Brokered Submission (7 page)

To her dismay, Dylan reached into his shorts pocket and brought out a small flashlight. Leaning closer, he flicked it on, directing the beam over her spread pussy. He ran his fingers lightly over her labia, moving in a tantalizing circle over and around her clit. She couldn’t stop the groan of pure lust that emanated from the back of her throat as he pressed two thick fingers into her wetness.

“Control yourself,” he said in the same calm but firm voice, no trace of emotion in his tone. Flustered and chagrined, she struggled to obey, using every ounce of willpower to keep her hips from thrusting lewdly forward to force his fingers deeper inside. Instead she focused on the burn in her arm muscles from holding the unaccustomed position for so long.

He withdrew his hand and held it up for her to see. The heat in her face intensified as she saw evidence of her arousal glistening on his fingers. He brought his wet fingers to his nose, closed his eyes and inhaled as if smelling a bouquet of flowers, a look of pure rapture moving over his features.

Zoë glanced quickly away, not sure if he was making fun of her, fervently wishing the inspection were over. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him walk back toward a tall bureau beside the whip rack. His back to her, he pulled open a draw. She couldn’t see what he was doing, but when he turned around, she saw he had pulled a disposable surgical glove over his right hand. He returned to stand in front of her. Zoë swallowed hard as she took in the tube of lubricant he held in his other hand.

“Turn around, bend over and grab your ankles,” he said. “I’m going to inspect your asshole.”

Zoë didn’t react right away. Her body had frozen in place. Six million dollars, she reminded herself. Dylan was regarding her with an amused expression, one eyebrow cocked, as if waiting, even expecting, her to refuse.

Accepting the silent challenge, Zoë dropped her arms, which tingled as the blood rushed back into them. Turning, she bent forward and gripped her ankles, glad he couldn’t see her face, which was now on fire.

She jumped a little when his fingertip moved lightly along the cleft of her ass, but managed to keep hold of her ankles. His finger was withdrawn, but a moment later cold lubricant was smeared over her asshole. Stiffening, she gripped her ankles tighter.

He moved closer behind her, reaching around her bent body with one arm to steady her as he pushed his finger gently but insistently past the tight ring of muscle at her entrance. “You’re very tight,” he observed, his tone clinical. He pushed the finger deeper inside her. “Are you an anal virgin?”

“No...Sir,” Zoë managed between clenched teeth.

“Good,” he said cryptically.

His ungloved hand was curled around her hip to hold her in position. He slid it down between her legs, and when his fingers skimmed her labia, a shudder went through her loins and her legs felt suddenly weak.

With his hard body pressed against hers from behind, he pushed a second gooey, gloved finger into her ass, his other hand strumming over her cunt. She began to tremble against him, losing her grip on her ankles, held upright only by his strong arms.

“Oh,” she moaned. “Oh, oh, oh,” the single syllable keeping time to his moving hands, which were turning her to liquid fire.

She was teetering on the edge of an orgasm, and desperate for the release. A welcome, dark twist of pleasure emanated from her core, and she groaned again, her body pulsating to his perfect touch.

All at once, he let her go—the fingers withdrawn from her ass, his supporting arm falling away, his perfect touch yanked from her throbbing, sopping cunt.

She stumbled forward, her hands flying out as she struggled to keep upright. “What? Wait, why?” she cried, frustration at the aborted climax rising like bile in her throat. She whirled around to face Dylan.

He was calmly pulling the lubricated glove from his fingers. He met her wild stare with a calm, amused gaze. “You nearly came, didn’t you, Zoë?”

Well, duh.

“Why did you stop? I was so close!” The words tumbled out before she could stop them.

His look darkened, the half smile falling away. Zoë brought her arms around her torso, chagrined and confused. Her cunt was pulsing with need, her limbs trembling. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to scream. Damn it, she wanted to come!

“You forgot one of the rules, Zoë. That body is mine for the weekend, not yours. You are not to come unless or until I give you explicit permission. You’re lucky I stopped when I did, little girl. If you’d gone all the way without asking, I would have had to punish you.” He shook his head. “Clearly, you have very little self-control. One of the goals of a properly trained submissive is to control her own impulses—to subvert her immediate gratification in deference to her Master’s wishes.”

Several retorts rose to Zoë’s lips, but she bit them back. Dylan was watching her. “What?” he said. “You have permission to speak freely for the moment. Tell me what just went through your mind.”

Zoë pushed through the jumble of confusing emotions that were making it hard to think clearly. She wasn’t used to being so off-balance with a man. She had always prided herself on being the one in control, both professionally and personally. Damn Dylan Hart—since last night she had felt like she was walking through a fun house, the floor of her confidence tipping crazily beneath her feet, the walls of her experience at odd angles with what she thought she knew. “I’m not a submissive,” she insisted, though the words rang hollow in her own ears. “I’m here as part of a deal, an agreement, nothing more.”

Dylan regarded her silently for several beats. She stared back at him defiantly. “Nothing more?” he finally said in a quiet voice. When Zoë didn’t respond, he continued, “So you’re telling me you’re here strictly to fulfill the terms of a financial obligation? Your reaction to the spanking, your reaction just now to the inspection—these were, what? Just you being polite?”

He lifted his fingers to his nose, his eyes fixed on her face as he made a show of inhaling the scent of her arousal. Zoë looked away, embarrassed and confused. Dylan’s voice was low and hypnotic, and though she kept her head averted, she found herself hanging on every word. “So the idea of being suspended from that beam overhead—your wrists cuffed and secured, forced onto tiptoe by the tight pull of the rope and leather—holds no allure for you? You’re indifferent to the possibility of standing naked and bound, unable to anticipate or avoid the next stroke of my whip?”

Zoë forgot to breathe.

Dylan moved closer. He reached for her shoulders, forcing her to face him. He stared down into her eyes. “I accept that you’re here under unusual conditions, Zoë. I agree you entered into this agreement without full understanding of what I can offer you, or what I plan to take. But to say you’re not submissive, to pretend you’re here only to fulfill an obligation in order to further your career...” He trailed off, and dipped his head toward hers.

Taking her face in his hands, he touched his lips to hers. His kiss was light at first, but became more insistent, his tongue teasing along her lower lip and sliding into her mouth. He brought his arms around her. She could feel his cock like an iron bar between them as he pulled her close against his body. Her arms came up of their own accord and snaked around his neck as she kissed him back.

This was more like it! He was going to make love to her at last. She leaned heavily against him, silently willing him to move toward the narrow twin bed so they could fall upon it together.

As if reading her mind and obeying her unspoken command, Dylan cupped his palms beneath her ass and lifted her into the air. She locked her legs around his waist and buried her face in his neck. But instead of carrying her across the room, after a moment he lifted her away from his body and set her on her feet.

“Enough sweetness,” he said, his voice gruff, his eyes glittering. He hooked his finger through the O-ring of her collar and pulled on it, forcing her up on her toes. “I told you this was boot camp, and time’s a wastin’.”

He let go of the collar and stepped back. Going over to the wall, he retrieved two coils of rope and a pair of leather wrists cuffs. There was a small stepstool leaning against one side of the bureau. He brought this, along with the rope and cuffs, back to where Zoë was standing.

Without saying a word, he opened the stepstool and placed the cuffs and one of the rope coils on it. He unspooled the second coil, tying a slipknot at each end. He did the same with the second piece of rope. Zoë watched him, saying nothing, her mind temporarily short-circuited by thwarted sexual frustration and an undeniable fascination with what he was doing.

He reached for the cuffs and attached one to each rope, using a spring clip to secure them. He ascended the stepstool and looped the ropes over the eyehooks, pulling the knots tight. Stepping down from the stool, he moved it aside.

The ropes swayed on either side of Zoë, the leather cuffs dangling at their ends. “Lift your arms over your head,” Dylan instructed in a quiet but firm voice.

Zoë stared up at the ropes, and then glanced anxiously toward the whip rack, her heart beating high and fast in her throat. “I’m not sure I—” she began.

Dylan cut her off. “It’s okay, Zoë. You don’t have to be sure. I’m sure, and I promise you this, I won’t give you more than you can handle.”

He reached then for her cheek, stroking it with two fingers, the gesture at once tender and extremely erotic. Zoë couldn’t control the small tremor of lust, or was it fear, that moved through her frame.

“Now,” he said softly. “Do as you’re told.”

Dylan’s balls ached. When he’d had her in his arms, her strong legs wrapped around his waist, why hadn’t he just carried her to the bed, thrown her down and fucked her? It was beyond clear she wanted it as much as he did, so what was stopping him? After all, it wasn’t as if he were her trainer. But he knew the reason, even as his cock demanded an answer.

Zoë Stamos was sexually submissive at her core, and every minute they had spent together since the night before only confirmed it more solidly in his mind. Beyond that, he sensed her sexual masochism, and the sensual sadist in him responded with a fiery rush of passion the likes of which he hadn’t experienced in many years.

She was worth more than just a quick roll in the hay. She deserved all the energy and skill he could bring to their brief time together as Master and slave. His greedy cock would just have to wait to plunge itself into her tight, wet heat, not only until she earned it, but until he did as well.

Zoë lifted her arms, her eyes fixed anxiously on his face. He closed the soft leather cuffs around each wrist, which raised her arms high, but not high enough to suit him. Dylan mounted the stool and adjusted the ropes until she was forced up, not on her toes, which would be too tiring, but rather on the balls of her feet, her heels barely touching the carpet, her body stretched taut by the ropes.

He stepped back to admire the pretty picture, stroking his cock briefly to calm its insistent call for attention. Her small pink tongue made an appearance on her lower lip, the gesture so sensual he nearly lunged for her then and there. She gripped the rope tightly in each hand above her cuffs. He could see the slight tracery of her ribs beneath her high, round breasts, and her bare pussy pouted at him as if begging for a kiss. She was watching him with those liquid dark eyes.

His cooler head prevailing, he selected a large, heavy flogger from the whip rack for her introduction to the erotic, intense stimulation that awaited her. He also chose a large plastic hair clip from the supply bureau.

Returning to the bound woman, he tucked the flogger in the back of his shorts and then twisted Zoë’s thick, shiny hair up onto her head, securing it with the clip. He stepped back so she could see him, and took the flogger once more into his hands, allowing the luxurious suede tresses to glide between his fingers.

He held the flogger close to her face so she could smell the intoxicating scent of leather. “Kiss the whip,” he commanded, “as a gesture of your willingness to suffer its lash.”

“Oh,” she said softly, a shudder moving through her. Beneath her fear, he could sense the burning need. He touched the whip to her lips, and her eyes closed as she softly kissed the handle.

Pleased, Dylan moved behind her. “We’ll start slowly. I want to get a sense of what you can handle. The key here is to relax. Don’t tense, don’t anticipate. Don’t let fear control your experience. Embrace the sensations, and let them take you where they will.”

He brushed the flogger against her ass. “I’m scared,” she blurted, forgetting the “Sir.”

He didn’t correct her. “It’s okay to be scared. Use that fear. Channel it into strength.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will.”

He swished the tresses over her back and shoulders, and graced the backs of her thighs with their leather kiss. For the next several minutes, he warmed her skin, acquainting her with the feel of the flogger against her flesh. When he gauged she was ready, he delivered the first real stroke, catching both ass cheeks simultaneously. He loved the way the dark leather contrasted to the pale skin and the slight jiggle of supple flesh beneath its stroke.

Zoë gasped, her shoulders tensing forward.

“Relax,” Dylan reminded her. “Accept what is given to you.”

He struck her ass again, a little harder than before. Again she gasped and jerked. He continued to flog her luscious bottom until she stopped gasping with each stroke, her hands finally relaxing their chokehold on the ropes.

Encouraged, he let a blow land between her shoulder blades, though he modified the stroke to allow for less padding beneath the skin, and thus greater sensitivity. Again came the small, startled gasp, and her fingers tightened once more around the ropes. Dylan kept his focus on her shoulders and upper back until the skin turned pink, and her fear subsided into something more manageable.

Stepping to the side, he drew back his arm and let the flogger fall hard against her ass, the blow pushing her slightly forward. She yelped, her breathy cry going straight to his cock. He delivered another stroke, just as hard, and then another. She began to dance on her toes in a vain effort to twist away from the lash, but Dylan easily followed her moves.