Going Deep (13 page)

“Yes, Sir. It
feels…good.” It did feel good. Better than she’d expected.

He twisted the
end protruding from her asshole. The sensation, the naughtiness of it wrenched
a moan from her. She sensed his heated gaze on her ass. He played with the
beads, tugging gently but not pulling them out, swiveling them around inside
her until she thought she might go mad.

“I want to fuck
you there,” he said. “But we’ll work up to that. For now,” he said, his cock
nudging against her pussy lips, “this will do nicely.”

He inched inside
slowly, and when his cock touched her womb, he resumed playing with the beads. She
buried her face in the mattress, new sensations washing over her. He tugged and
swirled the beads in sync with his thrusts. She could only imagine what it would
feel like to have his cock filling her there. The beads made her feel full and
possessed in a way she’d never experienced before. Her muscles were so weak it
was all she could do to maintain her position. As if sensing her weakness, he
curled an arm beneath her waist, supporting her.

“You feel so
damned good,” he said, pumping into her harder.

 With each
thrust, his balls slapped against her clit, sending shock waves through her
body. The erotic slide of his shaft in and out, the sensation of him possessing
her over and over along with the beads in her ass was too much. An orgasm built.
Her muscles coiled tight.

“That’s it,
angel. Come for me.” His voice sounded strained but still deep and commanding,
triggering something inside her.

Her body
shuddered and contracted around his thrusting cock. His balls tapped her clit,
the sensation magnified by her orgasm. And with each wave of spasms, he tugged
a bead from her ass. One at a time, the beads popped free, and each one added a
new jolt of excitement. She cried out, muffling her screams with the mattress.

The orgasm
seemed to last forever. When it subsided, she realized he was still hard inside
her, his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her. His cheek rested against
her back, his heated breath brushing softly against her skin. She felt safe
and…cherished. He nuzzled her nape. One hand slipped to her hip, down her thigh
and back again.

“My turn now,”
he said. “Ready?”

“Yes, Sir.
Please, fuck me. Fuck me hard.”

He couldn’t do
anything but fuck her hard. What little control he’d managed to hold onto, his
angel had sucked right out of him when she came. The anal beads had been the
perfect touch for a backdoor virgin, and he couldn’t argue with the results. Feeling
the ripples of her orgasm clench his dick had almost done him in. Somehow, he’d
managed to stall his own release in order to push her further. Now that she
knew the delights of anal play, he looked forward to extending her education.

Gripping her hips
with both hands, he pulled out and slammed back in. He loved the sound of skin
on skin, loved the way her ass cushioned his thrusts, the way his balls flayed
against her clit. After her orgasm, her clit had become even more sensitive,
and each time his balls had touched her there, she’d moaned and writhed. Letting
his thumbs stray to the cleft of her ass, he pushed against the tight rosebud
so recently breached and was rewarded with a gasp.

“I’m…going…to…come…again,”
she panted. “I…can’t…stop…it.”

Shit. He’d never
expected this kind of response from her. The muscles in her thighs clenched, as
did the ones across her belly. He slipped a hand beneath her for support.

“Let it come,
angel. Let it come.” He pushed his thumb past the barrier.

She gripped his
cock in a velvet vise. He clenched his jaw tight, grinding his teeth. A
fireball ignited in the small of his back and rocketed through his groin,
setting his balls aflame.

“Fuck.” Pleasure
blinded him, and he shot off like fireworks on the Fourth of July. His body
jerked and thrust, each ball of flame erupting from his cock. He fell on top of
her, wrapping her in his arms, and she collapsed beneath his weight.

He rolled to his
side, pulling her with him. After releasing her wrist cuffs from their
restraints , he lazily stroked her breasts, her stomach, her mound. His fingers
flicked across her clit.

“Ahh,” she
cried, thrusting toward his hand.

He rolled her to
her back and settled between her thighs. “Again. I need you again.”

“Yes.” Her arms
wrapped around his shoulders, her legs around his waist, and he slid inside
her.

He’d never get
enough of this woman.

* * *

She dropped her
shoulder and craned her neck in an effort to see the drawings on her back.
Unless she opened the drapes on the two-way mirror, which she wasn’t going to
do, she would have to wait until she got home. Her legs still trembled from the
awesome sex, but she couldn’t fault Master for that. He’d held her for a long
time following their last fuck—though she had to admit, calling it a fuck didn’t
feel right.

All the other
times, yes, but the last time—that had been more like making love. The way he’d
touched her had been different than the times before. It seemed as though he
really cared about her, like she were more than an occasional fuck.

Oh, how she
wished that were true. Up until today, she would have been happy with their
previous arrangement, but after the things he’d done to her, with her…she wasn’t
so sure. Looking down at the artwork on her front, smeared now with sweat and
other bodily fluids, she couldn’t help but smile. Along with colorful flowers
and hearts strategically drawn all over her, he’d staked his claim in no
uncertain terms. She lost count of the number of times he’d written the word “mine.”

She belonged to
him, in every sense of the word. Whoever this Master was, he owned her, body
and soul, and…heart. She pulled on the sweats she’d worn on the way to the
Dungeon, slipped the blindfold into her purse, and waved goodbye to Janette on
the way out.

“I have
something for you,” Janette said from behind her desk. “Master J left it for
you.”

She thanked the
receptionist and took the padded envelope she held out. Hand printed on the
front was a note—“Do not open until this evening at eleven p.m.”

Chapter Ten

Talk about distracted.
Carrie closed her eyes then opened them again. Sleep wasn’t going to happen.
Why try?

But the envelope
wouldn’t leave her alone. She stood in her walk-in closet, her chin on her
shoulder, admiring the red lines on her ass in the full-length mirror. Not the flowers
she’d thought, but handprints. Master’s handprints. Neatly outlined on her ass
cheeks with colorful markers.

Even after all
they’d done, the handprint outlines remained. They were smudged in a few
places, but were in better condition than most of his artwork. She couldn’t
bring herself to wash the handprints off—not yet anyway. She carefully removed
the stickiness from her thighs and the markings from the rest of her body, but
the handprints remained.

She’d never been
spanked before. Todd had taken a flogger to her once, but that had felt
different—the flogger putting distance between them. The touch of Master’s
hands on her skin had been personal. She enjoyed a bite of pain during sex—had
enjoyed the flogging Todd had given her, but she couldn’t remember ever experiencing
the intimacy she’d felt when Master spanked her.

Everything her
master did seemed personal. She loved the feel of his callused hands against
her skin, abrading but at the same time gentle, as though he knew he could
easily overpower her but chose to seduce her instead. Even the slaps to her ass
had been delivered with care. He’d reined in his strength, providing her with a
measure of discipline she wouldn’t forget, then tempering it with kisses and
careful handling.

She closed her
eyes, remembering the press of wet lips on her hot skin after he spanked her.
The kisses were praise for her bravery in accepting her punishment—not a request
for forgiveness. He didn’t apologize, and he didn’t expect her to either. If
she did what he said, there would be no need to make amends. And if he
performed his duties well as her master, he, too, would have no need to request
forgiveness. And he was very good. They both might be novices at the lifestyle,
but Master seemed born knowing how to pleasure her.

She eyed the
envelope again. Fifteen long hours to wait before the contents were revealed.
She’d go mad if she sat around remembering the night before and waiting. She
could go into her office and work, but the idea of seeing people today didn’t
appeal—not that anyone could tell how she’d spent the last two nights by looking
at her. But she knew, and here, alone in her apartment the knowledge was a
cherished secret she wanted to keep all to herself. One she could examine any
time she wanted without anyone asking questions.

The decision
made to work from home, she pulled on jeans and a T-shirt. Trying her best to
push thoughts of Master and the mysterious envelope aside, she searched the Internet
for the information she needed for her steroid article.

She set up
interviews with researchers and medical professionals with the credentials to
lend integrity to her story. She’d only touched the tip of the iceberg, but it
was a place to begin. Once she had the facts, she would tackle the issue of
steroid abuse from a more personal side. She compiled a list of athletes,
amateur and professional, who’d admitted using the illegal substances, and a
few who’d maintained their innocence. Last, she made a list of families who had
lost a loved one because of steroid use. She wouldn’t contact them until the
story was nearly finished. By then, she would have a list of questions to ask
based on the latest research.

She worked
through lunch, only stopping when she couldn’t ignore the rumblings from her
stomach any longer. After nuking a frozen dinner, she turned on the television
for company and sat on the floor to watch the evening news with her back to the
sofa and her dinner on the coffee table.

The lead stories
were the usual—fires, murders, and robberies. Not exactly great dinner
companions. She was looking for the remote when a name caught her attention.
Martin McCree.

* * *

Crouched behind
the plate, Jason signaled the pitch to his brother on the mound. One more out
and the Mustangs would record another win. The pitch came in low and inside—unhittable,
but that hadn’t stopped the batter from swinging.

He threw the
ball back and grinned. Piece of cake. His brother was better than ever
following surgery on his elbow. All that physical therapy and forced workouts had
resulted in a world of good for both of them.

At first, Jason
accompanied Jeff to his workouts to offer his support, and maybe to keep his
brother from giving up, at least on mending his physical self. But he realized
early on the extra workouts benefitted him, too. After that, he went because he’d
wanted to. As a result, both brothers had never been in better physical shape
than they were this season.

Adjusting to the
psychological changes had taken them both a little longer. He had to hand it to
his brother. Jeff had seen the error of his ways with Megan a lot sooner than he
had with Stacey. Marrying Megan had been the final key to Jeff’s recovery—and
the reason Jeff had returned to the Mustangs’ bullpen with a real shot at the
record book and the Hall of Fame.

Another swing
and a miss brought the Mustangs one pitch closer to the final out. Jason
signaled to his brother and raised his glove in readiness. He couldn’t have
asked for a better throw. The ball came in fast, spinning on a certain
trajectory only the two of them knew would shift at the last moment giving the
batter insufficient time to adjust his swing. He focused on the ball, not even
the arc of the bat cutting through his line of vision broke his concentration.
His palm stung as the ball smacked into his glove. Before the plate umpire
confirmed the final out of the game, he was on his way to the mound.

“Great pitching,”
he said, grabbing his brother in a macho hug. “Damn, it’s good to have you
back.”

“I’ve been back
for a while now,” Jeff said, returning the hug. “You weren’t so bad yourself
tonight. Four-for-four with two homers and three RBI’s. You’re on fire, man.”

Jason shrugged. “The
season started off shitty, but it’s looking up.”

The team
surrounded them. He smiled and offered his congratulations to everyone for a
job well done. This was the fun part, celebrating with his teammates, but a
gaggle of reporters waited for him outside the dugout, and he’d have to make an
appearance on the local station’s post-game show as well.

He’d answered
the same questions a dozen times, doing his best to keep a smile on his face
and put the credit for the win on the entire team, while his internal clock
told him Carrie would be waiting for his call. By now, she would have opened
the envelope he’d left for her and found the prepaid cell phone. He’d purchased
another one for himself. He hated acting like a drug dealer, using untraceable
phones, but he couldn’t risk what was shaping up to be the best season of his
career on a potential scandal. If the press, who had just spent the last hour
building him up as a hero, caught wind of his sexual preferences, he’d go from
hero to zero faster than a homerun ball could fly out of the stadium.

Wouldn’t they be
surprised to learn those same sexual preferences were responsible for his
success this season? Like he’d told his brother, the season had started off
shitty, despite being in top physical condition, because his head hadn’t been
in the game. When Stacey left him, his confidence had gone with her. But now he
had it back, all because of his angel. Carrie’s sweet submission and the way
she’d accepted him for who he was without censure or judgment had bolstered his
confidence like nothing ever had.