Bonds of Courage (11 page)

Each cuff was a circle of promise held tight to his skin. He was hers.
Finally.

The firm clasp of the thick bands of leather was his freedom. It grounded him, but more than that, it allowed him to let go.

Her touch lingered this time. Soft brushes over the inside of his wrists, strokes over his palm that ended at his fingertips, an almost delicate inspection of each hard callus lining his palm sent shimmers of sensation down his arms to collide in his chest. He’d never been so aroused from so little. He could barely think past the fire that burned in his blood and brewed in his balls.

Her eyes had darkened with admiration to a rich chocolate and tracked the path of her fingers down the sensitive underside of his arms, pausing to trace the hard ridge of a scar on his forearm and the soft span of another on his biceps. They were badges of a hockey player, and she worshiped each one.

Her smoke and spice scent surrounded him, intoxicated his mind with everything that was her. Strength, confidence, control and that flash of vulnerability he’d been privileged to see.

She stepped down from the stool, graceful even in her fuck-high heels and sexy-as-hell corset. The short skirt flowed around her thighs, offering glimpses of a stocking line and garters with tiny bows that he wanted to ravish.

Stool set aside, she circled him, each step marked by the delicious click of her heels. “You come when I let you,” she said, her fingers ghosting over his chest to circle a nipple. “You’ll need to concentrate on something else.”

He stared past her delicate fingers and blood-red nails to his cock. The damn thing was so hard that veins budged down the sides from the damp head in an angry demand for release. He dropped his head back, closed his eyes and tried to center himself. His first inhale brought the scent of her and the familiar hint of his own arousal.
Fuck.

The battle to come warred with the desire to please her. To do as she commanded.

The anticipation in the denial had been so sweet since the moment she’d put the cage on him. He could do this.

Thinking of the end goal, he mentally ticked off game plays. Walters up the center, Conners on the far side, the stretch to the goal clogged with opponents. When that didn’t work, he put everyone in jockstraps, skates and hairy asses.

The wet swirl of her tongue over the head of his dick shattered that image into a thousand pieces. He gasped, eyes flying open as his brain caught up with the fucktastic thing being done to him.

Vanessa was bent at the waist, hair laid to one side so the silky strands brushed his thigh in a soft caress every time she moved her head to snake the tip of her tongue across the crown of his dick.

He couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. The visual, along with the warm, teasing flicks and licks of her tongue, was beyond good.

“Holy... Mistress,” he ground out between clenched teeth. The forced denial had put his mind on his dick all day. Now, he was ready to explode with the tiniest of stimulation. But it wasn’t quite enough.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, his balls ready to burst. The strain of holding back blended with the teasing of her tongue until the intensity was so acute he could think of nothing but her.

“Please,” he begged, his voice a strangled sound that was foreign to his ears. He didn’t care.

Staying still was almost impossible. His legs started to shake, his hands clenched around the chains. It took all of his restraint not to buck into her mouth for more. Just one little suck on the tip, a firm stroke down his shaft, that was all he needed to come.

Never had so little been so much.

She blew out a breath that was cool over his wet, hot tip, then stepped away. His hoarse curse was filled with the release she denied him. His breaths came in short huffs that failed to fill his lungs.

He pried his eyes open, not knowing when he’d squeezed them closed again, to hold them on her. The pleasure that lit her eyes and curled over her lips almost buckled his knees. That one look made it worth it.

His Mistress was pleased.

“Thank you, Mistress,” he managed to say on an exhale.

Her brow raised, the cocky arch that both teased and challenged. She sauntered forward, her long raven hair spilling past the tempting plunge of her cleavage. The hard edge of her nail countered the soft pad of her finger where she traced it over his parted lips, first top then bottom.

“But my dear sub,” she whispered, so close her breath bathed his damp neck. “We’ve only just begun.”

His
Oh
,
holy fuck
,
yes
was quickly replaced with
Hairy balls.
Hairy balls and ass-cracks
as her finger descended in a lazy slide to his nipple.

Chapter Eleven

The gloves formed around her palms, tight but comfortable. Vanessa wiggled her fingers, anticipation ripe. The fingerless gloves protected her palms while leaving her free to torment and touch.

The flogger felt good in her hand, the weight balanced between the handle and the deer hide leather strips that dangled off the end. The tool was perfect for a beginner and would warm his skin while safely testing his limits.

“Turn around and grab the pole.” She twirled her finger and waited for him to comply. There was enough slack on the chains to allow him to twist without removing the cuffs.

Finally, she was able to admire his perfect ass. Hockey butts—firm, round and solid as hell. The term
bubble butt
didn’t come close to describing the beauty that was an ass toned from years of powering down the ice.

He grasped the pole, the long lines of his muscles outlined over his shoulders and down his back. His feet were spread and braced, which only tightened his glutes and defined the cut of his calves even more.

She couldn’t resist smoothing her palm down the line of his spine. The texture of the suede gloves coming before the softer pads of her fingertips. He arched into her touch, his moan purring through the room.

“Good,” she praised and sighed, her eyes closing when she cupped a hard butt cheek in her hand. She savored the firmness, the appreciation melting through her in a flood of heat and desire. “I want to hear you.” She squeezed, finding minimal give. “I can read your body, but not your mind, so tell me what’s good and bad for you.”

The muscle clenched under her hand. “Good, Mistress. That’s good.”

She chuckled then swatted each cheek. The smacks slapped out in quick succession. There was no give in his flesh, no jiggle to cushion the blow to her hand. It was almost like hitting steel. She loved it.

Her fingers tingled with the pleasant sting that reminded her of the power she held—that he’d given to her. She caressed the mounds, anticipating the play ahead. Her nipples were tight beads that shot tingles to her core with every brush against her corset.

“The flogger will warm up your skin.” She ran the ends of the leather over the globes that would soon be tinged pink. They tensed, bulging tight when she lowered the leather strips down his crack. “Don’t come and don’t endure. On some level, you should enjoy everything I do to you.”

She brought the flogger down, the ends thudding against his shoulder in a light stroke tempered to entice, not hurt. “Some need the pain.” She landed a slightly hard blow to his other shoulder that pulled a small hiss from him. “Some need to give by taking whatever their Master defines.” The next strike was back to the other side, across his shoulder blade. “Some want only to serve their Master’s desires.”

Her rhythm slowly increased, the pace of the hits consistent as she wielded the flogger in a figure eight pattern down and then up his back.

“Find your pleasure or yellow out.” Her voice had roughened, her own zone coming into focus with the ache that built in her arm and the slow reddening of Holden’s skin. This was her rhythm, the power she held over a submissive.

On her next pass down his back, she continued to his ass, her hits landing on the rise then descending. His moan was low and deep, a sound of pleasure not pain. He pressed his hips back as he dropped his shoulders to rest his forehead on the pole.

“So good,” he mumbled, the words blending with the beat of the flogger to flow through her.

Two more strikes, and she halted, panting. Their harsh breaths consumed the space left silent after the smack of the flogger. The welcoming scent of sweat and arousal reached her as she admired the red hue coloring his back and ass. Her marks on the wall of muscle and strength. The sight had her pussy clenching and her blood racing with the need to feel it too.

With a few tugs, she stripped off a glove to lay her palm to the hot flesh. Heat radiated into her hand in the most delicious way. She wet her dry lips and gripped him harder.

He hissed out a breath before forcing more pressure onto his tender skin by pushing his ass into her hand. She responded to his silent request by squeezing until her nails left crescents in his skin.

The growl that bloomed from his chest called to her in a primal way. She wanted to hear him roar with pain, with desire, with need for what she could give him.

For her.

She pressed against him, her front to his back, the full contact a first. Each breath was constrained by her corset, and the confinement left her frustrated instead of calmed. It made no sense, but he was under her skin, burning through her as no other sub ever had. There was no easy out either, so she stopped fighting her emotions and for once, she did what she wanted, not what she should.

She dropped the flogger and wrapped her arms around him. Held him. Breathed him in and reveled in the hard strength and gentle power contained for her. The contact settled her heart, slowed her breaths and centered her mind.

Holden tossed his head back, his voice raw with exposed need. “Yes, Mistress.”

The smooth temptation of his skin under her hand had her tossing the other glove aside. The need to discover every part of him pushed her forward—brought her closer. The distance that always surrounded her was banished. The safety abandoned for this moment right here.

She nipped his shoulder blade, wishing she could reach his neck and sink her teeth into the tender juncture of his shoulder. His salty flavor danced on her tongue and she sought out the hard buds of his nipples with her hands. His sounds grew almost constant. The sighs and groans that blended into moans and soft curses was a language she understood.

One she spoke fluently in this room.

The tones circled around her to bind her to him even more. Her skin was slick against his. The powerful beat of his heart ignited her pulse and deepened her breaths.

Timed with a nip, she pinched his nipples hard, pulling them taut. His head snapped forward, back arching into her mouth in his struggle to absorb the pain. She didn’t relent though.

“Hold still. You can take more,” she affirmed before she grabbed a piece of skin between her teeth. She continued to squeeze the buds in her finger and work her teeth on his skin until his shoulders dropped, the chains pulled tight. A long exhale became two, three as he finally sank into the pain.

So beautiful. His surrender shivered through her in shots of adrenaline that left her gasping. She released her hold to skate her hands down his abdomen. He was still hissing air through his teeth when she reached the bristly hair that descended from his navel and surrounded his shaft.

She raked her nails through it, teasing over his balls before she grabbed the rigid length of his cock.

“Oh damn, Mistress.” The pure emotion in his voice fed her. He was completely open to her, ready and exposed. He’d truly given himself to her, despite the weakness she’d shown him earlier. It humbled her and upped her determination to give him the release he sought.

“Don’t come,” she reminded him before her other hand claimed his full sac. The velvety hard skin of his erection smoothed under her palm until she reached the rounded tip. A swipe of a single finger over the head found the slick fluid that eased her path back down.

There was a remoteness in being unable to see her hands, yet there was an intimacy in discovering everything by touch alone. She clung to the duality and indulged her desires. The Scene had deviated way off her plan, her expectations exchanged for this rare bit of freedom where nothing existed but the here and now.

She buried her nose into the space between his shoulder blades, closed her eyes and let her hands roam. Every nuance and breath that was Holden was absorbed into her senses to become a part of her.

The veins bulged down the sides of his cock, rippling under her hand with every pass. The rim was firm before it softened on the crown. The hair around his groin tickled her skin when she ran her fingers through it. It wasn’t excessive or primped either, but natural just like the rest of him.

“You’re killing me, Mistress.” The rasp of his voice fit the restraint that kept his muscles tight.

She chuckled against his back and slowly enfolded the globes of his balls in her hand. “I’m still warming up.”

She continued to squeeze her prize until his knees bent and he swore a string of curses. She stroked the head of his cock, careful to moderate the pain with pleasure. His pulse beat in the veins under her palm, and she counted the small thumps reaching twenty before she released her hold and stepped away.

“Holy...” He panted, sagging into the pole. She caught her breath and silently agreed. She swallowed to wet her dry throat and held still until her pulse slowed a little.

The chains rattled as he repositioned his hold. Perspiration glistened down his back under the overhead lights that now seemed too harsh.

She adjusted the dimmer switch, finding a softer glow that allowed her to work but made their world seem smaller. His only focus was her and hers him. Nothing else mattered.

The click of her heels echoed through the room as she moved around the pole. His eyes were closed, breaths even, skin flushed beneath the shine of perspiration.

“You’re doing great,” she told him.

Sweat trailed down the side of his face and his bangs clung to his damp forehead. She reached out to brush them away before she thought to stop herself. He turned his head, following her touch until the contact ended.

She grabbed the stool that was right behind her and stepped up. He was too big to zone out standing up. She’d never support him if his legs gave out. The cuffs came off easily, and she checked each wrist before she lowered his arms so he could better support himself against the pole.

“Easy,” she soothed when he swayed, his eyelids heavy. “This way.”

She guided him to the queen bed in the corner, swiping up the paddle as they passed the pommel horse. Her original plan to use that piece of equipment was ditched. This was right. Better.

It was what she really wanted and had thought to deny herself.

“Bend over, brace your hands on the bed and spread your legs.” She kept her voice clipped, yet she never stopped touching him. A hand on his shoulder, a caress down his back, a touch to his thigh—constant contact that kept them connected.

“Yes, Mistress.”

He complied so willingly, sure of himself and her. It was proof that this was real and not a game to him. He needed this—her—just like he’d claimed. Her heart fluttered and her breath caught before the rhythm returned.

She laid the paddle on the bed and waited for him to open his eyes. “Ten strikes with the paddle.”

He bowed his head. “If it pleases you, Mistress.”

It did. Too much. Both his acceptance and his submission.

She smoothed her hands over the curve of his ass. The tint from the flogger had already faded. It’d be nice and rosy soon. Red before she was done.

She smiled at the thought, the power pumping through her in another tide of adrenaline. His barriers were completely down and somehow, he’d managed to crumble all of hers too. It was exhilarating and frightening and something he would never know.

He sighed and pushed into her hands as she squeezed and lightly smacked his butt cheeks to get the blood flowing under his skin once again. After a minute or so, she grabbed the ash paddle and rolled it in her palm a few times, savoring the weight. The anticipation. The paddle was long enough to hit both cheeks at once and about three inches wide. The solid wood packed a nice sting no matter how hard she wielded it. It was also capable of leaving lasting bruises if she desired.

Her first hit was more of a tap that landed on his left check. The impact vibrated through her hands to race up her arms and into her chest.
Nice
. The second smack cracked through the air over his right cheek. His forward motion was timed with a grunt from deep in his throat.

She paused to caress the pink marks. His skin was already warm with the blood pooling under it. She dipped her fingers lower to rub a circle over the area between his balls and anus. She kept up the pressure until his deep groan of pleasure flooded her core with heat. Her arousal dampened her crotch and scented the air, blending with his.

Her next two hits landed in quick succession, one on each cheek with a little more power behind them. His legs shook, and he tossed his head, a strangled cry escaping. She quickly reached around to stroke his erection. The hot length was slick with his desire, another trigger that fed the fire burning in her blood.

“Fuck, Mistress.” His voice was close to a whimper. His struggle between pain and passion was beautiful to watch unfold. His arms quaked, a shudder running from his shoulders to his toes as he stretched on the balls of his feet.

She released his cock, and he immediately sagged, dropping to his elbows to rest his head on his clasped hands. His deep pants moved his entire back in a graceful struggle for control.

“Let go,” she whispered in his ear, the tip of her tongue teasing the shell. “Give everything to me.”

His shiver was a delicious twitch of reflexes that left visible goose bumps down his neck. He was so close, and God, she wanted to bring him all the way. Give him the freedom and joy of the subspace he craved.

She could do it. Would do it.

And with him, maybe she’d find that final freedom too. It was something she’d always prevented, but with Holden, she seemed incapable of stopping it.

* * *

“Six more,” she said, her breath fluttering over the damp skin on Holden’s neck. He’d never been so aware of every part of his body. From the smallest space between his toes to the line of sweat that dripped off his shoulder to the raging hard-on dangling between his legs. And his ass, his hot, aching ass that burned with the sting of his Mistress’s paddle.

The bite at once hard and glorious.

The pain was so very different from the hits and aches he endured from hockey. He was no stranger to hurting, but this was more.

This was what he sought. Pleasure, pain and surrender from everything.