Authors: Joey W. Hill
boy’s losing his touch.” Peter gave
Lucas a wry look, and
the CFO shrugged.
“We al know it doesn’t have anything
to do with time, not
when there’s already a relationship
in play. It has to do with
the type of catalyst you bring to the
table.” Lucas
considered Rachel as she stopped in
front of one of the
view screens, every line of her curvy
body shimmering, as if
there was an electric current causing
her to vibrate. “Jon’s
picking up on it though. Notice how
close he’s staying? She
could get knocked off balance and
pushed under pretty
quickly.”
“Yes, Obi-wan. You afraid she’l eat
more candy than is
good for her? Isn’t that Dana’s
problem?” Ben grinned and
winked at Lucas behind Peter’s
broad shoulders.
Lucas snorted. “Dana was already
wel immersed in the
club scene when Peter met her. She
has an endless
capacity for sweets.”
“That’s for damn sure.” Ben tossed
Peter a smirk and
Peter shoved at his stool with a
booted foot. Neatly surging
to his feet, the lawyer caught the
stool, keeping his whiskey
steady in the other hand. “Easy there.
Just making sure the
almost-married bear stil knows how
to growl.”
“He’l be happy to put his big furry
foot up your ass. With
claws extended.”
“Don’t tempt me with foreplay,
soldier boy.”
“Hmm.” As unofficial point man
tonight, and used to their
byplay, Lucas brought his attention
back to Jon, watching
how the man gauged her reaction to
each display. The
CFO lifted his brow when he let
Rachel drift back to one,
like letting a compass choose north.
“Look sharp, gentlemen. Surreal’s
going to get a rare
public performance from us tonight.
Jon’s made his
choice.”
Chapter Fifteen
Though the biggest crowd was in
front of the girl in rope
suspension, Rachel’s curiosity drew
her to where a woman
was pil oried between two posts, her
legs spread out wide
enough that her cuffed ankles could
be hooked to the
eyebolts there. The same had been
done to her arms, held
straight out from the shoulder. The pil
ars were carved in the
shape of elongated male and female
nudes, rough, simple
outlines in the wood so that it kept its
functional post shape.
The images reminded her of Shakti
and Shiva, the male
and female deities that symbolized
the
kundalini
energy
exchange in Tantra. She noticed worn
places on the posts,
where she imagined countless fingers
like this woman’s
had clung, the grain smoothed by the
friction and
perspiration of nervousness, desire,
pain.
She jumped when the whip hit, a cat-
o’-nine that fanned
out over the woman’s shoulders, her
back, then lower,
across her naked buttocks. She had
on a simple col ar, a
silver cuff. However, it appeared to
be custom made,
suggesting the man whipping her was
her dedicated
Master. More than that. Rachel’s
gaze strayed to the only
other jewelry they wore…matching
wedding rings.
The woman’s back was already red
with the stripes, her
ass pink and inflamed with heat. He
came to her then,
yanking her head back by her hair and
kissing her while
she moaned, obviously close to
climax. She was begging
in a harsh whisper, words easy to
read. “Please let me
come.” The Master caressed her
throat, her jaw, shook his
head. Clamped a hand on her tender
backside and
pinched hard, making her cry out and
writhe more.
Jon shifted Rachel in front of him so
she could see better.
It also al owed her to lean back
against him, gave her his
protection on al sides, and in front by
the one arm he had
around her waist. He slid the other
hand under the clinging
fabric, over her hip bone and then
down, down, two fingers
surrounding and pressing on her clit,
idly tormenting her
there. If the Master on the platform
turned around, he could
easily see what Jon was doing. The
dual stimulation,
mental and physical, had her leaning
more ful y into her
escort. “Keep your hands at your
sides, palms open,” Jon
said in her ear. He’d anticipated how
difficult it was to do
that rather than reach up, hold his
neck, or even grip a smal
fold of his slacks to hang on as an
anchor.
Her breasts had ached in reaction to
the girl in breast
bondage, nipples of course drawing
up hard, and now they
burned for attention. Al of her did,
every inch of flesh. She
wanted to be the woman in front of
her. She wanted al the
clothing stripped away, wanted Jon
to touch and mark
every inch of her overheated, needy
skin. The music from
the dance floor was pumping through
the soles of her feet,
and the energy of this place was like
that, surging through
her, matching her increasing
heartbeat, her increasing wild
need to let out some of the desire she
was feeling. She
wanted this, this form of painful
release she’d never
experienced directly, but wanted to,
so badly.
The Master had uncuffed his wife,
helping her straighten
from the spread-legged position. He
massaged her hips
and her wobbly knees, suggesting
she’d been there awhile.
Then he recuffed her wrists to one
another and did the
same to her ankles, holding onto her
to keep her steady.
Bending, he lifted her over his
shoulder, her cuffed hands
fal ing down his back as he put his
hand squarely on her
abused backside, his fingers settling
over the glistening
and flushed cunt they could see
through the almond-shaped
opening between her thighs. Holding
her like that, he slid
two fingers in, then used his thumb to
massage her clit. So
highly aroused, he’d known he’d
finish her in such a
vulnerable position. She cried out,
begging him for
permission.
“Please, Master…let me come. Let
me come.”
“Come. Gush for them. Please your
Master.”
Her body writhed on his shoulder,
and Rachel
appreciated the man’s brawny
strength, because it would
take some power to hold a climaxing
woman so stil , though
having the ankles and wrists bound to
one another as they
were certainly helped, she was sure.
The woman squirmed,
screamed, shuddering, convulsing,
and Rachel couldn’t
look away to see if the audience was
as riveted as she
was, though she gave a little cry of
her own as Jon’s fingers
rasped over her clit. A hard stroke,
his mouth opening on
her throat to set his teeth there, as the
woman came.
In that position, they al saw the
creamy fluid spil from her
cunt in several generous offerings. As
Rachel watched, the
Master beckoned to a man in the
crowd. Intrigued, she
watched a handsome blond with
vivid green eyes come to
the platform. He placed a familiar
hand on the Master’s
chest.
The brawny man covered the other
man’s hand with
sensual affection, making it clear the
three were intimate.
The blond said something that had the
other man smiling,
then he leaned in and licked away her
release, running his
other hand over her buttocks around
the Master’s hand,
caressing, enjoying and reassuring
her at once. She made
those bleating noises and shudders
that came with
aftershocks, and Rachel realized she
was matching some
of those movements with tiny jerks of
her own as Jon
continued to work her clit with such
slow and maddening
movements.
As the three moved off, he lifted his
mouth from her
throat. She felt the throb of where
he’d bitten her, knew from
the ache he’d left another mark over
the first.
“Your turn,” he said.
She wasn’t sure she’d heard him
right, but then he
smoothed her dress and stepped up
the short step to that
platform. As he tugged her with him,
the heat of the
spotlights was suddenly closer and
brighter. In her tour of
the public play area, he’d recognized
the one scene that
fascinated, disturbed and scared her
the most. Pil oried,
stretched between two demands,
helpless to them.
Short and snug as the dress was, the
coverage was
somewhat of an il usion. But she
noted how he’d smoothed
it back in place before he brought her
up here. He could
strip and bind her, but he’d obviously
wanted the crowd to
see her at the beginning, put together,
sexy, beautiful. She
saw al of that in his eyes.
When was the last time she’d thought
of herself that way
without prompting? Laying her hand
against the Shakti
side, he guided the other one so her
palm pressed to
Shiva. Now that she was up here, she
could see the posts
could be adjusted, that they were
fixed onto curved tracks
that would al ow them to be closer,
wider, or even at
diagonal angles.
He’d chosen two sets of cuffs from
an attendant, and now
he brought them to her. She stared up
at him, barely
breathing as he kept his attention on
her wrists, wrapping
the cuff snugly on her right wrist, then
hooking it to that
eyebolt. She couldn’t speak. She
didn’t know how right
now. She felt held there by what he
wanted, what he
seemed to know she wanted, and that
want was growing
large, capable of crushing her with
its weight.
“Sshh…” he murmured, though she’d
said not a word. He
threaded a hand through her hair, a
gentle stroke that
became firmer as he tilted her head
back. He was so
close, but he didn’t kiss her. Instead,
his gaze roved over
her face, her lips, making them part,
making her wet them,
wanting his kiss. He smel ed so good,
that male aftershave
smel . The jacket etched the line of
his shoulders, drawing
her attention to the tie around his
corded throat, the tie
she’d tied for him. The silken, ebony
strands of his hair
brushed his col ar, and she fol owed
that to the smooth line
of his shirt, how it delineated his
chest. As he shifted, her
attention went to the belted slacks,
the muscular waist she
knew was under that buckled strap,
and even lower, to the
cock she knew was already straining
the fit of the tailored
slacks. Her fingers curled in the
cuffs, registering the
unmovable force of the posts.
He stepped back then. An attendant
had brought
something else to him, the briefcase
he’d carried into her
apartment that first night. Though her
back was now to the
crowd, she had a sense that it was
growing in size. Given
the deference Jon was shown here,
and the artistry and
skil s he’d shown her in a short time,
she realized he could
be a popular performer. It gave her a
sinking feeling, but
he’d said she was special. Different.
Could she believe
that? Was she hopelessly deluded
and naive? And could
she real y resent how he’d obtained
his skil s, skil s that had
so far brought her to some of the most
intense sexual
experiences she’d ever had?
She started as a familiar hand slid
over her lower back.
She looked up into Peter’s eyes, and
he nodded toward
her opposite side. “I don’t think
you’ve met Ben yet.”
She shifted her attention to another
impossibly
handsome man, one perhaps a year or
so younger than
Jon, with black hair and bril iant
green eyes. Though not as
broad as Peter, his shoulders were
certainly broad enough,
his fit body enough to command a
woman’s attention. He
wore a charcoal gray suit, an emerald
tie over a black
dress shirt.
“And you remember Lucas.”
Lucas stepped up behind her, so she
had to turn her