the hundredth time, wondered if what he said made any difference at all. Gently, he said, "She knows she doesn't have long. She's worried about you." "Me!" Greg looked up into Sammy's eyes. Tears brightened them, threatening to flow with the slightest provocation. "She's the one dying, and she worries about me. Crazy." "Yeah, but that's how it happens. Once she got over all the blame, disbelief and anger, that's all she cared about. She loves you." "I know, and I love her," Greg said, and that's all it took. The tears flowed. He didn't try to hide them or turn away, he simply let them trickle down his face. "I gave her morphine, she's comfortable now." Sammy walked to the door, aware that his bottom jiggled a little more than it needed to. A flirt even at the worst of times, he 204
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thought. Just before he left, he said, "I'll be in the break room. If you want to talk, or want me to come and sit with you both—anything, just come and get me." That's how it began. An hour later, Greg entered the small coffee room looking completely lost. Peering around, he spotted Sammy and approached him. "Can we talk?" "Most definitely," he replied, and asked, "Coffee? Tea? Something?" "What I'd really like is a beer." He slumped into one of the hard wooden chairs. "Sammy, it's Sammy, right?" "Yes, Sammy Nicholson." He checked his watch and asked, "Was she sleeping when you left?" "Yeah, she fell asleep pretty fast. I didn't get to talk to her much." He looked up. His eyes didn't seem to want to focus. He kept shaking his head and peering up at him again. "It's almost ten, why don't we get out of here." "Can you? I mean..." Sammy took him by the arm, and lifted. Greg got to his feet, allowing himself to be maneuvered out of the room, down the hall and then out of the building. "I'm officially off at ten, which is about seven minutes from now. It'll be our little secret." He looked up into Greg's eyes and fought back the growing desire to reach up and pull that beautiful face down for a kiss. The poor man seemed so lost; all he wanted to do was comfort him. "My place, or would you rather go to a bar or club?" A look of panic crossed Greg's face. "I don't think I could sit in a bar. Not right now. Would you mind if we went to your place? Ours is miles out of town." 205
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"I wouldn't mind at all—," he bit back the 'sweetie' that nearly made it out. Ten minutes later they were sitting in Sammy's small, but beautifully decorated living room, sipping beer out of frosted steins he kept in his freezer. They talked—Greg talked and he listened mostly, for nearly three hours. It was as if the dam had broken and words tumbled out of the man. Jean and he had been married less than five years. They didn't have any kids and he was torn about that, too. They'd both assumed there would be time, later. Now, there wasn't going to be a later. Their time had just about run out. They finished one beer then two, and Sammy got up to get another refill for them both. His mind was on both Jean and her coming death, and the lovely, lonely man sitting in his living room, who already mourned her loss. He felt drawn to the man. Standing in the tiny mauve colored kitchen, he realized he was trembling. It was late, he was tired, and having Greg there was adding some sexual tension. A stirring in his slacks only confirmed what he already knew. He wanted this tall good looking, soon-to-be widower. But, that was impossible. He opened the fridge to pull two more beers out, when a hand on his back made him jump. "The head, which way?" Greg stood there innocently; unaware of the turmoil he'd created. Sammy nodded down the hall, "Last door on the left." "Thanks," he mumbled and a moment later, Sammy heard the bathroom door close. 206
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Glasses filled again, he took them back into the living room and waited for his guest. They'd talked until Greg spotted the morning sun peeking through the drapes. He'd left then, full of apologies, and also, Sammy thought, with a better perspective of what to expect as Jean's illness progressed and how it would inevitably end. That first night had been the beginning of something amazing. They met every time Sammy worked, spending a time together with Jean, and then they'd go to his place. It didn't take long for Sammy's attraction to get the better of him. Another evening of beer and talk led to a backrub—a backrub that escalated to a gentle stripping and caressing of new, unfamiliar flesh. Each meeting after that, the two men grew closer together, their relationship blossoming even as Greg's wife slowly faded. The man was torn with guilt and often cried long into the night while Sammy held him. One night, weeks after they'd met, Sammy suggested they try something different. Greg had been all for it. He'd soon learned that even though he was bigger, stronger and probably capable of tearing him limb from limb, it was Sammy who was in control. And even more shocking, he loved it. Jean's death, two months after they'd met, came as no surprise. Greg's mourning was heartbreaking, his need for solace and forgiveness, enormous. Sammy was more than eager to be there for him. But there seemed to be a barrier, some corner that just wouldn't allow Greg to be happy. 207
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Weeks passed, then a month, then two. Their life together became more permanent, more settled, but still Sammy worried. Often, when he was sure Greg wasn't aware of him, he sat watching him. There was a sadness that he knew had nothing to do with Jean's death. He let it go, partially out of fear—he couldn't bear to lose the man. Another part of him wanted to give Greg the time he needed—time for Greg to tell him what was tearing him apart. [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter Two Opening the front door, he was thrilled to see Greg approaching him and said, "Get out of those clothes and kneel." He swished passed his lover, tossed his coat on the chair and headed for the kitchen. Behind him, he heard Greg's soft curse and then a thump. Turning, he stifled the chuckle that threatened. He'd pushed his jeans down to the tops of his boots then tried to get out of the boots. Again. He'd toppled over. The curse had been when he realized he'd lost his balance, the thump was when his butt hit the floor, or so Sammy assumed. He'd have a bruise for sure. Placing his hand on his hip, he pointed out, "If you'd just take the damn boots off first..." Greg looked at him, scowled, and then lowered his eyes. "Yeah, I know. I'm just in a hurry." "Sir?" He waggled his eyebrows. Greg smiled, adding, "Sir." "Get naked, boy." The words sent a shiver of pleasure running up his spine. He loved the feeling of power his control over Greg gave him. "Yes, sir," Greg said, in that deep sexy voice he used only when the two of them were going into a scene. Jeans and boots finally formed a small pile beside him on the door mat. His shirt followed, a crumpled pile of white cotton. Finally, he wriggled out of his underpants and tossed them on the heap. He turned to face Sammy. "Here, sir?" 209
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Before he answered, he went into the kitchen and got a glass of white wine. Standing in the doorway, he said, "In front of the couch. Face away from it." He watched and sipped, as the lovely man crawled to the specified spot. Greg knelt, turned away from the couch, making sure his back was straight and his knees spread wide apart. With his hands behind his back, his thickening cock was in full view. Sammy left him there and went into the bedroom. Going to the window, he sipped his wine and planned the evening ahead. Done, he put the empty glass on the bedside table. Stripping out of his suit, he hung it up in the closet along with the brilliant pink shirt he'd worn that day. He tossed his socks on the bed, then skinned out of his shorts. He pulled out the small box he'd shoved under the bed and opened it. A small collection of dildos and butt plugs, paddles and leather straps waited for him. They had all weekend, and he didn't want to start off too rough or Greg wouldn't be any good for either of them tomorrow. "The glove, yeah," he muttered to himself and dug out the black leather glove. He replaced the top and shoved the box back under the bed. Rising, he smiled and headed out into the living room, and his beautiful man. Greg turned his head ever so slightly and smiled. But even the smile had a shadow of sorrow. Jean's recent death hung over them like a cloud. Pushing thoughts of Jean aside, Sammy said, "Lean forward, head to the floor." Greg instantly lowered his head, and pushed his ass high. 210
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"You have such a sweet ass, boy," Sammy's voice wasn't deep or sexy like he thought Greg's was. In fact he couldn't understand why the man even took a second look at him. Slender, pale, nearly hairless from the waist down, he was the epitome of flaming gay and his every movement seemed feminine compared to Greg's pronounced masculinity. The hefty erection jutting from his middle was about the only really masculine attribute he had, and he stroked it while eyeing his boy. Mincing his way over to the couch, his mouth watered at the sight of the muscular buttocks facing him. The hard lines of the man's thighs and the large ball sac dangling beneath him, all begged his touch. He slipped his hand into the leather glove. There was a click when he pressed the snap closed, and he saw Greg shudder. "Have you been a good boy today?" he asked, and sat on the couch. Leaning forward, he slid his naked hand over Greg's ass. Taut, muscular, hot, his flesh quivered as Sammy explored the firm roundness of each cheek, teased the deep cleft between. A groan reached his ears when he slid his hand lower, taking the soft ball sac in his hand, carefully juggling the precious balls within. The hair tickled his hand, his wrist, and for the hundredth time, he wondered about having his boy shaved. "Yes, sir, I've been good." He slid his hand lower, leaning down more. His face was inches from Greg's ass. Heat radiated up from him. "I've been thinking about asking you to get rid of some of this hair," he said, giving the man's pubic hair a gentle tug. 211
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"You mean shave?" He heard the surprise in Greg's voice, but also something more—excitement maybe—and smiled. "Yes, shave, you sexy boy. I want you smooth." He moved his hand along the swollen length of his cock taking its weight, feeling it throb. He gripped the shaft, held it tight. Leaning back a little, just enough to get a good swing in, he brought his gloved hand down hard. "Hey!" yelped the supine man, but he didn't move. The taut butt cheek barely jiggled, but he'd obviously felt some pain, or surprise. Good enough. "You mean shave ... what?" he urged, both hands on the upturned ass, massaging them, pulling them open, pressing them together. "Sir, you mean shave, sir?" Greg rasped. "Yes, much better," he cooed, and slid his gloved fingers along the dark cleft. When he sensed the tension easing, the muscles in Greg's ass softening, he pulled his hand back, and waited. His heartbeat drummed in his chest. This build up was always the most exciting for him. He adored watching the slow melt down of his lovers' defenses—the sinking into that special place where his slavery blossomed. "Sir?" came the soft inquiry. And he brought hand down with a resounding 'Slap!' Greg's entire body jerked. "Oh, I do love it when you jump like that." Sammy rubbed the spot he'd slapped, spreading the heat. "Want another 212
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one, boy?" He emphasized 'boy', and hoped Greg would know to ask for more. "Yes, please, sir," he replied, pushing his ass back. Instead of the expected slap, Sammy leaned down and ran his tongue over the swell of the left butt cheek. Laying his face against the warm flesh, he murmured, "Oh yes, so very sexy." The hair on Greg's ass tickled Sammy's nose, and he turned his head. Taking a little of it between his teeth, he pulled. "Youch!" Greg yelped as the strands of hair pulled free. Another slap followed an instant later—and before Greg could catch his breath, another, and another. Sammy let his hand remain flat against the man's ass that last time. Even through the glove, he felt heat. "You say you're a good boy, but then you're bad. You keep forgetting the Sir. A very important word." "Yes, sir," Greg echoed, "A very important word. I'll try to do better." Even while he proclaimed his desire to do better, he left the word off and pushed his ass back toward him. "Sir," Sammy said, and raised his leather gloved hand. "Sir," came the soft reply. Sammy brought his hand down with all of his strength, then raised it up again, and said, "Do you want another?" A moment of silence followed, and then the very soft, barely discernable, "Yes, sir. Please, sir." Sammy smiled, but didn't strike. He wanted more. His cock ached it was so hard, and he grabbed it with his free hand, squeezing the base hard. Taking a step closer, he 213
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rubbed the swollen purple glans over Greg's overheated ass cheek. The sensation was almost too much, and he had to tighten his grip even more. He heard a groan from his beautiful man, and then softly, "Please, sir, spank me." "But you're my boy, and only I decide when you're punished," Sammy replied. He raised his hand, ready, poised, waiting for just the right moment. It came when Greg turned. Not his entire body, just his head. He looked back at Sammy; he dared to move without asking, without being permitted. And the hand came down. That time he didn't stop. With his erection firmly held in one hand, he spanked Greg with the other. He kept it up until Greg's ass was lovely and red, warm to the touch and must have burned something awful. But still the man pushed it back, as if silently begging for more. When he stopped, his hand, even though it was covered, was sore. His breathing sounded like he'd run a marathon, and his cock was literally dripping. "Come here, baby boy, Sammy wants to be sucked off." He slumped down on the couch, splaying his legs wide. His own pubes were neatly trimmed with just the faintest dusting of sandy colored hair around the base of his cock, and none on his balls. Greg turned, that time being instructed to do so, until he faced the couch. His face and chest were flushed, the muscles in his shoulders bunched with tension. His eyes fastened instantly on the swaying meat between Sammy's legs. He glanced up, their eyes locking for a long, heart-stopping moment, and then he shuffled closer. His shoulders rubbed 214
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against the inner flesh of Sammy's legs, pushing them even further apart. The damp flesh against his made his head spin. Legs lifted and draped over the man's broad shoulders, his cock tapped his face. The tip pulsed and left a trail of its stickiness on Greg's cheek, then bounced on the side of his nose. "Suck it. Don't use your hands though. Not on you, and not on me." His voice was harsh, filled with lust. The muscles in his thighs trembled, tensed, then relaxed. "Yes, sir." He breathed a small gust of warm air across Sammy's glans. Sammy's cock twitched, slapping against his lips with a soft, wet thud. Greg opened his mouth and leaned in, trapping the swollen, plum-shaped crown. Soft wetness engulfed him, and it was all he could do to keep from lunging ahead. His thighs were trembling. The soft slithering of his boy's tongue slathering around the head of his cock was almost more than he could stand. Only by biting the inside of his cheek did he manage to keep still and to keep from spewing his load. His balls churned, and when Greg sucked him in deeper, they shifted, moving in tighter to his body. He groaned, then slid his fingers through the mop of hair between his legs, clenching tight, holding the man's face where he needed it to be. He controlled the depth and the position, but had no power to stop the insistent suction or the smooth lapping of the man's tongue. Around the glans, then he flicked the tip into the slit bisecting the crown. He probed ever so gently, driving Sammy mad with lust and the need to fuck his mouth, his face. 215
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Slowly, that luscious mouth sank onto him. An inch more vanished into the man's sucking mouth, then another and with each disappearing inch; more flesh became available for the man's delicious torture. Greg lapped hungrily along the underside, his tongue slithering along the heavy vein from his balls to the flange. Finally, the tip pressed against the back of his mouth, and he gagged. The clenching of his throat was almost his undoing. Tight, hot, slickness, exquisite pressure tugged at him, threatening to drag him over the brink. "Yes," he hissed, his head falling back to lie against the sofa. He raised his knees, lifting them off Greg's shoulders, spreading himself wider. With his fingers buried in the man's hair, he pulled Greg's mouth hard against his groin. Balls pressed firmly against his stubble-rough chin, he dragged Greg's face back and forth. Come rose, churning higher, boiling up his shaft. Greg swallowed, and again his throat tightened, clenching on him. A sob from the kneeling man sent a shiver of pleasure from his cock shaft deep into his belly. Greg groaned an extraordinary hum of sheer bliss. Sammy dragged his lover's head up and down, heedless of the man's desires or needs. All he could think of was his own lust—his own undeniable need to come. The muscles in his legs clenched, his toes curled and the world vanished as the first blast of come erupted and burned its way up his shaft. He groaned as the hot nectar let fly, a ribbon of liquid fire gobbled up by his boy's eager mouth. He shuddered and sent another splash of come into Greg's mouth, and then another. When he couldn't stand the man's mouth on him any longer, 216
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he eased back, pulling his cock free. Greg tried to follow, but with both hands still wrapped in his hair, he was unable to. "Good boy." Sammy released him and quickly scooted up, taking his cock and balls out of Greg's reach. He watched the play of muscles along the man's back, the sheen of sweat making his flesh gleam in the soft light. "Lean back. Spread your legs." His voice wasn't strong; in fact he thought he sounded more fem than ever when he squeaked the words out. Greg looked up at him, lust plain on his face. He eased back on his knees. For a moment he looked confused. He licked his lips, shuddered, and then eased his knees apart. Hands, clenched, went to his knees where they rested like hard knots of rope held together to keep from touching himself, of that Sammy was sure. "Hands behind your neck," he said in a much steadier tone. "Straighten up." Greg instantly swung his hands up and clasped them behind his head. Back straightened, Sammy thought he looked like one of those gorgeous hunks in a skin mag. And, he's all mine. He was close enough that he could reach his foot out and nudge the dripping cock head with his toe. Greg moaned, but kept in position. Chest heaving, face flushed and eyes clouded with lust, he obviously wanted to come, but was too stubborn to ask. They'd played this game before, and both loved it. Sammy scooted off the couch and onto the floor. He lay on his side, close enough to Greg to smell how horny he was, but far enough away so the man couldn't rub against him. With 217
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the tip of one finger, he slid it over the drooling head of his cock. "You want something?" Dragging his finger along the shaft, he wasn't surprised to see Greg's thighs tense. "Sir, I want only to please you." He glanced up. Sammy caught his eye, the desire held at bay shone there. He continued his teasing, dragging his nail along the heavy vein until it disappeared just below the flange. Circling the crown, he smiled when it pulsed and bounced. "Whatever pleases me. Maybe I'll go to bed, to sleep." Greg groaned, but quickly bit the sound off. "Nah, methinks I've got a better idea." He slid his hand lower, his fingers going to the tight, wrinkled sac below. Caressing it, gently pulling on the jewels held within, he murmured, "Poor baby's balls are all full of come." A finger strayed back, brushing over his perineum, tapping at the dark hole nestled between those lovely muscular cheeks. "Ask me what I have in mind." "Sir. Oh god, Sammy, you're driving me insane—" The words spewed out of him. "Stop it," he said sharply. "Do as I say." Two or three deep breaths later, Greg got control of himself, then asked, "Sir, what do you have in mind for me?" "We've got all weekend. I think a butt plug would be fun to begin with." He slipped his index finger between Greg's buttocks and tapped against his clenched hole. It fluttered, clenched, as if trying to trap the intruder. "Naughty boy." Sammy chuckled. "Yes, a dildo sounds perfect." He rolled into a sitting position, his back against the sofa. "Crawl into your bedroom. The box under the bed, pull it out and find the butt 218
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plug you like the most. Bring it here. You're to crawl, so you'll have to decide how to carry it." "Yes, sir." He went to his hands and knees and headed for the bedroom. Although Sammy had just experienced a lovely climax, the vision of Greg's ass swaying as he crawled away had him twitching again. Lazily stroking himself, he sighed and thought, what a wonderful way to start the weekend. [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter Three Sammy was ready when Greg crawled back into the living room. Standing by the sofa, his cock twitched when he saw a large black butt plug sticking out of the man's mouth. The large round base he held in his mouth, gripped tightly so the eight inch long plastic toy didn't drop to the floor. "Stop," Sammy said, and was rewarded by the dark haired man's sudden halt about six feet from him. He was in the middle of the floor, on hands and knees, sweaty and horny, and Sammy was in heaven. "Spread your legs." Greg groaned, but did as he was told, easing his knees sideways, opening himself. Sammy walked around him, rubbing his cock, but without any urgency. Standing at Greg's rear, he said, "Are you lubed?" "Yes, sir," he mumbled around the base of the plug. "Excellent." He bent down and ran his hand up the inside of one of Greg's thighs. The man's cock was so hard it pressed up against his stomach. When Sammy wound his fingers around its base and slowly worked his hand down toward the glans, a droplet of pre-come oozed toward the floor. "Give me the plug." He held out his free hand and an instant later the fat black plug lay across his palm. It wasn't lubed, but he knew that if he took his time it wouldn't have to be. Kneeling behind Greg, he slid two fingers from the top of his crack down over his slightly puffy anal ring. The man had been playing. Chuckling, he ran his fingers 220
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around the soft, lube-slick puffiness. "Been messin' with your ass, boy?" After a long pause, Greg's replied, "Yes, sir," in a soft voice. "Naughty boy." He smirked and continued circling the man's anus. It fluttered, clenched then pushed open. Sammy tapped at the center, and then slowly pushed a finger inside. Not far, just enough to push a little of the lube in. He eased in a second finger, scooting as much of the lube in as he could. Then he began stretching Greg's hole. The two fingers soon became three as the muscles lost their tension, softened, flexed when he worked his fingers deeper. "Do you want it, boy?" he whispered in a soft husky voice. He continued gently thrusting his fingers in and out of the dark-haired man's widening hole. In a strangled groan, Greg managed to say, "Yes, oh god, yes. Fuck me." He pushed back, his ass meeting the palm of Sammy's hands with each forward thrust. "That's it, open for me," he murmured, feeling the inner tissue soften even more. Finally, he decided the hole was stretched enough and the lube was well spread where it needed to be. He grabbed the butt plug and rested its tip against Greg's anus, circled it, teased the man's heated flesh with the cool toy. Greg was gasping by then, and Sammy was sure that he'd have done pretty much anything to satisfy the hunger gnawing at him. "Push back. You do the work. I'll hold the plug." That was all he had to say, all the instruction Greg seemed to need. He eased himself back, the dark, elongated, cone221
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shaped plug slowly entering him. The first three inches sank into his hole easily. When the fatter part stretched him wide, he slowed and began an easy thrusting dance that forced a little more in with each backward lunge. He groaned every second or third push, and dropped his shoulders to the floor after another inch or so had disappeared inside of him. Sammy twisted the toy and reached under him. Grasping the man's cock, he masturbated him languidly, keeping pace with his thrusting. Greg groaned again, louder, from somewhere deep inside. His thighs trembled, and Sammy watched him clench his fists. The largest part of the plug popped in, and Greg's groan turned into a sigh as the rest of the black toy sank into him. It was as if the man's ass gulped it down, stopped only when the wide flange halted its descent. Sammy tapped the center of the flange and chuckled when Greg wriggled his hips. Hand still on his cock, Sammy deftly stroked him while his body grew accustomed to the anal intruder. He watched him carefully, gauging. When he noticed Greg's ass clenching, and his hips twisting, he knew he could pull the plug partially out, stretching his rectum. The soft groan became a song, rising and waning as Sammy twisted and turned the plug. He pulled it toward himself, watching Greg's anus strain to accommodate the girth of the toy. He continued to torment his boy, his luscious man, until he heard sobbing. He looked at the wall clock and realized he'd been teasing the poor man for hours. It was well past one in the morning. 222
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No wonder he was sobbing. If it was he being teased, he figured he'd be screaming blue murder or begging to come. He tapped the base of the plug one more time, and smiled when Greg shuddered. "Time for bed." The words got the reaction he'd hoped for. The muscles in Greg's ass tensed, his head spun around and he looked back at him, wide-eyed and his mouth agape. Sammy slapped him on the ass, then climbed to his feet, the tube of lubricant in one hand. "Come on, boy," he said cheerfully. Turning, he headed for Greg's bedroom. Behind him, he heard a soft groan followed by the sounds of knees and hands on the floor, crawling after him. He put the lube away in the nightstand drawer, and climbed into Greg's huge king-sized bed. The soft navy blue sheets were cool against his skin, but they would warm quickly. He snuggled down, pulling the covers up to his waist, and waited. A moment later, Greg entered. On his hands and knees, he crawled to the bed, then he clambered up onto it. He knelt, possibly unsure if he was to join Sammy or not. Sammy held open his arms. "Come on, snuggle with me," he urged the horny man. "Yes, sir," Greg replied, and scooted forward. Sammy lifted the covers and pulled Greg close when he'd slid under them. Reaching back, he found the light switch and turned it off. His less than masculine chest pressed against Greg's firm pecs. Belly to belly, thighs wrapped around thighs, his softened cock pressed against Greg's throbbing, most likely aching, length. He leaned forward and pressed his 223
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lips to Greg's, tonguing the slit between them, easing inside where he tasted hot breath and the subtle hint of coffee he must have drunk earlier. He slid his tongue over Greg's teeth, batted at his tongue with his own, urging him to respond. It didn't take long before their tongues entwined, thrust and parried, while they both gasped for breath. Warm moist air brushed against his face, exhalations of the man who lay against him. When both were breathless, Sammy pulled his lips away, and looked deep into Greg's eyes. He saw passion; lust unfulfilled threatening to burst free. But he also saw something else: a haunted look that tormented him. He knew Greg was still in mourning, but somehow he felt there was more to it than that. They were both exhausted. It was too late to get into a long discussion, so he pulled away, rolling Greg over. Spooning against the larger man's back, he reached around and gently stroked his chest, his stomach, wherever he could reach except his cock. "I know something's bothering you. I see it in your eyes." He kissed Greg's back and pressed his face against the sweat damp skin. "I also know you're hornier than a two peckered owl, but tonight, you'll have to go without. I want to find out what's going on with you. Tomorrow, we talk." For a long time there was silence. Sammy waited, patiently, the heat of their combined bodies warming his belly and thighs. Finally, Greg spoke. "Thank you, Sammy. You always seem to know just the right thing to say and do." His voice caught and Sammy felt him tense in his arms. A moment later, he heard a soft sobbing. 224
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Pulling him even closer, he continued stroking him and kissing his back, trying to sooth away the pain that obviously tormented him. In time, the shuddering tears stopped, but Sammy kept on stroking him. "Sleep now, boy." He kissed him one more time at the nape of his neck and nuzzled against him, inhaling the male scent of him. Even though his voice didn't come out as firm and masculine as he sometimes wished it would, Greg's grunting assent made him smile. Surprisingly, it didn't take long for Greg to relax against him. A few minutes longer and soft snores reached his ears. Then he let himself go. Moments later, he drifted to sleep. **** A shaft of sunlight streaming through the curtains shone on his eyelids, dragging him from sleep. One arm was still draped over Greg's body, the other he'd pushed under his pillow. Greg slept. His gentle snoring and the easy breathing told Sammy he was asleep. Carefully, he slid his arm out from under the pillow and then wiggled away from the sleeping man. Flinging the covers aside, he climbed to his feet and headed for the bathroom, his morning erection leading the way. He stretched and yawned, then pushed his cock downward, aiming it at the rim of the bowl, waiting for the flow to begin. He softened, and pissed. Flushing, he went to the shower and turned on the taps. He thought of Greg's eyes last night and how haunted they'd 225
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seemed. He thought he knew what the problem was, but wanted to hear it in the man's own words. Water temperature right, he climbed in and pulled the curtain closed. He scrubbed and remembered their evening of play, and got horny thinking about it. Greg hadn't come. He'd be desperate soon. Poor boy, Sammy thought, and smiled. His own cock firmed up in his hand, rising to its full length. He massaged it, but let go long before an orgasm grew near. He wanted to get back to Greg. Rinsing off, he pulled back the curtain and grabbed for a towel. He scrubbed at his hair, spiked it, then dragged the soft towel over himself quickly. Tossing the damp towel in the hamper, he quickly brushed his teeth and headed back into the bedroom. Glancing at the bedside clock, he was shocked to see that it was nearly noon. Greg still lay sleeping. As Sammy climbed into the bed behind him, he stirred and groaned. Sensing his lover's imminent awakening, Sammy eased himself closer, his belly to Greg's back, and wrapped his arms around the man. "Good morning, sleepy head," he whispered into Greg's ear. Greg twisted in his arms, facing him, and slid his arms around him. "Good morning, Sammy." He leaned in and their lips touched, softly, tentatively, as if sharing a first kiss. Rough, unshaven chins rubbed against each other as the kiss deepened. Tongues batted at each other, fought, and danced, heads turned, breathing deepened, until Sammy slid his fingers through Greg's thick mane of hair and pulled him back. He gazed into the man's eyes, seeing that same look, that pain that never seemed to leave the man. 226
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Greg squirmed. "Hey, I better go pee before I wet the bed." Sammy laughed, and said, "Maybe I'll just hang on and we'll try wet sex." Greg blinked, surprised, but then was released. He darted out of the bed and into the bathroom. It wasn't long before he heard the hard flow of him pissing. It seemed to take a very long time for him to finish. Water ran in the sink, the sound of him brushing his teeth and then splashing water, presumably on his face. Then he was on his way back, his erection again in full bloom and leading the way. "Nice," said Sammy, nodding at the hard length of flesh pointing his way. Greg waggled his hips, sending his cock swaying, slapping against his thighs. "It's from last night. You do remember leaving me high and dry, right?" Sammy held the bedclothes up, offering a place for Greg to join him. "Li'l ole' me?" he feigned innocence. Greg laughed. Sliding under the covers, he pulled Sammy close and whispered, "Yes you, my lord, and flaming gay master." "Flaming gay," he cried in mock outrage, his wrist held limply, his eyes wide in shock. It was too much, and he broke out laughing. "All right, I'm just a tad flamboyant. But," he let his voice rise to a more feminine lilt, "you have to admit, I do look good in purple and pink." Batting his eyes, he pushed the covers back and ran his free hand over Greg's backside.
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"Yeah, you look good in it, and aren't afraid to let everyone know you're gay." He pushed his hard on into Sammy's belly, perhaps hoping he'd find some kind of relief soon. Sammy grabbed hold of Greg's cock, roughly stroking its length. The dark-haired man groaned and eagerly thrust into his fist. His shaft pulsed, and within moments pre-come oozed over Sammy's hand, providing lube for his teasing masturbation. He quickened the stroke, feeling the man's ass tense. When the cock swelled in his fist, he slowed his pace, and barely moved the tight skin covering his cock. Greg moaned, and then he growled. He flexed his hips, pushing his cock all the way through the ring Sammy had formed with his fingers. Warm tight balls pressed against his hand, the crinkled skin hot. "Please, let me come." His voice was desperate. "Beg me," Sammy tightened his hold, stopping him from any further stimulation. "Sir," Greg cried, urgently, "please, I beg you, let me come." "But, I wanted to talk." "Sir, please, sir. We will. I promise. Whatever you want. Please, Sir. Let me come now." His hips moved, whether consciously or automatically, didn't matter. "Be still." Sammy hardened his voice and tightened his hand as much as he could. Greg froze, but couldn't seem to stop the soft keening sound coming from deep inside. "Good boy," Sammy's voice took on that special tone to show Greg he meant business. "Ask me nicely." 228
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Greg took a deep shuddering breath and looked into his eyes. "Please, sir, let me come for you. I'm desperate to come, if you allow me to. Please." Sammy smiled and resumed stroking him, lightly, delicately, then more urgently. Relentlessly, he took the man closer to orgasm. Greg struggled against his hand, trying to wait for his permission. Finally, when the cock he held pulsed and swelled, he said, "Come, now." Commanded, released, the man lunged forward, sending a long spume of white come flying. The first landed on his chest, the second beside it. After that, the pulses diminished, sending the gobs onto his stomach and then simply oozing from the slit. Sammy urged the last of his orgasm from him, milking him as he lay gasping and twitching. "Good boy," he said, and leaned forward to slide his tongue through a large pool of come. "Mm, nice." He released his cock and licked the back of his hand, savoring the thick spunk coating his knuckles. "Go shower now, and then we talk." Greg blinked, and nodded. He took a few moments to regain his breath, removed the plug, and then headed for the bathroom. [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter Four By the time Greg came out of the shower, Sammy was dressed in a pair of brilliant white slacks that hugged his ass very tightly, and a pink satin shirt. A pair of leather sandals completed his outfit. All he had to do then was wash his hands, and he'd be ready for the day ahead. "Get yourself dressed, baby. We'll do brunch on the beach." He sashayed past Greg into the bathroom, where he quickly washed and checked his hair. Spiked, the blonde tips almost white in the glare of the sun, he was satisfied. Greg joined him, his own attire much more traditional; jeans, a white t-shirt and socks. "Move over." He nudged Sammy with a swing of his hips and took his place on one side of the vanity. He grabbed his shave cream and squirted some into the palm of his hand, looked at Sammy and squirted a little more. He smiled and faced him, then scooped a little of the foam up with his fingertips. Gently, he worked the foam into Sammy's 'beard'. He didn't have much of one, so it didn't take long. Then he used the rest on his own more bristly face. Passing over a disposable razor, he took one for himself, and both men quickly scraped the hair off their faces. Sammy was done first, and had rinsed off before Greg was done. Drying himself, he watched his lover carefully, and realized how much he wanted to spend more time with him, a lot more. The play of muscles along his back, the soft whispering 230
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'brr' of the blade scraping over the man's face, it all felt so real, so right, he wanted it to last. Greg rinsed his face and reached for the towel he still held. Sammy tightened his grip, just for a second or so, and then released it. "The Foreshore sound all right?" he asked, remembering how they'd liked the food there that last time they'd visited. The owner was one of Cyn's customers too, and that wouldn't hurt. "Yeah, sounds perfect." Greg folded the towel and hung it over the rack. Each grabbed their wallets and Greg his shoes as they headed out the door. Greg locked the door, and Sammy reached for his hand. They walked in silence to the Foreshore, which was only about a mile away. The sun warmed them; the air was thick with the smell of spring flowers and the ocean only a couple of blocks away. Sammy was deep in thought, wondering how he'd get Greg to open up. He knew the man felt guilty about his wife's death, no matter what he or the doctors told him. She'd lived longer than they'd given her, and it was her time. No amount of drugs or radiation could have helped. He'd just have to get Greg to understand that. The Foreshore came into view, its rustic brick exterior blended into the background of evergreen trees, large ornamental shrubs and to the left, the brilliant blue of the ocean. Still hand in hand, the approached the dark oak entrance way doors. ****
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Once they'd been seated, and both ordered coffee and omelets, Sammy reached across the table for Greg's hands again. "Okay, I said we'd talk today, we might as well do it now. Or at least get started." He kept his voice low, his face calm, and hoped Greg wouldn't balk. He didn't say anything for the longest time, simply sat looking at the ocean through the enormous picture window. That dreadful haunted look darkened his handsome face. Suddenly, just as he was about to say something else to nudge him, Greg said, "I miss her so much, Sammy!" He turned and looked directly into his eyes. "It's not fair. We had so many plans. Kids..." His eyes lost their focus and Sammy was sure his thoughts drifted to the children that would never be, and the love he missed. "The pain will fade, Greg, I promise," Sammy went into his hospice mode. He knew the right things to say, but it was different this time. He cared for Greg, cared a great deal and placating him with the mundane truths of what he'd go through just didn't sit well with him. "I can't know what you had with Jean, but it must have been amazing." Greg raised his head and focused on him. "Yes, she was amazing." He choked back a sob, and then added, "And I let her down. I should—" "You didn't let her down," he interrupted. He knew Greg blamed himself for too much, and wanted to get him past that belief. "She loved you. She worried that you'd take on blame that wasn't yours. It was the cancer that killed her, not anything you did or didn't do." 232
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"But I should have been there!" he cried, a little louder than necessary. Sammy looked around, making sure there wasn't anyone too close, then replied levelly, "Greg, you were there. You spent every spare moment with her that you could. You work on the other side of town from the hospice but you were there every night with her." "But—" Tears streamed down his face. Sammy squeezed his large hands between his much more delicate ones, interrupting again. "But nothing. You couldn't have done anything to prolong her life. Not one damn thing." Just then, a middle-aged waitress approached with their meals and coffee. Both men pulled their hands back and waited while the dark haired woman set their plates in front of them and then poured them each coffee from her large, white carafe. The smell of eggs and cheese was heaven. "Will there be anything else?" the woman asked, dropping a handful of little sealed tubs of cream in the middle of the table. "Sugar's in the bowl." She nodded to the side of the table. "No, that's it, thanks," replied Sammy, reaching for his cup. He sipped at the steaming black liquid and watched the woman nod before turning away. "Sammy, it's easy to say I did all I could. But—I—I was with you so much of the time. I should have been with her." He bit his lip, obviously to keep from saying something he'd regret. "You think she'd have wanted you to sit watching her sleep?" 233
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"I should have been with her, not you! I hate that I missed those hours of being with her. I hate that I had to make that choice." Sammy was silent for a moment, thoughtful. "Greg, baby, she would have wanted you to be with the living." "I know! But I feel like I deserted her when she needed me the most." "I know baby. I know. I promise, it will get easier and I'll be here to help." "I don't want it easier. I want to remember every second we had together." Sullenly, he slid forward in his chair and gazed out at the ocean. "I want her back, Sammy. And I know that's never going to happen, but that's what I want." "Yeah, I know that, too. You'd give anything to have her back. I know." "We had so many plans. She was just getting started in her business. She was an interior designer. Her designs had been published in Woman's Monthly, twice. She was due to be interviewed by some big international magazine. It's just not fair." He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the ocean. "Life isn't fair." He took another sip of coffee. "Eat something." Greg looked as if he was going to snarl at him, but instead he took a deep breath and sat up straight. "Thanks Sammy. I don't know anyone else who'd listen to me rant like you do." He reached for his fork and cut into his omelet. Stabbing a large portion of egg mixed with stringy cheese, he pushed it into his mouth. 234
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"Don't think anything of it. I care for you. You must know that." Mouth full, he mumbled, "Yeah, I know." "Let's eat and get out of here," he suggested, getting busy with his own knife and fork. They ate in silence; the only sounds were the scraping of cutlery against china and the occasional request for salt or pepper. When they were finished, Sammy asked for more coffee. Each of them seemed deep in their own thoughts. He wondered how he'd get Greg past that feeling of betraying Jean. He watched Greg, thinking of how he looked when he was on the verge of coming. Remembered how he looked asleep, his face relaxed, and his hair askew. Blue eyes peered back at him, winked and a smile touched the handsome face. "Let's go walk the beach for awhile. I feel like I need to air out or get rid of some cobwebs." "Sounds perfect." Sammy smiled back at him and rose. "Come on." **** The beach in front of the Foreshore was all sand and wind, and best of all, deserted; just what the doctor ordered. Standing just under the trees, they gazed out across the beach and listened to the waves washing over the shore for several minutes before heading down. "Why don't you take off your shoes," Sammy said when he noticed Greg's feet sinking into the sand. "Good idea." He toed his shoes off and stuffed his socks into the toes. 235
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Sammy slid out of his sandals and dangled them from his fingers. Holding out his hand, he pulled Greg to his feet and the two continued toward the water, hand in hand. To their right, the tree-lined beach stretched for miles of unpopulated sand and waves. To the left, he saw houses built right down to the tide line, and the odd person wandering the shore. He urged Greg to the right, and they walked. "We can almost make it back to my place this way," Greg said. It seemed that by mutual agreement they'd dropped the subject of why he felt so disgruntled. Missing Jean, and the guilt he felt for not being with her more, were things he'd have to deal with. Sammy just hoped he'd be able to, and soon. The wind tore at them. The gulls squawked when they got too close, and flew overhead. After some time, Sammy realized they were both continually looking up at them, and finally asked, "You think they'll bomb us for disturbing them?" Greg laughed, a tentative, hesitant sound, and replied, "Maybe. You're a better target though, bright colors and all." Sammy gave him a dour look and then laughed. "Smart ass." "Come on, we're almost there." He tightened his grip on Sammy's hand and took off at a trot. Sammy yipped, his high-pitched squeak lost in the wind, and hurried to keep pace with his much more athletic lover. The sand seemed to suck at his feet, and he stumbled often. Only the firm hold Greg had on his hand kept him going. 236
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When they reached the evergreens, he was nearly breathless and yelled, feebly, "Hey! You tryin' to kill me?" Coming to a stop, Greg looked over his shoulder and beamed. "You are so out of shape." Gasping, all he could manage was, "Bite me." "Love to. Bend over baby." "Bugger!" "Yeah, that too." Still barely able to breathe, Sammy couldn't hold back the laughter. Releasing Greg's hand, he bent forward, dropped his shoes, and laughed. He wound up sitting in the sand, snorting with amusement. His lover joined him, sitting beside him in the warm sand, and laughed. Minutes later, they stopped. Sammy was still gasping, but it was good to have Greg laugh. He didn't do it nearly often enough. Sea-blue eyes peered into his. "Come on. At this rate it'll be dark by the time we get home." "That wouldn't be so bad. You look amazing by candle light." Greg blushed. No doubt he was thinking of the last time they'd been together in candle light. Sammy had been training him to suck a cock all the way to the root. He'd gagged outrageously, but had finally managed to take his dick all the way down. The climax had been spectacular. Sammy chuckled again, and added, "I've got something different in mind for tonight." Greg cocked his head, and asked, "You do? What, if I may ask?" 237
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"Oh, you'll see, my pretty boy." The blush deepened and he climbed to his feet, obviously eager to be on his way. "It's never boring with you, I'll say that." He released Sammy's hand and dropped his shoes to the ground. The sand had turned to gravel and both men slipped into their footwear. "No, never boring. At least I hope not." They walked the sidewalk in silence the rest of the way. There were very few people around, and that surprised him. When he saw the signpost to Greg's street, he reached for his hand. It never failed to make him shiver: his smaller, delicately boned hand against the large, well-muscled hand of his lover. They crossed the road and entered the driveway, skirting the one lone lilac bush on the way to the front door. His heartbeat picked up its pace. **** Sammy entered first, pushing the door wide and kicking off his shoes before going deeper into the living room. The single chair looked inviting, but that was not what he had in mind. He turned to face Greg, just in time to see him drop to the floor and begin struggling out of his clothing. Shoes followed by socks, and then he leaned back to unfasten his jeans. The shirttails hauled out of his jeans, buttons unfastened then the shirt folded roughly before being placed on his shoes. Jeans followed, were folded and laid on his shirt. Before he slid out of his shorts, he looked up at Sammy, his brilliant, sea-blue eyes beacons drawing his gaze directly to them, and holding it. Sun-kissed flesh begged to be 238
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touched, the heat radiating outward. His tight white underpants tented in the front. The outline of his cock made Sammy's mouth water. He clenched his fists to keep from going for the man's balls. The soft plumpness looked huge beneath his stiff cock, the material stretched tight. "Them, too." Sammy raised his hand and limp wristed, pointed at the last covering. "Yes, sir." Greg smiled and pushed his shorts down, wriggling out of them. His prick waved then got trapped between his thigh and belly as he slid his shorts down then off. Tossing them onto the pile of clothes, he got onto his knees and assumed the position: back straight, hands behind his back and his knees spread wide, he presented himself. Sammy held his groan in. The man was truly gorgeous. Well muscled, tanned, except for the strip of white around his middle, and the mop of dark hair made to run your fingers through, and grab. "Horny, aren't you?" He asked, referring to the erection thrusting form his middle. "Yes, sir," Greg replied, lowering his eyes. His cock pulsed. "Good." He turned away, adjusted his own rapidly growing prick to a more comfortable position, then went down the hall. The storage room door was at the end, and inside was the apparatus he was looking for. The horse, or that's what he called it. Very much like a carpenters saw horse, it was taller, and had a padded top. The legs had been sanded, and each had two sets of leather straps, one at the bottom, the other at about the half-way point. It sat on castors. He wheeled it into Greg's bedroom, positioned it in front of the window on the hardwood floor, and locked the castors. 239
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Done, he wiped his hands on his slacks and returned to the living room. There knelt his boy, his lovely dark haired lover, eager and horny. "Get to the bedroom and wait for me. Kneel on the bed." "Yes, sir." Greg dropped to his hands and crawled toward his bedroom, with Sammy right behind him. And what a lovely view that was. Again, Sammy rubbed the front of his slacks, pressing his palm against his prick. He shuddered. Passing Greg, he went to his box of toys under the bed and retrieved his favorite flogger. Twelve inches long with a shocking pink dyed leather handle, he slapped it against his thigh. Yes, that would do nicely. Nestled among the toys was a small bag he'd specifically packed with lube and small toys. Smiling, he grabbed that, too. [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter Five Greg climbed up onto the bed, and knelt at the foot. His back was extremely straight, his hands clasped behind his back at the top of his ass cheeks, and his knees very wide spaced. He couldn't have done it better. "Hands behind your head, please," Sammy instructed and waited the few seconds it took for Greg to comply. He made his way to the side of the bed. His cock rubbed deliciously against his shorts, the wet spot sliding over the head. He shucked his shirt and then his slacks quickly, wanting to feel the naked flesh of the man on the bed presenting himself so beautifully for him. Clothing tossed helter-skelter, he reached for Greg's flank, caressing the warm flesh. The leather strips of the flogger tapped his leg while he slid his fingers up and down the taut flesh of his side, then moved around to the sturdy mounds of his ass. Muscles clenched when his fingers slipped along the crease, trapping or trying to elude his touch, he wasn't sure and didn't ask. Instead, he gave him a harsh slap to the nearest buttock and in his most surly voice demanded, "To the horse, boy." Greg lunged from the bed, but didn't rise to his feet, well taught to remain kneeling whenever possible, unless otherwise told. He clambered to the horse, and then draped himself over its length, belly along the soft leather top, genitals left to dangle, his thighs and arms pressed against the wooden legs. 241
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Sammy swished his way over to where he could reach Greg's mouth, and thrust the pink leather handle between the big man's teeth. "Don't drop it," he said in a husky voice while his hands went to the cuffs at his elbows. It only took a few moments to secure both his arms and legs at the ankle and knee. As he buckled him down, Sammy's cock pressed harder against his under shorts. He wasn't quite ready to strip. Part of his pleasure was being fully dressed while Greg was naked. Just making him strip gave him a rush. The power of controlling such a big, beautiful man took his breath, and made his cock as hard as stone. He rubbed it through his slacks, then stepped in front of Greg so he too could see how horny he was. "Look what you do to me," he said. Pushing his fingers through Greg's hair, he lifted his face so he couldn't look anywhere but at his crotch. "Yes, sir," Greg mumbled around the leather handle. His face was red, and would no doubt get redder as Sammy's plans went into action. He pulled the flogger from his mouth and Greg immediately asked, "May I kiss it?" The request surprised Sammy, but he leaned in and pressed Greg's mouth to the soft material covering his cock. Through the cloth, he was sure he felt heat from his exhalation, and sighed in appreciation. Releasing his hold on Greg's hair, he stroked the soft mane as he reveled in the sensual feel of his lover's mouth and breath. Moments later he pulled away, sure he'd have to wash his slacks before he wore them again. 242
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"Time for some fun." He returned placed the flogger across Greg's back, positioning it so it wouldn't easily fall. "Now, try not to wriggle too much or the flogger will fall." Stepping to the man's rear, he admired the view. Narrow hips, tautfleshed, muscular ass, a well formed sack dangling beneath, and well tanned legs like pillars supporting him. Beautiful. "Yes, sir," came his instant reply. He clenched his buttocks, then relaxed, as if readying himself for what was coming. Sammy hoped to surprise him though, and instead of taking up the flogger, he reached into the small bag he still held. Inside he found the tube of lube and pulled it out first. He filled the palm of his right hand with a dollop of lube. Rubbing his hands together, he coated them with the lube as well as warming it. Without another word, he slid one hand up Greg's inner thigh while cupping his erection with the other. The lube made his flesh slick, and as he ran his hand up the inside of his leg, he spread it around and over as much area as he could. When he felt it drag, he pulled his hand away and added more. Touching, teasing, he spread the lube over Greg's ass and between his cheeks, anointing the crinkled rosebud, gently pressing his index finger in to the first knuckle. His balls, cupped and caressed, the bristly hair slicked down with clear goo, his cock smeared from base to tip, again and again, with feather light touches. The cheeks of his ass, their taut expanse smoothed and soothed with yet more of the lube. He tossed the tube onto the bed and went to work. Massaging the well-muscled cheeks of Greg's ass, he worked 243
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on easing them apart as much as he could. He slid the tips of his fingers along his crease, and smiled when his anus clenched, winking at him. Cupping the crinkled skin of his balls, he juggled them carefully in the palm of one hand, while slowly masturbating him with the other. His butt clenched and relaxed to the gentle stroking of his hand. Inner thigh, glistening with lube, shone as the play of muscles flexed and relaxed, as he tried thrusting. Sammy tormented him mercilessly, gauging his lust, slowing down just before he came, then speeding up when he deigned it safe to do so. Pre-come joined the lube, making his shaft even slicker. He twirled his fist around the head until he heard a soft mewling sound coming from his boy. He tugged on his balls, drawing the walnut sized orbs first down the back toward himself. "Oh, god," moaned Greg, the desperation of two days of frustrating torment finally taking its toll. His hips jerked, spastically. His muscles trembled, and his anus clutched at the air. "What a lovely sight you are, my sweet boy," cooed Sammy, his fingers circling the tight, dark rose fluttering between his slick cheeks. He pressed the tip of his index finger against the center of Greg's anus, easing the digit in, but only to the first knuckle. Warmth surrounded his finger, clutching at it, trying to draw it deeper. He gently eased it out, leaving just the ball touching him. He felt it flutter, grasping, sucking at him. He circled again, the puffy outer ring softening under his caress. 244
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His other hand wasn't idle. With a soft grip on his cock head, he twisted it one way and then the other, polishing it. Like wet silk, the head slid against his palm effortlessly. He ignored the shaft, knowing that if he kept stroking it, Greg would come no matter how he tried to prevent it. "Sammy, sir, please," Greg moaned. His fists were clenched, his toes curled, and sweat dripped from him onto the hardwood floor. Sammy grinned, and slowly eased his finger into the clenching rosebud. Knuckle deep, he twisted it, then pulled it out. Twirling it around his anus, he collected up as much of the lube as he could, then eased it back inside. He continued this torment, adding more lube every two or three thrusts, and never going further than the first knuckle. "Please what, my sweet boy?" Sammy asked in his singsong voice. Before Greg could reply, he sank his finger to the hilt in his clutching rectum. The poor man couldn't have formed a coherent thought if he'd been paid, Sammy was sure. He did manage to create some amazing noises, guttural, earthy, just the kind he loved to hear. He turned his hand, pressing his finger toward Greg's belly button. There it was, his prostate, that hard nut of pleasure that he knew would drive the man crazy. He pressed his finger against it, mashing it and chuckled when the man's cock head pulsed in his other hand. "You're not answering me," he chided. Another healthy jab at his prostate silenced any possibility of an understandable response and another throb. He stroked the hard nut, all the while polishing the slick crown in his other. He watched as 245
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Greg's nuts rose, tightened against his body, leaving only the crinkled sac for his pleasure. "Please what?" "Oh god, oh god!" he chanted, apparently unable to vocalize more. Sammy chuckled again, and continued jabbing at Greg's prostate. He altered his hold on the man's cock head, gently running his fingernail along the slit: back and forth, then around the circumference, varying the pressure and the speed as he went. When he sensed that he'd taken Greg nearly as close to climax without actually letting him fly, he pulled his hands free. He immediately went to the bathroom and washed his hands. Then, he stripped. His plan was coming together, and he wanted as much freedom as he could get. Besides, his boy was free, but he was not. That just didn't seem right. Returning to the bedroom, he smiled when he saw how Greg was squirming, trying to rub his cock against something. He retrieved the flogger from its place on Greg's back and flicked it. "For refusing to answer me, five strokes." Shuffling to the side, he gauged the distance and without another word, he swung. The leather strands whirred through the air, the only warning of what was to come. When the multiple strips connected, Greg's head flew back and his back arched against the sudden pain. Sammy's strength wasn't great, he knew that, but it was enough to make the flogger sting. Long slender welts appeared across both cheeks from that first stroke. He didn't stop but swung backhand, aiming for the same spot. Another yip and new pink lines sprang to life as the flogger struck. 246
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Greg gritted his teeth. His body tensed against the sharp bite of the leather strands. Three, four and five struck, the sound echoing off the walls and each sending his hips slamming forward. Done, he lowered the flogger to his side and reached for Greg's ass with his free hand. Hot flesh met his. Welts raised and were like tiny snakes writhing against his fingertips. With the flat of his hand, he massaged the hot cheeks, working the heat and pain in. "Care to answer me now?" he asked, his hand moving from the warmth of his ass down the seam between his cheeks. Touching his back passage, he circled it, then again twisted his finger inside. He fucked him with it, long drawn out insertions followed by equally slow withdrawals. The flat of his palm smacked his ass, hard enough to bring a yelp from Greg. "Yes, sir, please, fuck me." Each word fired out hard, desperate. "Fuck you! But do you deserve it?" "Please, sir. Yes, please, anything. Please. I need to come. Please." "You need nothing except what I give you." Sammy corrected, although he had to agree. A long strand of precome dangled from Greg's rock hard cock. Untouched, it pulsed and swung beneath him, tapping at the horse's underside. "Sir, yes. I know. Nothing but what you decide. Please, sir. May I come?" Gasping out the words, Greg's muscles tensed, as if by will alone he could encourage the right response. 247
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Sammy stepped closer. The tip of his cock brushed the back of Greg's thigh. A rush, like an electric shock made him groan. He wrapped his slick hand around the shaft of his cock and dragged it across the warm fleshed thigh. His balls tightened and he knew if he kept it up too long, he'd be the one to lose control. His thighs trembled as he slid his cock down, then up, the crease of his ass. He found the soft rosebud and gently pushed ahead. He didn't enter, but he did spread the man's hole, which he clenched, tugging at the head of his cock. He gasped, but held still. "Beg for it," he managed to say. "Sir, please fuck me. Oh my god, fuck me. I'll make it good for you." The desperation in Greg's voice was sweet music to his ears. He eased forward just enough for the head of his cock to pop inside the warm dampness of his hole. Both men gasped. Sammy took hold of Greg's hips and refused to allow him to push back. Sweet agony ensued. The gentle clutching of the man's anus around his cock head made him pulse. His gyrations became more desperate, more difficult to control, but control them he did. His balls tightened, and he dragged up thoughts of anything dull to keep from shooting. "Please, Sammy, dear god man, fuck me. This is driving me crazy," came the desperate, gruff plea he'd hoped to hear. Eyes fixed on their joining, Sammy replied, "You beg so nicely. I love a needy man. You'd do pretty much anything now, wouldn't you?" 248
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"Damn you!" Greg cried and strained to push himself back onto Sammy's cock. Holding tight for several thundering heartbeats, Sammy finally relented and allowed his cock to sink slowly into Greg's anus. Gritting his teeth, he fought to keep from just slamming into the man's hot, clutching hole. He tightened the hold on his hips and much too soon his pubes pressed flat against the still, hot ass. He held still, reveling in the snug fit. He wriggled his own bottom, but had to stop a moment later when he felt his control slip. "Damn me?" he chuckled when he could take a deep breath. Greg glanced back at him, smiling. "Bastard. You're killing me." Sammy withdrew, leaving just the tip inside. "Damn me?" "No, Sammy, please!" Greg wriggled his ass, obviously trying to urge him to keep going. "Please..." Relenting, he eased himself forward and began that slow build-up they both loved. Greg was stretched, but he took care not to hurt him. Minutes of careful stroking, and only then did he increase his speed. From the slow easy swing of his hips, to slamming his hips against the beautiful ass before him, Sammy rutted like the two-backed beast they were. The slapping of flesh on flesh echoed around him. His breath came in short sharp gasps, his pleasure soaring. Time stood still, and all there was was the sheer bliss of his cock and Greg's ass. His hands on the man's hips. The harsh breathing coming from them both. That urgency, that breathless ache, his balls churning, he cried out and then he exploded into a million 249
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pieces. He slammed ahead. Hips slapped butt, and another fiery stream of come erupted from him, sent deep into Greg's bowels. From somewhere he heard a scream. The roar of some animal nearby. Eyes focused, his world returned and he became aware of Greg's voice, his roar of triumph as he too spewed his come, shuddering with bliss at each pulsing ejaculation, the throaty gasp, "Yes, fuck yes." Sweat covered him. It didn't matter. He laid forward, his belly on Greg's back, the last pulses of his climax answered by the clenching of his ass. Cheek to muscular back, he took a deep, shuddering breath. "Damn!" He eased out of Greg and quickly pressed his palm against the distended anal ring. It pulsed and clenched, shrinking with each heartbeat. Releasing Greg took only a few minutes. It took nearly as long for the man to find the strength to rise. In that time, Sammy went to the bathroom, returning with a damp towel. He lovingly wiped the lube from Greg's ass and thighs. Tossing the towel into the hamper, he helped his lover to the bed. Snuggled in each other's arms, he asked, "Are you all right?" Silence for a moment made him wonder if he'd taken it too far. Finally, Greg answered, "Yeah, I'm fine. That was damn intense, though." "Yes, it was." They laid in silence for a moment, and then Greg said, "I love you, Sammy." He shifted until he could look into 250
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Sammy's eyes and then went on. "I hated knowing I loved you at first. Jean needed me. I needed you." Sammy tried to pull him close, but he held his ground. "I've been trying to find the right time and the right words to say this. When Jean was alive, I felt that I should spend all my time with her. She needed me so much, and I loved her with all my heart. I betrayed her though. I fell in love with you." Tears streamed from his eyes, but he ignored them. "She died, and I should have been there. I knew she wasn't going to last long. I knew she needed me. And I loved her. I loved her so much." "Greg, it's all right," Sammy said in a soft voice. He stroked the man's hair and hugged him as close as he could. This was it. This was why Greg had been so quiet and haunted. He felt guilty for falling in love while Jean had still been alive. "You can't order the right time to fall in love. Jean was unconscious. She wouldn't have known if you were there. For the last two weeks of her life, she wasn't aware of anything but the drugs. Honestly, you didn't take anything away from your love for her." Greg pulled away and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Elbows on knees, he lowered his head into his hands. "I betrayed her. I was with you." Sammy scampered around to sit beside the weeping man and once more put his arms around him. "You didn't betray anyone. Don't you think she'd have wanted you to be happy?" He took Greg's chin in his hand and forced his face up, his eyes to focus on his. "She was so worried that you'd be alone. We used to talk about that when I first took her case. She 251
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knew you better than you know yourself. You're not the kind of man who does well by himself. She worried you'd bury yourself in grief. I think she'd be very happy that you found someone." "But—" "But nothing," he interrupted. Leaning forward, he kissed the tears from those blue upon blue eyes. "I love you, Greg Jackson. And, I was so afraid you'd never be able to say those words to me." Blinking back his tears, Greg looked as if he was going to deny what he'd said. He didn't though. He cleared his throat and said, "I do love you, Sammy. I can't believe how lucky I am. First Jean, the only woman I've ever been able to love. And now you." "Yeah, now me. The flaming gay in the purple suit." Greg chuckled, a soft uneasy laugh that he couldn't keep up for long. "Yeah, I love you. Flaming gay and all, Sir." [Back to Table of Contents]
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Continuing Education by D. Musgrave [Back to Table of Contents]
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Also by D. Musgrave Blood Creek Haunting "The War Within" from 413 Remembrance Lane [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter One Stephanie pulled to a stop at the flashing red street light. It was the only traffic light in town and was the hub of activity for Birch Grove. She loved the feeling of connectedness, living in a small town. The only real drawback was the limited choices that Birch Grove provided—not only in shopping, but in companionship. Still, it was more relaxed, more comfortable, than her years in Chicago. It also helped that the number of students in her English classes were smaller. She had more time to spend with each student and could make a larger impact on the kids' lives. Driving through the intersection, she glanced in her rearview mirror. What she saw nearly caused her to veer into the parallel-parked cars lining the street. Steering back into her lane, she glanced in the mirror again. This time she was sure. There was only one car like that in the area—Nicolas Adamson's. Nicolas was the most talented student she'd ever had. Despite his rough edges and boyish reluctance to let his friends see his writing abilities, she saw through his insecure machismo. She'd managed to break through his façade and helped him flourish as a senior in high school. His talent had earned him a full scholarship to St. Louis University, based solely on his writing portfolio. It'd been four years since she'd seen the black 1970 Chevelle. In that time, Stephanie had managed to convince herself that her attraction to Nicolas Adamson was purely 255
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academic. Seeing that hot rod in her mirror brought back all those fantasies she'd pushed away. She couldn't see his face through the glare on his windshield. Still, she imagined how he must have changed in the time he'd been away at college. Repeatedly glancing from the road to her mirror, she felt the familiar tingle between her legs. It made her thighs shake and nearly caused her to mash the gas pedal to the floor. Never once had thoughts of any other man produced such an effect. There had been men, for sure. Many who were willing to give up everything for her. She always came to the same conclusion—if she didn't feel it, it wasn't going to last. Another intersection came up and Stephanie slowed to a stop. There was no cross-traffic, but she didn't drive through. She knew that once she did, Nicolas would turn to the right and disappear. The ring tone of her cell phone made her jump. She pressed the answer button. "Steph? Where are you?" It was her best friend, Eva. "I've been waiting for thirty minutes." "Sorry," she stammered. "I'll be there soon. I got distracted." With a sigh, she drove through the intersection. She stared in the mirror, barely hearing Eva's rant. "We only have a few hours before the party. I know you want everything to be perfect." Stephanie curtly replied, "I said I'd be there soon." She cut the connection. Driving away slowly, she watched Nicolas' car. It stayed at the intersection longer than she expected. She mentally willed him to follow her. He didn't. The black Chevelle turned right. She saw him looking at her through the 256
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driver's side window, and then he disappeared behind a hedge row. Sighing, she looked back to the road. Focus, she told herself. Hosting the monthly Black Forest Dungeon club party was a huge deal and she had a ton of things left to do. The rest of the drive to the house in the country was a blur. It was all she could do to keep from constantly checking her rearview mirror. All the fantasies she'd managed to suppress, came flooding back. One above all else was the most jarring—Nicolas, dressed in nothing but a leather harness, his face buried in her crotch. **** Stephanie checked herself in the full-length mirror one last time. The leather bustier pushed up her breasts perfectly. It made her B-cup breasts look like they were at least a C. Her hair was pulled back tightly in a neat bun. Not a single strand out of place. The dark eyeliner and bright red lipstick complimented her strawberry blonde hair. She smiled and walked out of her bedchamber into what had once been the basement of the old farm house. It had been transformed into a full-blown BDSM dungeon—an exact replica of the one where she'd learned her craft in Chicago. Not only had she earned a degree in English, she'd learned she was a Domme, and discovered the comfort of her dominance. Stepping onto the dais, at the far end of the dungeon, she settled into her throne. She glanced at the ornate wall clock. 257
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It was almost time for her guests to arrive. She knew they wouldn't be late. As if her thoughts had signaled the guest's arrival, the doorbell for the dungeon rang. No matter how many times she'd heard the recording of the huge cathedral bell, she still got a chill. Stephanie assumed a stoic pose as a line of her guests formed to her left. It consisted of Dominants with their submissives at heel. Some of the submissives were clothed, some naked. Many of the Doms wore differing accoutrements of leather, but some were dressed in expensive business suits. She crossed her legs, the black leather boot shone in the light from the wall sconces. Eva took the cue and stepped to the front of the receiving line. She stood to the side of Lady Stephanie's throne and began her task of announcing each person. As each approached the dais, the submissive would kiss the toe of her boot, and the Dom would kiss the black onyx ring on her right hand. Being the Grand Mistress had its perks. Her mind drifted as each couple paid their respects. The reading of the names faded into a general buzz. Even with her eyes open and her head nodding, her mind returned to thoughts of Nicolas. She imagined him, kneeling on the empty pillow to the right of the throne. He would be wearing a leather harness and matching buckle collar. She pictured his body glistening with a light coating of oil. It was the fantasy. The one she'd thought was gone from her mind. 258
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A soft touch on her left shoulder jarred her from the mental movie playing in her head. She glanced at Eva. The reception was done. Eva smiled. "Lady Stephanie, the guests have been announced." Stephanie nodded and uncrossed her legs. She stood and scanned the room full of her guests. Everyone was in the same places they had been the month before, and every month before that. She smiled. People were such creatures of habit, even in BDSM play. "Welcome, and thanks for attending the Black Forest Dungeon Club's monthly social. Tonight we have a special celebration. The spring equinox is approaching and in honor of the natural event, our harem of unattended submissives will be presenting a ceremony in honor of the season." Polite applause filled the room and Stephanie waited patiently for it to die down. She chided herself for feeling less than excited about the evening's events. She prayed her indifference wasn't obvious. Looking to Eva, she nodded and took her seat. The wall sconces dimmed, leaving a single fixture in the middle of the dungeon's ceiling, glowing. It looked like a full moon, creating a circle of light on the floor. A hushed murmur spread through the audience and Eva paused, letting the sound fade. When all was silent as night, she pressed the remote control button for the stereo. Soft music flowed from wall speakers. It was New-Age music infused with the sounds of a forest teeming with wild life, chirping birds, the rustle of leaves in a breeze, and the baleful howl of a lone wolf. 259
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Stephanie sat back in her chair, letting the comforting music infused with the mating call of the wolf, flow through her. From the edges of the room, several women dressed in wolf costumes, danced around the circle of light. They tentatively touched the circle, but remained out of its glow. Slowly approaching from the far side of the room was a man dressed like a male wolf. He stalked around the women, stopping behind each to sniff. The music built to a crescendo and the male crawled into the center of the light. He reared his head back in perfect lipsynch with the recorded bay of the wolf in the song. He finished the movement by turning to face one of the females. He circled her, separating her from the pack. He guided her to the middle of the light and moved behind her. It was the rite of spring Stephanie had choreographed when she was a Domme-in-training. Despite it being her show, she was bored with the whole thing and hated herself for it. The show had always been a favorite and never failed to fire up attendees. The previous year, it was so successful that an impromptu orgy took over the festivities. The remembrance made her smile. She closed her eyes, and pictured Nicolas as the man in the wolf costume. But what jarred her most was the vision of herself in the submissive role of the bitch in heat. A drawn out howl from the male posing as the Wolf King pulled Stephanie from her reverie. Before her, the male mounted the female. From her angle, she had the best view of the copulation. She stared at the massive member sliding into the glistening pussy. She fought the urge to groan as she again put herself in the place 260
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of the female wolf, with Nicolas pounding into her. Deep in the pit of her stomach, Stephanie felt the hum of her growing desire. Looking up, she made eye contact with Eva and gave the American Sign language sign for the letters, 'M' for male and 'T' for tongue, then scanned the room. She spotted a couple near the back. The submissive male bore a striking resemblance to Nicolas and she squirmed just a bit at the thought. Stephanie recognized the woman and her pet as new pledges. She couldn't recall the woman's name, but the male's dungeon name flashed into her mind—Cur. She remembered from the application that they'd dabbled in the D/s lifestyle for years, but recently decided to take their bedroom play to a new level. Glancing up from the couple, she found Eva and held up four fingers on her right hand, to signal the fourth couple from her throne on the right. Eva smiled and moved around behind the audience. When she reached the couple, she leaned forward and whispered in the Domme's ear. The woman's eyes widened and she looked up at Stephanie. Stephanie smiled and nodded. The signal was received and the woman beamed. It was considered a high honor to be invited up to the dais. It was even more special for a couple to be invited before earning their full membership. The woman stood and snapped Cur's leash. The man rose from his kneeling position, but kept his shoulders and head lower than his Mistress'. He also kept his gaze on the floor. They moved along the wall, behind the other couples. As they 261
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neared the dais, Cur fell into perfect heel position. He stayed to the woman's left and a half-step behind her. For a new couple to the club, they were more practiced than many of the original, long-time members. Stephanie knew they were an ideal compliment to the club. As the woman stopped in front of the dais, she snapped the leash and Cur dropped to his knees beside her. She looked down at Stephanie's feet and softly said, "Lady Margaret and Cur at your service, Lady Stephanie." Gaze fixed on the boots, she gave Cur a single word command, "Honor." He crawled to the side of Stephanie's throne. Leaning in, he pressed his lips to her open palm. Stephanie fought to hide a shudder. It had been years since someone had honored her properly. Maintaining her composure, she moved her hand from under the submissive man's face and stroked the back of his head. She looked at Cur's Mistress and patted the shorter, smaller throne to her left. "Sit. I'd love your company." The beaming smile on the raven-haired woman's face returned. She stepped up to the dais and took her seat beside the Grand Mistress. Stephanie knew it was more than a simple offer to have a seat; it was a signal to all that the couple had been officially accepted into the tight-knit community. When Lady Margaret she was settled, Stephanie took the woman's hand. She felt a slight trembling in the other woman's fingers. Squeezing her hand, Stephanie leaned in close and whispered softly, "Thanks for accepting my offer." 262
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The woman didn't have much of a choice, but Stephanie said it to calm her nerves. Lady Margaret relaxed into her chair and smiled. Cur's nuzzling her palm drew Stephanie's attention. She looked down at him, paying particular notice to the muscles in his shoulders. She wondered if Nicolas had a muscular body too. Lady Margaret's voice was low when she said, "If it pleases you, M'Lady, Cur is yours for as long as you desire." The comment told her that Lady Margaret had read and understood the hand signals to Eva. Cur's nuzzling stopped. She turned and faced Margaret. "It pleases me. But just for the evening. He's yours and I won't take him from you." She didn't finish her thought, which was that she wanted someone else. Lady Margaret nodded and said to her submissive, "Cur, you belong to Grand Mistress Stephanie for as long as she wants." Cur relaxed and sighed. Stephanie fought the urge to smile. She gave the woman's hand a quick squeeze and winked at her. Turning to the couple performing in the circle of light, she was glad she hadn't interrupted the show. She watched for a moment, enjoying the play of light against flesh as the copulation continued in time with the music. Cur's nuzzle against her hand reminded her of the initial reason for summoning him and his Mistress.
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Curling her fingers under his chin, she made him look up. His eyes were chocolate brown, whereas Nicolas' were gray. She was glad for that. Still gazing down at him, she forced the smile from her lips. She uncrossed her legs, setting her knees apart, but not too wide. Sternly, she said, "Front." Cur responded immediately. He crawled from beside the chair to kneel on all fours in front of her, his hands on the floor between her feet. He kept his gaze up, but below her eyes, watching her mouth. Opening her knees wider, she watched his gaze drop to her crotch. She trailed a finger down the middle of the front panel of her leather panties, teasing both him and herself. Pausing, she watched his eyes widen, anticipation playing out on his face. His mouth open, his breath hot on her inner thighs. She continued to move her hand down to the snaps holding the crotch of her leather panties together. With a quick flip of her thumb, she unsnapped them, revealing her shaved, wet pussy. Spreading her lips, she felt her juices trickle down to coat her ass. Cur gaped at her exposed sex. The look of sheer hunger on his face made her desire soar and she involuntarily flexed. He was well-trained. Despite the obvious yearning, he didn't move. He remained frozen in his position. The muscles in his shoulders and arms flexed repeatedly. From beside her, Lady Margaret leaned in closer and whispered, "If you want a special treat, give him the command, roll over, right before you come." 264
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Stephanie looked at the woman. She wanted to deny the possibility of a public display like that, but she couldn't form the words. In fact, the very idea was as appealing as any she'd had in a long while. Knowing that Cur was staring at her pussy and had a special command, made it all the more exciting and impossible to ignore. She nodded, and then turned to gaze down at Cur. He licked his lips, his hunger playing out clearly. Stephanie wanted those lips, tongue, and teeth on her. Taking a quick breath to steady her racing pulse, she said, "Take it." She followed up that command with another, "Easy." Cur moved in, his tongue leading. He followed her second command and grazed her outer lips with the tip of his tongue. A guttural groan escaped from deep within her chest. He continued obediently licking the outer fringes of her pussy. She needed more and gave him the command, "Closer." Moving in, he slid his tongue between her folds, dragging the tip through the full length of her sopping furrow. This time Stephanie was ready. Still, the feel of a tongue, delving into her seething core, had her chewing the inside of her mouth. She forced herself to look up from Cur, hoping to distract herself from his talented mouth. But when she did, her stare fell on the ritual coupling in the middle of the floor. She tried to push away the fantasy of that large cock slamming into her own pussy. She watched the well-trained male ride high on the back of the female. He gripped her waist, holding her steady, while he continued to drive into her. Droplets of her juice sprinkled the 265
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floor between her knees and her raspy moans revealed her rapture. Stephanie knew the male wouldn't come until the script deemed it. He was chosen for the role of the Wolf King for that very reason. The story went that he'd not only mate with the Wolf Queen on the night of the Spring Equinox, but that he'd ride her into submission. The stroking of Cur's tongue brought visions of all the things she wanted to do to, and with, Nicolas flashing through her mind. She closed her eyes in an attempt to slow the racing thoughts, but all she managed to do was make each mental picture more vivid. She heard someone panting hoarsely and realized it was her own gasps. Fear of losing her hard fought control flashed into her mind. But it flew away as Cur shifted his focus to suck her throbbing clit. He dragged his teeth across the sensitive bundle of nerves. A full body shudder gripped her as an orgasm raced to the surface. Her legs fell slack and Cur took advantage, pressing his mouth tighter to her pussy. She remembered the command, roll over. She muttered it before she could form any second thoughts. Cur sliding his mouth down and thrust his tongue deep into her. He then did something she would never have imagined possible. His tongue spun over as if it was double jointed. It turned one way, and flipped back in the opposite direction. With each spin, his tongue thrust deep into her gripping pussy, drawing her climax out. 266
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She pressed her heels into his back, raising her hips up from the throne and rolling them back so Cur had even more access. With each spinning thrust of Cur's tongue, she raced to the edge. Stephanie imagined Nicolas eating her. She gripped Cur's hair and pulled his face to her pussy. Using him for her pleasure, she rolled her hips, dragging his nose across her sensitive clit. It was her undoing. The orgasm flashed through her body and shook her. Her legs locked on Cur's head, holding him in place. Even with her eyes wide, her gaze fixed on the top of his head, she pictured Nicolas. Gripping the armrests, she groaned out a long and loud, "Nicolas." She soared on waves of ecstasy, feeling every flick and swirl of the man's tongue. She was lost to the sensations of her climax and it took a moment for her to notice the silence that had fallen over the room. When the climax finally released its grip, she relaxed in her seat. That was when she noticed the hushed silence and looked at the circle of light. The male and female were lying on their sides, curled up after the ritual coupling. But, instead of them pretending to sleep, both were staring wide-eyed at her. Stephanie scanned the room and saw every Dominant staring at her in similar states of shock. It was in that moment, she remembered calling out Nicolas' name. Heat flooded her face in embarrassment. She couldn't make herself move or speak. She couldn't make herself look down at Cur or over to Lady Margaret. The mortification was too much to overcome. She'd tried so hard to make everyone see that 267
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she'd forgotten about Nicholas, but one simple outburst erased all those efforts. Fortunately, Eva saw her struggles and drew everyone's attention. "Ladies and Gentlemen, that's tonight's show. We will have a short intermission, and then begin the rest of the evening's events." The party members milled about, a general buzz filling the room. Stephanie was glad the focus was taken off her, but she knew the bulk of the murmuring conversations were about her outburst. For her to let go like that was not only jarring for them, it was even more so for her. Eva approached the dais and continued to protect her best friend. She held out her hand in greeting to Lady Margaret. "Welcome to the club. It's a pleasure to have you and your well-trained pet amongst us." She glanced at Stephanie and winked knowingly. The wink snapped Stephanie back into some sense of herself. She felt the soft, languid movements of Cur's tongue, lapping at the outer lips of her pussy. Looking down, she managed to say, "Cur, you're released." He obediently backed away, his face glistening with a coating of her juices. He knelt in front of his Mistress, not daring to wipe his face. Lady Margaret took her cue and stood. She offered her hand to Stephanie and said, "We're honored." She glanced down at her man. "I'd best get him cleaned up." Stephanie watched as they moved through the crowd. Eva settling into the throne beside her pulled her attention away 268
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from the couple. Her best friend watched her silently for a moment, then asked, "You okay?" Looking away, Stephanie said, "Yeah, I'm fine. I just got carried away." Eva looked at her suspiciously. "I'm not buying it. My B.S. detector is going nuts here." Stephanie stared at the wet spots on the floor where the show had taken place. Eva's touch on her left knee pulled her gaze up to the woman's face. "He's back isn't he?" Not trusting her voice, Stephanie only nodded. **** Stephanie opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. She wondered if it had been a dream. Had she really called out Nicolas' name in front of the entire Black Forest Dungeon Club? She knew the answer, but she didn't want to face it. It was still early. The digital clock glowed in red: 6:21. She had nowhere to be and nothing to do. She'd planned it that way. Every day after the monthly party was a day to sleep and rest. The parties always ran long and late. She usually needed the sleep. But not this morning. With a long, drawn-out sigh, Stephanie threw the covers off and sat up. She scooted back to lean back against the headboard. Her attention was drawn to the empty spot on the floor in the far corner. That was where she'd planned for her submissive to sleep. The thought made her chuckle, but it was as empty of mirth as the spot on the floor. Here she was, the Grand Mistress of a D/s club, and she had no slave of her own. She didn't even have prospects. She'd tried telling 269
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herself it was because she was picky and wouldn't settle. Yet, deep down, she knew it was a lie. There was one who she'd wanted as her pet—Nicolas. Thinking of him made her pussy wet, but also reminded her of the night before. She'd called out his name at the party. Looking back to the empty sleeping spot, a thought flashed through her mind. A plan formed, and she smiled in spite of herself. [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter Two Nicolas replayed the scene over in his mind for the thousandth time. Rolling over, he grabbed his pillow and pulled it over his face. No matter how he'd tried to justify it, he always came to the same conclusion. He'd acted like a scared little boy—not the man he thought he was. He'd only been in town for a day when he'd spotted the silver sedan. At first, he didn't believe it was her. But when he pulled up behind the car at the stoplight, and spotted her distinctively golden locks, he knew it was Ms. Barrett. In the flash of a moment, he became the clumsy boy who'd had a crush on his teacher. In the four years at St. Louis University, he'd learned a lot more than what was taught in class. He'd discovered more about women and himself than any book could have taught him. He'd also come to realize that Ms. Barrett was interested in more than just his natural writing abilities—she'd wanted him. He couldn't get the thought out of his head that not only had he missed his chance all those years ago, but when he'd had a second chance, he'd been too scared to act. Groaning, he tossed the pillow to the floor. How was he going to make it through the summer? It was just the first morning and he'd already screwed up. Nicolas crawled out of bed and got dressed. He had to do something, anything, to take his mind off her. He decided to go to town and hunt down one of the girls back from college. 271
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If he got lucky, maybe he could find someone to help him play out his frustrations. After taking a shower, he ate a quick breakfast of toast and juice, and was out the door before his mother could come up with something for them to do together. He had no real plan. He was heading to the town square to cruise around. That was the hub of all things for the small town. He figured cruising the square in his Chevelle would be his best option. He drove slowly through town. It wasn't about speed; it was about being seen. The car had always been his secret weapon. It was easy to get a date back in high school. Back then, it was all about the car and he knew it. He smiled at the difference between the girls in his high school and those at college. The older college girls were not impressed with the rumbling, slick black car. The hot rod they were interested in wasn't a car. He no longer needed the car to get lucky. Still, being back in his hometown he fell into what was familiar and had never failed him. Nearing the square, he cranked the stereo and dropped the Chevelle down into a lower gear. The higher rev and thumping stereo was like a mating call to the girls. He knew the signal wasn't needed. Word had gotten out that he was back in town. He cruised the square once, seeing only a handful of people milling about. It was too early for his target audience. But the thought of waiting for people to make their way downtown didn't settle well in his mind. He had to do something. Nicolas turned onto a side street and headed to 272
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the city park. There was a chance that someone might be there instead. Entering the north side of the park, he scanned for cars in the parking lot. It was empty. He followed the meandering road through the city park and saw only a couple of older people walking their dogs. Nicolas cruised through town, making his way back to the square. He'd begun to wonder if he should just give up and go home until later in the day. That was, until he saw the four girls walk out from behind a blue minivan parked on the opposite end of the square. He knew two of the girls. They were easy marks, and they were legal. Revving up his engine, he popped the clutch and took off for his target. Tires squealed as he slid around the corner and headed down the other side of the square. Smoke billowed out of the rear fenders and he glanced in the rear view mirror, admiring the swirling cloud of tyre smoke. When he turned his focus back to the road, it was too late. The blue minivan had pulled out from the curb and there wasn't time to stop, nowhere to swerve. Gripping the steering wheel tight, he braced himself as he slammed on the brakes. The sickening crunch of metal on metal seemed impossibly loud. His car rocked to a sudden stop and a cloud of steam floated up from the crumpled hood of his car. He shook his head. Did what just happen truly happen? It didn't seem real. Nicolas glanced to the sidewalk. The four girls were staring at him. He felt a flush of embarrassment. He wanted to disappear, but it was impossible. Surprisingly, the girls turned 273
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and walked away. With his car a crumpled mess, his appeal to the girls was obviously gone. Looking ahead, he watched the mangled rear end of the van becoming visible through the steam. The back gate was pushed in and a million pieces of shattered glass covered the hood of his car. He looked through the gaping back end of the crumpled van. He saw blonde hair. She wasn't moving. Nicolas threw the car door open and ran to the van. He skidded to a stop beside the driver's side window. "Are you okay—" It was her. He'd rear-ended Ms. Barrett. She turned and looked through him with a cold glare. If she recognized him, it didn't show. She just sighed, turned away, and shook her head. Shoving her door open, she knocked him back. She didn't look at him, she just stepped out of the van and walked to the back. Her heels clicked on the pavement, arms folded across her chest. Staring at Ms. Barrett, Nicolas choked back a groan. She was wearing black, skin-tight leather pants and a bright pink tank top with spaghetti straps. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail and it flipped from side to side when she walked. She also had on a pair of black stilettos with shiny metal tips that looked sharp enough to puncture the asphalt pavement. But it wasn't the shoes, pants, or tank top that shocked him, it was the tattoo on her left shoulder blade. It was a design of a triskele, an ancient Celtic symbol of a circle with three interlocking spirals. It wasn't any ordinary Celtic triskele. The outer color of the wheel was a slate blue, which he knew represented steel and the inner fields of the wheel were solid black with a hole in the center of each where 274
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there was no color, just the pink tone of her flesh. It was the exact design he'd seen in the BDSM club near his college. Flashing back, he remembered the research. He'd written a report about the BDSM lifestyle for his Psychology 101 term paper. In his studies, he'd discovered that there were many variations of the triskele, but only one true emblem recognized by those living the lifestyle. He also discovered the lifestyle seemed to fill a void in his sexuality. Staring at the design, he knew the tattoo on Ms. Barrett's shoulder was the real deal. He just couldn't imagine that his old high school teacher would have a tattoo, let alone the BDSM triskele. It had to be an accident, nothing else made sense. She turned and caught him staring at her shoulder. Ms. Barrett stepped closer to him and put a finger under his chin, pushing his head up. Her eyes were knowing and her left eyebrow crooked up seductively. "You want to try focusing for a moment?" Nicolas heard himself mutter, "Sorry." She tilted her head slightly and narrowed her eyes as she stared at him. "What's your name?" "Nic, I mean Nicolas Adamson." She smiled. "Nicolas," she said, as if she was trying out its sound. "I haven't seen you in four years. Last I knew, you were in the English Program at St. Louis University." "Yes, Ma'am," he croaked. She nodded as if his answer was acceptable. "So, are you back in town on summer break?" "Yes, Ma'am." 275
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Her finger was still under his chin and she languidly moved it in a slow circle. The wet, pink tip of her tongue slipped out, wetting her lips. Nicolas was transfixed on her lips and saw them move, but he didn't hear anything. The finger pressed up under his chin yet again, drawing his attention from her lips. "Hello. Did you take a hit on the head? I asked you if you have insurance." He blinked and nodded. "Which question are you answering?" She smiled, but it wasn't sweet. "Um, yes, I have insurance, Ma'am." He wasn't sure why, but it seemed right to call her Ma'am. "Good boy." He looked down and muttered, "Thank you, Ma'am." He couldn't look her in the eyes. The distant wail of a siren echoed in the morning air. Ms. Barrett lowered her hand from under his chin and stepped back away from him. He felt the loss of contact more than he thought possible. She stepped to the front of her van and pulled out her purse. Nicolas used the chance to scan her body again. As before, she caught him and crooked that eyebrow up again. She chuckled softly. "You sure have trouble focusing. That's something we're going to have to correct." He gaped at her. He wasn't sure he'd heard her right, but didn't dare ask. She stepped up to him again and leaned in. Breathing in deeply through her nose, she closed her eyes partially. She 276
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let it out slowly. A softly whispered, "Nice," brushed across the side of his neck. Turning, she said, "You'd best get your license, registration, and insurance card ready." "Right. Thanks. Ma'am." He dove into his car and grabbed the registration and insurance cards. No sooner had he fished out his driver's license, than Sheriff Gregg pulled up in his patrol car. Ms. Barrett whispered, "Let me do most of the talking." Nicolas glanced at her, watching her slight nod. He heard himself say, "Yes, Ma'am." A quick smile flashed across her face, in the briefest of moments. "Is everyone all right?" the sheriff boomed. Ms. Barrett stepped forward, "Yes, Carl. We're fine. Just a bit rattled." The sheriff dropped his gaze below her face. It was as if she had some power over him and he wasn't allowed to look her in the eyes. She handed him her papers, glancing at Nicolas. He understood and followed suit with his own. Sheriff Gregg scanned the wreckage and said, "Looks obvious to me what happened. This shouldn't take but a moment to write up a report." Ms. Barrett stepped up close to Sheriff Gregg and whispered something Nicolas couldn't hear. He straightened and looked around her at Nicolas. He whispered back to her. Nicolas tried to read his lips, but only managed to pick out, "...he's the Nicolas?" 277
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She nodded and the Sheriff returned her nod. Why would the Sheriff ask a question like that? It made no sense. But nothing seemed to be making much sense about the whole scene. Nicolas watched them whisper for a few more moments. Suddenly, Sheriff Gregg turned and walked back to his patrol car without another word. Stephanie moved to stand facing Nicolas and answered his unasked question. "Sheriff Gregg is calling a tow truck for your car. He's not going to write up a ticket—provided you're willing to make things right." He was dumbstruck. Make things right? What did that mean? He expected he'd get a ticket for following too closely. Instead, it looked as if he'd get out of this with little trouble— if by making things right, she meant using his insurance to fix her van. Looking up to her face, he saw something in her eyes that told him there was more on her mind. She stared hungrily at him. He guessed it as that. Nothing else seemed to fit. Her voice was low and husky when she said, "Once we get your car towed, you need to come with me so we can work on your making amends." "Yes, Ma'am," was all he could say. **** Nicolas watched his car being towed away. Until that moment, the reality hadn't hit him. His most prized possession was gone. His decision to carry the minimum insurance coverage had bitten him on the ass. 278
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Ms. Barrett put her hand on his left shoulder. "It'll be all right." He nodded, but didn't believe it. Handing him her keys, she said, "You drive." He looked from her to the damaged van. The rear end was caved in, but all four tires still held air. The tow truck driver had secured the back gate down with winch straps and told them it was okay to drive, but not too fast. Nicolas turned toward the driver's side door, but Ms. Barrett clearing her throat stopped him mid-step. He knew by the way she glared at him with her arms folded across her chest, that he'd erred. Before he could ask what was wrong, she looked at the passenger side door, then back at him. He darted around the van and flung the door open. Her smiled was brief, but he knew he'd guessed right. The drive to her house was mostly silent, only broken by her intermittent directions. All the while, he tried to focus on the road. His brain scrambled to guess what she had in mind for him to 'make things right.' Eventually, he was directed to turn down an unmarked gravel road. He'd seen the road before, but always thought it was a driveway. He was right, but it wasn't like any driveway he'd seen before. At least a mile long, it weaved along under a canopy of pine trees. He felt as if he was traveling through a tunnel. Suddenly, the canopy and shadows fell away. Nicolas spotted a large farm house on a hill, and without asking, knew it was hers. He followed the narrow road and came to a 279
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large metal gate. In the middle of the wrought iron gate was the same design that was on Ms. Barrett's shoulder. A thought flashed through his mind, what if she did know what the symbol meant and it wasn't just a coincidence? The thought made his cock swell. If she was into the lifestyle, it meant she was much more than just his former teacher. Her reaching up to press the button on the overhead console caught his attention. The metal gate swung out of the way and he drove through As they neared the house, she said, "Drive around to the back. We'll get it to the shop later." "Yes, Ma'am." The outside of the house looked just like any one of a hundred farm houses in the area, but something told him there was more to it. He rolled to a gentle stop behind the house. He jumped out of his side of the van and ran to the other side. He flung her door open and held out his hand, offering to help her out. She didn't move to take his hand or get out of the van. She just stared at him for a long moment, as if assessing him. Finally, she said, "I love your enthusiasm, but there's a lot to be said for measured patience and control." She then took his hand and stepped to the ground. "You do learn fast. That's a good thing." Moving past him, she released his hand and brushed hers across his chest. "Yes, a very good thing." The touch jarred him and he looked down at his chest. It wasn't just an accidental brush of her hand. Shed curled her finger so her nails scraped his shirt. 280
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He stood there for a moment too long. When he looked up he saw her waiting for him. He shut the door and muttered, "Sorry, Ma'am." Putting her hand back on his chest, she stopped him. "Why are you sorry? I want you to explain it for yourself as much as me." He started to answer, but the words caught in his throat. They wouldn't come and he wasn't ready to tell her the real reasons he was sorry. How could he tell her he was sorry for wanting her when he was her student? Even more so, how could he tell her he was sorry for not telling her all those years before? She looked up at him, her hand warm on his chest through his shirt. Her eyes searched his, as if gauging him, or trying to make a decision. Suddenly, her fingers curled into a fist, wadding his shirt in her grip. Her mouth opened slightly and a warm breath fanned out across his neck. A deep groan rumbled in her chest, but she held most of it in. She hardened her stare and moved her face closer to his. "You think too much. You're going to have to learn balance." Releasing his shirt, she turned and climbed the steps up to the back porch. At the top, she glanced back. "You can come in or stand out here all day. It's your choice." She pulled a ring of keys from her purse and was inside the house before Nicolas could think to move. He took a step to follow her, but stopped. He recalled her expression before she left him standing in the driveway. It hadn't been a simple look. She'd looked angry and excited, hungry and impatient, and resigned and unsure all at the 281
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same time. He thought that for a brief moment, she could have slapped him or kissed him with equal ease. He was as conflicted as she'd looked. Glancing up to the back door, he felt compelled, drawn inside as if some power he didn't recognize was controlling him. He remembered her words, "You think too much." He decided to trust her. What was the worst that could happen? [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter Three Nicolas stepped through the door, but kept his fingers curled around the knob. He wasn't sure why, but he felt like a fly standing on the edge of a large spider's web. Scanning the mud room, he couldn't see her. Still, he felt her presence as if she was watching him. He took a deep breath and released the doorknob. He stepped slowly, tentatively across the linoleum floor, making his way down the hall toward another room. Stepping around the corner, he saw an average looking living room. It had the usual sofa, loveseat, recliner, and tables that any one of a million houses would have. He chuckled. Why had he expected any different? "Something funny, Nicolas?" her voice echoed from around the corner at the far end of the room. "No, Ma'am. I just thought..." He couldn't finish the sentence. "Thinking again?" She peered around the corner, a wry smile on her face. It seemed to deflate some of the tension. "What did you expect from an English teacher? A room full of books? Papers piled everywhere? A bunch of whips and chains?" The last line jarred him. It was so out of context he didn't know whether she was joking or serious. It fed his earlier daydreams about the symbol and the possibility that she was into D/s. 283
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She stepped out of view again, "Like I'd leave those things out in the open." Suddenly, an image of her in leather chaps, a whip trailing from her dainty fist flashed into his mind. It was one of the many visions he'd conjured during those long nights in his lonely dorm room. How many times had he dreamt of her in leather gear? Too many to count. "You want something to drink?" He croaked, "What have you got?" "Tea, water, coffee. I have beer and wine. I guess you're old enough." She peered around the corner again. "Water's fine." He had the sense to know he'd best keep his wits about him. A few moments later, Ms. Barrett came out of the kitchen with a glass of ice water in one hand and a clear goblet, halffull of red wine, in the other. She moved to the love seat and sat down, placing each on coasters on the coffee table. She leaned back into the cushions and patted the empty spot beside her. "Have a seat. Unless you're in a hurry to leave." He moved toward her as if he was a marionette and she was the puppet master. Settling on the sage colored love seat, he reached for the glass of water. The ice clinked as his hand shook. He wondered if she put ice in the glass knowing it would reveal how nervous he was. Pushing the thought away, he took a sip and sat the glass back on the coaster. He remained leaning forward, unsure of himself. Her hand on his shoulder, guiding him back, answered the question. "Relax." 284
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He rubbed his palms across the soft micro-fiber upholstery and let out a long exhale. His mind was still a jumble of questions and thoughts, but he tried to look calm. "Better." She trailed her fingers down his arm, letting them rest on the back of his hand. "You have an answer for me?" He looked at her dumbly. She reached for her wine. "You forgot the question already?" He searched his mind, and for a moment couldn't think of the question. Then it hit him. She'd asked him to explain why he was sorry. Looking up at her, he said, "I'm sorry for crashing into your van." She shook her head. "Not good enough. Try again. Go deeper." Did she want him to beg and grovel? He tried to find some way to apologize for what had happened, but nothing seemed to fit. Finally, he admitted, "I don't know what to say." "Honesty, that's a good start. Admitting your shortcomings is a step in the right direction." She took a sip of her wine and said, "Go on." "I-I wasn't paying attention and didn't see you until it was too late." "Why weren't you paying attention?" He grimaced, but knew he had to continue with the confession. "I was watching some girls on the sidewalk. I was trying to get their attention." "That worked well for you, didn't it?" she said, laughter in her voice. "Is that all you have to say for yourself?" 285
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What else did she want him to say? That's how it happened. She took another sip, then set her goblet down on the coffee table. She let her hand linger on the glass for a moment, and then turned it on the coaster. There, on the side, was the same symbol he'd seen on her shoulder and the front gate. He tore his gaze away from the glass and looked up at her. She stared back him, her face unreadable. "Let me help you out," she said. "You're not just sorry for crashing into my van. There's a lot more going on in that head of yours than a simple accident. There's plenty you're not telling me, or yourself." Was it possible she knew about his wanting her? Could she be leading him to confess his desires? A thought flashed into his mind. Did she want him, too? It made sense. Why else would she insist he drive her home instead of dropping him off at his parent's place? He looked into her hazel eyes. She gazed back at him with the same expressionless mask. Slowly, her lips curled into something less than smile. She turned away and reached behind her head. She pulled the hair tie off her ponytail, letting her hair fall down on her shoulders. It was the first time he'd seen her with her hair down. Strawberry streaks highlighted her blonde locks. He marveled at how it framed her profile, making her seem even more beautiful. He suddenly wanted to kiss her. He licked his lips; almost sure he could imagine her taste. Just then, he heard a voice—a male's voice. It sounded familiar, but distant. The man told of how he'd wanted Ms. Barrett for years and still did. When she snapped her 286
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attention toward him, he realized the voice was his. He stopped himself, but it was too late. It was out. He'd confessed that he was sorry for wanting her and not telling her. Silence hung heavy in the air. He thought to make a run for it, but couldn't move. He had to know if she felt the same way. His heart hammered. Beads of sweat rolled down his temples. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, a smile formed on her nearly perfect face. Her eyes sparkled and danced. Suddenly, she pounced on him. Faster than he could react, she pressed him back into the soft cushions of the loveseat and took possession of his mouth. The passion of her kiss overwhelmed him, almost scaring him with its intensity. His response kept pace with hers. She broke the kiss, her breath coming in short gasps. Her hair made a tent over his face, but he could still see her eyes clearly. They were searching, as if she wasn't sure about the kiss. Nicolas rose up and kissed her again. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, rubbing his fingertips where he guessed her tattoo would be. Closing his eyes, he imagined he could feel the raised texture of her inked flesh. As if his touch brought her to her senses, she pulled back and sat astride his thighs. She gazed at him with a look of shock mixed with hope. Her voice came out in a barely audible whisper, "You know about the symbol?" He knew she meant the symbol. "Yes, Ma'am. I wrote a research paper about the lifestyle." 287
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Rolling off him, she sank into the cushions and asked, "I have to know what class that was." "Psychology 101. We could pick a topic from any chapter. I chose Human Sexuality." She pursed her lips in an obvious attempt to fight back the urge to smile. He couldn't stop himself from revealing more. "I did more than write a paper, Ms. Barrett. I discovered something about myself." He paused trying to find the right words. "I'm a switch. I'm both dominant and submissive, but I'm more submissive." She stared into his eyes. "Yes, I know what that is." He saw a connection he never knew could exist. The suddenness and depth of it excited and frightened him equally. "For you, I'll be whatever you desire," he said, without thought. The declaration felt as natural as breathing. Nicolas slid off the loveseat and knelt on the floor beside her feet. He didn't know her preferences, but he knew it was a common position for a submissive and he guessed it would be a signal to her that he was serious. She panted, her eyes filling with unshed tears. Reaching out with a trembling hand, she touched the side of his face. He turned and kissed her palm—another sign of his submission. The air from her sigh brushed the top of his head and she seemed to calm. "You must know I have many rules. I'm not easy to please." Her voice had taken on an edge. Nicolas loved the sound. "I'm not just dabbling in the lifestyle—I'm the Grand 288
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Mistress of a dungeon club. I have standards and a reputation to uphold, for both my would-be pet and me. "Yes, Ma'am," he said as much steadily as he could. The revelation struck Nicolas as yet another surprising aspect of Ms. Barrett. He quickly realized it made more sense that she would be in charge. The way she'd always carried herself in class was the picture of control. She never accepted anything less than his best when he was in her class. Suddenly, she stood and said, "Come. I have something to show you." He went to stand, but thought better of it. She hadn't told him to stand, just follow her. Moving on all fours, he crawled after her, keeping his gaze on her metal-tipped heels. She stopped and he watched her feet turn toward him. He didn't look up until her hand under his chin forced his head back. "Good boy. You passed the first small test. You may stand, but remain behind me and to my left. It's my preferred heel position." He got to his feet and complied as quickly as he could. Still looking in his eyes, she continued, "It's not my way to degrade or treat submissives with disrespect—unless that is your desire." She chuckled softly. "If you should become my pet, I promise to respect you, as I demand in return." "Yes, Ma'am." He didn't look up. "Let's set some ground rules. Unless you're being punished or otherwise unable to look me in the eyes, you are to make eye contact when speaking to me." He gazed into the deep hazel of her eyes and answered, "Yes, Ma'am." 289
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"That's another thing. You may address me as Ms. Barrett, but I prefer Teacher when we are alone. In public, Ma'am works fine." She paused, but didn't break eye contact. He knew she wasn't done. "There's one exception, I am to be addressed as Lady Stephanie during special occasions. If you're lucky, you'll learn those soon enough." He absorbed the information and said, "Yes. Teacher." She nodded, "Yes, I love the way that sounds with your voice." She stroked his cheek and for a moment, he thought she might kiss him again. Instead, she backed away and turned toward the hallway that led to the kitchen. He followed close behind and to her left as he'd been instructed. Even without her commanding him to follow, he knew it was expected. Halfway down the hall, she turned and opened a door. She flicked on a light switch, bathing the top of a stairway in fluorescent light. Nicolas glanced down the stairs, but it turned at a landing and he couldn't see the end. She moved down the steps. At the landing, she reached back and pressed her palm against his chest. She looked up at him and said, "Once you enter this last portal, you will be trusted to keep what you see to yourself." The finality of the statement struck him with a hint of fear, but it flew away when he looked into her eyes. He fed off her calm demeanor. He found he could trust her, and that he'd obey her every wish and command. "Yes, Teacher." Her smile brought a myriad of questions to mind. Foremost was, what did she have in mind for him? He suddenly 290
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remembered why she brought him to her house. He was to make amends for all that he'd done, and what he hadn't. She entered a code into a keypad next to the door. It beeped three times and the lock clicked free. She reached in, and flicked on the lights. Nicolas strained to catch a glimpse of the room, but could only see the cold gray of the concrete floor. She glanced back and said, "Welcome to my sanctuary, my private dungeon. Few people have laid eyes on this inner sanctum." Pushing the door open, she stepped through. The sense of honor he felt was replaced with total shock. He'd seen BDSM dungeons before, but nothing compared to Ms. Barrett's sanctuary. The walls were lined with several sconces in the shape of flames. Under the lights were countless D-rings set in the walls at equal distances and varying heights. The room was filled with all manner of padded benches, tables, a rack, a St. Andrew's Cross, and cabinets along the base of the walls. What struck him deepest was the large machine at the far end of the room. It had two long metal arms with wide paddle-like disks attached to the ends, one above the other. The machine was mounted on a frame with locking wheels. It took him a moment to identify the machine as a mechanical spanker. Beside the machine sat a padded bench—a punishment bench—often used for securing a submissive for a severe spanking. It had a kneeling pad on one end and sleeves to slip a person's arms into, on the other.
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Ms. Barrett's soft, but demanding voice broke into his thoughts. "I see you've made your selection. Good choice. That should do nicely for what you owe me." He gazed at her blankly. Pointing to the door at one side of the room, she said, "That's your dressing room. There's a leather harness in there, waiting for you." She stepped closer, bringing her lips an inch from his. "You know what to do with a harness, right?" He nodded and managed, "Yes, Teacher." "Good boy." She stepped away and said, "I'll signal you when I'm ready." Not wanting to waste any time or worse yet, risk raising the ire of his Teacher any further, he made for the door. As he stepped into the room and turned to shut the door, he saw her entering another door on the opposite side of the room. Inside, he pulled the string hanging from the ceiling and light bathed the room. He was in a small room, barely larger than a walk-in closet. What made it even more claustrophobic were the two racks of bondage gear lining either side of the room. He wondered how he'd find the right harness in time. He turned and glanced at the far wall of the dressing room and saw a leather studded harness on a hanger. He quickly stripped off his clothes. He didn't know how much time he had, so he moved as fast as he could. It wasn't until he slipped the crotch strap up to his balls and the thong between his butt cheeks that he even considered what he was doing. He'd dreamed of seeing Ms. Barrett in leather gear, but now that the fantasy was about to become reality, a sudden 292
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wave of nervousness struck. It was one thing to have a masturbation fantasy. It was an entirely different beast in reality. Fears raced through his mind. Was he ready for this— for her? Would she change her mind once she saw him in the harness? He shook the thoughts away. It was too late to stop now. He couldn't turn back even if he wanted to. He'd already wasted four years. He glanced in the mirror to see how the leather fit. It looked as if it were custom made for him. He didn't have to adjust the straps across his chest or even those between his legs. He realized how much thought she'd put in the selection of the harness. Maybe she'd wanted him as long as he'd wanted her. Before that string of thoughts ran very long, a bell chimed three times. It had to be the signal. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, he opened the door and stepped into the dungeon. At first, he thought he was alone, but her husky voice reached him from the far end of the room. "Nice fit." He turned and his legs nearly buckled. Sitting on the spanking bench was his Teacher. His fantasy-vision come to life. She was dressed in a leather bustier, thigh-high spikeheeled boots, and matching gloves. Her posture was rigid, straight-backed as if a board was strapped to her spine. She was the perfect picture of female dominance. He somehow managed to look up to her face and got another jolt. She'd put on makeup. How did she find the time? He barely had time to strip off his clothes and slip into the harness. The only thing that made sense was she'd had to have help. Was someone watching them? 293
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He watched her eyes move over his body. Any coherent thought vanished when she pursed her bright, red lips. She crooked an eyebrow and said, "You're definitely enjoying that harness." He followed her gaze down and saw the head of his cock, poking out through the waistband of his thong briefs. He momentarily thought to cover himself. Instead, he slipped his hands behind his back, lacing the fingers together. She smiled, looking up to his face. "You'll make someone a fine bottom. Time will tell if we fit." He wanted to profess his devotion, to beg her to give him a chance to prove himself, but her piercing stare had him frozen. "I've never trained a switch before," she continued. "I can't help but wonder how strong your will is." She stopped and looked to the side as if organizing her thoughts. She looked back at him, "A challenge could be fun." She uncrossed her legs and stood. A flash of pink caught his attention and when he glanced down at her crotch, he saw black leather panties, but something more. Her panties were crotch-less. He didn't get a chance to consider the implications, for she moved toward him. Her stare held him fast. He stood as rigid as possible; he sensed that was expected. She circled him. After pausing for a moment in front of him, she stepped around behind him again. As she went, she trailed two fingers across his shoulders, then down his spine. She stopped at the waistband of his thong. "Nice fit. You've kept your body in great shape." Her fingers hooked in the 294
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elastic and pulled it away only to let it snap back against his skin. "The fit is almost enough to make me want to reduce your punishment. Almost." She was already tormenting him and he loved it. He wanted to say thanks, but he remembered his place and kept the thought to himself. "As much as I like how this fits, it must go." She moved back a step and waited. Not wasting time, he hooked his thumbs in the elastic and slid the thong down to his ankles, bending over at the waist. Before he could straighten and step out of the garment pooled at his feet, he felt her hand on his back. She scraped her nails across his flesh. She swatted a cheek and whispered huskily, "Take your place on the bench." He knelt on the padded lower portion of the bench. Lying on his stomach, he noticed the end of the bench stopped at the top of his chest. It was another perfect fit. Settling on the cushion, he pressed his chest against the padded top, and closed his eyes, praying that he was doing what she wanted. A soft stroke of her hand against his butt cheek told him he'd guessed correctly. She trailed her fingers down the back of his thigh and hummed, "Very nice." Her hand moved away and he heard the jingle of a buckle. "You let me know if this is too tight." He didn't have to look to know what was coming next. Leather straps surrounded one ankle, then the other, buckling firmly. Being restrained was freeing for him. He could let himself go and simply enjoy those things he never 295
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felt safe doing if he were free to escape. A second set of buckles encircled his legs just below his knees. He was immobilized, and had to bite his upper lip to keep from moaning. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on remaining calm. The attempt only made him aware of the throb in his cock. He tried to ignore the hard, heaviness of his engorged prick, now free of the leather thong. Just as he thought he'd managed to gain some small measure of control the scrape of her fingernails down the length of his cock proved too much. A deep, guttural moan escaped. Her touch disappeared even before his moan had finished. A moment later, a sharp smack on his butt cheek stung his flesh. "It seems self control is a weakness of yours." She paused, as if waiting for him to respond. When he didn't, she chuckled and caressed his cheek. "But you have potential. Maybe what I've been looking for is a challenge." He nearly jerked his head around to look at her. He'd never heard a Domme reveal their thoughts so freely. Without looking, he knew she was struggling with her own self control. The thought fed his dominate side. He knew he'd be able to be a switch with her. He just had to earn her trust. Her heels, clicking on the concrete floor, echoed off the walls. He fought to control the urge to turn and watch her. The desire to see her ass sway as she moved pulled on him, but he squeezed his eyes closed and gripped the sides of the bench. A door hinge creaked. There was the jangle of buckles and chains, then a creak and thud. He closed his eyes, using the 296
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internal images of her movements instead of chancing a glance. He snapped his eyes opened as she slapped something down on the bench. He saw a box with a picture of a penis pump on the outside. His name was handwritten in black across the top. "Yes, that's what's in the box. Rest assured it's never been used. It's yours." Despite himself, he looked up at her and asked, "Teacher, I'm supposed to use it now?" Her smile disappeared, and she folded her arms across her chest. "Are you refusing my gift?" "N-no, Ma'am. I mean, Teacher," he stammered. "Then what are you saying?" "I just ... I might come." She shook her head and stared at him sternly, "Not if I don't allow it." "Yes, Teacher." He shivered. That was exactly what he needed to hear. He had to know that everything, even his climax, was under her orders. She watched him for a moment, then her face softened and she said, "I'm definitely going to enjoy your spirit." As if shaking herself back into reality, she glanced down at the box. "I think it would be best if I attached the pump." Moving closer to the bench, she said, "But first, we need to finish your prep." She put her hand between his shoulders, "Arms." He slid both arms into the leather sleeves. As his hands came out the open ends, he gripped the handles. She leaned 297
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to buckle his far wrist, her breasts pressed into the padded bench a few short inches from his face. He couldn't help but stare at the tiny freckles sprinkled down her cleavage. Her chuckle snapped his attention up to her face. She'd caught him staring. "Such a bad boy," She murmured, then sighed. Hooking her fingers under his chin, she asked, "Are you testing me?" He jerked. How did she know? "You must know I can read your eyes." He didn't say a word. The idea of the challenge made his spirit soar. He had to prove to her that they were meant for each other. Finally, she looked away. She buckled the other wrist and grabbed the box. Without a word, she moved behind him and he heard the crinkle of plastic. He gripped the handles tight, trying to ready himself for the feel of the pump sliding up his prick. When he felt the kneepad shift under her additional weight, he closed his eyes and chewed on the inside of his mouth. The slick coldness of plastic was what he was prepared to feel. That didn't happen. Warm wetness engulfed his cock head. He bucked, and when he heard and felt the vibrations of her moan, he knew he was in her mouth. Pulling her mouth away, she smacked her lips and said, "Why didn't you warn me that you'd taste so good?" She was teasing him. It wasn't a question she wanted answered. He couldn't speak anyway. She smacked her lips again, and then slid her mouth over the crown of his prick. Her tongue flicked across the opening, taking more of his seeping pre-come. She moaned again, but 298
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didn't release him. Instead, she sank his full length into her mouth. His cock head wedged in the back of her throat. When she swallowed, the muscles milked his sweet spot. He couldn't stop himself from groaning as the first tendrils of his climax gripped him. Again, she backed off, leaving his cock wet and twitching. Her breath fanned out across his crotch as she exhaled. The cold plastic he'd expected moments earlier suddenly surrounded his cock. The inside was squishy with lube and before he could get accustomed to the new sensation, suction pulled it close to his body. The inner walls of the pump squeezed his shaft tighter than any pussy could. It wasn't warm or the same kind of wet, but the pump milked him to the brink in seconds. He concentrated on fighting the urge to give in and come. As he fought for control, Teacher moved out from beneath him. She stood behind him and pulled two leather straps around his waist. The moment she pulled them tight around his waist, he realized they were connected to the pump. The base pressed against his pubic bone, setting the pump even tighter to his cock. She tied the straps together behind his back. He sighed as the binding gave him something on which to focus. His pulsing throb subsided, but the shaft remained rock hard. He thought he'd won. That was, until she reached down and a sudden wave of vibrations flowed along the length of his prick. The pulsing returned, as did the urge to come. He grunted and clenched his teeth, but it didn't work. He was losing the war. It seemed as if his cock was in charge. 299
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She moved to his side and turned his head to face her. Lowering herself to his eye level, she stared into his eyes. He watched her silently encourage him. After a few moments, the pulsing in his shaft faded and his control returned. She stroked his face. "It's time for your punishment." He wasn't already being punished? He thought to say as much, but only said, "Yes, Teacher." She stood and walked behind him. He didn't know exactly what was next, but he knew spanking would be the cornerstone. Fear and excitement warred within him when he realized pain was in the offing. He prayed it wouldn't be too much. If it was, he'd fail to keep from coming. The deep rumble of wheels rolling on the concrete floor jarred him back to reality. Something cool and flat pressed against his proffered backside. Instantly, he remembered the machine he'd seen when he'd first entered the dungeon. Images filled his mind. One struck him deeply. He pictured himself strapped to the spanking bench, a penis pump keeping him on the edge of orgasm, and a spanking machine wailing away on his ass. Her voice echoed in the dungeon. "Because of the weight and volume of your infractions, your punishment is more than can be completed without assistance. So, I'm going to employ some help from my little friend." Four clicks of the wheels brakes told him that the machine was set. He heard something scrape as it was dragged across the floor. He wondered what else she was setting up, but again, didn't look. 300
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She moved around to the side of the bench and said, "Yes. That'll do just fine." She put her hand on his shoulder blade. "Tell me what you see." He did as commanded and groaned as he saw his reflection in a full-length mirror. It was angled in a way so he was looking into two mirrors. She stepped into his view and glared at him. "You want to answer me? Or do I need to add to your punishment?" Nicolas looked up to her. "I see myself bound to the bench." "Good. Do you like what you see?" "Yes, Teacher. If it pleases you." Trailing her fingers down his side, she said, "It pleases me." Stepping back, she held up a remote control. She pressed a button and one of the paddles pressed firmly into the upper half of his buttocks. A slight vibration transferred from the machine. She shifted her feet, regaining his attention. "This punishment won't be based on a count. Because your largest infraction was making me wait, I'm going to let time count as the determining factor." "Thank you, Teacher." She held the remote so he could see her press the button. The paddle pressing on his buttock swung back. As it did, the other paddle swung in, tapping his ass. It barely made a sound and didn't sting. But before he could lament the slow, easy start, the first paddle smacked his ass harder. A tiny bit 301
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of warmth radiated from the stroke just as the other paddle crashed into the lower half of his buttocks. Staring into the mirror, he watched as the machine built speed and force. Each strike came faster than the previous, and each stung deeper. The pain grew, spreading across his backside, but it didn't stop there. It became something more. It was less about hurt, and more about fulfillment. His skin pricked with excitement and heat flushed through his entire body. It was surreal to see himself. His body jerked into the padded bench with each swat. Just before the next paddle hit home, he'd move back into the coming onslaught. A rhythm formed—a wicked dance of pain and need. Above the growing heat, spreading through his ass, a subtle throb wormed its way into his mind. It was his cock. The jerking of his body had set the pump into a swaying motion. It caused the slick sleeve to slide up and down his shaft. The throb intensified and the familiar pressure of his impending climax welled. He knew if it continued he'd lose control. He squeezed the handles, trying to stop his movements. The paddling was too strong. He could only manage to make his movements even more random. He clenched his teeth, forcing himself to look away from the spectacle in the mirror, hoping he'd be able to stem the rising tide of his orgasm. Focusing on the concrete floor, he cleared his mind, desperately trying to think of one thing— proving his worth to his Teacher. A shadow crept across the floor. He raised his head and saw a gurney moving toward him. Looking up, he saw his 302
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Teacher standing behind the gurney, staring down at him with that knowing look. Again, she held him transfixed, and for a moment, he forgot about his growing urge to come. She didn't say a word, but somehow, he knew that more than just a simple spanking was in the offing. The pounding of the mechanical spanker continued to make his body jerk back and forth. His Teacher walked around from behind the gurney. Her movements were measured, but graceful. Stopping by his side, she trailed her fingernails down his spine. She stopped at his waist and dropped into a crouch. Nicolas felt the penis pump shift and she checked the binding. Standing, she moved to his head and paused to look down at him. A wry smile curled her lips for a moment, and then pulled a lever on the side of the gurney. With one smooth motion, she raised the padded bench, locking it in place at a forty-five degree angle. She stepped between Nicolas' head and the end of the gurney. Not hesitating for a moment, she scooted up to sit on the part of the bench that was still flat. He saw a brief flash of pink through the gap in the crotch of her panties, but she quickly crossed her legs, blocking his view. A soft chuckle drew his gaze up to her face. "See something you like?" "Yes, Teacher." "I see you're still being honest, even if it might increase your punishment." She raised her boot and dragged the pointed tip along the side of his face. "Yes, you're ready. I know I am." Before Nicolas could guess what she was driving at, her legs uncrossed. He fought to keep his gaze on her face. It 303
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was another test and despite how bad he wanted to look at her pussy, he couldn't let himself have that freedom. She moved her feet under the frame of the spanking bench and pulled her gurney closer. He obediently kept his eyes on her, and raised his head higher so his chin was above the height of the gurney. Her pussy inched closer and the pull to look down at her crotch increased. When the gurney bumped into his bench, she said, "You may rest your chin." As he did, he was unable to maintain his focus on her eyes. Her face was too high for him to see above her middle. He thought he smelled her musk and involuntarily inhaled deeply. Grabbing his hair, she raised his head to look in his eyes. "Did you sniff me?" He was caught. "Yes, Teacher." "You understand that I didn't give you permission." "Yes, Teacher." She was silent for a moment, then said, "Under the circumstances, I'll let the infraction pass—this time." This time? Was there going to be more chances? Releasing his hair, she brought her knees up and put her booted feet on his shoulders. The scent of hot, wet pussy became stronger. He clenched his jaw, dying to take a taste. Suddenly, the paddles smacked into his flesh with more force. He jerked against the bonds and raised his head. He saw the remote control in her hand, her thumb pressing the button to increase the speed and force of the machine. The white flesh under her thumbnail told him that the machine was maxed 304
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out. The paddles swatted into him so fast there didn't seem to be any time between hits for him to recover. He'd stopped rocking back and forth. His ass burned. The pain that had been dulling to numbness returned. He closed his eyes as it caused the throb in his cock to return as well. His orgasm threatened, despite the fact he wasn't moving enough to cause the pump to sway and stroke his shaft. Teacher slid forward. Her wetness touched the tip of his nose. His eyes flashed open in surprise and he stared at her shaved pussy, glistening and pink. He moaned. It was loud enough to be heard over the motor's whir and the smacks of the paddles against his flesh, but he didn't care. He was beyond the ability to control anything. His Teacher's voice came out in a breathy growl. "No tongue. Only lips." For a moment, he didn't understand. When she rolled her hips, dragging the swelled knot of her clit over the tip of his nose and cried out as her body shook, he understood. She was on the edge of her own climax—as close to losing control as he was. A wicked thought flashed through his mind and he followed it. He strained his neck outward, pressing his lips to her wet pussy, just as she'd ordered. He longed to slip his tongue into her folds, to taste her nectar, but guessed he'd have plenty of chances for that later. What he did that she hadn't ordered, was move his head up and down, making sure his nose flicked her clit with each movement. 305
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It worked perfectly. She dug her fingers into his hair, pulling him closer. She rocked and bucked. A guttural groan grew into a keening wail. He continued to move his lips and nose up and down her wet furrow. It was nearly unbearable to be that close to tasting her sweet pussy and still be denied. The fingers in his hair tightened. He was sure she was going to rip out handfuls, but he didn't care. The new pain only added to the sensations already slamming into his body. Despite his focus on trying to please his Teacher, the urge to come returned. He gritted his teeth and growled in a feeble attempt to fight off his impending climax. Still, the familiar warmth rushed through the deepest recesses of his loins, taking control of his willpower. Suddenly, she released the back of the gurney, letting the table fall flat with a loud crash. With her body prone on the table, she scooted her hips closer, pushing her crotch tight to his face. Her body held frozen for a moment. He knew she was close. Using the temporary respite, he wriggled his head from side to side. She exhaled in a gasping scream, flooding his face with her hot come. Releasing his hair, she groaned, "Eat me!" He thrust his tongue out, delving as deeply as he could into her pussy. His eyes rolled back into his head as he sampled her sweet nectar. She tasted better than he'd imagined. At that moment, he couldn't imagine being more content. Even if she never allowed him to release, he'd still be happy. She wrapped her thighs around his head and thrashed on the gurney. He lapped at her clutching pussy, his face coated 306
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with her juices. Her orgasm seemed to last longer than he thought possible. For a moment, he wondered if her climax was going to last forever. Slowly, her legs relaxed their tight wrap on his head and fell slack across his shoulders. Her breathing was still ragged; her body shook with tremors. She managed to raise herself up on her elbows. Holding the remote in her hands, she aimed the beam at the machine and pressed the red button. The machine slowed from a blur of spanking, to a gentle patting, and finally stopped. One paddle came to rest against his burning backside. It felt as if his ass had been set afire, and he loved it. Pushing herself up from the gurney, she slid away from his face, and quickly went to work on releasing his bonds. When she got to the penis pump, she let her fingers dance down the length of his rigid shaft. A soft hum came up from beneath the spanking bench. He recalled what she'd done when first putting the pump on him and prayed she'd take him into her mouth again. She didn't. Instead, she stroked him a few times, and then released him just as his cock swelled, ready to shoot. She moved away from the spanking bench and walked to the other side of the room. He didn't move. He didn't dare. She hadn't permitted it. A creak of leather reached his ears and he wanted to look. Her voice was husky as she said, "Rise." Pushing himself up, he stood shakily next to the bench. He turned and saw her sitting in a swing. "Come to me." 307
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As steadily as he could manage, he walked toward her. Each step brought a stinging reminder of the spanking as his muscles flexed. When he neared, she held up her hand, stopping him. She looked up and down his body. "I can't help but wonder who is really in control here." He didn't respond. He didn't want to push his luck. Pressing her palms flat on his chest, she gasped, "I've never felt so close to losing control." "I trust you," Nicolas said as much for himself as for her. "Can you trust yourself?" "For you, Teacher ... yes." Her eyes grew even more passionate. "Then, take me," she growled. [Back to Table of Contents]
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Epilogue Eva stood by the main dungeon entrance. She looked up to the dais. The throne was empty. It was a change in the normal protocol of the monthly meeting of the Black Forest Dungeon Club. Usually, Lady Stephanie would already be seated on her throne, waiting for the procession of members to enter and pay their respects. This night, she'd invoked a clause in the by-laws whereas the members were to be admitted and seated for her entrance. Eva smiled at the reason why. It had been a furious and frantic month, but she'd enjoyed every minute of it. She loved helping her Lady, and even more so with the reason for the busy month. A red light came on above the private entrance of the Dungeon Mistress, signaling Eva to begin the meeting. She pressed the bell, setting the simulated iron bell to chime three times. She then opened the door to the line of members waiting to enter the dungeon. As they entered, she handed each dominant a small piece of paper. It was a simple instruction for them to take their places immediately and wait for the entrance of the Dungeon Mistress. She gave no response to any of the questioning glances. Finally, everyone had settled into their places. Eva flipped a switch, and then pressed a flashing green button. The doorbell rang four times, once for every season. For those seasoned dominants and submissives, it was a signal they'd 309
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long wanted to hear—and had begun to believe it would never happen—their Dungeon Mistress had found a mate. The metal door to Lady Stephanie's private dungeon room swung open. The room beyond was dark as pitch. Eva knew what was just beyond the threshold and couldn't contain her huge smile as she waited to see the reactions of the members. Lady Stephanie stepped from the dark into the light. She was dressed, as always, in a leather bustier, matching panties, fishnet stockings, and knee-high boots. She stopped just inside the pale light of the dungeon and flicked her left wrist. From the dark stepped a gorgeous man dressed in a simple black leather thong. He had a leather buckle collar circling his neck and a leash attached to a D-ring on the front. He obediently stepped into heel position and stood perfectly still. A few gasps came from the crowd and Lady Stephanie's eyes sparkled. She waited for a moment, while the gasps and murmurs died down. Glancing to the back of the room, she made eye contact with Eva and nodded. Eva turned back to the wall plate and pressed the black button. New Age music flowed out of the wall speakers as Lady Stephanie made her way to the dais, with the nearly naked man at perfect heel. When she stepped up on the platform, she turned to face the audience. She pointed to the pillow beside the throne and the man immediately kneeled on the soft cushion, his hands upturned on his thighs and his head turned up, eyes trained on her. 310
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She took a deep breath and said, "Greetings. As you have probably guessed, I have a special announcement." She glanced back at the kneeling man and reached down to stroke the back of his head. He turned and kissed her palm. Turning back to the crowd, she smiled and said, "After a long wait, I have finally found a suitable mate. Everyone. I present to you, Nic, my pet." It started with a single clap, and then quickly became a room full of applause and cheers. Everyone in the room knew that the Black Forest Dungeon Club was finally complete. [Back to Table of Contents]
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iSUBmiT (I Submit) ****
**** Translated by Nelli Rees [Back to Table of Contents]
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Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino
Also by ****
**** Coquette JazzNoir: Seidr RazorTime: Menage a Quatre Shantage Phaze in Verse Ministering Angel Tamsin: Tales of a Wicked Woman [Back to Table of Contents] 313
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Prologue To him perfume was like music. And just as a wellconstructed tune haunts forever, so a perfume etches a scent imprint on the memory. Her perfume was, like her, light and ephemeral: it was the scent equivalent of a simple, but naggingly persistent pop tune. He stood behind her in the crowded elevator. So close— inches close—that he could smell the floral aroma of her perfume melding with the fragrance of her recent shampoo (she was always so, so clean). He inhaled the melange of odours clinging to the shining, almost metallic, platinum blonde hair that cascaded down her back and over her slim but wickedly curved body. She smelt wonderful ... wonderfully pure, wonderfully clean and wonderfully unused. Unused ... he pondered the word for a moment—tasting it, testing it—as he examined the tantalising curve of her naked neck, restraining with some difficulty his urge to lean forward and to bite her, to blemish the perfection of her pallid skin. He was always stunned by how flawless her skin was. It was like silk: smooth, unwrinkled, and so alluring to the touch. Unused ... yes, there was something of the virgin about her, something of the nun in the way she acted. Even her outfit—she was wearing her habitual office-costume of starched white blouse and black knee-length pencil skirt— resembled a nun's habit. Even her hair, framing as it did that deliciously beautiful, that delectably—disturbingly—innocent face, had a cowl-like look. If it wasn't for her fierce blue eyes 314
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and that firm chin she would have been almost beatific in appearance. What was the simile? Like a nun with a switchblade? That no one had used her, had fucked her until she screamed; that no one had whipped her or corrupted her was a dereliction of erotic duty. Leaving her pure and unsullied was almost sacrilegious. There was that religious motif again. Maybe he worshipped this paragon of saintliness ... or maybe he worshipped the idea of corrupting this awful perfection. If ever there was a female made for the darker side of eroticism it was this one. Even now, standing tight behind her, the temptation to snake his hands around her and to rip her pristine, chaste blouse from her body was almost overwhelming. She was so, so perfect. And it was a perfection that cried out to be mutilated, to be marred, to be perverted. Yes ... consider that flawless platinum hair: then imagine the joy of wrenching it back, stretching her forehead and bringing tears of torment to her eyes. Yes ... consider her limpid, crystal blue eyes: then imagine them wide with shock and pain, the pupils pin-sharp with amazement, as a gasp of erotic agony escapes her lips. Yes ... consider her pastel coloured lips: then imagine them painted a malevolent black and encircling your engorged tool as you slam into that pretty little mouth, pushing yourself deeper and deeper into her, making her gag and writhe. Yes ... consider that slim, slight body writhing under your own, as you pummel and pound your hard urgency into her. 315
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Yes ... consider that perfectly rounded and pert arse, naked and bent over a stool, ideally positioned so that you can whip it, and whip it, and whip it... Oh, how he would like to vandalise her body. Stop... Enough... The want squeezed his lungs and crushed his chest. He let out a gasp of breath, trying to deflate the tension building under his ribs and in his groin. All that this fantasising was achieving ... was nothing. Nothing, except to arouse him to such a pitch of unrequited desire that just standing in that crowded elevator was becoming both emotionally and physically painful. He shuffled his feet surreptitiously to reposition his uncomfortably erect cock. It wouldn't do to come in an elevator, aroused to climax simply by the thought of possessing this pristine beauty. That would be terribly non-U, and not really a very good example for his staff. He had a strict, unbreakable rule that he would never, ever, have a sexual relationship with one of his staff. It was bad for morale, and it was bad business practice. And, the pain was all the more unbearable because deep inside this girl, he knew, despite her winsome ways and her delicate demeanour, she wanted to embrace submission, she wanted to taste pain. He had been around the BDSM circuit long enough to spot the tell-tale signals emanating from an "oh-I-could-never-let-you-do-that-but-if-you-insist" would-be Bottom. Every time he met her he saw the demurely down316
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cast eyes, saw the legs being coiled suggestively around the chair-leg, noted the come-hither toss of the hair: these and a myriad of other signals yelled, screamed ... use me, pain me, violate me, suppress me. This was a girl who would welcome the joy of abasement. How, though, to convert this girl's dormant desires into reality? How to have her embrace the pleasure of pain, how to encourage her to bring her fantasies (and he suspected she had extreme fantasies) into existence? That was the challenge. There were so many people living lives which were sexually unfulfilled because they had never been encouraged, had never been seduced into taking that one little step that would convert fantasies into realities. So many remained "nearly people": the people who had nearly tasted their desires ... but hadn't. There was no way he would allow this girl—this embodiment of physical perfection—to proceed through life sexually neutered. If everyone else was incapable to fanning the flame of her outré sexual fires, then he would do it himself. But not as her boss... The question though was how? He inhaled deeply, once more enjoying her prim, unsullied bouquet. A slight smile touched his lips: perfumes were becoming an all-absorbing fascination for the Agency, tendering as they were for a major account. Was it a mistake by the powers-that-be—him as it happened, he did, after all, own the Agency—to have given the responsibility of pitching 317
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for the perfume account to this girl? Oh, she had talent, she had intelligence, and she had drive, no one doubted that; the campaigns she had directed before had always been effective ... but they had always been so very prosaic. Would she be able to find a way of enunciating the eroticism that he knew dwelt inside her, and of communicating it? Perfumes were, after all, just erotic promises distilled into scent. If he could just find a way of releasing her inner darkness... [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter One Svetlana was perplexed. Perplexed by the reaction of her team to the ideas she had regarding the campaign for the perfume. They had never questioned her judgment before, and it was her judgment that had, after all was said and done, led them to being considered one of the brightest and the best creative teams in the world of advertising. The shelf in her office groaned under the weight of the awards they'd won. But this time they'd been decidedly under-whelmed by her concept. What had the Boss said? That it was a campaign that sold the steak and not the sizzle. Svetlana's lips set in tight annoyance, but she determined that as a professional marketer and businessperson she would rise above such arbitrary and ill-considered criticism. She straightened the pens and notepads on her desk until they sat in serried, parallel ranks, and took a moment to clean the screen of her computer. Order and discipline were essential in business and Svetlana always had her best ideas when she was in an environment, like her office, which was ordered and disciplined. Okay, so some of the office wags had christened her office "Svetlana's Sterile Surgical Suite", but they were just being infantile. It wasn't sterile. Hadn't she had found space on the wall for her framed cover of "Advances in Advertising" which had a really quite flattering picture of her under the headline "Meet the Princess of Promotional Constructivism"? If she were to be 319
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frank though, she'd admit that she'd wondered about the wisdom of displaying the cover. Delighted though she had been to be awarded such a signal honour as a cover feature by a magazine as prestigious as "Advances", she'd never been too happy with the accompanying interview. In her opinion, it made her sound much too inflexible in her thinking, and made rather too much of her Russian antecedents. It was all very well for the journalist to laud her as an "advertising constructor" and "a proselytiser of an ideology that puts product functionalism at advertising centre-stage", but he did rather play down the fact that her application of the philosophy of Constructivism to marketing had been highly successful and had helped sell an awful lot of burgers and power-tools. Sipping on her green tea, she tried to impose tranquillity and calm on her troubled psyche. She closed her eyes, placed one hand on her chest and one hand on her stomach and breathed deeply and slowly. Her relaxation counsellor had advised her that breathing from her diaphragm was a marvellous technique for curbing anxiety, but even after five minutes of slow rhythmic breathing, she was still as cross as ever. She felt baffled and bamboozled by her team's almost childishly peevish response to her proposal regarding the marketing of the perfume. She was mystified by this sort of a non-empiric, emotional reaction, and equally mystified that even when she'd enunciated the market research statistics and the customer profiling data that underpinned her thinking, they had still been less than enthusiastic about her 320
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ideas. They just didn't seem to get it. They just didn't seem to get that they were selling a product, and that the selling of a perfume was no different to selling a house or a power drill or ... a burger. Using Constructivist techniques, she could churn out advertising and marketing campaigns with ease. Facts and data poured in at one end, Svetlana cranked the creative handle and an efficient, effective marketing programme popped out the other. Until now, that is. Now the team was demanding that they be allowed to think outside the Collectivist box. Just because they were selling a perfume, you'd think that there was magic involved. But, as Svetlana had told the team at length, magic had nothing to do with it: forget magic, think functionality. Okay, so the target audience was a trifle nebulous (even when pressed the Client hadn't been able to narrow it down to specific demographics, and "innovative", "independent", "free-thinking", "aspirational" and "female" just didn't, in Svetlana's opinion, cut it as an accurate customer definition). When they'd interviewed these sort of women they had been very definite in what they wanted from a perfume. They wanted a perfume that was nicely scented, was long lasting, was attractively packaged and, ideally, had been endorsed by a celebrity. Understanding this, as far as Svetlana was concerned, made promoting a perfume a no-brainer. The biggest decisions were the design of the bottle and which celebrity they should select to front the campaign. Yet even here, she'd been at odds with the team. 321
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Of the three proposals young Jake, the Senior Designer, had made regarding the styling of the perfume bottle, she had favoured the steel-grey, smoked-glass cylinder. It was attractive and serviceable, allowing women to see just how much perfume they had left and was relatively cheap to produce. The criticisms—mainly from her team's younger element—that this design wasn't "cool" and was short on "street cred", she dismissed as vague posturing, countering that the cylinder was attractive (albeit, Svetlana did concede, in a sort of utilitarian way) and was certainly very costeffective. The discussion had petered out in an unpleasant, unresolved, resentful intellectual impasse. But, if the debate about the bottle design was fraught, the arguments that had raged about the choice of celebrity to front the campaign had been ... well, almost distasteful. Certainly there had been no excuse for the comments made about her preference for the lead celebrity. Juli Sands was a famous, award-winning actress, whose profile with the public, confirmed by the Agency"s own Attitudinal Survey, showed that she was seen as glamorous, successful and environmentally conscious. The endorsement of a star like Juli Sands was exactly what, in Svetlana's opinion, was needed to make the perfume's campaign a resounding success. There was certainly no call for some of the comments from around the table that greeted Svetlana's suggestion. The one from her copywriter, Joanna—"Is she still alive?"—had particularly hurt, as had the aside from Tony, the art director—"I've never seen her in anything other than black-and-white shots". Even when she'd looked to the Boss for support and 322
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encouragement she'd been disappointed ... very disappointed. For him to say that Juli Sands was "about as hip as a hernia" was unhelpful to say the least. And then he'd compounded this by warning that if the campaign was to use Juli Sands as lead celebrity it might find itself wandering into Heidi territory... Well!!!! She'd had to adjourn the meeting when tempers (and some of the language) became heated. But, notwithstanding this rebellion, she would put her foot down. They (or more accurately she) would present this campaign to the Client as it stood. She would remain resolutely behind her opinions, her ideas and her beliefs, confident that her vision was the correct one for the perfume. She would rise above the hurt caused by the criticism. Thus resolved she fired-up her computer to check which emails had arrived whilst she had been away from her desk. It was one of those cowardly, anonymous e-mails. No name, no signature but lots of innuendo and insinuation. And, whoever had written it knew his or her audience really well. Had known how vulnerable and how unsure she would be. Had known she was only twenty-four years old, only a year out of Business School, still with no real friends, still with no boy friend, and two thousand miles from her (old) hometown and her old home country. A stranger in a strange land. And there were few lands as strange as New York City. The opening lines of the e-mail had been the worst: 323
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"You're about as sexy as a Popsicle, and you're gonna lose the perfume account." She had re-read the words perhaps a dozen times, hoping that somehow she was misreading them. The contemplation of losing the account—of failing!—was like a steel band squeezing her heart. It could not be! It would not be! She would do anything and everything to keep the account... She read on: "The Boss thinks you're a frigid automaton built out of parts left over from the Cold War. He thinks you can't handle the promotion of anything sexier than drills and burgers. You're on your way out of the Agency, Svetlana-ski. But I like you ... so I'm gonna give you some advice." And the e-mail suggested an intriguing, a tantalising answer to Svetlana's supposed problem: "If you wanna show the Boss that you can play sexy, why don't you check out So-UnReal-Ism on a Tuesday night and see for yourself what real flesh-and-blood men and women get up to? The Boss, I hear, is a great fan of So-UnReal-Ism! Yeah, check it out, that is, if an up-tight, narrow-minded Ice Princess like you can bring herself to visit a disreputable place like So-UnReal-Ism ... and can get in!" Svetlana slumped back on her chair and tried to settle herself, breathing deeply and loosening the tight collar of her starched blouse. A thin sheen of nervous sweat had settled on her body, and she shivered in the chill of the air-conditioning. 324
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"Think," she cajoled herself. But thinking was difficult when rational thought was being swamped by emotion, by desperation. "Up-tight" and "narrow-minded"? Was that really what people thought of her? She'd always tried to be the professional, to be exact and efficient in everything she did. "Think," she demanded of herself again. The sensible thing to do, the adult thing to do, the best thing to do, she knew, would be to ignore the e-mail, to treat it with contempt... But she couldn't do that. Not when there was even the slightest, the remotest possibility that the accusations were true. Not when there was the slightest, the remotest possibility that she might lose her perfume account ... might lose her job. Her mouth set in a determined line: she wasn't about to lose either the account or her job, not without a struggle, not without a fight. Almost unconsciously, her fingers began to dance on her computer's keyboard, searching for "So-UnReal-Ism + Tuesday". The results were disturbing. According to the search engine, So-UnReal-Ism was a club that specialised in "nu-Decadence", the cult of extreme hedonism inspired by the philosophical anarchy espoused by Dada. And Tuesday nights were the most extreme manifestation of this dissolute embracing of the quest for pleasure: this was the night when the club encouraged the exploration of the lowest and most bestial instincts of men and women. On Tuesday nights in SoUnReal-Ism there was no place for hesitancy, no place for 325
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shyness or for modesty, no place for the sensitive ... and no place for the uninvited. On Tuesday nights in So-UnReal-Ism there was only pain and submission. Daunting... Especially as she'd already decided that she had to go to So-UnReal-Ism, had to see for herself if what the e-mail was saying was true, to see if she was a real flesh-and-blood woman... But to do that she had to get into the place. **** She'd done her best to dress sexily. She'd had to: from what she understood only the most beautiful, only the most desirable and the sexiest women got into So-UnReal-Ism. The problem was she had so little experience in dressing to thrill, and she had a sort of innate attitudinal reluctance to be overtly ... overt, so the results were, as a consequence, somewhat half-hearted. Oh, when she'd looked into the mirror before she left the apartment she'd recognised that she looked very good, but the problem was she'd had the objective of looking very bad. Even sporting a ridiculously short leather skirt and a breath-takingly tight top the results had been an ersatz-sleaze: she looked like a virgin in heat. The application of black lipstick and thick black mascara had helped, and, in desperation, she'd even taken off her bra, but all this seemed to do was emphasise that, no matter how you cut it, she was a pastiche. 326
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Even the black mask she was wearing seemed faintly ridiculous. She'd seen from the photographs that all of those clamouring for entrance to So-UnReal-Ism wore a mask—few people wanted their orientation in the night-time demimonde to infect the role and personae they adopted in the glare of censorious daylight. But Svetlana's need to wear a mask was more prosaic: the last thing she wanted was to be spotted, to be identified in the club. But still, she looked and felt like an erotic caricature. Her body was making offers that she had no intention of honouring: more, had no idea how to honour. Still, she decided, the outfit was probably enough—or less than enough—to get her into the club. There couldn't be many girls attending who had legs as good as hers, nor whose nipples jutted out quite so prominently. **** Bob Wilson was a man defined not by what he was for, but by what he was against. Currently though he was against standing around, freezing his arse off on a diamond cold January night, guarding the door to So-UnReal-Ism. Still So-UnReal-Ism paid its security staff really, really well, and the punters were by-and-large pretty docile. But then again it was difficult to get aggressive with someone as big and as Neanderthal as Bob Wilson: especially when you were dressed, as most of the punters were, in something clingy and cutting edge. So the crowd of would-be clubbers who milled around the entrance to So-UnReal-Ism, dressed in their leather and lace, and sporting their masks of many 327
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colours, were generally stoically good humoured and peaceloving. They stayed where they were told to stay—anxiously and optimistically on the other side of the rope barrier. Bob Wilson checked his watch. He had been standing, for two long uneventful hours at the top of the uninviting stone stairs that led down to the club's basement entrance, standing with his shoulders hunched against the brittle chill of the evening, surrounded by, immersed in cold. And, it was as he was blowing hot breath onto his hands that he saw her loitering uncertainly across the street from the club's entrance. She looked just as Paul, the Door Manager, had said she would: long, slim and breathtakingly lovely. She reminded Bob of one of those international models he leered at in the girlie magazines: tall, aloof, with a brittle arrogance. But, under that carapace of affected confidence he could see that she was rigid with fear. Just like all the first-timers to So-UnReal-Ism. Bob Wilson clicked on his microphone, "She's here, Paul, that girl you told me to look out for. Across the street, wandering up and down, working up the courage to try and get in." "Right," came the echoing reply, and about thirty seconds later Paul, resplendent in an immaculate black evening suit and matching mask, appeared through the door. He was a big man, bigger even than Bob Wilson, with a thatch of blond hair and sharp eyes only partially hidden by the mask he wore. He was in every sense larger than life, though his voice was surprisingly quiet; he spoke with a soft pedantic tone. 328
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Immediately Paul showed himself there was an excited fidgeting amongst the crowd of hopefuls. Paul, the crowd knew, was the man who controlled who did, and, much more often, who did not, get into So-UnReal-Ism, and the very fact that he was there, standing at the entrance, gave everybody hope. He even gave Bob Wilson hope: hope that he'd be allowed to take a break so that he could go to the bar down the street and induce some feeling back into his frozen extremities. Bob nodded a greeting to Paul then raised his hands to his mouth, cupped them and breathed noisily onto his fingers. He hoped his boss would get the message. He did. "You cold?" asked Paul indifferently, his eyes never leaving the girl who strode so indecisively back and forth across the road from where they were standing. "Nah man, I ain't cold," Wilson demurred, "I've gone way beyond "cold". On a thermometer I'd be somewhere south of "fucking freezing". If the fucking CIA were monitoring us with thermal imaging equipment they'd think I didn't have any fucking feet." Paul shrugged the complaints away, "You're doing what you're paid to do, Bob, just as I am. We're both paid to wait ... but fortunately for us both, I think, our waiting is over. And I think, this young lady might be about to bring some heat into our evening." The two men watched as the girl suddenly changed direction and walked resolutely across the road to the club's entrance. She moved really well, thought Bob, and every shimmy of her delicious body racked up his arousal another notch. She was obviously one high-class lady, a lady used to 329
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giving orders and getting her own way. She tripped down the stone steps towards them, the steel-tipped heels of her boots clicking sharply on the chilled stone, and halted in front of Paul. This was one girl who obviously had an instinct for who was the decision-maker in the duo. "I'd like to go into So-UnReal-Ism," she said in an educated and bloody irritating tone, her pronunciation flecked with a quite charming foreign accent. Close up, she was mesmerisingly beautiful, the black leather mask she was wearing emphasising rather than hiding her pale, wan loveliness. There was, Bob decided, something of the Slav about her; her cheekbones were high and pronounced, and her hair long, straight and almost white-blonde. She was tall too; she almost managed to look Paul the Manager straight in his eyes, and not many people could do that ... not that many people wanted too. Not if they wanted to keep their teeth. "So...?" sneered the Manager. The reply threw the girl for a moment; she was obviously unused to having to deal with people who didn't jump when she said "jump". "I said I'd like to go into So-UnReal-Ism..." "And I heard you," answered Paul curtly. Bob Wilson arched an eyebrow; Paul could be bloody dismissive with the punters when he wanted to be, but he seemed to be going out of his way to be difficult with this one. The girl's mouth tightened into a thin determined line, "You're being very unpleasant." "What do you want me to do—tell jokes?" snarled Paul. "No, I want you to let me into the club." 330
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"Are you ready to submit?" came the brusque retort. "Submit?" "Yeah, submit. Anyone who comes to So-UnReal-Ism has to be prepared to submit, to play the Bottom." "The Bottom?" "Yeah, it's a rule of the house. Submit or walk." The girl shuffled her feet nervously, "So how do I show I'm willing to submit?" The answer came back in a snap, "Take that coat off for a start. I'd like to see the goods on offer." There was a poignant silence for a few moments as the Door Manager and the girl assessed each other's resolve. Finally Svetlana raised a surprisingly delicate hand to the coat's single button, undid it, and then shucked the coat off her shoulders, letting it tumble carelessly to the pavement. That's no way to treat a thousand-dollar piece of cashmere, thought Bob Wilson. He did though have to admit that without the coat the girl looked even more devastating: never had he seen a girl to match the ineffable loveliness of this one. "Nice tits," murmured Paul, "shame to hide them." He stretched out a hand and with studied condescension undid the top five buttons of the girl's blouse, then eased one-half of the blouse aside so that her right breast was unveiled. The stiff nipple nodded in the chill of the evening, a chill that was as nothing to the look of pure arctic hatred that sparked from the girl's eyes at her very public humiliation. "Very nice," repeated Paul, "but we get a lot of beautiful women trying to get into So-UnReal-Ism. You're nothing special." 331
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Bob Wilson's mouth fell open in astonishment: it seemed incredible to him that Paul was blowing off someone as gorgeous as this girl. The girl's anger flared in her eyes, "So just what do I have to do to get into this club?" "You gotta show you're willing to go that last ten yards, or, in your case, the last seven inches. Most people coming here can't, mostly they bottle out and run home crying to Mummy." "So how do I show you?" "Gimme a blow job ... here ... now." Bob Wilson felt as though he needed to pipe some air in. He was so shocked he could hardly breathe. Paul had never asked for anything like this before: sure, he'd been shitty with some of the no-hopers, but never had he asked for a blow-job in exchange for admission. "Fuck you," the girl snarled. "That's what I'm asking, honey. Don't get bent outta shape about it, I ain't asking for you to donate a kidney or something. If you wanna come in you've gotta use your mouth." "Fuck you," the girl said again and with a dismissive shake of her long platinum hair, she stooped to pick up her coat, then strode off down the road. "Wow," said a stunned Bob Wilson as he watched the marvellously undulating ass disappear around a corner, "that is one pissed-off lady." Paul shrugged, "Don't think anything of it. She'll be back, and when she does, I want to be the first to know." 332
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Chapter Two Given a choice, Svetlana wouldn't have chosen that particular week to have had to prepare for the most important presentation of her career. Not when she was so distracted by thoughts of what the anonymous e-mails said. Not when she'd spent the week fretting about her inability to even get into So-UnReal-Ism. Not when the image of that horrible man, demanding that she fellate him, kept popping up in her head. But then, she ruefully decided, one is rarely given a choice as to when shit will happen. Of course, the situation, whether real or simply malicious slander, regarding how she was regarded by the Boss was the persistent, troubling, background static to her life. She had tried as valiantly as she could to carry on as normal and not to worry about losing the perfume account, but it had always been there at the back of her mind, gnawing away. Thinking back, she wished she had given the guy guarding the door at So-UnReal-Ism the blow-job he'd demanded: in retrospect it now seemed a small price to pay for peace of, mind. And, to cap a very bad week, it had been a bad day for Svetlana. The presentation of the perfume marketing campaign had been a travesty, a failure, a humiliation. It had begun well enough with the Client, in the very attractive shape of the perfume's Brand Manager, Pauline Trent, passing around sample bottles of the new perfume, the bottles identified solely by the "#47" written on their labels. 334
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"This is the perfume we are preparing for production," she added by way of explanation, "and the one we're seeking to place with an advertising agency." After this, the presentation went into crash-and-burn mode. Henry, Svetlana's Design Consultant, was the first to put his foot in it, "Great name '#47'; sort of minimalist..." "Unfortunately," Trent interrupted curtly, "that is just the number of this particular formula. The perfume is as yet unchristened. I think you'll find, young man, if you were to take the time to study the perfume market, that Chanel has something of a lock on names of perfumes that use numbers." It was the most scathing of put-downs and Jake had the good grace to blush. Svetlana tried the perfume, easing off the glass stopper and bringing the small bottle to her nose. Even this generated a rebuke from Trent, "In order to properly appreciate this perfume you should not smell it in the bottle. Doing that ensures that you only experience the transient top notes of the perfume and the alcohol that has been used to dilute the fragrances, rather than the full spectrum of the perfume's aromas. Perfume should always be smelt on the skin; it is part of the perfumier's art to devise a perfume that melds synergistically with the skin's natural fragrance." With an apologetic shrug, Svetlana did as she was told, using the bottle's glass stopper to dab a little of #47 onto the inside of her left wrist. The perfume was too heavy for her, too provocative ... too sensuous. As though reading her thoughts, Pauline Trent explained, "The owner of our 335
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company, Madam Durst, has spent her life developing perfumes, seeking to create the elusive fragrance that replicates the ecstatic scent of sexual arousal, which is, of course, the Holy Grail of all perfumiers. Although now well into her eighties, Madam Durst is still very active, and this perfume, she believes, is the culmination, the climax of her life's endeavours." Trent raised her wrist to her nose and breathed in deeply, making a very theatrical show of inhaling the perfume, "In short, ladies and gentlemen, #47 is a triumph of the erotic art of perfume making, it is a perfume that plays on men's desires as effectively as a concert pianist plays on her keyboard. It is your job to sell it." Now it was Svetlana's turn to perform, and even as she moved to the dais, even as she flicked on the first page of her PowerPoint presentation, she knew what she was to propose wasn't right for the product ... wasn't good enough for the product. And unfortunately Pauline Trent agreed with her. Svetlana had completely misjudged the campaign and pitched something that Pauline Trent dismissed out-of-hand. To be told, in no uncertain terms, in front of her team, that her concepts were wishy-washy, drab, stale, uninspiring and more appropriate for use in advertising a washing-powder than a perfume, had been demeaning. Especially when such criticisms were accurate... She had had to endure a lecture on what a perfume was. Had to sit there like some recalcitrant schoolgirl, whilst Pauline Trent assailed her with a repetition of the Client's brief, and had to be reminded that the Client had come to the 336
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Agency because of its creative reputation, not in the expectation of being served creative dross. Didn't Svetlana understand, the increasingly hateful Pauline Trent had asked in her condescending tone, that perfumes were the stuff of dreams, and that they needed a campaign that did just that ... sold dreams? She'd even had the audacity to quote Coco Chanel"s famous maxim at her—the one that opined that perfume heralds a woman's arrival and prolongs her departure—as though Svetlana's research wouldn't have been diligent enough to have discovered it. Svetlana had slunk out of the meeting with her tail between her legs and her self-confidence in tatters. But worse, much worse, was to follow. The de-briefing session with the Boss that followed the presentation had been horrible: he was even more excoriating in his assessment of her performance than Pauline Trent had been. His words still rang in her ears: "I don't think you've got it, Svetlana. I don't think you can do sexy or erotic. To you, perfume is a mixture of essential oils and other aromatic compounds that, when applied to the skin or hair, produces a pleasing smell. To me and to the Client it is that special something that makes a body redolent with the word "Yes". Perfume, in short, is bottled lightening. You want to sell a smell; I want you to sell adventure and love and longing." She'd tried to protest, to fight her corner, but it was useless. In the end the Boss had been brutally blunt, "I want a campaign," he'd demanded, "that speaks in the language of lust. I believe that fragrance communicates to women and 337
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men secretly, almost subliminally, using a silent sensory language. And hence your campaign must be similarly subtle, similarly subliminal. You've completely missed the point," he stated in a flat, disappointed voice, "I don't want you to persuade women to buy this perfume, I want you to seduce them into buying it." For long moments, Svetlana had sat stunned, empty, numb, but unfortunately he hadn't finished his tirade, "Acting in an erotic manner means taking your sexual instincts and making them fantasy. Sex to you is just a series of motions towards procreation. But to others it is an experience of sublime pleasure and of the forging of an intimate link between two people. The difference between sex and eroticism is the willingness to take that step that turns your sexual fantasies into reality. That one step is the difference between being sexy and being erotic, and, unfortunately for you, Svetlana, the difference between you keeping the leadrole on this account and losing it." She could see him now, pushing back in his chair and gimleting her with his eyes. "You know, Svetlana," he'd begun, "I don't think you can do it. Maybe it's your upbringing, maybe it's the fact that you're Russian, maybe it's just that you're just too bloody cerebral, but one thing is for sure: you can't do erotic. Look, the owner of the company producing the perfume wants to attend the final concept presentation next week and I think it'd be best for you to hand over the reins to someone else. We need a completely fresh approach to this campaign." That was how close she got to losing the account. 338
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It was only by begging and pleading that she was given a begrudging reprieve, a second chance, to make a final retributive pitch in a week's time. But, after the meeting, when she'd returned to her office and sat slumped disconsolately down in her executive leather chair, she knew she'd survived by a hair's breadth. As a put-down, it was the most damning the Boss had ever visited on her and it had hurt. And it had also confirmed everything those bloody emails were saying. Now she had just one week to develop a campaign that would secure the account (huh, fat chance) and to re-establish her creative credibility in the eyes of the Boss. And she didn't have a clue where to begin. Her old faithful Constructivism didn't seem to provide the nuances necessary to help sell eroticism and promises and seduction. And without the intellectual sheet-anchor of Constructivism she was creatively adrift. All she knew—and hadn't she been told the same thing twice in a week—that if she wanted to keep her job she'd have to stretch herself sexually, she'd have to go that one extra step. With a sigh she switched on her computer and scanned her messages. There was another disheartening message from her mystery e-mailer: "I told you so. The Boss thinks you're useless. If you fuck up again, he's gonna give the perfume account to that schmuck Peterson, and then it's adios Svetlana. And just because you haven't the stomach or the je ne sais quoi necessary to get into So-UnReal-Ism. The most beautiful body in the world and you don't now what to do with it. Such 339
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a shame, I'll miss you. Oh ... by the way, the best jobs are always carried in Thursday's Herald." As she deleted the e-mail, Svetlana resolved, come hell or high water, she would get into So-UnReal-Ism that night. **** The last e-mail, whilst upsetting her, had also removed her last vestige of circumspection. There was no room now in Svetlana's thinking for coyness or propriety, everything she was doing was aimed at one thing, getting into So-UnRealIsm and proving herself to be a sexy woman. And to do that it was obvious that she'd have to show that huge man who guarded the door of the club that she was willing to submit. Every woman knows that the first rule when you're trying to be chosen for anything is simple: get yourself noticed. Relying on blind luck to be picked out of the mob crowding around So-UnReal-Ism two Tuesdays in a row wasn't acceptable to Svetlana. She had to stand out from the herd. Therefore, Svetlana decided, as all the wannabes milling around So-UnReal-Ism favoured a uniform of gothic black and pagan purple, then she would wear virginal white. Oh, it would be provocative virginal white—a very provocative virginal white—but white nevertheless. To this end, she'd made a shopping expedition to the more Bohemian districts of the city and had managed to find just what she wanted for her assault on So-UnReal-Ism. It had been an interesting excursion and had been the first time she had toured these types of stores without embarrassment. Before she'd been shy and apologetic as she'd examined the 340
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strange collections of clothes and accessories carried by the outré little boutiques, but today she shopped brazenly. She listened to the advice of the assistants, allowed herself to be persuaded to try clothes she would normally have eschewed and to do things she would, just the day before, have been shocked by. Now, back in her bedroom, standing in her new outfit, she was very happy with how she looked for tonight's little adventure. Her pencil skirt, made of white vinyl, was quite modest—it extended a good four inches or so beyond her knees—but it was very tight, skimming over her naked flesh like a second skin. It had been a deliberate decision to be naked under the skirt, tonight there would be no place for modesty. And as the skirt's design featured a full-length zip at both the front and the back, it projected an under-stated indecency that she thought the powers-that-be at So-UnRealIsm might find appetising. But she knew she couldn't rely totally on under-statement and subtlety. So, around her waist she tied a foot-wide bondage belt, again fashioned from white PVC, adorned with chromed Drings and buckled by steel claps. The belt was so tight that it gave her slim body a wasp waist, which, in turn, emphasised the delicious curve of her arse and fullness of her breasts. Her breasts... She might be slim but she had good breasts. Not huge, but pert and well-formed, and well worth advertising. And if there was one thing she knew about, it was advertising: advertising, after all, was her business. A small girl with the black-dyed hair in a shop called "Rage" had persuaded her to 341
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have her nipple pierced. When Svetlana had explained to her that she was putting together an outfit that communicated "submission", the girl had been adamant that a piercing was a must. Nothing, she explained, would more effectively signal Svetlana's attitude. Svetlana had gone to the parlour the girl had recommended as safe, had had the piercing done and had chosen as a nipple adornment a simple platinum stirrup, which now hung enticingly from her blackened nipple. Blackened... Her nipples were varnished a slick black colour—she was determined that they would be seen. Blackened nipples teamed with a white blouse of the sheerest, the most ephemeral lace, achieved just the degree of prominence she desired. As she stood looking at herself in the mirror, she was delighted by the effect created by the lace; it ghosted over her breasts like mist, accentuating their curves and their shadows, and, contrarily, making her look more naked with the blouse on, than she had seemed without it. For her jewellery, she'd chosen pieces made from chromed steel, as hard and as strong as her resolve. And celebrating her willingness to submit, the style of the jewellery was bondageesque. Around her long, elegant neck she strapped a tall, stiff posture-collar that sported a D-ring, as did each of the steel manacles she buckled onto her wrists. The boots she chose to complement the ensemble were also white, rising over her ankles, sharp heeled and adorned with chromed buckles. Although, even in her bare feet she stood well above average height, Svetlana was delighted with 342
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the effect even these modest heels had on her appearance: in them she looked more commanding and much, much taller. She checked the clock that stood on her dressing table; it was almost midnight, time to leave. There was just one final addition to her ensemble; she reached for her mask. The mask she was to wear was exquisite, woven from strands of filigree sliver producing an almost organic shape, a shape that twisted and roiled over her face like some living thing, hiding her, but simultaneously making her seem decadent and alluring. And frighteningly available. **** When she arrived, twenty minutes later, outside SoUnReal-Ism there was already a crowd of a hundred or so people milling aimlessly around the entrance, waiting for the club's door to open. Whenever this happened, they'd surge forward to lobby the evening-suited man guarding the door. Inevitably, they would be forced to retreat, disconsolate and disappointed, when their pleas to be allowed in were rebuffed. The herd of wannabes ebbed and flowed like a tide. Watching from the edge of the crowd, Svetlana waited for Mr. Evening-Suit's next appearance and then strode determinedly up to him. "You again," he said, in a voice so quiet that she had to strain to hear what he was saying, "are you ready to submit yet?" For some reason, the directness of the question unnerved Svetlana: it was blunt, it was uncompromising and it demanded an unambiguous answer. This moment, she knew, 343
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was the point of no return; to get into So-UnReal-Ism she had to put up or shut up. "Yes," she replied, a little annoyed by the hesitant tremor in her voice. The man's mouth crooked in dismissive arrogance. "Show me how you would submit." For a second Svetlana was totally nonplussed, unable to think or do anything. It was possible to flirt with the idea of visiting a club like So-UnReal-Ism, it was possible to imagine what might go on in there, it was even possible to imagine, in a sanitised sort of way, participating in some of the club's ... activities, but it was quite another to be confronted, full on, with the reality and the consequences of what you were doing. As any neophyte will tell you, the step from imagination to participation is an enormous one. She knew though that she had no alternative but to take that fateful first step: if she wanted to test the accusations made in those malignant e-mails she had to enter So-UnRealIsm. She wouldn't be able to live without knowing just what she might be... Shuffling her hips to ease the tight, tight skirt above her knees, she knelt down on the hard cold pavement before the masked man. Raising her hands to his fly, she eased the zip down and then slid her hand inside, tracing her fingers around the man's rapidly stiffening cock. Carefully she freed it from the confines of his tight trousers. The cock flicked out, into the cold of the night, its long, hard, purple-headed length bobbing excitedly just an inch or so from her mouth, and 344
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Svetlana smiled as she remembered her mother once counselling her that a Russian soul was never afraid to sin. And without this sinful sacrifice she would never know if the e-mail told lies or truth. There was no place here for bitten-lip dignity, just compliance and obedience. Oblivious to the shocked and, it must be said, envious stares of the crowd that stood transfixed around her, she opened her black-varnished lips and brought them to nestle over the rounded tip of the man's now fully engorged cock. And it was a handsome cock; although she had only made love to a handful of men in her entire life, she had come to realise that, just like faces, penises had uniquely distinctive appearances. They could be pleasing or ugly, appealing or distinctly unappealing. This cock was a good-looking one, smooth and light-coloured with a shiny purple eye. She wasn't terribly accomplished in fellatio and her experience was limited, so she was surprised by the taste of this man. As she roamed her tongue around the polished tip of his penis, the tang of the man's arousal was disconcertingly tart, a much sharper taste than that which she anticipated. And the man's smell was different too. Whereas her previous lovers had had a light, almost floral odour, this man's was much heavier, much more ... she hated to say it, masculine. His perfume came as a jolting shock, and she could feel the small, almost invisible hairs on her body tingle with aromatic excitement. Thus encouraged, she pushed her head forward, sliding her lips along his slick length, all-the-whilst caressing the gossamer thin skin of his prick with her tongue. Drawing the man into the warm wet invitation of her mouth, she 345
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caressed his taut length with her languid lips and tested the crown of the prick with her shrewd, searching tongue. Despite the protests of her residual conscience she found herself (reluctantly, almost guiltily) enjoying what she was doing, and found the cock that nestled so snugly in her mouth unbearably delicious. Her world contracted, and thoughts of the cold pavement, of the outraged stares of the crowd, of the snapping of cameras that recorded her sexual genuflection, receded. Now all her thoughts were focussed solely on the length of warm, sliding flesh that she held so firmly, and oh-so-willingly in her mouth. She redoubled her efforts, pummelling her mouth over his tool, all-the-whilst keeping her lips tight so that the erection had to struggle for entry, had to work to delve into the accommodating comfort of her mouth. And to add further encouragement, she reached up, sliding her hands around the man's arse, urging him deeper into her, digging her black tipped nails into his hard bottom. Her efforts were rewarded. The man's perfume mutated, becoming more pungent, heavier, signalling his imminent climax. From far away she heard his small defeated cry. Suddenly, the texture of his skin altered, and beneath her fingers she felt his muscles bunch and then twitch as he ejaculated into her mouth. His seed was sour, and for a moment her body recoiled, rejecting it, but then with a determination driven by steely resolve, she drank, sucking Mr Evening-Suit's emission down, down inside her. The man gasped, and for the first time he touched her, laying his hands almost reverently on top of her head. For a second 346
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they were motionless, as though locked in some erotic tableau, and then, as his prick subsided within her, as though coming back to consciousness, the man stood away from her. He shuffled his flagging penis back into his trousers, but Svetlana stopped him, and instead hungrily pushed out her tongue to take the last pearlescent tear of emission from the point of his penis. This done, the man zipped himself up, and then, unbelievably, reached out a hand to help her to her feet. "You can go in now," he said and pushed the club's steel entrance door open. **** Svetlana took no second bidding; she was through the entrance in an instant, the door immediately closing behind her, muffling the disappointed protests of the crowd and simultaneously shrouding her in darkness. The darkness was so total, so all-enveloping that for a moment she was completely disorientated, not knowing whether she should go left or right, forward or back—or even if there were a left or right, or a forward or a back. Then, as she stood perplexed, and not a little afraid, in the stygian gloom, a line of tiny LED lights illuminated across the floor. With only a moment's hesitation, she set off to follow them, the spiked heels on her boots snapping on the hard, cold concrete floor, the sound ricocheting off into the black uncertainty ahead of her. Eventually, after what seemed to be an eternity of groping and shuffling along the corridor, she saw a sign ahead of her 347
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which said simply, "Enter". And below it, doused in the sign's timid red light, were drawn the words: "Love must be reinvented" It was an odd slogan to be on the door giving entry to the city's most notorious leather and pain club. She knew the quote well, it came from the French poet Arthur Rimbaud, and, remembering Rimbaud's troubled and tempestuous life, maybe, she decided, he wasn't such a bad patron for a place like So-UnReal-Ism to adopt as an inspiration. But for any BDSM club to quote twentieth-century French poets at its customers was, Svetlana thought, very peculiar. And "peculiar" was an adjective apt in describing the world that awaited her when she pushed through the heavy door into So-UnReal-Ism proper. So-UnReal-Ism was not what she had expected. In fact, So-UnReal-Ism displayed none of those BDSM clichés of neoindustrial décor and an aurally eviscerating rock soundtrack the media usually used when depicting clubs specialising in pain and submission. So-UnReal-ism looked and sounded, if anything, more like some huge avant-garde art gallery. The place she had emerged into was a temple to erotic excess and libertine indulgence, and Svetlana didn't apply the word "temple" lightly. From what she could see in the gloom, the building must once have been a huge church that had been requisitioned by the club for worship of a much more ungodly kind. As she walked down the aisle of the former church she was surprised by how much this thought disconcerted her; it seemed vaguely sacrilegious that those who attended SoUnReal-Ism should worship hedonistic pain in such a place. 348
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A little uncertainly Svetlana stumbled forward in the flickering darkness that shrouded the club, only spotlights set high up in the building's cupola providing fitful, swirling illumination. So-UnReal-Ism embraced the darkness of the theatre ... the theatre of the macabre, the club's scant illumination framing and displaying the huge murals, paintings and sculptures that decorated the place. As Svetlana walked further into the club, these gigantic artworks glowered down on her, every one of them seemly designed to shock and to disturb and to terrify. To her front, in a place where she guessed an altar had once stood, she was confronted by a wide stage that dominated the crowded ballroom. The stage was decorated by an enormous backdrop of the famous image taken from that triumph of Surrealist cinema, "Un Chien Andalou", an image that showed an eye being severed by a razor. Svetlana had to look away: for her this was one of the most unsettling acts ever committed to celluloid. Every time she saw this wickedly perverted scene, she was filled with nausea and disgust. Avoiding looking at this necessitated her having to shift her gaze and take in the other, equally troubling, artistic sights decorating the club. On her right, taking up the entire wall and rendered in a swirling maelstrom of oils and prurience was a gigantic, twenty-times life-sized picture of a man laughing as his erect penis was sawn from his body. There, to her left, rose a tremendous sculpture of two thirty-foot tall lovers literally fusing into one another as they copulated, one body mixing with and absorbing the other in 349
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what was presumably a representation of the all-consuming experience of orgasm. But disturbing as these and the rest of the art-works were, the major difficulty Svetlana had with the vast vaulted room she was walking through was the distinct impression she had that none of the verticals and horizontals were true. The whole place seemed to be slightly and very troublingly skewed and distorted, giving the feeling that it was somehow in the process of melting, that it was not quite of this dimension. Even the three steps she had to climb to reach the ballroom floor were set at non-uniform heights, each laying at a different angle, and it was only when she tried to place her foot on the final step that she realised it wasn't actually there: it was just a skilfully painted trompe d'oeil. As she tripped over the non-existent third step, her heart skipped a beat and for an instant, she believed she was falling, tumbling, into a bottomless nothingness: the floor of the ballroom had been pained to look as though there was no floor, as though there was just a hole looking down, down, down onto a cityscape far below. Even realising that it was just a painted illusion, it still took a moment for Svetlana to gather the courage necessary to step out onto the "nothingness". All this quirkiness was emphasised by the music that played through hidden speakers: it was discordant free-jazz, devoid of a recognisable melody and played in a timesignature that was almost impossible to recognise. The music was perfect for So-UnReal-Ism: it reflected and 350
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complemented the oddity of the construction, the decoration and the patrons. Ah ... the patrons. The place was crowded, and Svetlana had to push her way onto the ballroom floor through the cabal of misfits and iconoclasts congregated to celebrate their sexual iniquity. Crowded though it was, So-UnReal-Ism didn't have the frenetic atmosphere she associated with dance clubs. Here the club-goers simply seemed to drift around the place, enjoying their anonymity—they were all masked—and their strangeness. From what Svetlana could see of them as they flickered into and out of sight under the oscillating beams of the spotlights, they were very strange indeed. There was no commonality of style or fashion: everyone, it seemed, was determined to be as different as possible. There were leather freaks and Pierrots, there were men and women naked except for elaborate body art, there were nu-Romantics, oldRomantics, there was every style known to humankind ... and then some that were not yet known. The place was as a cacophony of individuality and free expression. As she stood at the edge of the dance-floor—still slightly uncomfortable about the image painted on the floor and by the vastness of the cupola opening over her head—she felt a presence behind her, and turning, found herself facing a tall man wearing a white dinner jacket and black trousers, the man accompanied by a small and dainty Chinese woman sporting a very tight and very brief dress made from scarlet PVC. The identities of both were hidden behind full-face masks constructed from black leather. 351
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"It is your first evening in So-UnReal-Ism. We will be your guides and your instructors. You may call me "Master", and my help-mate, "Little Su". Please follow us." Without waiting for a reply, the man arrogantly spun on his heel, and side-byside with his companion walked towards a staircase that led up to the balcony that circled the ballroom floor. Svetlana was left with no alternative but to follow. As they climbed the stairs the man turned, "You are a newcomer, and as such you are not permitted to interact with the other guests. Tonight will determine if you are to be permitted to return to SoUnReal-Ism. Tonight we will test your resolve and your inclinations." "My inclinations?" "Indeed. We see in you the capacity to embrace the more pain centred aspects of the flesh. We would test you to establish if this belief is correct." This last statement gave Svetlana pause. To have people talk of her having such outré sexual inclinations was ... interesting. She had never thought about the darker side of sexual experience before, but if So-UnReal-Ism saw such potential in her, maybe it was a potential that the Boss could also come to appreciate. If the e-mails' insinuations were correct, the Boss certainly had an affection for this sort of sex, and wither the Boss led, she would certainly follow. "But it is not just a passion for pain we look for in those we invite into So-UnReal-Ism," the Master continued, "we also seek intelligence and a willingness to think the unthinkable. As you might already have begun to suspect, So-UnReal-Ism celebrates the teachings of Dada and Surrealism," he spread 352
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an arm around to indicate the art that decorated the club, "but you should understand that it is not just the artistic inclinations of Surrealism we embrace but also, and more importantly, the political ones." "Political?" she asked. "Indeed, Surrealism and its progenitor Dada, were spawned by the revulsion of European intellectuals to the barbaric slaughter that was the First World War. They argued that every intelligent man and woman had a duty to reject the bourgeois morality and reasoning that made such a tragedy possible. Instead, they championed anarchy and irrationality. So-UnReal-Ism has adopted that creed and made it flesh." "That seems a very negative philosophy..." "Not so: in the history of political advancement it is always necessary to destroy before reconstruction can begin. New thoughts, new attitudes and new philosophies are always built upon the rubble of discredited value-systems." "But first you have to accept that our system is flawed. Isn't Surrealism a case, as the old African proverb tells us, of burning down the village just to feel the warmth?" The Master turned to look at her, and she felt his stare boring into her, "I am surprised that a woman of your intelligence can make such a statement. I would have thought it patently obvious that the political, the religious and the artistic values of the so-called civilised nations of our planet are worn-out, vacuous and desiccated. Any culture, such as the one the world is currently in thrall to, which so readily embraces war as a political tool, that kow-tows to the 353
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pernicious beliefs of fundamentalist religion and which takes an irrational pride in moral affectation, is a culture in intellectual and ethical decline. To paraphrase Karl Marx, "liberty, equality, fraternity" have been replaced as watchwords for civilised values by "hierocracy, prudery, artillery"." Svetlana laughed, it seemed a very pompous creed for what was, after all, just a BDSM club. "So how is So-UnRealIsm making political waves?" "You may laugh, but the creed of So-UnReal-Ism is very serious. The promotion of dark sex is perhaps one of the most effective instruments of political subversion available to people, such as myself, who wish to change attitudes. Once the flesh is free, the mind will follow. That is why the state, the church and all the other members of the establishment are so intent on outlawing outré sex." The Master stopped at the top of the staircase and pointed to a huge reproduction of a swirling, tumbling mass of black lines. "This is a reproduction of "Automatic Drawing" by André Masson. The automatic technique—be it applied to music, painting, drawing, rapping or whatever—involves spontaneous, improvised creation without reference to censoring thought or conscience. Using this method, Surrealism seeks to merge the fantastic with the rational so that reality mutates into surreality. So-UnReal-Ism brings this technique to the realm of the erotic: here sex is performed without the concerns for morality and without stultifying selfcensorship." The Master's eyes flared behind his mask, "The philosophy of So-UnReal-Ism is the revolt of the libido." 354
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Suddenly light flashed on the distant ceiling of the club, and Svetlana watched in stunned astonishment as for, perhaps thirty seconds, a video was projected against the flat white plaster. As a piece of film-making it was anarchic and irreverent, a cacophony, a hyper-charged deluge of snap-cut, jump-cut images of men and women being the subject of flagellation. It would have been easy to dismiss the piece as witless trash, a graceless, humourless, styleless turd of a video that was obviously contemptuous of such elitist concepts as pacing, lighting, continuity and acting. But it wasn't easy: by its very prurience, by its dismissal and ignorance of all the rules of film-making and by its sheer maniacal energy it grabbed Svetlana's attention and held it. It transcended pornography and mutated into a provocatively disturbing statement on sexual freedom. "Wow, I've never seen anything like that before." "There are very few talents working in the world of film as nihilistic or as talented as the girl who directed that piece and, I am pleased to say, it was made using footage shot in this club. The director's name is Norma X and she's called the piece 'PhotoShocked'. Norma has an interesting approach to her directing, she follows the adage "it's easy to do things properly, but it's so much more satisfying to fuck them up." "It's brilliant in a perverted sort of way." "No, it's not perverted, it's just brilliant. Norma is a real revolutionary." He smiled at Svetlana and reached out to drift a manicured nail over her left nipple, flicking absent-mindedly at the piece of jewellery that hung from it. "The question comes, Svetlana: are you a revolutionary or a bourgeoisie?" 355
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"No, the question comes," thought Svetlana, "how do you know my name?" Svetlana found that she had been manoeuvred into a small area—very much like a box in a theatre—which overlooked the stage which lay some fifty feet or so below her. From this vantage point, leaning over the balustrade at the lip of the box, Svetlana found herself looking down to the crowd swaying below. It took several moments for her to be able to make out details of the crowd undulating beneath her; the spotlights that swung like pendulums over the floor meant that the dancers flickered in and out of the light. It was like watching ripples on a moonlight-speckled lake. As she watched, she felt a strange urge to be one of them, to embrace the sort of outré sex they relished. In a place like So-UnReal-Ism there was no need to hide her hungers, there was no need to fear that she would affront, there was no need to exclude herself... Shivers of fear, disgust and excitement trembled through her body. Excitement... Yes, So-UnReal-Ism was an exciting place, and she wanted—needed—to experience it to the full. Svetlana turned back towards the staircase. She wanted to go down and become part of the crowd, she wanted to get down to the dance floor... A strong hand grabbed her wrist. "No, you cannot leave the balcony." The statement from the Master was implacable, "You must stay here until I say you are ready. If you walk 356
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away from me now you will never enter So-UnReal-Ism again." "Please..." There was a resolute shake of the Master's head, "You must prove yourself." For a long moment, the eyes of Svetlana and of the Master locked, and it was Svetlana who looked away. "I'll stay. I'll do anything you wish." She turned back to the balustrade and gazed down at the dancers. As she watched, she saw a man shimmy through the press of the crowd towards the front of the dance-floor and climb up onto the stage, his appearance accompanied by cheers from the crowd. Now that she could see him more clearly, Svetlana had to marvel at his sexual chutzpah. All he was wearing was a pair of tight black plastic shorts and a devil mask. Svetlana smiled a little ruefully, wondering how marvellous it would be if this tall, handsome and very well-formed man was hers. It was the first time in a very long while that she had actually desired a man. As Svetlana watched, to even louder cheers from the crowd, a naked and statuesque blonde girl sauntered out of the wings and across to the centre of the stage. She might have been masked but she was obviously beautiful; the way she moved and the way she held herself bespoke a confidence in her body that only the loveliest of women radiate. Automatically Svetlana inventoried her own body and compared it to that of the blonde's. Which of them had the better body was a question of taste. Svetlana's legs were longer and, to her mind, better shaped, but the girl's breasts were impressive and they jiggled quite alluringly as she 357
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walked. It was a good walk too: the blonde had probably had dancing lessons when she was younger. All-in-all Svetlana didn't think that the blonde was in anyway her superior ... just different. Different in that it was the blonde who was now standing in the middle of the stage alongside the man Svetlana coveted and not Svetlana. "I like her mask," the Master whispered in Svetlana's ear. "I understand she created the mask herself weaving it out of strips of red leather. In a world such as we live in, where sex is subject to so many taboos, a mask announces the decision to violate these taboos. I think her mask does that very eloquently." Mesmerised by the tableau vivant that was developing on the stage beneath her, Svetlana edged hard up against the balcony's balustrade and gripped hard onto the loops of steel that decorated it. That grip became even harder as she saw the man tie the blonde to two heavy chains that snaked down from the ceiling to the centre of the stage, tie her so that she now stood crucified before the audience: a latter-day Vitruvian Woman with her ankles and her wrists manacled akimbo in a "X" shape. Satisfied that the blonde was imprisoned by the bonds, the man confidently, arrogantly almost, moved to the edge of the stage and spoke to the audience. What he said was lost in the hubbub of voices and drowned by the jazz snaking through the club, but the reaction was marked. Immediately there was a flurry of activity in the crowd until, finally, a young girl, slim, dark and wearing a short black leather dress and a half-mask in the 358
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form of a cat, clambered up onto the stage to stand beside the chained blonde. Svetlana felt the warm breath of the Master on her ear, "Watch carefully. The first step to becoming welcome in SoUnReal-Ism is to prove your sexual proclivities by allowing a man or a woman to impose their sexual will on you, just as tonight this man will impose his on this girl." As though cued by the Master's observation, on the stage the man snaked his hand around the blonde's body and began to tremble his long fingers against the stiffening nipple of her right breast. This provoked excitement in the girl—it was apparent by the way she writhed against her fetters—but equally it provoked jealously in Svetlana. And not just jealousy, but envy too: she was envious that the blonde was being stimulated by the man and she was not. It should be her down there tied to the chains! Yet as she watched, Svetlana was conscious that she was experiencing other emotions apart from jealousy and envy. She was becoming fascinated by what was being done to the blonde girl, and that fascination was mutating into a burgeoning sexual excitement. Never had Svetlana thought of being in such a position as the blonde girl now so happily found herself: naked, vulnerable, at the mercy of a handsome man. It was an erotic fantasy made real, and Svetlana was aroused by being part of it, albeit a peripheral part. "But why should that be?" she thought. Surely she had come to So-UnReal-Ism to learn: to learn about herself ... and to learn about the erotic. Svetlana turned to the Master, "You say that I must prove my willingness to submit by 359
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allowing a man to impose his will on me. So why wait? Why don't you visit upon me all that that man will visit on the blonde girl?" "You are prepared to do that? You do realise that he may ... punish her." Svetlana nodded, "I want to feel everything that girl feels, experience everything that she experiences, enjoy the pain that she enjoys." With a rueful shake of his head, the Master replied, "So be it," and he produced two pairs of handcuffs from his jacket pocket and, leaning forward, used them to clasp Svetlana's wrists to two of the balustrade's steel loops. "Shuffle your feet back," he ordered, "I want you positioned so your arse is up in the air." Svetlana did as she was instructed, manoeuvring herself such that her body, from her wrists to her waist, became almost horizontal with the floor. This done, she felt the Master's hand stroking over the stretched white PVC that covered her arse. It was a delightfully mischievous feeling. The knowledge that this man and this woman-Little Su had come to stand by Svetlana's side-could do with her whatever he wished and she, handcuffed as she was, would be unable to prevent him doing it, was enormously stimulating. "You are very beautiful, and very, very desirable," murmured the Master, as his hand snaked under her body and gently massaged the swell of her breast, his palm coasting over the stiffening nipple. Just as the Master's attentions were becoming more overt, so Svetlana gazed out to the stage to see that the man's fondling of the blonde had 360
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similarly become more intense and intimate. It was easy for Svetlana to imagine that it was she who stood with the man on that stage; that it was the man's hands and not the Master's that were delving so deliciously around her breasts, and this vicarious imagining she found incredibly arousing. The blonde's body became a stand-in, a locum for her own. So it was, through eyes half-closed by rising excitement, that Svetlana watched as the man beckoned the girl in the leather dress forward and indicated that she should kneel in front of the blonde. The rest was inevitable, the girl pushed her head towards the blonde's sex, and although Svetlana's view was partially blocked by the girl's bobbing head, it was obvious that the girl in the leather dress was enthusiastically eating the blonde. The Master made Svetlana's fantasies real. She felt the zip on the rear of her skirt being pulled, and the bifurcated skirt falling away from her body to reveal her naked arse. A hand slipped cunningly between her thighs and immediately a finger began to explore her sex, teasing around her clitoris, running salaciously along her labia and questing sternly into the dark confines of her quim. Little Su stooped down and, ducking under her, squirmed between Svetlana's legs. Svetlana had never been with a woman before, in her native land, lesbianism was frowned upon as a sin, as something unholy and prurient, but as she felt Little Su's mouth began the first tentative teasing of the lips of her sex, Svetlana gave not one thought to these primitive moral censures. All she knew was the unbelievably marvellous sensation of the 361
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woman's tongue as it began to search, seeking the comforting warmth of Svetlana's soaked cunt. As Little Su's mouth nibbled and teased, so the Master's fingers coasted over Svetlana's balm-slick labia, making her flinch forward to rise accommodatingly up onto her toes. Little Su seized this opportunity to assert her sexual dominance. For Svetlana, there was an almost dream-like quality in the way the woman's long and supple tongue tracked its way along the soft, vulnerable flesh on the inside of her thigh. It was intoxicating, especially when she felt the woman's shoulders fidget their way between her legs and lever them further apart, opening her sex wider and more invitingly to the advancing mouth and to the Master's testing fingers. A zephyr of cold air from the a/c flexed around the damp lips of Svetlana's sex, sending a frisson of excitement ricocheting over her skin. Skilfully, Little Su's clever, educated tongue searched the dark niches of Svetlana's cunt, her mouth snuggling into her slick heat. A gasp of anguished pleasure broke from Svetlana's mouth as the woman's tongue made its first fleeting, tremulous contact with the bead of her clitoris. Svetlana shook with glee, rattling her handcuffs helplessly as she strained her body to press her sex harder against the woman's mouth, pleading for-no, demanding-more. And Little Su reciprocated: her teeth began to torture the hardening nub of the clitoris, her tongue began to lap at her creaming labia, whilst her hands began to caress that most coy of places, the dark confine of Svetlana's anus. Mewing with rising excitement, Svetlana clenched hard at the steel loops 362
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that so marvellously imprisoned her, enjoying the self same delights that were being inflicted on the blonde fifty feet below her on the stage. The effect of the physical and of the visual experience Svetlana was enjoying was bizarre: it was almost as though she was undergoing an out-of-body experience, as though she was some disembodied spirit swirling around the ether, simultaneously enjoying the pleasuring of her own body and, vicariously, the pleasuring of the blonde's body. It was a surreal experience... She froze for a moment, transfixed by the thought. Surreal... The aim of the surreal as propounded by the Master was to revolutionise human experience, to free men and women from the falsehoods of rationality and from the chilling and destructive confines of a restrictive sexual morality. In Svetlana's case, it was succeeding. Through hooded and lust-glazed eyes she saw the man strap a wide belt around the blonde's waist. Immediately the Master's mouth was at her ear to explain. "All forms of flagellation are martial activities, and involve one person—the Top—inflicting pain on the Bottom. If not managed in a caring, in a controlled way, whipping is a hugely dangerous activity, which is why clubs such as So-UnReal-Ism insist upon the Top acting in a disciplined way and demand that Bottoms wear protective belts just like the one you are wearing. In addition, the man and the blonde girl will have agreed a safe-word, a safe-word which, once uttered by the 363
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submissive, will lead to an immediate cessation of the flogging." The crop that the man used on the blonde was perhaps a metre long and was composed of a thin, supple core wrapped in plaited leather. The stroke he inflicted was aimed to bisect the blonde's arse horizontally across its twin swells. It was an amazingly accurate blow, though not, the watching Svetlana was convinced, a particularly hard one. Despite the circumspection of the blow, the blonde reacted as though she was enduring the agony of the damned, writhing theatrically to the impact, rolling forward against her bonds and in so doing forcing herself against the hungry mouth of the kneeling girl. But Svetlana knew she wasn't hurt, that she wasn't pained. There was no gasp of stunned astonishment, there was no blanching of cheeks, there was no gritting of teeth or clenching of jaw, there was no widening of eyes. No, all there was, Svetlana was convinced, was a pastiche of agony. For Svetlana the way the blonde mimed ersatz pain was a betrayal. It betrayed the Top's lusts and his desires, and this she, Svetlana, would never do. If that man ever whipped her, she would insist on him visiting such agony on her body that there would be no doubt as to her willingness to do everything and anything to please him, nor any doubt that both their sexual thirsts were being slaked. For a moment she froze, even the delicious ministrations of Little Su's tongue relegated to indifference. What did she mean; both their sexual thirsts? Even as she asked the question of her self, she knew the answer: she wanted to be 364
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whipped. She wanted to feel pain, and to meld it with the ecstasy of sexual fulfilment. She wanted the dark pleasures of the lash, and she wanted them unadulterated and unrestrained. Just thinking about the whip landing so joyously across her arse made her buck with pleasure. She turned her head to the Master and snarled at him, "Whip me, pain me, make me howl. Don't hold back, don't pretend, don't restrain yourself." With a wanton wiggle she offered her naked arse to the man, the wiggle having the secondary benefit of encouraging Little Su to use her mouth and her fingers more enthusiastically. Without a word, the Master did as he was bade, taking a crop that hung from the wall, and flexing it between his hands. When the whip landed across Svetlana's rump, it exorcised all of Svetlana's residual restraint. It was real, true, hard and decisive pain; a pain that shocked her body and numbed her mind, a pain that forced on her a gasping, open-mouthed surprise, a pain that drove tears from her eyes, a pain that made her push her sex towards Little Su's mouth, subconsciously demanding deeper and more earnest satisfaction. It was a pain like no other she had ever experienced, a pain that mutated as it echoed through her body into a strange and wicked pleasure. As she jerked against the handcuffs, her body tautened, absorbingwelcoming-the intense punishment. In that nano-second of revelation, she understood how pain could be transmogrified into lust. 365
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Yes ... in that instance she felt so very sorry for the blonde, who by being so circumspect, so very fearful of the pain being visited upon her, would never be able to endure the heady delights of erotic torture. Sexual and intellectual fulfilment would remain forever tantalisingly beyond her grasp. "More," Svetlana screamed, as she saw on the stage below her the man's arm ratchet back, coiling itself in anticipation of a second blow. As though time had slowed, she watched as the muscles on the man's back bunched, as his spine twisted like a drawn bow, saw his mouth tensed in studied concentration... The two whip slashes landed simultaneously; as one, Svetlana and the blonde bucked forward against their shackles; and together they emitted a scream of ecstasy. The crowd cheered, but on the balcony all there was, was the grunt of effort as the Master belaboured Svetlana's arse, the sigh of satisfaction from Svetlana as the pain of the whip and the joy of the climax merged into one overwhelming, overpowering orgasm. Finally, Svetlana slumped down against her fetters, her body spent by her sexual exertions. Distracted, her breath coming in short, desperate pants, Svetlana sensed Little Su stand away from her, and felt the Master sank three fingers into her sodden cunt, twisting them to coat them liberally with her hot balm. Then with unexpected tenderness, he smoothed her unction over the hot stripes on her arse. "Come to me again," he whispered, "and I will initiate you into the world of domination. To be all 366
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you can be as a submissive you must explore these contrary sensations ... these contrary pleasures." They unbuckled her, then led her back down the stairs. She left her skirt, preferring to walk through the club naked from the waist down, happy to display her sex to the crowds thronging the club, happy to have the spotlights flicker on her cream-slicked thighs and arse, and very content to display the stripes of her submission. As he walked by her side, the Master suddenly turned to Svetlana, "I give you a challenge ... next time you come to So-UnReal-Ism show me something new, something that shows you have understood tonight's experiences. Demonstrate to me that you are changed." [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter Three The Boss watched her second presentation carefully. He knew that some of her team members were surprised by his presence. He guessed they thought he was there to witness Svetlana's failure. Oh, the word had gone out that the great, the glacial, the god-damned brilliant Svetlana was in trouble; that her first pitch had been a fuck-up. So, everyone wanted to be there to witness the final conflagration of her meteoric career. A business colleague is never more popular than when he or she is in trouble. Everyone wants to watch a train-wreck. But his reason for attending the presentation was much more prosaic. He knew she had embraced submission and she had embraced surrealism—sub-realism?—and nothing could be a more liberating experience. She had taken that oh-sodifficult first step on the road to sexual and intellectual liberation. And hopefully the prospect of playing the Dominatrix at So-UnReal-Ism tonight had whet her sexual appetites even further. So, the question was, had So-UnReal-Ism produced a thawing of the Ice Princess? As he watched her rise to her feet and move to stand by the projector screen, he knew that his efforts hadn't been in vain. Oh, the changes in her were subtle, but he saw them and he knew what they presaged. Her outfit was as it always was: the starched white blouse and the knee-length black pencil skirt, but rather than being buttoned tight to her neck 368
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now three buttons of the blouse were undone, allowing the occasional, fleeting glimpse of the swell of her breasts. Moreover, her breasts now hung without a bra, and as she raised her arm to point out facts on the display screen, they undulated deliciously. The Boss leant closer, examining the tips of her breasts as they jiggled so excitingly: she was colouring them! He could see the dark stiffness of the twin disks of her nipples even through the thickness of the blouse's cotton, a subtle darkness that was all the more erotically arousing because of the almost subliminal way they were displayed. Having seen this change he now saw others: her lipstick was at least two or three shades darker than that which she usually wore and it had a shiny varnished look. She now sported heavy chain jewellery about her neck and her wrists—surely an echo of the steel manacles she'd seen in So-UnReal-Ism—and her heels were now a towering four inches, making her legs look amazingly long. It wasn't just her appearance that had altered. She also seemed to have begun to appreciate the erotic, and this was noticeable in her reinterpretation of the campaign for the perfume. For the first time he saw her fantasy persona, the one she had manifested in So-UnReal-Ism, and the real world persona of Svetlana the hard-headed marketing executive begin to overlap. Svetlana's fantasies and her realities were merging to form a new and very exciting ... surreality. There would be no need to send any more e-mails... **** 369
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Madam Durst was the doyen of all perfumiers: a living legend. She had worked with all the greats—Ernest Beaux who created Chanel No 5, and the other master perfumiers at Guerlain and Worth—all of them. She had developed some of the most famous perfumes that sat on the shelves of cosmetic counters around the world. And now she was sitting, frail and fragile, at the end of the Agency's conference table, swathed in a floor-length black woollen dress, sucking greedily on her black cheroot and puffing out dark, vaporous clouds of smoke, smoke which threatened to obscure the "No Smoking" sign on the wall. She looked, decided Svetlana, like a tiny sparrow, her head bobbing up and down and her sharp, alert eyes twitching around the room examining and assessing the nervous members of Svetlana's creative team. "Eighty, if she's a day," thought Svetlana, "and still sharp as a tack." So sharp, in fact, that only five years before the intimidating, the daunting Madam Durst had mortgaged everything she owned to set up her own company, a company dedicated to producing—discovering almost—that ultimate perfume. And now that she'd done the impossible, she was looking for someone to market it. "Are vee ready to begin?" the old woman said suddenly, the acid in her voice only partially diluted by the strange accent that flavoured her speech. Svetlana got to her feet and moved to the opposite end of the table from where Madam Durst was sitting, to where her computer was set up. 370
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"You are vearing my perfume," the old woman observed. It wasn't a question, more a statement. "Why yes, I thought..." "Gut, it suits you. A voman like you needs a lascivious perfume. How are you vearing it?" For a moment Svetlana was nonplussed by the question, then she shrugged, "Well ... as I normally do: behind my ears and on the inside of my wrists." "Pah, this is not gut. A voman, young, beautiful ... desirable as you are, must use her perfume provocatively. Vhen I vas yo' age I vore my perfume betveen my breasts, in my navel unt on my pubis ... pour l'encouragement des hommes. You understand?" "Oh yes..." stumbled Svetlana, understanding only too clearly. There were nervous shuffles around the table. It seemed the rest of the executives gathered in the room had understood too. "Gut. Do zhat unt in vun veek you vill have fucked all ze young men in zis room." Madam Durst peered through rheumy eyes at the men sitting about the conference table, bobbing her head and its sequinned beret at the most handsome of them. Then she added as an after-thought, "All ze vuns who are nut queer anyzays." She took another long drag of her cheroot and settled back in her chair with an expectant look on her face. "Zo ... ve proceed, yes?" And thus encouraged, Svetlana proceeded. "I have thought long and hard about your perfume," she heard herself pronounce to the collected gathering, "and about perfume in general. My conclusion is that a woman 371
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wears perfume in order to mutate and to signal that this mutation has produced a woman more sexually active and sexually available than the original." "Gut, yes," commented Madam Durst, to no one in particular, "zat is right. All perfume iz about fucking. All perfume imitates vun stage or ze ozzer ov ze ritual ov sex. Ze florals ze first chaste kiss, ze fougere ze touch ov vun naked body on anozer, unt ze chypre ze first entry ov ze penis into ze cunt. Zis perfume ov mine mimicks ze aroma ov orgasm, because ze orgasm is ze ultimate reason vhy ve have ze fuck. Zis is gut. Continue pleeze." Christ, follow that, thought Svetlana, though she was pleased to see that Pauline Trent was as disconcerted by the old woman's asides as anyone. "The problem though is that all perfume advertising to date prescribes the image of this final mutation. How?" It was obviously a rhetorical question and the audience stayed mute, "by providing a dream image in the form of a celebrity endorsement. They say daub this perfume on your body and you'll become Beyonce, Britney, or J-Lo. But as you wish to attract the independent collegeeducated woman, a traditional and hackneyed promotional strategy like this will, I believe, be a positional cul-de-sac. Such free-thinking women are, in all probability, turned off by this sort of endorsement." "On zis ve are in agreement. All ze ozer agencies 'av proposed wun celebrity or anozer. I zay zat zey are too fucking expenzive. Anyhow most are too safe. Jeezus, wun proposed Jili Sands unt I reminded zem zat for all zat money I at least vanated a voman whose hymen vos fucking broken ... 372
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or maybe better, broken by ze fuck. Fucking Jili Sands. I fucked her husband unt he had a dick zat long..." Madam Durst waggled her little finger at Svetlana who had the good grace to colour, as much from the fact that she'd once supported the idea of using Jili Sands as a front-woman, as for the ribaldry of the observation. "Well, that's good to know." Svetlana took a deep steadying breath, "Anyway as I was saying: such women see celebrity endorsement as self-serving and false. You want to attract the woman who, to quote Tristan Tzara, 'demands the right to piss in different colours'." It was an audacious declaration of intent, and indeed the word "piss" did draw a few inward gasps from the audience, but conversely there was a general stiffening of attention as the audience became more alert to what Svetlana was saying. "Yez, zat iz gut. I fucked Tzara ven I vas junger ... vell I think I did, all zose Dada-ists looked the zame. Whoever he vas, he knew Tzara unt had a monocle just like Tzara"s. Ven he orgasmed, ze liddle monocle he vore popped out ov his liddle eye. I liked Tzara; he vas a cute little Romanian unt I "av a penchant for Slavs." She looked around the stunned gathering. "All zees Dada people ver mad, you understand." she said by way of an enigmatic explanation. She turned back to Svetlana and smiled, displaying a set of nicotine-yellowed teeth, "You ver discussing ze need to piss in different colours. I think ... I pick blue," she said giving a little chortle. These constant scatological asides were playing havoc with Svetlana's ability to concentrate on her presentation; but she did her best. "Is it any wonder that perhaps the most 373
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successful, the most enduring perfume is Chanel No. 5? Not only is it a marvellous fragrance, but its purchase brings with it a cachet of intellectualism: it is an intelligent perfume purchased by intelligent women! For your perfume I have taken as my inspiration a movement of thought that was rife when Coco Chanel was at the peak of her creative powers: Surrealism." She knew she had a cheek; to have lifted the idea for the perfume from the club she'd attended just a couple of evenings ago was downright larceny, but in a way she thought it was poetic justice. They'd stolen her sexual naivety and she'd pinched their theme. "Surrealism, huh. Ze surrealists ver as crazy as ze Dadaists, unt not vun gut fuck in ze lot of zem. Ov course, I never fucked Dali, zo maybe ze master vud "av changed my mind. I vas in Hollywood ven he visited Valt Disney to vork on Destino unt I think he vos interested in my firm young flesh. But zen Gala got vind of it und it all vent kaput-ski." Svetlana paused for a moment to ensure that her client had finished her reminiscence and then ploughed on, "Surrealism, ladies and gentlemen, embraced surprise, created unexpected juxtapositions of thoughts and ideas, delighted in the non sequitur, and rejected prudishness whilst welcoming the experience of esoteric sex. Was there ever a more apposite description of the modern, metro-sexual woman?" There was some nervous conversation amongst the gathered executives: this, in truth, was a far more radical premise for an advertising campaign than they had been expecting, and as always when a pack is undecided they 374
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turned to the alpha-male, or in this case the alpha-female for their lead. Pauline Trent saw her role in life as reining in Madam Durst's worst excesses and for ensuring that the business plan, agreed with the woman's financiers, was followed. That was why the board had appointed her: to ride herd on the semi-senile harridan whose vision and genius had, awkwardly in their opinion, created the company. Trent was a world-weary executive who had seen it all, bought some of it, and been disappoint with most of it. "This is intriguing but, I suspect, dangerous. To base a multi-million dollar ad campaign on the eighty-year-old musings of a bunch of wacko European intellectuals is, I think, a little too risky and," she smiled at her own joke, "risqué." Tinny sycophantic laughs echoed around the room. Svetlana was disappointed, she had expected, she had hoped, that Pauline Trent would be more daring. Madam Durst was obviously of the same opinion. "Zoon, I suspect, Pauline, you vill be applying zat censure to me. But ze musings of zis eighty-year old European vacko iz zat Svetlana has something here," said Madam Durst, the frost heavy on her voice, and the laughter dried immediately. "Zo vhy, Zvetlana, don't you finish your presentation unt let's see vere it leads." Pauline Trent wasn't, however, the type of woman to be intimidated, even by someone as redoubtable as Madam Durst. "Do you really think that is necessary? I'm sure the Venture Capital Company would prefer to see a more orthodox..." 375
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"Fuck zem unt all who sail in zem. I didn't spend zixty years of my life developing zis perfume, just to kowtow to a bunch ov fucking accountants. Come," she looked across the table to Svetlana, "show me vot you propose." "Of course," began Svetlana, quickly heading off Pauline Trent's next protest, "in today's marketing environment, launching a new perfume without the comfort-blanket of celebrity endorsement is not for the faint-hearted, but I believe my concept lends itself to, no, demands, an incremental approach to promotion. This perfume will have a guerrilla image and be promoted guerrilla-style. This is to be a viral marketing campaign. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you ... "I Submit"." The lights in the room darkened and on the screen appeared a small black cylinder around which were woven strips of black leather, the seams raised and emphasised by crude saddle-stitching. The word, "iSUBmiT" was scrawled in silver Pentel along one side of the cylinder which was shown resting against a black leather crop. Written in the same anarchic script at the bottom of the picture was the advert's tag-line, "The Revolt of the Libido". Svetlana thought it a brilliant piece of graphic design especially the use of the jagged lighting effects, and of the scraps of pictures torn from pornographic magazines that was used in the background collage. "Wow!" "Jesus!" "You've got to be kidding!" "No way!" 376
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"That's the sickest thing I've ever seen." This last comment came from Pauline Trent. "It conveys no optimism or aspirational values, it's got no meaning and its only obvious purpose is to offend. Use that in support of our perfume and it'll be the most expensive snuff-campaign in the history of marketing." "I like it." This last statement was the most important as it came from Madam Durst. "You are being too circumspect, Pauline. Zere iz zomething here that communicates viz me. Unt ze name iz excellent ... perfect. Come, Zvetlana, tell me more about 'I Zubmit'." Unhurriedly, Svetlana moved through the rest of her presentation. "I would want the product to have a nebulous feeling about it. I want it to disturb and to irritate. Its appearance should change at irregular intervals. No one should be allowed to become comfortable about the product. Its only predictable feature should be its unpredictability." And to emphasise the point, Svetlana flicked through a series of shots showing how the leather container could change over time, finally appearing as a scratched silver dildo with D-ring adornments. "I like ze dildo," observed Madam Durst, "ze 250 ml zize can be used in ze cunt unt ze iddy-bitty 50ml zize vill make ze vunderful butt-plug. Iz gut." Svetlana ploughed on as best she could, "The promotion of the product would be similarly counter-intuitive." As she described it, the campaign for "I Submit" would roll out slowly from four of the most artistically radical cities in the world: New York, Berlin, Tokyo and Moscow, and in each city the 377
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perfume would be associated with the "Degenerate Art" scene—whether it be music, visual and digital art, the written word, or theatre—by sponsoring unknown and underground performers and artists. Everything would be done to connect "I Submit" with the intellectuals who were seeking to overturn accepted attitudes and morals. The aim being, as Svetlana described it, that as the fame and infamy of the artists the perfume supported grew and rippled out to a wider audience, so too would the recognition of "I Submit's" association with the underground art-scene. "Do you have anything else planned to reinforce this association?" came the begrudging question from Pauline Trent. Svetlana nodded, "You probably remember the videos that were created for Agent Provocateur that featured Kate Moss..." "Wasn't that "The Four Dreams of Miss X"?" prompted Pauline Trent. "Ze Four Zilly Dreams of Mizz X more like," murmured Madam Durst. "Zey ver zuch a disappointment. Ze ambience, ze style, ze cinematography unt ze story ver first-rate, but ze content ... vimpish. Zey lost zhere nerve unt produced zomething only for teenage boys to vack off on. Zat Kate Mozz has a gut ass zough, but mine, ven I vos young, vos better." Svetlana nodded her agreement, "You're right, they were much too coy, but the fact remains that despite the fauxerotic content, these videos created a media frenzy. I wish to go further and to produce videos with real erotic intent, 378
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featuring the use of "I Submit". The aim would be to release them through the internet, with no publicity, just word-ofmouth to sustain them." "Unt no Kate Mozz, I hope. Ve couldn't afford her!" "How erotic?" asked a nervous Pauline Trent. "Very. The target customer we have identified has been subjected to a bombardment of products and fashions that have borrowed ideas and concepts from the netherworld of BDSM. My own feeling is that this audience is ready to take a step further and a step deeper. I propose that that step is taken whilst they are wearing "I Submit." "Dangerous." "And that's the very essence of "I Submit". We have infused "I Submit's image with Dada philosophy. "I Submit" says to its audience: reject the refined sensibility of love and embrace carnality and promiscuity. And it says to us," and here Svetlana looked around the room, "if the erotic is to be freed from the soft-focus, back-lit imagery of the boudoir, then it must feel the full fury of the whip and the lash." Svetlana waited for a response, but for several seconds the room was silent. "Ze greatest danger here, Zvetlana, iz zat you lose your nerve. Zere will be many counselling you zat a campaign like zis iz repugnant to both ze industry unt to ze establishment, unt zey vill seek to neuter your vision. Zhere can be no half-measures here. You must remain strong." "I'll try."
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"Zen I look forward to meeting with you again next week unt seeing your video ... unt seeing vezer your imagination leads us vere I hope it might." **** Svetlana had thought long and hard about how to meet the Master's demand that on her next visit to So-UnReal-Ism she show him that she had it in her to become different. Finally she knew what she wanted to do; she just didn't know whether it was possible. So she'd returned to "Rage" and asked the advice of the girl who had been so helpful regarding the piercing of her nipple. The girl had been equally accommodating regarding this new question and had directed Svetlana to a tattoo parlour a couple of blocks down from the boutique. Though the tattoo parlour was small it was scrupulously clean, and the tattoo artist certainly knew his stuff. He'd whistled appreciatively when Svetlana had handed over a picture of the design she wanted tattooed on her body. "Complicated," he admitted, "all those weaving snakes. It'll take time and a lot of care. It's gonna be expensive," he warned, "and painful." "But you can do it?" Pete, the tattoo man, studied the picture again. It showed ten snakes emerging from a single point, then writhing around one-another to form an upside-down triangle of serpents. "Sure, but as I said it'll take time and it'll be painful. Where do you want it done?" "On my mons," answered Svetlana in a matter-of-fact way, and then inched up her black pencil-skirt to display her naked 380
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sex, a naked sex that she had fastidiously shaved only an hour or so before. A goggle-eyed Pete blew out a long breath, "Well, honey, I sure ain't done one of them before. But, if you'll pardon the expression, I'm certainly up for it. It'll look great in my catalogue." **** A week later Bob Wilson stood, as he usually did on a Tuesday night, cold and bored guarding the entrance to SoUnReal-Ism. The only thing that alleviated the tedium was the prospect of seeing the girl who'd given Paul the blow-job a couple of weeks ago. Word of what she'd done had certainly gotten around: there seemed to be a lot more paparazzi than usual hanging around, waiting for something to happen. And when Bob saw her striding across the road towards him he realised that the paparazzi certainly wouldn't be going home empty handed: her outfit was outrageous, and after the sights Bob had seen during his time working for the club, that was quite some compliment. It was the skirt which created the skirmish amongst the gathered photographers as they fought for the best positions to take their shots. It was made from ankle-length black leather that was split from waist to hem straight down the front. By itself this would have been disquieting enough. But the thing that created the stir was the fact that the bottom corners of the skirt had been drawn back and clipped in place so that they parted like a pair of drapes around the girl's legs, 381
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and in doing so revealed that the girl was naked underneath the skirt. Naked but different. The girl's sex was shorn of pubic hair, and this had been replaced by a tattooed representation of what appeared to be a writhing, swirling confusion of snakes rising out of the girl's slit. The snakes coiled and slithered up over her lower stomach and around her navel. It was a prurient, unsettling depiction of depravity. It was Eve not only welcoming her Fall, but relishing it. And if the skirt wasn't enough, there was also the girl's top to consider, a top which consisted of a small, beaded and very transparent shrug of lascivious inconsequence. It simultaneously framed and decorated her loose and very visible breasts. Indeed the girl's only concession to modesty was the black leather mask she was wearing, that and the hand she held over her eyes to shield herself from the blizzard of flashlights that announced her arrival at the club's entrance. "I was invited to the club by the Master," she purred to a bemused Bob Wilson, who had difficulty dragging his eyes away from the study of the delta of snakes that decorated her mons. "Yeah ... yeah I know," stuttered Bob Wilson as he pushed open the door, and watched as that delectable ass shimmied past him into the darkness that was So-UnReal-Ism. ****
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It is impossible, her Master had explained, for a submissive to fully appreciate the subtleties of pain without having had the responsibility for inflicting it. Moreover, he continued, Svetlana had, as a woman, an instinctive empathy with a woman's tolerance of pain but no such reciprocal appreciation of how far a man might be driven. Therefore, it was an important part of her education that she should learn how to torture a man. And the first lesson, as enunciated by the Master, was to forget all the stereotypes she had seen portrayed in a delinquent, neo-con media of a masculine, super-powerful dominatrix, grunting away as she slashed at her emasculated victim with a bullwhip. To torture a man, the Master told Svetlana, was a thing of cunning and guile, not of frenzy and sweat. The true expert, the true virtuoso, would first bring the man to erection, and then torture him in such a way that the erection was not only sustained, but was actually augmented by the pain of the torture. This, he observed, was a delicate balancing act on the part of the dominatrix, and more so when it was remembered that, for the majority of men, an erection is a fragile thing. Skilful BDSM play could, the Master declared, be compared to a performance by a bravura musician, each sensation evoked from the Bottom's body melding to create a wonderful melody, which leads, in turn, to the crescendo of climax. "Tonight," explained the Master, "you must take this man," and here he nodded in the direction of a young man chained in the centre of the stage, just as the blonde girl had been 383
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two weeks ago, "on an erotic journey that neither he, nor the audience, will ever forget." Standing in the wings to the side of the stage, Svetlana took several deep breaths trying to settle her nerves. It was exciting in an odd sort of way to be performing for the crowd, to demonstrate to them just what she was capable of, just what she was willing to do. It added a piquancy to the proceedings that she found very arousing. The Master gave her a light tap on the shoulder, cuing her that she should begin, and without a moment's hesitation she strode out across the stage to stand beside the tethered man. She received a rapturous and quite embarrassing ovation from the audience when she appeared. She took the opportunity, whilst she waited for the cheers greeting her arrival on-stage to die away, to decide how to commence. Her first task was, of course, to bring the man to erection but, alive to the fact that by evolutionary intent a man's tumescence was a sudden and transient event, she knew she would have to provide his body with incentives to remain erect and alert. To do that she would need to involve all of the man's senses to ensure that his entire body and being was being aroused and excited. That said, it would not be a trial to torture this man. He was handsome, well-formed, and his body was tight and hard. Of perhaps more interest to Svetlana in her role as Dominatrix was that the man's prick which lay contentedly flaccid in its nest of black pubic hair was of admirable size. This, she decided, was a scene she would enjoy. 384
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Svetlana was a tall woman, and as she stood before the bound man, she was able to stare directly into his eyes, which twinkled with an impish confidence. He might be chained, he might be helpless but he obviously reckoned that his will, his resolve was stronger than any woman's. Svetlana was delighted by his attitude: she loved a challenge. "First, I think I had better ensure that you are safely shackled, we don't want you escaping now, do we?" She stepped forward and pressed her body hard against the man's, stretching against him as she made a show of testing the manacles that held his wrists high above his head. Satisfied, she lissomed down his body, undulating her stiff nipples against him as she passed. Finally, crouched at his feet, she tested his ankle manacles, shaking them to demonstrate how securely they were fastened, and also giving the audience an opportunity to admire her delicious, leather-sheathed arse. Svetlana rose back to the feet, and taking a black silk scarf from around her neck she tied it over the man's mask, moving her lips close to his ear as she did so. "All our senses are governed by our brain," she began, imbuing her whispering voice with a sultry longing, "which processes them into imaginings. Your imagination is the key to your arousal, and it is obviously better to allow your imagination untrammelled freedom by the use of a blindfold." Careful to nudge her hard nipples against his chest, she edged seductively closer, "Of the senses, perhaps the one most often overlooked in love-making is that of smell, and yet it is key to our sexual excitement. Surprisingly, it was the Romans who managed to produce a technique that amplified aromatic 385
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arousal. They achieved this by massaging oils into the body and then scraping it off using a tool called a strigil." She wafted a small glass bottle containing a red oil under the man's nose. He flinched back from the almost overwhelming intensity of the oil's perfume. "This is a new perfume, one called "I Submit", which, you must concede, is a perfectly apt name for our little drama." She laughed, "You should feel honoured to be one of the first people to wear "I Submit" in public." Raising the bottle a little above the man's left shoulder Svetlana tilted it to pour the thick unguent onto his skin. The blindfolded man flinched in surprise as the cool oil glanced over his body. He flinched again as Svetlana repeated the application of the oil on his right shoulder. Like thick red blood, the oil trickled over the man's chest and meandered onto his hard stomach. Svetlana placed the finger-tips of her left hand into the red trails of oil and began the gentle massaging of the unguent into the stomach's taut flesh. Content with her progress here, she used her right hand to caress the oil into the man's back, rolling her slick fingertips around in a slowly widening circular motion. It would have taken a statue or the most pious of holy men to have remained immune to the mute entreaties of Svetlana's fingers, especially when those of her left hand began the delicate exploration of his pubis and those of her right began to nudge the oil into the crevice between his buttocks. It became obvious that the man was neither a statue nor a devout as, sure enough, Svetlana saw the first tentative swelling of the man's penis. Alive to the fact that she wanted him to come to tumescence slowly, and certainly not yet, 386
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Svetlana quickly moved her massaging fingers away from his genitalia and onto his calves and thighs. Her ploy worked: although this penis remained thicker than normal, it didn't flare into full erection. "Now to use the strigil," she whispered, "this is a curved piece of antique ivory that I'm going to use to scour the residual oil from your body," and for the next five minutes that was what she did. Dextrously she scraped the strigil over the man's oil slick flesh, pressing hard to ensure that all the oil was removed. As she progressed, she wiped the strigil and her oil drenched hands on her shrug, which became clotted with the oil. And as the Romans had found, it wasn't just the oil that the strigil removed: along with the oil came the sweat and detritus of everyday living, leaving the flesh clean, blushed and very, very sensitive to the touch. When Svetlana finally stood away from the man's gleaming body, all that was left of the oil was the latent smell of perfume wafting around the man like an aromatic cloud. He shivered as the draft of the air-conditioner ghosted over his freshly scraped pink skin. "Your skin is so taut and so sensitive now, so delightful to the touch. You know that touch is a vital part of arousal..." Like some large cat she began to undulate her body against his, running her stiff nipples against his back and over his stomach, entwining her long, long legs around his, wrapping her arms about him like two lascivious snakes and trickling her fingers into the dark crevices of his body. And his body reacted to her entreaties, his prick growing as her fingers caressed its length. "Yes, touch is such an important part of our enjoyment of sex," she murmured, her lips only an inch 387
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from his, "as is taste." With that, she leant forward and butterflied her black varnished lips against his, darting her tongue into his mouth and trailing it along his snow-white teeth. Then slowly, she began to snake down along his body, trailing her tongue along his neck, over his chest and his stomach until it reached his now fully erect penis. After a theatrical pause she opened her mouth, took the tip of his tool between her lips, and replicated the kiss she had just visited on his lips. She felt him tremble, his penis flicking against her tongue, and, encouraged, she sucked him in deeper to her warm, succulent mouth. But only for a moment. Before he had an opportunity to enjoy the sultry pleasure of her mouth, she was gone. She must be careful not to excite him to too high a pitch. "The final sense we must explore is sight," and with a flourish she removed the blindfold. "To appreciate the pleasures in store for you, you must see them." Standing perhaps a yard or so in front of the man, Svetlana began to undress, slowly unbuttoning her shrug and then easing it artfully away from her oiled breasts, revealing the full glory of her black varnished nipples. She began to toy with them, tweaking her nipples until they became even harder, and rolling her piece of nipple jewellery between her fingers. Her reward was to see the man's tool flick upwards with mounting excitement. She edged a little closer, and then unzipped her skirt to roil it to a heap on the floor. Drifting a hand down to her naked, tattooed sex, she began to caress her clitoris, smiling as she did so, "All this is yours. Can you imagine being able to use my body in any way you wish, being able to 388
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fuck me here," she pushed the forefinger of her right hand deep into her mouth, "and here," she stabbed the full length of the finger between the reddening lips of her sex, "and here," she turned sideways to allow him to see that the finger was now snaking in and out of her anus. Naked, she once again began to roll her body against that of the man, delighting in the feel of his scented flesh. But this time her fingers were much more impish. A sharp fingernail wandered questingly around the man's anus—triggering a grunt and a shuffle against his chains—before dawdling between his legs to linger lasciviously on his tight and heavy scrotum. "Yes," she crooned, "there are parts of your body not often tested by love." With those words, she knelt down behind him and began to kiss and lick his arse. The man moaned in pleasure, a moan that grew in intensity as Svetlana pushed her long tongue between his cheeks and began to delicately torment his most secret place. "Please..." she heard the muttered plea. "Please what? Please more? Please further? Well, I am delighted to take you further." And on cue, Little Su trotted out across the stage and presented Svetlana with a wooden box, from which Svetlana withdrew a small vibrator shaped out of slick, hard chrome. The man's eyes widened and, it seemed, some of his confidence drained out of him. "But to take you further I need assistance," and she twisted the dial at the blunt end of the phallus. Immediately the vibrator began to hum and shimmy in her hands. "Let's see if this will help." Gently, almost tenderly, she brought the humming tip up between the man's spread legs, touching it against the 389
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man's frenulum, making it hover in that nether place between his balls and his anus. The impact of the touch was dramatic: his body twanged like a bow, arching against the chains that bound him. "My, my," crooned Svetlana, "such a reaction. And if that is what I achieve by just a touch, imagine what would happen if I..." The oscillating tip of the vibrator flicked against the entrance of the man's anus. The man jerked away as if stung by a bee, screaming against his fetters, revolting not against what had been done, but what he knew was to come. Disgusted by the man's cowardice, Svetlana pushed the vibrator upward, shoving it negligently past the man's protesting sphincter, thrusting it deep into his reluctant anus. The scream of violation echoed thorough the club, and the club cheered back, applauding his dissolute seduction. Deeper and deeper Svetlana pushed the vibrator until almost all its full, pulsating length disappeared into the man's body. She left it there, buzzing contentedly inside him. This done, Svetlana twisted herself around him. Ducking her head, she took one of his balls carefully into her mouth, kneading it with her lips, and flicking at the sparse hairs that covered the scrotum with her tongue. For several long, intense moments she knelt sucking the testicle, rolling it around in her mouth, all the while feeling the distant hum of the vibrator lodged deep in the man's arse. "Make me come..." the man begged. Svetlana ignored the plea, but knew she had to be careful. She could tell by his smell, and by the texture of his skin, that he was close to orgasm, and the last thing she wanted was to 390
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fail when in sight of the perfect denouement. Svetlana climbed back up onto her feet, "Be patient, soon you will have release. But first we must prepare you for the finale." She snapped her fingers and, once again, Little Su appeared from the side of the stage carrying a second wooden box that she placed at Svetlana's feet. The first thing Svetlana drew out of the box was a series of rings made out of stretchable plastic, "These cock rings, I am assured, will help you maintain your erection even in the face of a great deal of pain." She took his tool in her mouth to lubricate him and then slipped the rings over his engorged penis. "And, of course, we've got to ensure that we practice safe sex, so a whipping belt is an essential, especially as I am something of a neophyte in the art of flagellation," Little Su handed a thick and very wide belt to Svetlana who strapped it tightly around the man's waist. "Finally, of course, we need your safe word. Might I suggest "Surrender"?" A reluctant nod from the man. "Now we are ready," Svetlana said with a smile as she took the leather crop from Little Su. As the handle of the crop nestled so comfortably in the palm of her damp hand, Svetlana felt a surge of almost transcendental power. She felt the crop's supple, easy strength and sensed its dark hunger for pain. For Svetlana it was a moment of sexual epiphany. "I have been advised to use a crop. Apparently it is easier to handle than a whip or a strap and hence more accurate, which, as you probably appreciate, is vital in the realm of corporal punishment." It was a peculiar sensation for Svetlana, to have the ability to visit pain, pain vicious and 391
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sudden, on a man. As she stood there on stage, the crop seemed to throb in her hand, as though it had a life and desires of its own. She made an exploratory cut with the crop, marvelling at the sound it made as it sliced though the air. The tension, the excitement vibrating in the whip was palpable. She looked at the man's arse, admiring the firm musculature, the even swooping curves, the perfect symmetry of the stiff flesh, the way the dark body hair shadowed and flecked the dips and curves of his cheeks... Without warning, she flicked her wrist and brought the crop sternly—but not too painfully—across the man's arse. The wincing and shuddering that the blow provoked in the man was engendered more by surprise than by pain, but Svetlana was pleased by the man's stoic refusal to scream. It showed that he was willing to endure. The audience, though, had no such inhibitions, yelling out "One" in encouragement. Svetlana moved to the man and gently rubbed a little of the salve perfumed with "I Submit" over the rapidly reddening stripe. "Flagellation is the very antithesis of reality," she crooned as she worked the ointment into the skin. "Our reality presupposes a striving for a life free from trouble and strife, BDSM welcomes, encourages trouble and strife. In this way, the philosophy of the sadomasochist and of the Surrealist merges." She moved back a step and retracted her arm for a second cut. She wondered if her audience was watching her, desiring her, seeing how her body flexed, how her strong stomach muscles coiled, how her long legs bunched and how her breasts swung. This time she invested more venom into the 392
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stroke. And this time the reaction of the tethered man was driven less by surprise and considerably more by pain. "Two", screamed the mob. Only when the man's shuddering and shaking had subsided did Svetlana whisper in his ear, "It is no wonder, then, that the morally taboo contemplations of the Marquis de Sade should be so enthusiastically espoused by the Surrealists. They considered de Sade to be an apostle of liberty." Again she smeared the unguent onto the man's glowing arse, but this time she meandered her slick hands around to his front to check on the state of his erection and to take the opportunity to run her long hard nails along its length. Svetlana was delighted to discover that the man's cock was as hot as his arse. "But there are other parallels between sado-masochism and surrealism. Dali, Giacometti and others delighted in taking a mundane object from this, the external, world and mutating it so that it had a perverse and obtuse existence in the internal world of our imagination and of our fantasies. They believed, by doing this they somehow broke down the barriers between the two worlds and reinvigorated our appreciation of both. Does this not have resonance with the use of ordinary household items in sado-masochistic acts: the use of the so-called 'pervertibles'?" Svetlana threw the crop to one side and took the strange object that Little Su handed to her. "I found this in my kitchen and I knew immediately that it was perfect, that if any object was imbued with latent surrealism it was this," and she waved it in front of the man's face. It was a long plastic 393
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kitchen spatula, the blade of which was perhaps nine inches long, vaguely triangular in shape and equipped with three long slots. It made, as the man soon discovered, an ideal paddle. For the next five minutes Svetlana bewailed the man's arse with the spatula, stopping between each slash of the spatula to tend to the ever deepening blush of his arse with the cooling balm and to tease at his increasingly ripe erection with her nails, her lips, her tongue and with her buttocks. It was a slow, deliberate flagellation intertwining the man's sexual stimulation with the pain of the blows from the spatula. Her patience and deliberation had their reward. After the seventh blow of the spatula, the merest touch of her fingers was enough to have the man's cock vibrating on the brink of climax. It was obvious to Svetlana that just one more blow would be enough to have him spilling his seed. Appreciating this, Svetlana handed the spatula to Little Su, who took it with a nod of understanding, the small Chinese girl waiting whilst Svetlana wandered slowly around the man to stand to his front. She smiled at him and then knelt before him, taking his tool, oh so carefully, into her mouth. She made no attempt to fellate him or to arouse him, she just cocooned him her hot, damp embrace. It was Little Su who struck the last blow with the spatula, and this final frisson of pain was enough to push him over the brink. With a grunt of ecstatic release he bowed his body forward, pushing himself deep into Svetlana's willing mouth, filling her with his warm, tart seed. [Back to Table of Contents] 394
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Chapter Four Who was he seeing today? The Svetlana who inhabited the demimonde of So-UnRealIsm, or the Svetlana who bestrode the business world of the Agency? Or both ... simultaneously ... fused? Her transformation from Ice Princess into Princess of Darkness was complete, but somehow the end result was neither of them, but rather a combination of them. Reality and Fantasy as one. Surrealist schizophrenia made into delectable flesh. As he watched her checking her notes before commencing the presentation, he could see the changes in her. The girl he was studying was one who had embraced the noirish side of eroticism ... but could still function in the Real world. Function well enough to change the Real world and make it ... UnReal. She still favoured the combination of white blouse and tight pencil skirt, but subtle changes had rendered these into a much sexier outfit than the one of only a week before. Today, instead of the heavy white cotton she'd previously favoured, her blouse was fashioned from much more fragile and transparent white voile, and, as a result, the varnished nipples that tipped her breasts were readily seen. The blouse had also been tailored differently: it was sleeveless and cut short so that it ended shy of the waistband of her skirt. Now the blouse merely emphasised the fact that beneath it Svetlana was disturbingly naked. There had been a material 395
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transformation in her skirt too. No longer was it made from heavy twill, today Svetlana wore a PVC skirt that followed the curves of her hips and thighs with an alluring tightness. And if her jewellery of seven days ago had hinted at a BDSM motif, the pieces she was now wearing announced it with unashamed abandon. He especially liked the steel collar clasped around her neck: it was thick and strong and uncompromising ... almost as uncompromising as her presentation. Almost... **** "Ladies and gentlemen," she began, nodding a greeting to the ten or so suits gathered around the conference table, "Last week, I promised you a preview of the type of video we are proposing to help promote and consolidate "I Submit's" position as a perfume with degenerate and outré associations, a perfume tied-in, if you will pardon the expression, with the underground art scene. For this purpose I have borrowed a video directed by a young English film-maker called Norma X. Whilst this video wasn't made specifically to support "I Submit", it does, I believe, convey the flavour of the video style I favour." In the end, they played the twenty five second video five times. The first two times none of those present could quite believe their eyes, the third time they believed them but were too stunned to make a judgment, the fourth they made a judgment, but despite that decided to watch it a fifth time just to be able to tell their grandchildren about what they had seen. 396
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Thinking about it later, it was apparent to Svetlana that the director had taken inspiration from Oliver Stone's Natural Born Killers and had filmed the action on a variety of filmstocks—35mm, Super8, B&W, cheap video—and edited them into a maelstrom of action scenes. Where her other inspiration had come from, Svetlana had no idea: she could think of no mainstream film that showed a naked girl being covered in paint and then being rolled in black dust. But, just as the audience had decided that the video was just an updated and very self-conscious pastiche of a hippy "happening", their mouths had been shocked open as a huge guillotine had sliced across the stomach of the model, cutting her in two, to leave the two halves of her body rolling merrily around in the dust independently of one another. "Natural Born Chien Andalou Noir", anyone? There was a deep and profound silence in the room, a silence so heavy that it seemed to have a physical weight, and that weight seemed in turn to be slowing time and motion into syrup-like sluggards. All eyes turned towards Madam Durst, waiting for her reaction. "Amazing..." Madam Durst nodded sagaciously, then sucked hungrily on her ever present black charoot, "absolutely amazing. Zis director, zis Norma X has real talent. I tink it iz perfect..." "But isn't it a little too ... chauvinistic," Pauline Trent objected, "the woman as victim etc." Svetlana shrugged, "The director used the footage that was available, and it is, after all, only a prototype. Hopefully, if you choose to take this project further and to appoint our 397
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Agency, we'll have input from directors with a myriad of sexual standpoints. I think it is important to remember that all Dada, all surrealism, is confrontational, and, as a result seeks to confront and affront everybody. That includes not just the soft targets of the political and religious establishment, but the nouveau-establishment movements such as the gays, the feminists, the environmentalists. The aim of the "I Submit" campaign will be to piss off everybody." A middle-aged man, immaculately dressed and coiffed, who had been introduced to Svetlana as head of the Venture Capital group that was backing Madam Durst, shook his head dismissively. "It's no good ... it's too revolutionary ... it's too dangerous. We're being asked to provide twenty-five million dollars worth of funding to support this campaign and for that we need something more ... conventional." "Pah, you money men av no testicles," sneered Madam Durst. "Twenty-five million to launch a perfume iz chickenfeed. I bet Chanel spent zat much on ze Nichole Kidman video alone. If ve are to make an impact ve must be courageous, ve must be villing to take risks." "Yeah, but it's our money you're risking." "Unt I am risking my reputation unt my life's work. Zis campaign of Zvetlana's iz a campaign ov genius: ve must use it, ve must embrace it." "I dunno, it's so radical. What do you think, Pauline?" Pauline Trent took a sip of water then cleared her throat. "This is perhaps the most unusual pitch I've ever attended. On first pass, I'd say that the imagery the Agency is proposing to use is corrosive, that it is potentially destructive 398
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for any product associated with it, and that it seeks scandal for scandal's sake. In short, it is a travesty of a campaign." The money-man beamed triumphantly across to a downcast Madam Durst. His triumph was short-lived. "But..." As that single word hung in the air, Svetlana snatched a look at Pauline Trent. That Pauline had been affected by watching the video was unmistakable: her round face was flushed, there was a decided glint in her sharp blue eyes, she played incessantly with her bobbed hair, and most tellingly of all, she'd taken off the jacket to her severely cut trouser suit. "...but, I am drawn, in a perverse sort of way, to being persuaded by Svetlana's arguments. Marketing is a dead art: we've lost confidence in our culture and we've lost confidence in our own abilities. Look at us," and here she waved an arm around the table, "we're intelligent, creative people, but here we are shying away from trying to imbue our products with life and personality. If we're not careful we'll simply use the soft-option of the celebrity endorsement. Maybe you're right, Svetlana, that it's time to try something new and revolutionary." "Revolution is dangerous," muttered the Venture Capitalist. "Too right it is. Maybe the world's not ready for grindhouse advertising—if Tarantino and Rodriguez can fail with grindhouse then so can anybody—but I've just got a feeling that we're on the cusp of a change." It was Madam Durst who squared the circle, "I 'av a proposal. I vill personally finance ze production of ze first of ze "I Zubmit" videos, which Zvetlana will produce. Ve vill view zat in two veeks unt zen make ze final decision." 399
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**** "The Master phoned. 'E said you'd be coming. Wanna drink?" Svetlana shook her head, it was only just gone noon, much too early for her to start imbibing. But Norma X had no such inhibitions: she shrugged away Svetlana's refusal, poured herself a wham-bam slug of vodka and tossed it back in one. "'E said you wanted to commission a promo-video. I ain't never done a promo-video before. What's it promo-ing?" "A perfume. A perfume called 'I Submit'." "Cool. But I don't do conventional..." "I don't want conventional, I want surreal." "Surreal costs." "How much?" "Twenty grand." "I've got a budget of ten." The girl shrugged, whether it was a shrug of agreement or disagreement, Svetlana couldn't be sure, "I'm into porn. Av a look at that lot over there. Tell me what you think." And that's how Svetlana came to spend the afternoon reviewing Norma X's collection of DVDs in a derelict garage in deepest Harlem. It was a seedy place, which seemed to function as Norma X's studio, home, and from the way she was drinking, bar. Two hours later and ten DVDs into Norma X's porn collection, Svetlana decided she'd had enough of mindless sex and went in search of her hostess, who she found fiddling with a Nikon DSLR in a workshop at the back of the garage. 400
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"It's crap," Svetlana announced, "and the problem is it's not even arousing crap." "Maybe that's the point," Norma X suggested, pointing the camera at Svetlana and clicking off a cluster of frames. "It could be that that's what people who buy this stuff want." Svetlana nodded her head, "Yeah, but it's depressing to think we're being swamped in the tsunami of second- and third-rate porn. If we don't do something better than that with "I Submit" then we'll just be lost in the crowd." "I get a free-hand creatively?" asked Norma X, still taking shots of Svetlana. "Of course, the only stipulation is that somewhere in the video you have to show "I Submit" being used." "Fair enough. But for ten grand I ain't gonna be able to afford any of the actors I wanna use." It was Svetlana's turn to shrug. There was silence in the little workshop as Norma X studied the pictures she'd taken of Svetlana. "You that bird who was up on the stage of So-UnReal-Ism a couple of nights back?" "Yes..." "Okay, this is the deal. I'll do it if you'll do it." **** "Tonight you must demonstrate your total subservience," intoned the Master, as once again he stood with Svetlana in the wings of So-UnReal-Ism's stage. "To become a SoUnReal-Ist you must merge fantasy with reality, you must invade the dreams of others, you must live out your most 401
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licentious sexual vision. Tonight your submission must be total ... must be absolute. You must abandon yourself to the whims, to the caprices and to the hungers of others, to let them make free with your flesh ... to let them feed on your body. All your thoughts, all your desires, all your own needs must be subsumed to the wishes of others. You must abandon yourself to pain, and sacrifice yourself to erotic torture. Tonight you have the opportunity to rival Messalina, to give yourself to as many lovers as you crave and to take them in as many ways as you are able." He turned to look intently into her eyes and then asked, "This is your final trial. Are you ready?" "Yes," Svetlana replied, simply and decisively. Taking her arm, the Master led her out onto the stage, her appearance under the spotlights provoking gasps of admiration from the audience. For her performance that evening, she had chosen to wear a dress that she thought appropriately dream-like: it was a white full-length Grecian robe made from the most ephemeral of tulle, a robe that flowed over her naked body like bleached shadow, allowing her wonderful, glorious figure to slide in and out of view every time she took a step. Apart from her robe and her silver mask, she wore nothing: no jewellery, no adornments and no manacles. They stopped in the centre of the stage, and Svetlana bowed her appreciation to the audience, the long pigtail she was wearing tumbling over her shoulder. This had been the single piece of direction she'd received from Norma X: the 402
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instruction to dress her hair in a single long pigtail that pulled her hair hard back from her face. As Svetlana stood waiting for her Master's next command, a cameraman wearing a cumbersome SteadiCam rig, crabbed around her, the camera he was holding roving over her body, its unblinking lens eying her loveliness. Tonight's performance would have been bizarre enough on its own, but the fact that Norma X and one of her side-kicks were constantly prowling around her with their video cameras made it distinctly weird. A weirdness reinforced by all the other film-making paraphernalia strewn across the stage. Svetlana particularly disliked the jib-and-boom device that suspended a camera high over her head. It was like being in the middle of a filmset. Which, Svetlana ruefully reminded herself, was exactly what the stage in So-UnReal-Ism had become. As video productions went it was remarkably light on props. All there was by way of set decoration was an oddly shaped leather stool set in the middle of the stage. The stool was perhaps two foot in height, the top was curved and sculptured to resemble a saddle for a horse, whilst around its base were screwed a series of "D" rings. The stool itself was bolted to the floor of the stage. It was a very peculiar piece of furniture, but the fact that the Master motioned Svetlana to stand beside it indicted the stool's importance to the video that Norma X was hoping to shoot. The Master took Svetlana by the shoulders and turned her to face the audience. "Tonight this woman offers herself to you all," he announced in a loud voice, "to be used and abused as you will, to sate 403
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your hungers and appetites on her flesh, and to live out your more prurient desires through her body." There was a ripple of urgent whispering from the audience: So-UnReal-Ism had a history of dissolute, wanton behaviour, but this degree of sexual recklessness was unprecedented. The hands that rested on Svetlana's shoulders flexed, and with surprising strength took hold of the straps of Svetlana's dress and ripped downwards, tearing the material from her body. Such was the suddenness and savagery of the action that she was caught off-balance and staggered for a moment, only to be saved from falling by the strong hands of the Master. Naked, apart from her white leather mask, she was presented to the stunned audience, each person in the crowd lost in their gasping contemplation of defiling that wonderful body. The Master nodded towards the side of the stage and Little Su walked out from the wings carrying what appeared to be a bundle of leather and steel straps. For a few moments, the Master considered the restraints and then selected a posture collar, perhaps two inches thick, and buckled it around Svetlana's neck. Next, he buckled manacles around her wrists, and, then, nudging her thighs apart, strapped larger manacles around her thighs to sit just a little above her knees. "As you have begun to understand, Svetlana, from your previous visits to So-UnReal-Ism, erotic torture is not, as it is so often portrayed by a prurient, sensationalist media, simply a matter of a frenzied psychopath slashing away with a whip at the defenseless body of some poor unfortunate. It is rather an art-form, where martial stimulation is used with 404
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intelligence and sensitivity to amplify and to prolong the wonder that is sexual arousal and climax. Adepts in flagellation and submission have come to appreciate that the process of erotic discipline can be elevated to a higher level of consciousness, that it can be rendered ... beautiful ... artistic ... even ineffable. This search for the sublime has become the goal for all who profess to be followers of the darker side of eroticism. There are techniques of erotic torture which can make sexual discipline as pleasing to the eye as it is to the flesh and to the soul." As the Master lapsed into silence, from the side of the stage strode a squat wide man clad only in a loincloth. He seemed to Svetlana to be as broad as he was high, and his rolling gait made him look almost comical. But the length of rope slung over his shoulder and the sparkle in his eyes communicated the fact that his mission that evening was most certainly not to amuse. The whole of the time he walked across the stage his gaze never left Svetlana, and although he was masked, she could see that the man was undoubtedly oriental. For some strange reason this made him even more sinister. The Master nodded a greeting to the man and then continued his explanation, "This appreciation of the aestheticism of the lash and of the restraint is nowhere more refined than in Japan. Tonight I would like to introduce you to Yamada Taro, who is a nawashi, an expert in the art of kinbaku, the Japanese art of rope bondage." Hearing his name, Yamada Taro bowed deeply towards Svetlana, and then towards the welcoming applause of the audience. In a strange sing-song voice that was oddly at odds 405
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with the massive frame from which it came, Yamada Taro continued the Master's explanation, "Kinbaku means 'beautiful bondage', but as with many beautiful things it has its origins in the darkness. It developed from hojojutsu, which was an ancient form of rope torture. Today though it has evolved such that it is used to embellish and make more pleasing to the eye the prosaic elements of submission." He bowed once more to Svetlana, "My aim, beautiful lady, is not to hurt you or to visit pain on your body. Rather, it is to make your helplessness, your surrender a thing of splendour and of artistry, and by doing so to make the pleasure you obtain from your submission more profound. Please," he asked almost apologetically, "please raise your arms above your head. We begin with breast bondage." The Japanese man uncoiled the rope from his shoulder and then with amazing confidence and dexterity traced it around Svetlana's upper body. All the while he kept up a commentary, "This is my own adaptation of the ushirode tasaki, the traditional chest harness tie. It will, my lady, involve you having a rope strapped around your torso just above your breasts," the thin rope snaked across Svetlana's pale chest over the first swell of her breasts, "and another rope strapped just below them," this time the rope cut tightly under her breasts. "When these two ropes are pushed together your breasts will be squeezed from the top and from the bottom making them jut out most enticingly." With surprising strength, Yamada Taro made an adjustment to the knot he had created in the small of Svetlana's back and the 406
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ropes contracted, squeezing Svetlana's breasts just as he said they would be. It wasn't painful, but it was a decidedly odd feeling to have her breasts squeezed forward, and the sensation in her nipples was quite extraordinary. It was as though they had suddenly become much, much harder and much, much more sensitive. "If now, my lady, you would lean over the stool I will tether your upper arms in a form of ushiro takate kote. This is a type of arm box tie which will leave your arms locked together from shoulder to elbow." Svetlana knelt in front of the stool and bowed over it, flinching as her naked stomach touched the cold hard leather. "Please, my lady, bring your arms as far behind your back as you are able." Bemused though Svetlana was by this development, she could not fail to be amazed (and reassured) by Yamada Taro"s skill as he used the rope to pinion her upper arms together behind her body. By doing this, he simultaneously pulled her shoulders back and forced her breasts forward even harder. The pressure on her nipples increased. "Do not worry, my lady, we Japanese are most respectful of ukes—Bottoms—such as you, and of the trust a Bottom graciously invests in nawashi such as I. We are most careful to ensure their safety." As he rambled on, Svetlana could feel him twisting and twirling the rope around her arms and her body as he wove complex bondage patterns. "The design I am recreating is one of my own: it is a variation of the traditional ebi, or shrimp pattern, which will leave you so exquisitely vulnerable to all forms of pleasure play." Finally, 407
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he stood away from the supine Svetlana and admired his work. He bowed to Svetlana, "My work is completed, my lady, and you are ready to commence your journey towards the nirvana of total obedience." With that, he turned to bow to the audience, who applauded enthusiastically as the master of the art of kinbaku exited the stage. Svetlana was much less enthusiastic. With her arms tied together so tightly and so immovably, the strain on her tethered breasts was enormous. And this, coupled with the extreme vulnerability of her position, leaning as she was over the leather stool with her bottom thrust high into the air, made her feel very uncomfortable. The fact that Norma X and her crew were recording every facet of her submission didn't help either. She could only imagine some of the close-up shots they were taking. Svetlana heard her Master's voice in her ear, "You look wonderful, my dear Svetlana, the classic submissive, the classic bottom, the classic uke. But there are still further refinements needed to create perfection," and almost before the words were out of his mouth, Svetlana saw him dangle two nipple clamps in front of her eyes. "Elbow bondage, as you realise, makes the breasts thrust forward. This is, of course, visually most appealing, but it has a more important physiological effect. The restraining ropes cause a reduction, albeit a limited one, of blood-flow to the breasts, making them very sensitive to the touch." He slid his fingertips across Svetlana's taut and now hyper-sensitive left nipple. Immediately a shiver of painful pleasure vibrated through Svetlana. "This enjoyment can, of course, be amplified by the 408
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stimulation of the nipples through the use of nipple clamps." The Master stooped down and with nimble fingers gently attached a nipple clamp onto each of Svetlana's straining nipples, winding the screw until he saw the first wince of pain on Svetlana's face. He smiled and then gave the screw on both clamps a half turn more, wringing a scream from Svetlana. "Excellent, but before we continue, I should tell you that you may stop your submission at any time, simply call out "Dada" and immediately the session will be over. I hope though that you have the fortitude to enjoy all of the dark pleasures you will be subjected to. Now if you will lean further over the stool..." She did as she was asked, her tortured breasts hanging pert over one side of the stool and her arse raised high on the other. Satisfied, the Master moved to shackle her. First, using a thin chain, he tethered the posture collar Svetlana was wearing to the front base of the stool, thus ensuring that she could no longer raise her head much above the horizontal. Then, moving around to the reverse of the stool, he parted Svetlana's legs and clipped each of the thigh manacles to Drings on the side of the stool: now her legs were secured wide akimbo. The wrist manacles were similarly clipped to rings, which, together with the rope strapping at the top of her arms, meant that her body was tethered fast across the saddle. "You look so beautifully vulnerable. And now for another minor, but important, addition to your ... pose." From his pocket, he took a heavy steel ring—perhaps an inch or so in 409
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diameter—which he clasped through the end of her pigtail. Then taking hold of the end of the pigtail, he pulled back hard, yanking her head back as far as it would go and in doing so wrenched her mouth open. Satisfied, using the steel ring he'd fastened in the pigtail, he clamped the rope of hair to a second ring that Yamada Taro had plaited into Svetlana's arm bindings. Now Svetlana's head was pulled and tethered tight back in such a way that she was barely able to move it. If Svetlana had felt exposed and vulnerable before, now her position had been made ten times worse: her sex and her anus were made open and visible by her spread thighs, her clamped nipples swung free and defenseless, and her mouth was shocked open by her hauled back hair. "One final touch," crooned the Master, and, unseen by Svetlana, he signalled to the lighting technician. "In the darkness we dream, and tonight you are entering a dream, you are living a dream, so it is appropriate that you live out your fantasies and the fantasies of the audience in darkness." Cued, the technician eliminated all the lights in So-UnRealIsm but one, a pencil spotlight that sent a tight, sharp halo of illumination down over the supine form of Svetlana. It was a tiny island of light in a sea of darkness. "So, Svetlana, you are now ready for your final trial, and, as your Master, I claim the first use of your body. I had thought to taste the carmine lips of your cunt, but that would be far too banal a defilement. But ever the indulgent Master, I strive to make all things easier and more pleasurable." She felt a heavy, syrupy unguent thick with the smell of "I Submit" being poured over the swell of her arse, and she 410
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flinched against its cold, feathery touch. Then long, strong fingers began to work the oil into her flesh, delving it into and around her anus and spreading it over her oh-so-tender nipples. Immediately her senses were assailed by the heavy, almost intoxicating, smell of the oil: so powerful was it that for a moment she thought she might faint. But, even as her head began to droop, so the tug of her tightly tethered pigtail snapped her back to consciousness. That, and the nudge of a very large penis at the entrance of her anus. She had never been taken anally before, but now there could be no demurring, there could be no coyness, now there would just be... The penis stabbed into her, forcing back the shocked ring of muscle that protected her darkest place, demanding entrance, oblivious to the objections of her affronted body. She felt as though she was being rent asunder, that it was impossible for her body to accommodate this huge thing that was invading her. The pain was enormous, and her body screamed in protest. And her soul too screamed in agony, her yell of torment slamming out into the pitch darkness of the club. But if it were a cry for help there was no help to be found: all her screams seemed to do was encourage the Master to plunge into her with greater wantonness, his hard body fast against hers, his pelvis pistoning in and out, his grunts of effort heavy against her cheek, his weight flexing on her back... But suddenly the pain seemed to mutate, to become not so much a feeling of anguish but one of contrary pleasure. 411
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Her body began to relish its violation, to rejoice in its enforced debauchery. She felt herself beginning to glow with sexual arousal, her skin to stretch in erotic expectation and her sex to dampen with thrilled anticipation. Now her screams were transformed into murmurs of lustful pleasure, and, though bound and clasped as she was, she moved her arse to emphasise each stroke of her Master's penis, to hold him in the tight, smooth confines of her body and, in so doing, to amplify the dissolute pleasure of the fucking. She would have come... She was on the brink of climax... He withdrew, to leave her gasping with disappointment, marooned in her island of light. Then to her astonishment she felt him writing across her arse, "What?" she gasped. "Just a little idea of Norma X's. She's requested that everyone fucking or using you tonight writes the words "I Submit" on your body. She seems to think it'll be an amazing piece of performance art, and will, of course, tie the product in with the video." Stunned by this, Svetlana waited for her next lover. And as she waited, expectant, fearful, almost sobbing with unfulfilled passion, all she could hear was the sound of the free-jazz wafting over her; that and the excited chattering from audience. Suddenly a large erect penis was presented to her mouth. With the body of the man whose penis it was standing outside the penumbra of light and hence swathed in darkness, the cock seemed almost disembodied, almost as though it was floating in a void. Tied and shackled, Svetlana had no 412
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alternative but to accept the cock into her mouth. She felt it being shoved deep into her, until its sleek tip slammed at the back of her throat. Gagging, she tried desperately to use her tongue and her lips to persuade the cock to relent, but just as she was on the brink of succeeding, she was assailed from behind by a second cock sliding between the slick lips of her sex. Whoever was fucking her there wasn't a subtle lover, but he was certainly an effective one. He heaved his thick, stiff tool into her with an abandon, all the while leaning his soft body against her back and reaching forward with his arms so that he could tweak her nipple clasps as he fucked her. Her body responded eagerly to this brutal lovemaking, encouraging her to suck and lick on the prick in her mouth with renewed vigour and to tense the muscles of her vagina to better ply the cock that banged into her sex. This time her body was rewarded: she came, shaking and shivering to climax, and had the satisfaction of knowing that the men she was servicing came too. The cock in her mouth jolted hot seed into her which, tethered as she was, she was obliged to swallow, whilst the cock thrusting into her sex juddered and jerked in climax. Again she felt her body being scrawled upon, one of the men writing along her left thigh whilst the other had the impudence to crouch down before her and write the words on her mask. Now everyone looking into her eyes would see the words "I Submit" written in black Pentel across her forehead. She was hardly given a moment to consider this: as soon as the two men who had been fucking her withdrew so she was assailed by a new pair of lovers. The first of this duo was 413
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a woman, who presented her sex to Svetlana's mouth, and then, placing a hand on either side of Svetlana's head, hauled herself forward until the stiff nub of her clitoris was only a fraction of an inch from Svetlana's lips. The fact that her head was tethered one way by a chain and the other by her pinioned pigtail made servicing the woman's cunt difficult, but Svetlana did her best and her best seemed, judging from the reaction she provoked, to be quite good enough. Roiling her hips, the woman ground her sex around Svetlana's tongue, smearing the cream of her burgeoning arousal on Svetlana's face, mixing her scent with that of "I Submit" to create a cacophony of aromas that were both salacious and exciting. Once again, Svetlana was not allowed to concentrate on one act of love-making. She felt two hands drop onto the cheeks of her arse, and hot breath on the damp lips of her labia. Now as she nibbled and licked at the sex presented to her mouth, so an unseen woman—Svetlana could feel the woman's breasts nudging at her thighs as she worked her mouth—nibbled and licked at Svetlana's sex. It was an educational experience: as her own sex was teased and tickled, tested and tasted, so she was able to apply the same techniques to the sex of the woman she was servicing, and as the woman behind her was an undoubted expert ... so, by default, Svetlana instantly became an expert. Svetlana orgasmed, but this time her climax was, if anything, more intense and certainly more prolonged than her first. It was almost as if the number and intensity of the fuckings, and the fact that they were being done one-afterthe-other, was preventing her body from relaxing, that the 414
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residual ripples of one climax were able to amplify the ripples of the next. As one, the women stood away from Svetlana to sign her body. For variation these women chose to make their marks using thick lipsticks, the first smearing the perfume's name on Svetlana's cheek, and the second on her arse. It was obvious to Svetlana that the amount of unused flesh available to act as a canvas was rapidly diminishing. Finished, the women vanished into the blackness. Their place was taken by a woman sporting a strange dildo and by a magnificently endowed black man. It was the dildo though that took Svetlana's attention. It was obviously double ended. One end disappeared deep into the woman's sex, leaving about six inches of red glass phallus jutting out. This faux-penis had obviously been designed to stimulate a woman's cunt and her anus simultaneously. Weird it might have been, but it was certainly effective: the woman cruised the glass penis into Svetlana's balm-slick sex, and simultaneously it penetrated Svetlana's anus. It was a marvellously perverted sensation. Svetlana rolled her hips, trying to compensate for the lack of power the woman was able to apply behind her thrusts. As she lay there enjoying the dual sensations stimulated by the dildo, Svetlana decided that the next time she was in congress with a woman equipped with such a phallus, then the best position would be for her to sit on the woman's lap. That thought brought her sharply back to reality: what did she mean the next time? Before she could explore this thought further, she was brought out of her reverie by the 415
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sight of seven inches of very aroused and very appetising looking black flesh bouncing into view. It certainly was appetising. The taste of the penis was delightful: it was somehow sweeter that the one she had enjoyed just a few moments before, and the smell of the wiry pubis was almost as wonderful. The owner of the penis was a thoughtful lover too: he caressed his dick slowly, almost tenderly, into her mouth, letting her enjoy the feel of its slick flesh dancing over her lips and her tongue. The gentleness of the two fucks Svetlana was enjoying was almost soothing, and it was with some disappointment that she felt the woman pull the dildo from her sex, muttering thanks and the other meaningless words that signalled climax. So it progressed, Svetlana being fucked anally, orally and conventionally by so many people that she lost count, but eventually, after what seemed like hours, there were no more. Svetlana slumped exhausted across the stool, her anus and cunt aflame and her mouth aching from its exertions. Sweat, oil and smeared ink covered her body, and her own sexual balm coated the insides of her thighs. All she wanted was to be released from her bondage and to sleep. "You really do look primeval, my dear Svetlana," said the admiring Master, "you have done wonderfully, amazingly well. Your capacity for the erotic is truly astonishing. But there is just one more trial for you to undergo." The paddle lashed across her upturned arse. From what she could feel, it was a bendy, plastic paddle, long and broad, and it was wielded by someone who was an expert in thrashings. She screamed, she tried so desperately to fight herself free of her bonds, but 416
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it was no use. All she knew was that she could stand no more, that her body and her passion was spent. "Dada," she gasped, and immediately her ordeal ended. [Back to Table of Contents]
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Epilogue He sat there, watching Svetlana as she prepared for this, the final presentation, a smile of triumph dancing on his lips. For the first time in her life she looked to be comfortable, almost careless of her sexuality. The white sequinned shrug she was wearing barely covered her breasts, and her coloured nipples, each pierced by a diamond stud, danced tantalisingly in and out of sight every time she moved. Her white PVC pencil skirt was skin-tight, showing that if Svetlana was wearing underwear it was very brief indeed. But the masterstroke, the piece de résistance, of her outfit, was the inchwide steel collar that circled her neck, a collar where the word "iSUBmiT" was embossed in prominent red letters. It was as though a butterfly had emerged from a chrysalis... He dismissed the metaphor, angry with himself that he should ever have had the stupidity to conjure it. This was no butterfly: the girl that had struggled out of her cocoon of darkness and into daylight's savage censure was something much more dangerous than a butterfly. Dangerous, because she was one who could change things. Dangerous, because of what she represented. She was that strangest of creatures, someone who had merged her fantasy world with her reality. Svetlana was Surrealism made flesh. She operated without reference to morality, to conscience or to restraint. She had become a sexual anarchist. 418
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She now demanded the same indifference to propriety from others. Look out, world... "Shall we begin," suggested the Boss, taking the chair at the end of the conference table, and nodding Madam Durst to the seat at other end. Now the two most powerful people in the room book-ended the table, leaving Svetlana to stand between them. Pauline Trent took a seat alongside Madam Durst. The gathered executives turned to Svetlana. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," she began, "the brief I gave to the director and editor of the "I Submit" video you are about to see was simple: it had to be surreal, it had to be intelligent, and it had to convey the message that it is the duty of every free-thinking woman to corrupt and debunk the accepted codes of moral behaviour." She paused and then smiled an impish smile, "The only caveat I placed on the structure of the video was that it had to include the use of "I Submit"." There were relieved chuckles from around the table, "If we are to incite revolution, it should at least be a fragrant one. The results are, I think ... astonishing. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you 'CuntDown'." Even before the more tender spirits in the audience had a chance to protest, the lights in the room dimmed and Svetlana flicked the projector's remote control; immediately digital images began to spew onto the large screen at the end of the room. The video was built from the footage Norma X had shot of the masked Svetlana at So-UnReal-Ism. It was a brutal piece of cinematic erotica, and Svetlana was pleased 419
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that her role in it was hidden by both her mask and by the darkness of the stage where she'd performed. Oh, she was indifferent to being identified with the girl being used and abused in the video, but for the peace of mind of the Client, she was pleased her ... unveiling would take place after the "I Submit" campaign was underway. Yes ... "CuntDown" was brutal, but Norma X had gone further than sheer sexual shock and awe. She had developed her video, just as the Surrealists had done, around an everyday object, which she had twisted to make it into a thing of fantasy. "CuntDown" featured that classic of Surrealism, the clock, though in Norma X's video the clock didn't melt in Dali-esque fashion, it simply ran backwards. And as each second clicked off, so Svetlana was shown being fucked or used or flagellated in a different way. It was sixty seconds of sexual variations as demonstrated by a woman/machine hybrid. And, of course, as the clock ticked back so the amount of "I Submit" graffiti decorating Svetlana's body lessened. Thus, as the video ran, as Svetlana was fucked more and more often, so contrarily her body became more and more pristine. The message was clear: the more enthusiastically you embrace your perversions, the cleaner will be your soul. When the video ended and the lights switched back on, Madam Durst led the applause. "Magnificent. It az an abzurdist quality, a bitterness unt a savagery zat iz zimply magnificent. I am staggered, never vould I av believed such passion, such base eroticism could be communicated zo effectively. It iz vonderful, it iz..." 420
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"Unusable," stated Pauline Trent flatly. "How can you zay zat," protested Madam Durst, "it iz a vork of..." "Pornography?" suggested Pauline Trent. "Zat iz not pornography. Pornography only stimulates vun organ; a vork of eroticism zuch az zat video stimulates ze mind, ze imagination unt ze gonads." Pauline Trent was unmoved, "You can rationalise it all you want. The fact remains, ninety-nine percent of the population will classify it as pornography. We can't use it." "Ve must use it," snarled Madam Durst slamming the flat of her hand down on the table for emphasis. The Boss leant forward, and there was an anger in his eyes that Svetlana had never seen before, "Madam Durst is right, Pauline, you must use it. This campaign is, in my admittedly biased opinion, the finest, most original and, potentially, most effective this Agency has ever created. And that video is a vital, an irreplaceable part of that campaign." "That video is Dada-esque pornography," sneered Pauline Trent. When the Boss replied there was a quiet determination in his voice. "Today, when people think of Dada all they remember it as is as an art movement, but it was so much more than that. It was the ultimate in iconoclasty, and if there was ever a time when the world was in desperate need of iconoclasts it is today. This campaign could be opinion leading and opinion forming. This isn't a time for intelligent people to show how chicken-shit scared they are of the unusual and the revolutionary." 421
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Jesus, thought Svetlana, he's just blown the campaign. Then, amazingly, Pauline Trent began to laugh, "You misunderstand me, Michael, the intellectual and creative achievements of the campaign Svetlana is proposing are immense. It is a work of ... inspiration. But, the fact remains that the political ramifications of the more ... unusual aspects of the campaign cannot be ignored. Those groups who have appointed themselves the task of protecting our nation's morals are not to be taken lightly. They could destroy the company." Svetlana sighed, this was the usual weak-kneed, protect the stock-price, don't piss-off Middle America, type of reaction she'd been expecting. She'd known from the word go that, even with the support of Madam Durst, the chances of her campaign getting the green-light were somewhere between zero and fuck-all. Corporate America was a lily-livered beast, and any whiff of controversy or of originality would see them scurry off to hide. The Boss made one final effort, "If you surrender to convention, capitulate to the banal, then, Pauline, you are the enemy of women and of intellect." It was stalemate. And then Svetlana surprised them all. "If, Pauline," Svetlana began, in a quiet voice, "we were able to adequately insulate our corporation from the moral fall-out..." "How?" Pauline asked. "Maybe by creating a subsidiary to handle the perfume, a subsidiary whose ultimate ownership was hidden behind a 422
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trust, an off-shore domicile and nominee directors." Svetlana's eyes gimleted those of Pauline, "It could act as a Trojan Horse, smuggling "I Submit's" new ideas and concepts into the mainstream. If we did that, we would be able to keep the company's reputation at arms-length from the moral outrage that you are so convinced is an inevitable consequence of this campaign." The room was silent for several minutes as everyone assessed Svetlana's suggestion. Finally Pauline Trent readjusted her notepad on the table so that it was perfectly square with the edge, and then spoke, "Don't misunderstand me, I know porn sells, just look what it did for Paris Hilton's career. And I am sure this could be a very effective promotional campaign." She paused for thought, "If this ... corporate insulation could be achieved, I would be willing to support the campaign..." "Wunderbar," breathed Madam Durst. "...if one condition is met." Here it comes, thought Svetlana. "My condition is that the girl who starred in "CuntDown" is featured in all "I Submit" videos. Call me old-fashioned, but I would like to see some form of continuity in the campaign. That girl is marketable, and will, by default, become our endorsee. If ever there was a woman who epitomised your Surrealist manifesto, it is that one." **** They opened the champagne to celebrate the awarding of the campaign to the Agency, and Svetlana found herself in 423
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conversation with Pauline Trent. "Do you think you'll be able to contract the girl to star in the other videos?" Pauline asked. Svetlana smiled a rueful smile, "Oh yes, I'm sure of it." "Excellent. And tell me, where was the video shot?" "At a club called So-UnReal-Ism." "I've heard of it..." "Perhaps you'd like to attend?" The eyes of the two women locked for a moment. "It seems a little extreme." "It is, but really, Pauline, you should learn more about Surrealism if you and I going to be working together on "I Submit", and So-UnReal-Ism is an excellent place to receive ... instruction. After all, you referenced the Surrealist manifesto just a few moments ago, and Surrealism is imagination unfettered and made flesh. Perhaps it is time, Pauline, to follow your imagination rather than your reason." Svetlana rolled her shoulder allowing the shrug to slip down her arm to reveal her diamond studded nipple. For a second Pauline hesitated; then she raised her fingers to gently, reverently almost, caress the hard tip of Svetlana's breast. "I hear it's very difficult to get into So-UnReal-Ism," Pauline said, a flicker of excitement dusting her voice. "That's not a problem. I know the Master," Svetlana's gaze moved across to Michael, the owner of the Agency, "or as I prefer to call him, 'the Boss'." [Back to Table of Contents]
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Statues by Jessie Verino [Back to Table of Contents]
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Also by Jessie Verino Spellbound Sensual Energy [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter One "How long can you maintain an erection?" Alexandria Darnoud asked the question with no more inflection than if she were asking him how fast he could type. Of course, this wasn't a normal job interview, and he'd lost what little modesty he'd had when he'd posed nude for the portfolio she now held. Dante cleared his throat. "I'd guess I'm about average. Is it a requirement?" She smiled demurely, in contrast to the subject matter. "No. In fact, very few of our statues are nudes and only a select few are chosen for centerpieces." Still holding the photographs, her direct gaze wandered from his face and lingered on the image of his cock at full attention. "However, judging from your photographs, I'd say you're a little better than average. I'm sure our artists will want to work with you." The casual statement made him squirm a bit in the soft leather chair. His research indicated the new statues were stuck on a pedestal in a dark hallway, and he hadn't expected to do more than that, but even the chance to attend one of her infamous parties made him ready to agree to anything. Her enthusiasm made him wonder for a moment if she suspected he had applied for the job as an undercover assignment for the local tabloid, Rag Time, and then he quickly dismissed the idea. He and his boss had arranged his alias and cover story perfectly. She couldn't know the truth. 427
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He inclined his head slightly, trying to hide his apprehension. "Thank you for the compliment, Miss Darnoud. I would consider it an honor to work with your artists." Rumors regarding her artwork, and her parties, could be heard on every street corner in New Orleans. For a reporter, the chance to expose, in depth, what went on during those parties, was a priceless opportunity he couldn't resist. Every gossip reporter in the state had tried, but none of them had gotten past the front gate. At least he'd made it inside the mansion. She closed his portfolio and handed it back to him with a contract. "Good. Our agreement is quite simple and quite exacting. We do not allow any type of enhancement, including chemical or herbal, which would increase your stamina or erection size. We do periodic testing to enforce this policy." She shuffled several papers across her desk. "We will provide all training, make-up, and related services as part of your compensation, which is stated in the contract. After your probation period, you will enter the rotation for the parties. In addition, there is a non-disclosure agreement regarding your employment, which stays in effect for fifty years after termination. Fraternization with guests and other employees or staff is strictly prohibited. Any questions?" Damn, she looked too delicious with her full lips slightly parted, and her smoldering gaze too sexy, sitting poised behind the dark, cherry wood desk waiting for his answer. He leaned forward to take the contract, a little more than he should have, and deliberately lowered his voice to a husky, intimate tone. "What about fraternization with the boss?" 428
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The question didn't appear to unsettle her at all. In fact, it brought a mischievous little smile to her face that made his heart race. She matched his movement and leaned toward him, just enough for him to glimpse the swell of her breasts in the vee of her silk blouse. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't try, Dante." The use of his name gave him a false sense of intimacy. "I grew up in this home, nurtured in the bosom of what most people consider human perfection. It takes a lot to impress me." He retrieved a pen from his pocket, and signed the contract without reading it. "I'm looking forward to the challenge. When do I start?" **** Alexandria waited and watched the security monitor until she saw Dante enter the studio at the rear of the house, then leaned back in her chair and fanned herself with the contract. Literally hundreds of nude men and women had graced the mansion as living art since her great-grandmother acquired the house in 1901. Grandmère, a notorious madam from the infamous Storyville district, had held decadent, lavish parties every night of the week, showcasing her "museum" and causing a huge scandal. The tradition continued, becoming more refined over the years. The parties were less frequent, less decadent, and the living art had more style, but the sheen of sophistication didn't completely cover the mystery, the wickedness of scandal. However, none of the statues had affected her more than other, more traditional works of art. Until now. Dante Reed, 429
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with his bold stare and bedroom eyes, sparked something inside her and made her skin tingle. It unsettled her. Threw her off balance. She didn't need another statue, but for some strange reason she had sent the ambiguous advertisement. Dante answering it with a proper portfolio didn't make sense, but she didn't muse on it long. She'd learned a long time ago not to question the unusual happenings in her life. Besides, she reasoned, with their annual Fire and Ice charity event only a week away, it couldn't hurt. Closing her eyes, she envisioned Dante, his muscled body painted strikingly in the blues and whites of ice, as a centerpiece; a simple, classic pose that accentuated his defined, muscular form. A masterful display to grace her party, but she knew his eyes, not his body, would draw the attention of her guests. No amount of body paint could distract from the haunting expression of his eyes. He'd looked at her as if he could see her most intimate fantasies and make them come true. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she pulled herself together. Well, he'd learn soon enough that it took more than a body built like a Roman god and an enticing smile to get into her fantasies. Other statues had tried, and they had all failed. Dante would hear about their failed attempts in the locker room, as the topic seemed to be their favorite, and maybe he'd think twice before he tried himself. Then again, she hoped, maybe he wouldn't. Turning away from the monitor, she forced herself not to watch him move through the studio as John gave him the grand tour. But her gaze kept going back to the screen. Dante 430
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walked with the natural stride of self-confidence, and she could tell by the creasing of his brows and the look on his face indicated he listened to his guide with sincere interest. Light conversation passed between them, and curious, she turned up the volume in time to hear Dante's shocked voice coming through the tinny speaker. "Yoga? Why do I need to twist my body into a pretzel?" A look of panic crossed his features and it made her smile. "I'm not going to have to pose with my legs wrapped around my neck, am I?" John didn't try to smother his laugh. "Don't worry. We use yoga to teach breathing and muscle control. The artists design the poses and choreography." Abject horror showed on Dante's face. "Choreography? As in dancing?" A look of longsuffering patience crossed John's features. Disappointed, she supposed, to hear the same questions— again. "No. Choreography as in movement. No matter how toned you guys are, you can't stay in the same position for hours. The yoga and precision choreography ensure you don't suffer serious injury, or pass out." "Good point," Dante conceded. The men walked out of camera range, and she reluctantly turned off the monitor. Dante was proving too much of a distraction. Details had to be seen to, the caterer needed a menu, and the printer awaited her final approval of the auction program. [Back to Table of Contents] 431
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Chapter Two "Hey, Dante, the boss lady wants to speak with you." Finally. After five days of constant workouts, classes, and training, he'd begun to think his exposé piece was going to be a bust. He wiped the sweat from his face, wrapped the towel around his neck, and made his way to Ms. Darnoud's office. From the rumors and research, he'd expected life at the mansion as something along the lines of free-flowing alcohol, lots of the love drug ecstasy, wild orgies—in short, total hedonism. And then there were the reports of strange happenings, supposedly wrought from dark magic and Voodoo. However, he'd heard about one or two of the past parties from fellow statues, and they sounded disappointingly dull. Art connoisseurs mostly, and those elite members of society who attended for the prestige. But excitement had been building for the annual Fire and Ice party, some big shindig celebrating the winter solstice. He didn't know his role for the party, and neither John nor anyone else would even drop a hint. Now was his chance to find out. If he couldn't charm his way to the center of the action, he'd have to find a way to sneak in or cut his losses and leave the table. He stopped at the door and knocked. Ms. Darnoud called "Enter" before the rapping sound finished. The heavy door opened easily, like it had been helped by a breeze, and he walked into the dark office. She stood in front of her desk, silhouetted by candlelight. It had a certain, ambiance, he 432
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decided. A mystique he couldn't explain, but it drew him in like the proverbial moth, and the door closed silently behind him. "Dante, please sit." Her voice sounded husky, breathy, and distant, even though only a few feet separated them. The lights came on, blinding in the unexpectedness. "I just finished my meditation session." She walked gracefully to a mini-fridge. "Would you like some water?" The Lycra outfit she wore left nothing to his imagination, and the sight of her perfectly heart-shaped ass bent over in front of the small refrigerator hidden behind a wall panel made his mouth go bone dry. "Yeah. Water'd be good." She straightened, handed him a cold bottle he wished he could place between his legs before he embarrassed himself, and twisted the cap off her own. She wrapped her lips around the opening and took three long swallows. The provocative sight had him imagining those wet lips swallowing his cock and sent his senses in a tailspin. "I gather you've heard about the little soirée I'm planning?" His throat tightened and his tongue felt thick in his mouth. "Fire and Ice, right?" The air of sophistication and confidence she wore softened. Her posture wasn't quite as straight, and she couldn't look him in the eye. "I realize you haven't completed your probationary period, but ... well, I feel like you've worked hard and earned a pedestal at the party. Plus, I'd like you to participate in the auction." 433
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If he didn't know better, he'd swear she fidgeted. One of the signs and symptoms of someone hiding something. His reporter instincts kicked in, and the sudden jolt of investigative adrenaline lifted the sexual fog somewhat. Several questions popped into his mind, but he started with the obvious, the mundane. "What kind of auction?" "Art," Ms. Darnoud answered a little too quickly, but he watched her take a deep breath, noting the slight lift of her breasts, and when she spoke again, her voice sounded calm. "It's a charity auction. I donate several pieces of art for the auction, pay all the expenses, and this year the proceeds go to the various charities still helping Katrina victims." Stop thinking about her breasts! He finally opened his water and took a long draw from the bottle, using the time to study Ms. Darnoud. She appeared a little off her stride. A little anxious. The auction could be a front for laundering dirty money from blackmail or any one of several illegal operations. Hell, the artwork could be stolen. He scented the biggest story of his career underneath the musky scent which lingered in the air from her workout—and the most dangerous. No way was he going to pass on the opportunity, but he simply shrugged as if it didn't matter one way or another. "Sounds like fun." The tiny lines of tension on her forehead relaxed as she smiled and leaned against the desk. "I'll have John fill you in on the details." Concentration showed on her face while she studied him, almost as if she could see his thoughts. The feeling unsettled him and left him feeling exposed. "It will 434
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require extra hours outside of your normal schedule. Will the overtime be a problem?" "Not at all." "Great. And, um, there's one other ... detail. An addendum to your contract, which allows certain activities outside our original agreement. The art from the auction can be, and often is, displayed under less stringent rules than we normally impose." She took a deep breath. "I want to make it perfectly clear that the bidders are not paying for sexual services. However, you may be asked to participate in any number of fantasies, and suites are provided here at the mansion for those private showings. Of course, you have the option to refuse. You are in no way required to do more than pose. If it makes you uncomfortable, please let me know now so I can arrange for another statue in the auction." Headlines flashed in his mind. Darnoud's Statues Cum to Life in Garden of Sexual Delights, and Wallets Growing in Garden District, Fertilized with Sex. It might not be Pulitzer Prize winning journalism, but the exposé could get him closer to real investigative reporting. Hell, if a politician or two showed up at the party, he just might get there a little quicker. Trying not to let the excitement show, he closed his eyes and took a moment to school his features. But, his imagination went into overdrive, and he thought he heard her shallow breaths, her heartbeat, smell her, like an animal scenting its mate. Opening his eyes didn't help. Tiny beads of sweat glistened against her skin, and he wanted to run his tongue over the graceful column of her neck and taste her. 435
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The craving burned through him until he felt consumed by its heat. Forgetting the auction, the story, and the sensational headlines, he stood and crossed the space between them. Aware only of the heat and his need, he pulled her tight against him and seized her mouth with his. Her mouth, still cold from the water, did nothing to cool or quench his lust. He felt her muscles, which had been warm and loose just moments before, tense in his embrace, but he couldn't stop. Couldn't resist palming her ass and pulling her tight against his erection. Every part of his body ground against hers. Hard nipples pressed into his chest, thighs pressed together, and his cock pumped against her mound. Somewhere in the back of his mind, her lack of response registered faintly through the sensual fog. He pulled away, a little confused at his lack of control. Trying to lighten the mood and brush it off as no big deal, he gave her a sheepish little grin. "Not impressed?" "No." The chilly tone of her voice and the rigid way she stood put him on the defensive, but he refused to take another step back. She hadn't invited the kiss, but she sure as hell hadn't pushed him away either. "But you're hoping someone at the auction will be." Unabashed, her gaze traveled from his eyes to his erection. "Does this mean you're willing to participate? I'm sure you'll have plenty of bidders." He mirrored her actions, letting his gaze move from her face to her breasts. "Anything for a good cause." 436
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"Good. When you return to the studio, tell John I want you posed as an ice sculpture. A Roman gladiator posed in a chariot and chased by flames." Taking her statement as a dismissal, Dante crossed the room and walked through the door without looking back. He waited a full ten seconds after leaving Ms. Darnoud's office before he allowed himself to celebrate. Hot damn! Even if the thought of standing in the middle of ice for a couple of hours in the dead of winter gave him the shivers, the story was worth it. Punching a victory fist in the air, he turned down the hallway and headed back to the training room. [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter Three Dante tried to ignore the conversations taking place around him, but it proved difficult, especially since every whispered snippet he heard contained open curiosity regarding what was hidden beneath his costume. Thankfully, the heavy make-up hid his blush as the ladies discussed his physique. "Oh, my," one of them whispered to another. "What a truly magnificent work of art. Such lines and definition. Oooh, I'd love to know what's hidden beneath the gladiator uniform and why Alex is hiding obviously exquisite artwork from us." "Judging from the form, dear, I agree. Obviously exquisite. I wonder how she made him look like ice. Why, I get cold chills just looking at him." If he were allowed to speak, he could have answered all of their questions. First, the artist had airbrushed his entire body ice blue, even the artwork hidden under the skirt of the gladiator uniform. The term being generous as it only covered the front, fastened at his hips with some sort of tape. Then, an opaque white sheen had been added over the blue. The skirt portion had been added, and he'd been posed on the chariot. Once posed, the muscular lines were accented with silver highlights. The artist had even added some type of gel to his hair which made it look frozen. Silver contact lenses completed the look. The whole process had been humiliating, and made 438
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more so by the blatant way the women, and some of the men, discussed his attributes. A machine, concealed beneath the chariot, blew a cold misty fog. Positioned at an angle, with fire nipping at his heels, it looked as if he were fleeing the flames of hell. "Careful, Ursula." Alexandria's voice broke through his thoughts, admonishing the guest whose hand lingered close to his thigh ready to lift the uniform. "Ice burns." Ursula pulled her hand away. "Of course, dear. Better to wait until the auction. Anticipation and all that." The ballroom and everyone in it faded from his vision until only Alexandria remained, elegantly draped in her firethemed costume, as the center of his universe. The embarrassment, the tiny skirt, the dread of removing it, everything fled from his thoughts when he looked at her. The red strapless gown looked molten over her body and when she moved, light caused subtle variations of color in the fabric. Hints of orange, yellow, and even blue teased the eye as she walked. A living, breathing flame. Her skin glowed with a soft luminescence under the lights, and he couldn't tear his gaze away from the creamy flesh. Tendrils of her light brown hair, loosened from the classic upswept, Roman hairstyle and tipped in red, brushed against the slender column of her neck. A man leaned close, handed her a flute of champagne, and whispered something in her ear which made her smile. Her lips captivated him, slightly parted and glistening from the sparkling wine. Red, full, ripe. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed to stay on 439
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the pedestal and not satisfy his hunger to nibble on the succulent flesh. Thankfully, a young lady with white blonde hair drew his attention. She had to be the woman Adam had nicknamed Snowball. Not because of her coloring, but because she had perfected the art of cum swapping. The older gentlemen with her had to be "Daddy." According to Adam, the man who owned the little blonde had peculiar ways of obtaining sexual satisfaction. Like a puppeteer, he directed her every movement per his prurient desires, and apparently liked to watch as she followed his commands, at times with three or more men to satisfy. Adam had told him that last year she had swapped Adam's load into another man's mouth. As if to prove Adam's story, the couple stopped in front of him and did a blatant performance of her skills with a sip of schnapps and an unsuspecting participant who willing obliged as she allowed the liqueur to flow slowly over her tongue into his mouth. The display had every man in the room adjusting his pants. Dante had heard several stories from the other statues detailing the sexual exploits of the auction over the past week, and he'd found most of them hard to believe. But after Snowball's spectacle, he might have to change his thinking. Of course, it didn't mean he wouldn't use the tales—especially when they involved the rich and powerful—in his article. The other guys hadn't dropped any names, but Dante noticed a few of the city's elite in the crowd tonight, along with a few of the politicians he had hoped would attend. 440
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Alexandria moved to the center of the room where a spotlight showed and silhouetted her body beneath the semisheer gown. Perfectly manicured nails produced the familiar tinkling sound from her glass, and although it wasn't loud, conversations ceased and the room stilled. "Ladies and gentleman, I hope you have enjoyed tonight's showing, but it is now time to dispense with the civilities and quiet admiration. Please consult your program for the artwork up for auction. We shall assemble in the Great Hall in fifteen minutes. Chairs and numbered paddles are provided." Finishing her champagne, Alexandria stayed until the ballroom emptied. "Statues, remove your ornamentation and follow me. Charles, you are first on the pedestal, followed by James, Adam, Michael, Tyler, and Dante. As if to confirm his thoughts, she caught his arm as he walked past her. "Dante, now would be a perfect time to demonstrate your ability to maintain an erection. The guests already adore you, but if you appear on the pedestal with your impressive cock, the bidding will go through the roof." Following her from the room, his thoughts spun. In the back of his mind, he knew he'd have to get the hell out of Dodge before his obligation to the winning bidder came due. Even if the lucky person expected him in one of the special suites right after the auction. It'd be hell for Alexandria, as would the article, but with all her money and connections, she'd come through it without a scratch. Hell, it'd probably make her more famous, or infamous, depending on one's point of view. 441
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While a few of the other statues tried a myriad of techniques to get hard without touching their dicks and messing up their body paint, he stole a glance at the crowd through the velvet curtains and searched for Alexandria. She stood to the side of the lectern, bathed in the low ambient light around the stage. The sight of her lush body poured into that red gown was all he needed to get as rock hard as the statue he portrayed. "Ladies and gentlemen," the auctioneer started. "Let the bidding begin!" Charles took a deep breath, took a last look at his hard-on, and walked through the opening in the curtains and onto the stage. A round of applause erupted, then the auctioneer's voice filled the room and quieted the crowd. A soft murmur of voices carried when the bidding started. Dante managed to drown out most of the noise and concentrated on playing his part, paying attention to the antics of the guys as they paraded across the stage and posed for the audience. Joining in their excitement as they exited, he filed every word in the back of his mind for use in his article. What they expected from the winning bidders, based on last year's afterauction activity, and most importantly, names. If his editor allowed him free rein of the content, his article was going to burn the paper it was printed on. John nudged Dante toward the stage. "You're up." Taking his cue, he imagined Alexandria slinking out of her gown, and stepped through the curtain. 442
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A soft spotlight angled down on him as he paraded across the stage to the small, square pedestal where the other guys had done their "Mr. Universe" routines. Knowing his lean, rangy body didn't have the build for a muscle pose, he straddled the pedestal and bowed his back over the edge. Fearing he might lose his erection, he blocked out the crowd and imagined Alexandria riding him. Every muscle in his body tightened, and his dick pumped up until he was ready to explode. The harsh white of the spotlight narrowed to showcase the goods, and the auctioneer's voice broke the silence with the call for bids. People thronged around the stage, trying to get a closer look, and bidding in a frenzy. Dante rose to a sitting position, wiped the pre-cum off the tip with his thumb, and held his hand out to the crowd. A gorgeous redhead grabbed his wrist, brought his hand to her mouth, and sucked his thumb with enthusiasm. He knew if he turned toward her, she'd have no hesitation about sucking his cock with the same fervor. "Sold," the auctioneer boomed, "to the lady with number twenty-seven." He looked down at the woman who still had his hand and was trying to slide it down the front of her gown. "You're not number twenty-seven, are you?" She shook her head, gave him a sexy little pout, and refused to release his hand. With a wink, he pulled his hand free and stood. "Maybe next year." She didn't interest him. The lady who won him didn't interest him. He'd be sneaking out the back door soon 443
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enough, and for reasons he didn't understand and didn't want to examine too closely, he needed to see Alexandria. He caught a glimpse of the slim column of her neck and the flash of leg through the slit in her gown as she made her way backstage, and the jolt of lust made him dizzy. Exiting the stage through the curtain, he met with a round of applause from the other statues and a smile of approval from Alexandria. "Congratulations, Dante." For all the excitement, her voice remained calm, serene. "You brought in the highest bid, and next week off with pay." The timing couldn't have been better. Once he found a way out of the mansion, no one would question his absence. The story could hit next week's edition. Without thought, he turned to leave, but a woman caught his arm. "Please follow me." "Can't I have a few minutes in the studio? You know, to ... uh ... take care of some things?" She held him firm and led him toward the stairs. "Everything you require is in the suite, and I will remain to amuse you until the winner arrives." Damn, no escape. [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter Four The ancient Rome theme continued in the private suite. Thick, white carpet covered the floor, so soft it made him think of walking on clouds. A fireplace dominated the back wall of the sitting area. A long, leather couch, again in white, with scrolled armrests sat to the side. Champagne chilled on the bar which separated the space from the bedroom, and a table and two chairs added to the room's décor. But the bearskin rug in front of the roaring fire caught his attention. Just the spot for something romantic. The space to the right held a square, marble bath, complete with jets, and large enough for several people with steam already rising from the water. Steps led down to a smaller alcove or sorts, and a lion's head on the tiled wall provided a shower. After standing for what seemed like hours, and contorting his body on stage, he desperately wanted to get into the steaming bath. A little more to the right, a privacy wall sectioned off the rest of the room, for a toilet he supposed. To the left, the large bed stood on a platform, and the open floor plan assured that if you weren't in the bed, you could observe your lover from anywhere in the suite. Or they could observe you. Columns replaced the normal posts, with ornamental rings attached at various heights. He took a step toward the bed, but the young woman's voice stopped him. In his perusal, he'd forgotten she'd followed him into the suite. 445
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"May I be of assistance?" Her voice practically purred, and her gaze traveled from his body to the bed. He glanced at his arms where the make-up had started to crack on his skin. "I could use a shower." Hips swaying, she sauntered to the bathing area and pulled a thick washcloth from a warmer. "Thank you, Manda, I can take it from here." Alexandria's voice sounded behind him. A look of shock, then just a flash of irritation crossed Amanda's features, but with a smile, she walked to the sitting room, handed Alexandria the washcloth and walked quietly out of the suite. Alexandria locked the door as soon as it shut. She stood there for a moment, looking like a Greek goddess come to Earth. With more grace and confidence than the attendant, Alexandria removed her spiked heels and joined him in the bathing area. "You should stand under the water for a few minutes," she said and adjusted the controls. "Most of the body paint will rinse off." He stepped under the shower and faced the wall, letting the hot streams hide his shock. Although, he couldn't say he was disappointed. But why was she here? To watch? To keep tabs on him? Did she somehow find out about his story? No way. "You could have let her stay." He gave her a grin. "I don't mind." She gave him a wry smile. "I'm sure, but I do mind. Manda isn't part of my fantasy, and I always get what I pay for. I expect my money's worth." 446
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Holy shit! This scenario never crossed his mind. How the hell was he going to get out of here now? "Got any shampoo?" he asked and hoped he kept the worry from his voice. In answer, Alexandria removed a bottle from a cabinet, and without removing her gown, stepped into the alcove behind him. She ran her fingers over his head and massaged the shampoo through his hair. The wispy material of her gown didn't provide much of a barrier between them, and he felt her nipples press against his back. Clearing his mind of everything except the hot, steamy water was his only defense against turning and ripping the dress from her body. As still and tense now as he had been through the party, he silent thanked John for the strenuous training and focused on the wall. "All the gel is out of your hair." Alexandria stepped around him and retrieved a handful of body wash. "Just relax and let me do all the dirty work." Every inch of her body showed through the wet gown, except for her mound. A scrap of red material covered the thatch of curls and disappeared between her legs. One red string between her cheeks confirmed she wore a thong. The slow, steady movement of her hands brought his body to life. She didn't stand between him and the spray, but it didn't keep her from getting wet, and she didn't seem to care. She should have looked ridiculous. Instead, she reminded him of a sea nymph.
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Balls tightening, he was losing control fast and if he didn't get some back soon, he'd embarrass himself and shoot his load in the shower. The light touch of her hands on his dick, still slick with soap, felt like a white-hot branding iron. Involuntarily, he covered her hands with his and added enough pressure to hold on just a little longer. Together, they stroked until the paint rinsed away with the soap. She pulled her hands free, went to her knees in front of him, and buried her face against his balls. Losing all pretense of control, he gripped the base of his cock and guided it to her willing mouth. Her tongue circled the tip as he slid between her lips and added a little pressure when he fully entered. He palmed his hands against the tiles for support and pumped into her. The speed and pressure cost him any finesse, and although she tried to protect him, he felt the faint scrape of her teeth over the head. Water streamed over them while she grabbed his ass with one hand, cupped his balls with the other, and sucked. Still he pumped into her, fighting the seductive pull, the urgency, until with one final push he had her against the tiles, his cock firmly embedded to the back of her throat. She swallowed and he slid a little further. He expected her to push him away before he came, but when his cock started pulsing, she sucked harder and took all of him. Her nails dug into his ass while his cum filled her mouth. Swallowing one last time, she let off the pressure and he reluctantly pulled out. 448
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His strength gave out and he went down next to Alexandria. He traced his fingers down her cheek and kissed her. "That was incredible. Intense. And way too quick. I wanted to draw it out, make it good for you." She nestled into his chest. "We've got all night." **** Water dripped from her hair and down her neck when she stood. "I've got to get out of this dress." Dante got to his feet and tried to find a zipper, but she stopped him. "Not like that. I want the man who lost control. The man who takes what he wants." He didn't need more encouragement, but he couldn't afford to lose control. Not now. He had to play his part, but it didn't mean he was going to give into her demands so easily. Hands steady, he slid them over her breasts, took hold of the delicate fabric at her shoulders, and slowly slid the material from her body. By the time he finished, and her gown lay in a pile on the floor of the shower, her frustration was palpable. The demi bra she wore underneath didn't cover her nipples, and they were taut and dark next to the white satin. Moisture made the sheer vee of her thong cling to her skin, and he clearly saw the trimmed, dark red hair of her mound through the small scrap of fabric. He moved his fingers in a soft caress over her swollen pussy lips and smiled when he found them shaved smooth and slick. Not all of the moisture between her legs was from the shower. "You should get out of this wet underwear, and we could use some towels." 449
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Head slightly bowed, she licked her lips. Indecision marked her features. She took a deep, trembling breath and clinched her hands. Her voice came out in a whisper. "Make it an order." Interesting. Alexandria Darnoud was always so cool in every situation. Controlled. So authoritative. Yet, she slid, if not easily, eager, into a subservient role. He should leave now, but the enigma she presented proved to be too much temptation. How far would she take the game? Plus, to leave her now, unsatisfied, didn't sit well with him. He lifted her chin until she was forced to look him in the eyes. "Strip off your bra and panties." Thumbs hooked beneath the thin material, she slipped it over her hips, down her legs, and stepped out of the panties when they reached her ankles. She hesitated, not much more than a second, then reached between her breasts and unclasped her bra. Even though only a few minutes had passed, his cock started to harden again at the sight of her body. He needed a distraction. "The towel?" She walked to the warmer, retrieved a towel, and brought it to him cradled in her arms. And waited. If she touched him now, even with the towel, they'd never make to the rest of the game, or the bed. He took the towel from her. "I'll do this. Is there beer in the bar refrigerator?" "Yes." The answer was soft. "Sir," he added. "Yes, sir." Although she might be expecting to call him master, he wasn't that into the game. It felt too weird. "Open one and wait for me." 450
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"Yes, sir." He watched her walk to the bar, did a cursory rub down, and wrapped the towel around his hips. Taking his time, he followed at leisurely pace, and thought about how to handle the situation. Looking at her now, as she stood stock-still and nude in the room, beer in hand, made him a little nervous. Out of his element here, he had no idea what Alexandria expected, or how to provide it. What he needed to do was leave, write the story, and forget about her and her games. Impossible. He'd already gone too far. The large mirror over the fireplace caught his attention, and he smiled as the beginning of an idea formed. Perfect. Not even glancing in Alexandria's direction, he walked to the chair and settled into soft leather warmed by the fire. "You may bring the beer." He accepted the bottle, a label he didn't recognize and probably way out of his class. "Sit. On the floor in front of me." In the mirror, he watched her graceful movements as she lowered herself to the floor. The quick rise and fall of her breasts in anticipation of the unknown, the fluttering of her eyelashes as she struggled not to look at him. A minute passed, and another, before he moved, positioned his feet between her legs and spread them wide exposing her. "Place your left hand behind your head." Delicate, soft fingers settled close to his dick. He took advantage, guiding her hand to grasp him and held it there. "Use your right hand to play with your pussy." 451
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Focused on the mirror, he watched her fingers slide through the tight red curls to stroke over her clit and he felt an unexpected jolt of pure sexual pleasure. Who knew taking control could be so stimulating? So potent? Alexandria resisted. Her grip tightened on his already hard cock, her thigh muscles trembled as tried to pull free from her uncomfortable position, and he spread her legs a little farther apart. Erotically beautiful, enticing, forced into submission by no more than his whims and bound without restraints. Back arched, her hand dipped, fingers plunged deep into the slick pussy, and her thumb massaged her clit hard and fast. Mouth dry, the cold beer soothed his suddenly parched throat, but did nothing to alleviate the burning need to taste her. But he couldn't give in to that need just yet. There were still depths to plumb. Other desires taking hold as his imagination went into overdrive from the intoxicating control. "Come for me, sweetheart. Now." What the hell had she allowed herself into? A quick glance in the mirror shocked her, and she had a difficult time tearing her gaze away from the rhythmic movement of her fingers. Couldn't concentrate as blood moved hot through her veins as each stroke brought her closer to orgasm. More though, she felt the heat from Dante's gaze. His eyes, dark with passion, stunned her. Somehow she'd known, in the dark places of her mind and soul where she kept her fantasies hidden, he'd be the perfect man to indulge her. But she wasn't prepared for the sheer need to give him everything. "I told you to come for me, Alex." 452
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At the sound of his voice, edgy and demanding, release hit her hard and fast. Her back arched with her fingers still deep inside her pussy. Yet, he kept her hand on his dick, and her legs spread, while spasms rocked her and left her weak and panting. Behind her, he drank the last of his beer and dropped the bottle to the floor. With, tantalizing slowness, he released her hand and relaxed, allowing her the freedom to move. The muscles in her legs still trembled, but she managed to draw her knees up and get some relief. "Stand, don't turn around, and straddle my knee." In the mirror, she watched as he patted a hand, indicating just where he wanted her. The command jerked her out of the euphoria of her climax, and the knowledge that Dante knew what she wanted, what she needed from him, managed to recharge her system. She stood, and with a sassy little wiggle, sat astride his left leg. Strong hands massaged her thighs, moved over her hips, but his expression remained passive. "Do you know what I like, Alex?" She answered with a quick shake of her head, not daring to speak. With her clit pressed against his leg, and his hands close enough to ease the growing need, she feared she'd plead for release. His fingers slid up her spine and forced her to bend forward. "I like the feel of your wet pussy humping me, and ... I really like your ass." [Back to Table of Contents] 453
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Chapter Five A sense of pride washed over her, and quickly replaced when she felt the sting of his palm on her butt. "When I order you to come, you come." Another slap accentuated his words. "You don't wait. You don't draw it out." The force behind the blows intensified, the rhythm quickened, and each slap, each squirm, increased her pleasure until she rocked on the edge of another release. But her excitement turned to frustration when the spanking stopped, and she felt the tender touch of his lips on her stinging bottom. "There. All better now," he teased. Better? Better? No, she was not better. A whimper left her throat. "Please, what?" Lord. Had she really said it out loud? Begged? The thought alone, of a man who so completely stripped her of control and made her beg, almost had her coming. He wrapped his arms around her, cupped her breasts, and pulled her close to his chest. "Don't answer," he whispered against her neck and then nipped the tender flesh with his teeth. "I know what you want, now. And I promise you'll get it. On my terms." A quick, hard squeeze to her nipples sealed his promise. "Crawl to the bed." 454
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She shuddered with anticipation, slid off his leg, and went to all fours. Knowing the arch in her back gave him a good view of her pussy, she moved slowly across the floor, hoping to tantalize him. However, the hope faded when he didn't follow. Didn't even turn his head to make sure she obeyed. It was maddening, but she didn't dare stand. No matter how much she wanted to feel the heated slap of his hand again. "Good." Never making a sound, he'd walked up behind her. He slipped his hand between her legs and teased the sensitive flesh. "Where are the toys? The restraints for the rings on the bed?" "There's a panel in the wall to the right of the bed." The sting of his hand on her right cheek caught her off guard and secretly delighted her. Dante didn't say a word. Just waited for her. For a brief moment, the thought flashed in her mind that Dante might be it for her. He already had her body responding in ways she'd never experienced with another man, but he hadn't mastered her ... yet. Seconds passed, and another sharp slap heated her cheeks. Though the man who meted the punishment showed no hint of irritation. He understood her needs. Yes, he very well might be the man to master her, body, mind, and soul. Master? That's what he waited for. "There's a panel to the right of the bed, sir." This time, his hand smoothed up the column of her spine and gently massaged the tense muscles in her neck. "Climb onto the bed. Stay on your hands and knees." 455
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As much as she wanted to watch him, to know what he took from the panel, she refused to even glance in his direction. She settled in the middle of the bed and waited. The panel made little noise, but she heard the sound of the metal rings on the restraints click together when he removed them from the shelf. Other sounds echoed through the room like he searched through the contents unable to find what he wanted. But he must have, because the sound stopped, and without warning, he slipped a blindfold over her eyes and secured it. The air felt different, cooler against her bare skin, with the sense of sight gone. She caught the scent of the fresh flowers she'd ordered before the party, and the clean, male scent of Dante. Enjoying the new sensations, the feel of a leather strap around her thigh startled her. More so, because she expected it around her ankle. A moment later, he secured the other strap. "Spread your legs a little more." He nudged her knees with his hands until she was in the position he wanted, then he connected the free ends to the bed posts. The remaining two straps went around her wrists. "I'm going have a taste of you, now. You are not allowed to come." The mattress dipped under his weight as he moved underneath her. The first light touch of his tongue against her slit made her jerk against the restraints. They held her almost immobile as his mouth, his tongue, his teeth, teased her. 456
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"Succulent. Sweet." He murmured the soft words and licked the length of her. Sweet torture. Her whole body vibrated with the mounting need. Writhed within the confines of the unforgiving restraints. She pumped her hips, trying in vain to press him beyond the slow, maddening rhythm which kept her on edge without pushing her over. Just as she got close, he pulled away, and she clenched her teeth to keep from screaming in frustration. "You need to learn a little patience. Take my cock in your mouth." The cuffs at her wrist allowed her enough movement to lower her head, but the black silk cloth covering her eyes made the seemingly easy task more difficult. "Feel for my cock with your tongue." Close, she thought, when he tongue scraped through his tuft of pubic hair. Adjusting, she moved a little to the left and felt his balls on her lips, his shaft pressed against her cheek. "You don't get off until my cock is in your mouth." As a punishment, this worked better than the spanking. Every time she got close, he moved his dick out of her reach, or covered it with his hand, to keep her just shy of the mark. He rubbed the head across her tongue, her lips, but wouldn't allow her more than brief contact. The game consumed and all thoughts of her own release fled. Desperate now for the prize, she wanted nothing more than to suck him. To please him.
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And wasn't that the point? Her role? A moan escaped with the breath she'd held. Finally, she stopped fighting and accepted it. Embraced it. Stock still, she ignored the excited tremble in her lips, parted them, and waited. The fingertips of his right hand trailed over her ribs, her stomach, and slid deep into her pussy as his cock filled her mouth. She felt his breath hitch, felt it feather her skin when he exhaled, and took all he gave her. "You have permission to come now." Scorching heat fanned out from where his tongue flicked over her clit. He pumped his finger at a frantic pace, while he sucked on the engorged nub. Blood rushed through her, her heart pounded, and she couldn't get enough air. Dante swallowed. Released her clit. "God, you're so wet. Your mouth, your pussy. I want to feel you come. Hear you." His lips brushed against her. "Let go for me, Alex. Come for me." Unable to stop it, the scream escaped from her throat, and her muscles clenched around his finger. Almost violent tremors pulsed through her body. She felt her juices on his hand as it scraped against the skin of her thighs, the sharp pounding of his knuckles against her with every rapid thrust, and still he didn't let up. Kept pounding into her, his fingers forcing the passion from her even when her mind was too far gone to register anything but the intense pleasure. "Again. Come for me again." 458
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The second wave swelled and crushed through her, over her. Smothered her in heat, while spasms rocked her. Restrained, as much by Dante's will as the leather bindings, she had no choice but to accept the whole raw intensity of it. Drained, her mouth slipped off his cock, and her upper body collapsed. The wiry hair on Dante's thigh brushed her cheek. Her left breast pressed uncomfortably against the hard shaft. Her arms trembled from the exertion. Even now, exhausted and spent, her mind, her body, craved more. [Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter Six Somewhere, in the back of her sex-hazed mind, she realized Dante hadn't come, and the thought sent another flood of excitement. Gave her enough energy to raise herself back to the position. "You are incredible, Alex." He sucked a spot on the inside of her thigh, branding her with his love mark. "You came so hard for me, and I want to come hard for you." His hands stroked up her legs and cupped her butt. "Do you want me to come for you?" She felt his fingers probe her crack, press gently against the little bud of her ass. "Yes, I want you." The pressure of his finger increased until the tip penetrated, then he slid the length of it fully into the tight hole. "Here?" Breathless now, she wiggled her hips a little. "Yes." "Yes, what? Ask me, Alex. I won't unless you ask." This was the moment. Even while his finger created delicious sensations she'd never imagined, stretching her, he was giving her an out. That he would offer it proved to her she'd been right about him, despite evidence to the contrary. Their attraction had grown in a few short hours to more than sex and control, and she wanted to experience all of her fantasies with him. To see just how far they could go. "Yes, sir. I want to feel your cock up my ass. I want you to come hard for me." 460
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He removed his finger, leaving an empty feeling, and slid his body out from under her. Cool air brushed between her legs, made her shiver. Behind her, she heard the flip of a plastic cap and envisioned those wonderful fingers applying lubricant, stroking his dick, maybe slipping on a cock ring to increase his pleasure. Anticipation vibrated through her, and a frisson of excitement radiated from her core. More than the soft sound of his movements, she felt him behind her. The mattress shifted under his weight, and his hands spread her cheeks wide. The head of his cock teased her, rubbed lightly down her crack, and settled at her anus. "Ready," he asked. "Yes." "Push against me." He gripped her hips and slowly slid his cock into her ass. A little uncomfortable at first, but not unpleasant. He filled her, let her adjust to his size, to the strange sensations assaulting her, to the pressure. Surprised, she felt the length of him against the back of her vaginal wall. Need forced her to pump against it. Dante's first few strokes, smooth and short, had her squirming. "More. I want more." Fingertips bit into the flesh of her hips. He increased the rhythm, pounding into her hard and fast. Friction built, hot and molten, in her ass, her pussy. Her breasts swelled and her nipples tightened as they swayed with the force of his thrusts. 461
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Raw emotion took over, and she clawed at the soft down comforter like an animal trying to take more, all, from him. The musky scent of the act filled the room, spurred her toward climax. "Beautiful. Mine." Dante growled the words and plunged deeper. He moved his left hand and rubbed her clit with swift, hard circles. "Do you know what it feels like when you come? When your pussy clenches, so does your sweet little ass, only harder. Give it to me, Alex." Unable, and unwilling to stop the violent spasms, she rode them. Even when her ass throbbed and burned, when his thrusts became rough, uncontrolled, everything inside her went out to Dante. Sought to please him. She felt his cock pulse, felt his cum flood inside her, and crying out her pleasure and pain, she collapsed. Soft light teased her awake. Dante had removed all the restraints, and she laid curled into his side. "Wow." Gently, he stroked his fingers through her hair and smiled. "Yeah, I know what you mean." He shifted, kissed her lightly on the lips. "You can have the bathroom to clean up. I'll take the open shower. I'd join you, but it gives me ideas, and I think you might be a little sore." "Appreciate it," she answered, thankful he'd offered. A steaming hot shower sounded like heaven. Using what little was left of her strength, she climbed out of the bed after Dante and walked to the private en-suite bath. Dante was gone when she came back out. [Back to Table of Contents] 462
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Chapter Seven He couldn't hit the send button. The biggest story of his pitiful career, the shining tidbit being when he accidentally walked in on Senator Crawford giving one of the statues a blowjob, and his conscience wouldn't let him send it to the magazine. Not because he'd participated in one of Alexandria Darnoud's scandalous parties, but because... Well, hell. Here in his dingy, little apartment, alone with his laptop, he had to be honest. He felt something for Alex and wanted to explore those feelings. It hadn't been just great sex. She'd sparked a fire in him with her take no prisoners business attitude and flamed it with her subtle transition to sexual servant. The way he just knew what she wanted, even when she didn't know herself. And the way she responded, totally without barriers; the trust humbled him. He stood and paced around the tiny room. He'd have to make sacrifices. No more writing for the scandal sheets when most of her friends and acquaintances ended up as the stars of his articles. He could live with that. Or, he might be blowing smoke out his ass. Trying to see substance in an illusion. For all he knew, she had bought all the statues at one time or another for her games. But it didn't feel right. No way would she give up her position as the boss. The other guys respected, and even feared her a little, at work. Grit from lack of sleep coated his eyes, and he scrubbed a hand over his face for relief. Sleep was what he needed now. 463
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His mind was too foggy to think straight. Eight hours flat on his back, and then he'd go to the mansion and talk to Alex. **** Refreshed, he rode the motorcycle through the gates of the mansion, parked, and entered through the gym. John was the only one in the room at this time of day, and he watched Dante with blood in his eye. "You got a lot of nerve coming back here." "What's that supposed to mean?" Dante asked. In answer, John's fist connected to Dante's jaw, but before the man could land another punch, Alexandria's voice sounded through the speaker. "Bring him to my office, John. And don't hit him again." Confused, Dante held his hands out, showing John he didn't intend to fight. "What the hell is going on?" "Boss says she wants to talk to you. Personally, I'd rather wipe the floor with your pretty face, but it isn't my decision." Empty hallways greeted them as they made their way through the house to Alexandria's office. John knocked and entered without waiting for an answer. "That will be all, John. I can handle it from here." "You sure? Maybe I should stay outside the door. Just in case." All she had to do was raise a delicate eyebrow, and John nearly bowed out of the room, but Dante saw by the look on John's face that he didn't like it. Still puzzled, Dante walked to the chair in front of her desk and saw why John was so upset. The article, in all its sordid 464
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glory, graced the front page of the rag lying on top of the polished wood. Dear God, had he sent it and not remembered? No, he knew he didn't send the article in. He pointed to the paper. "I didn't do that." A smile tugged at the corners of Alexandria's mouth. "You didn't write it?" "No. Yes." He dragged a hand through his hair and slumped into the chair. "I mean, yes I wrote it. I don't know what to tell you. I didn't transmit it to the magazine." She gave him a sly smile. "I know." "What?" Not the answer he expected. "I don't understand." "Occasionally, pictures, or accounts of certain activities make it to the Internet, which makes some very influential people uncomfortable. I have employees who take care of such matters." "Hackers? You hacked into my computer and sent my article to the magazine? Why? And how did you know?" Looking at him, she took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. "Did you really believe I'd accept anyone in my employment without a thorough background check?" Damn, he'd never thought about background checks. Sloppy. "I see by the look on your face that you did. I'll have to say, your cover story was perfect. If I hadn't dug a little deeper, I would have never known you were a slimy, bottom feeding reporter." He winced, but had the good sense not to deny the truth. "Why didn't you send in the article, Dante?" "I wanted you more than I wanted the story." 465
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She moved behind the desk. A position of power. "Last night was..." "You'd damn well better not say it was a mistake, a one time deal, or even a freaking fantasy." "It was a fantasy, but I didn't expect it to feel so ... potent, and it scared me. I didn't just give you control, I lost it." Hands clenched into fists to keep from shaking her, he took a step back. "And you think I'm the kind of man who would take advantage of that?" "What was I supposed to think?" She leaned on the desk. "When I came out of the bathroom you were gone. Snuck out like I was some cheap one-night stand you didn't want to see in the morning." "Damn it, I left because I didn't want any of the fallout to land on you. If I'd known you were going to submit the article for me, I wouldn't have bothered." Inside, Alexandria's stomach rolled with nerves. Seeing Dante turned her resolve to jelly. All she wanted was to take him to her room and spend the day in bed, but not with secrets between them. "Dante, I had already decided Saturday's party would be my last. You're little article sealed the deal for me. No one will want to attend any sort of event at my home, now. I'm finally free to do what I want, without the chains of my family history tying me down." He slumped into a chair. "So, you used me." "Just as you used me. I'd say we're even. And honestly, I thought you'd write an article, but I never expected to have to use it to bring you back here." 466
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Choked laughter erupted. "You could have just called." "But it wouldn't have been as much fun." She walked to him, laid her hands on his shoulders. "I'm ready for the next chapter in my life, and you have a certain creative flare. Will you help me write it?" One quick hand struck out, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her onto his lap. "On one condition." "What." "That I'll never have to wear the gladiator costume again." She kissed him. "I'm not making any promises." "I am. I promise not to sneak out again." "That's a promise I'll hold you to." A squeal left her lips when he stood with her in his arms and walked out the door toward the suite. [Back to Table of Contents]
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About the Authors Yvette Hines loves romance and writing it is one of her greatest pleasures in life outside of her husband and two children. Her belief in happily ever after began when she was sixteen and started reading romance books. Now as an erotic romance author, she tries to show that every woman no matter color, age, shape or size deserves a high level of passion in her life. Residing in Virginia with her family, she is an avid member of Chesapeake Romance Writers. She loves to hear from her readers:
[email protected] or visit her at SASSE-Yvette-Hines.blogspot.com Before becoming an author, Augusta Li studied Classical literature, Romanticism, and art. She's worked as a theatrical set designer and a Renaissance mask-maker. Her stories have appeared on various websites and in anthologies. She also writes yaoi manga scripts, several of which are being drawn now and will be out next year. Augusta's blood type is A, so she's contemplative, loyal and patient, but sometimes aloof. In her spare time she enjoys industrial music, dancing, wine, exploring old cemeteries, and the company of pale, pretty humans. Visit her at www.myspace.com/augustali, or just keep an eye out for her in some Goth club in the Northeast. Jude Mason's imagination frequently leads her astray, and she eagerly follows, while trying to keep out of trouble, or at least not get caught. For those of you who know her, you'll know that's not always easy. A picture, a smell, an unexpected glimpse of flesh, or a load of soil in the back of a 468
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pick-up, are all fodder for her writing. Her male characters run the gamut from the dominant male ruling his women with an iron fist, to a simpering purple-clad boy-toy, whose only desire is to please. As diverse and as richly depicted, her women find themselves in a myriad of exotic and erotic situations. At the present time, Jude is writing for Phaze and has several books with them and more coming out in the coming months: Amber's Toy, Scorpio Tattoo and Cat's Claw are just a few of what's available now as well as the anthology, 413 Remembrance Lane: Diary of a House. Shoon Joining and her first print book with Phaze, Yes, Ma'am, are due to be released over the next few months. Alessia Brio and Will Belegon have also announced the authors who are to be included in the anthology, Coming Together: Under Fire, and she's extremely proud to have one of her works included in that. All proceeds from that book will benefit relief efforts for the victims of the 2007 Southern California wildfires. D. Musgrave grew up being told more often than not that daydreaming was a waste of time. What a crock that turned out to be. Those wild, fanciful dreams were to one day become the fodder for the erotic tales that now flow onto the pages of D.'s stories. Since then, a variety of genres have been dabbled in, but the 'other' works had no audience, until he connected to the Internet and a whole new world of possibilities for his writing unfolded. Many struggles and much effort later, D. discovered that he indeed could write and, most surprisingly, people wanted to read the words that spilled out of his mind. If 469
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anyone is interested in sampling those daydreams that became stories, please visit D.'s website. www.dmusgrave.com. Born in Moscow in 1980 and educated at Moscow University, N is an academic specialising in Norse mythology with especial reference to the impact of Viking culture in mediaeval Slav societies. Her nom de plume, N, stands for neizvestnaya—unknown—the traditional Russian literary device for masking identity, and wearing masks, as we all know, allows us to act in ways that are anathema to our public selves and to live out our most prurient fantasies, safe from discovery. N's radical opinions regarding the state of Russian society and politics, and her liberated and unconventional attitudes to all things sexual, necessitates her need to mask her identity. N has chosen for her symbol a combination of the rune Laguz—the female rune—and Laguz Reversed—the female reversed—to illustrate the duality of her spirit, and the fact that her sexuality embraces both the male and the female, pain and pleasure ... dominance and submission. N currently lives in Moscow, with anyone she chooses to, and spends her days working in a leading university and her evenings writing erotica. N writes in Russian, and has been co-operating with Nelli Rees, a UK-based jazz singer and a highly regarded translator, regarding the preparing of her literary works for publishing by Phaze. Nelli has translated JazzNoir: Seidr into English and is currently working with N on the final volumes 470
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in the JazzNoir trilogy and on N's new Demi-Monde series of books. Nelli met N at one of her gigs in Chester, when N was doing postgraduate research in the UK. Check out N on her website www.neizvestnaya.com. Jessie Verino lives in the South, where hot sultry nights inspire erotic thoughts, and beautiful mountain views inspire the romantic in her. Jessie writes erotic paranormal romance, as well as what she terms "sci-fantasy"—erotic stories blended with science fiction concepts and dark fantasy elements sure to set your imagination and blood on fire. When she's not writing, she's riding her motorcycle, a teal & silver Suzuki Volusia, through the beautiful scenery of North Carolina and Tennessee (at least during the warm months), and hopes someday to own the Harley of her dreams. She loves to hear from readers. You can e-mail her at Jessie 'at' jessieverino (dot) com.
If you are connected to the Internet, take a moment to rate this eBook by going back to your bookshelf at www.fictionwise.com.
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