Authors: Michele Zurlo
Doms of the FBI 3.5
Doms of the FBI 3.5: Malcolm’s Promise
Copyright © December 2015 by Michele Zurlo
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Editor: Debora M. Ryan
Cover Artist: Debora M. Ryan
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This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. It is not meant for underage readers.
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“I ordered another piece for the dungeon.” Malcolm lounged on the black leather sofa, his feet on the coffee table and a bottle of beer in his hand. He’d been away from home for almost two weeks, and in that time, he’d come to hate the undercover aspect of his job. Before he had a fiancée and child, being away from home for a month hadn’t been a big deal. Now it was torture, and not the good kind that he enjoyed inflicting on his lovely submissive.
Darcy set Colin on Malcolm’s knee. He held his infant son with one hand and exchanged the bottle of beer for one with formula. She left without saying a word, and that act spoke volumes. She hadn’t liked him being gone either. He shifted Colin to lean against his chest at the proper angle, and then he popped the bottle into his son’s mouth.
“I wish I could drink my lunch too. Your mommy isn’t too happy with me right now.” The operation had only been scheduled to last six days. Darcy hadn’t been pleased about that, but she hadn’t protested. It was part of being in a relationship with an FBI agent. To be fair, she hadn’t known he was an agent when she had fallen in love with him. She’d been pretty pissed when she’d found out, but for the most part, she’d been tolerant of his hours.
He spent the next hour with his son, a little person who didn’t yet hold his absences against him, and enjoyed being a dad. Of course, no amount of fun could deter the afternoon nap, and if he kept Colin up too late, it would spoil his bedtime. Darcy might not turn him away when he initiated sex—submitting to him brought her peace and pleasure—but her heart wouldn’t be in it, and he required her heart. He put Colin in his crib, turned on the mobile, and went downstairs.
Darcy was in her office, fingers punching keys on her laptop.
“Want to talk about it?”
She paused to look at him, opened her mouth, and closed it again. Shaking her head, she resumed working.
“Sweetheart, I know when something is bothering you. Let’s have it.” He steeled himself for her tirade.
Instead, a tear leaked from her left eye, leaving the blue brighter and more haunting than normal. She swiped it away and went back to what she was doing. “I’m fine.”
“Bullshit. You know better than to lie to me.”
Her frantic typing ceased, and she looked at the desk. “It’s too much to explain.”
“I have all day. Several, in fact. Comp time. That’s the upside about working undercover. I might be gone for a couple weeks, but then I get a good chunk of time off.” He pulled another chair in the room closer and settled in across from her.
“Unless they call you in.” She set her lips tightly together. “I wish you were just a computer geek. At least then you’d get to keep regular hours.”
“I thought you said my mom came by every day?” Malcolm’s mother doted on her grandchildren, and she loved doing anything she could to spend time with them.
“Either she or your dad did. They were very helpful.” She bit her lip until she noticed his scowl, and then she released it. “I accepted a speaking engagement. I didn’t want to, but they kept calling, and it would have been good for my business. So I gave in and said yes.”
Though she was a great public speaker, Darcy battled horrifying stage fright. Malcolm frequently helped her deal with that fear. He sat forward. “When is it?”
“Last night.” She burst into tears. “It was horrible. I froze. I couldn’t even go into the room. I told them I had the flu.”
He rounded the desk and pulled her into his arms. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” He’d arrived home just before noon, having finished his debrief that morning. “I’m sure they understood. This isn’t the end of the world.”
She shoved against him hard, pushing him away. He understood that she was upset at her failure, and she blamed him for not being there. His heart ached at having let her down, but he didn’t indulge in self-pity. His submissive needed her Master right now. Hauling her up, he imprisoned her arms behind her back and waited for her to stop struggling. She was strong, but he was stronger—and she needed his strength.
Her chest heaved with too many emotions for her to be able to handle them, and her blue eyes blazed icicles meant to skewer him. “Where is Colin?”
“Napping. You will go quietly to the dungeon, or I will tie you up and I won’t spank you. I won’t flog, cane, or whip you. If you wake up the baby, you won’t get the pain you need.” He released her, and already she seemed less upset.
She led the way downstairs. “The single-tail, Master. Please.” Her plaintive tone begged for her favorite implement, and she didn’t say anything more as she entered the dungeon. She undressed, mechanically folding her clothes and placing them in the cabinet before kneeling on her pillow in the center of the room. She spread her knees, rested her hands on her legs with her palms up, and lowered her gaze. She painted a portrait of submission, yet he knew insolence simmered just below the surface. If he let her, she would let loose with a tirade consisting of everything he’d ever done wrong in their relationship. Since that list was sizeable—and she’d forgiven him the worst of it—he preferred not to give her an opening.
He hadn’t seen his woman naked in two weeks, and that was far too long ago. “Stand up.”
She did, a smooth, graceful motion he hadn’t seen since midway through her pregnancy.
“You’ve been practicing.”
She hazarded a half-worried, half-defiant glance up. “Yes, Master. I joined a fitness group.”
Knowing when not to comment was sometimes his greatest gift. Colin was three months old, and Darcy had been lamenting losing her figure to pregnancy. Malcolm thought she was gorgeous when pregnant, and he cherished every single stretch mark on her stomach and ass. He only rubbed them with lotion because she wanted them gone. He looked at her body closely, noting the small changes that had happened while he’d been away. “You’ve lost weight.”
It wasn’t a question, but she responded as if it had been. “Six pounds.”
“As long as you’re eating regular meals, that’s okay.” He loved her body, but he hated that she didn’t recognized just how sexy she was. “You may have stopped breast-feeding, but that doesn’t give you license to starve yourself.”
“I’m eating. I swear. Your mom keeps making the most amazing dinners for me.”
He chuckled. Darcy was a sucker for any meal either he or his mother prepared. He found her healthy appetite appealing. He ran his fingertip down her ribcage and across her waist. “Since you seem to have everything under control, you have no reason to keep putting off our wedding. It’ll be this July. I’ll let you pick the date. If you don’t, I will drive your ass to Ohio, and we’ll elope.”
She’d cited wanting to lose the baby weight as her reason for putting off the wedding. He’d wanted to marry her months ago. She nodded. “Yes, Master. I’ll call Amy this afternoon.”
As her sister was an event planner, Malcolm was satisfied with her response. More than satisfied—elated. Tangling a hand in her hair, he kissed her gently. The dual approach—rough and tender—always barreled past her defenses. Darcy melted against him, her hands coming up to grasp his upper arms—the only move she was allowed to make right now. He kissed her for a long time, molding her body to his and kneading her ass so that her pussy ground against his thigh. His kiss grew harder, almost brutal as he unleashed the powerful feelings he had for this woman.
When he finally released her, she struggled to catch her breath, and though she trembled in his arms, he could already tell that she was moving toward peace. He licked the column of her throat and bit her neck. She moaned loudly.
“And a collaring ceremony as well,” he added. “I’ve waited long enough.”
“Yes.” Her nails dug into his arms. “You have been very patient, Master.”
“Get on the horse. For being such a good subbie, I’m going to spank you first.”
She practically floated to the padded horse that could be repositioned for use in a variety of ways, but he usually had it as a spanking bench. She draped herself over it, adjusting the positions of her hands and knees until they were the way he wanted. They didn’t have time for fancy ropework today, so Malcolm buckled cuffs around her wrists and ankles to bind her in place. Usually he preferred to take his time and do something that would leave a lasting impression in her skin. But with Colin napping, their time was limited.
When he’d met her, she’d rebelled against being bound, but she’d fought her fear valiantly, and now he tied her in some way nearly every day. Well—he did when he was home. He patted her thigh. “Comfortable?”
“I’m going to warm you up first, so don’t stress over it being too light.” He slid his hand to the apex of her legs to feel her wetness. She arched her back to lift her ass. “And don’t bother telling me you don’t need a warm-up. I need one.”
He removed his shirt. Warming up wasn’t just so the masochist could take more punishment, but also to prevent the sadist from pulling or tearing a muscles. Impact play was a physical activity, a workout that kept his upper body exceptionally toned, and he hadn’t engaged in two weeks. He touched her all over, reveling in the way her body relaxed under his palms. He spoke, murmuring soft praise and mixing in a few sexual promises. “You’re doing great, sweetheart. I can’t wait to lick that dripping pussy. I’m going to tie you up and make you come hard. I haven’t decided whether I should gag that luscious mouth or just kiss you a lot.” Okay, maybe he was murmuring sexual promises and mixing in a little soft praise.
He smacked her ass a few times with his bare hand, and then he donned a glove. She was quiet at first, but he expected that. After a few minutes of spanking her with significant force, she began lifting to meet his rhythmic blows. She moaned, that same soft cry she used when he fucked her.
“How close are you, sweetheart?”
“Very, Master. If you touch me, I might explode.”
“Can’t have that happening.” So he halted his actions.
She cried out in protest. “Please, Master. Please don’t stop.”
“I’m going to flog you,” he promised. “Four strikes with the cane, and six with the single tail.” Unzipping his jeans, he stepped closer to her exposed ass. “After I come inside this hot little pussy.” In two seconds, he’d buried himself balls-deep. “If you don’t come before me, then you’re going to have to wait until I’m in the mood to try again.”
He withdrew almost all the way and surged forward. Any response she might have attempted came out as a squeak, which was just as well. Darcy’s mouth sometimes got the better of her, and he wasn’t in the mood to have his scene derailed. He fucked her with fast, deep strokes, racing against the way her walls fluttered around his cock and the increasingly loud noises she made, alternating his title with nonsense sounds of pleasure. Suddenly she went silent. Her walls convulsed, sucking him hard and milking his climax. He buried himself in her sweetness and gave over to the bliss.
“You are magnificent,” he said as he withdrew his cock and tucked it away. He unhooked her restraints from the bench, but he kept them on her wrists and ankles. “Go to the cross. I’m going to put clover clamps and weights on your nipples for the flogging.”
Her movements were slow and stiff, but she made it to the St. Andrew’s cross without help. He secured her to the cross, and then he pinched her nipples, playing with them roughly until they pebbled. “I’m ready, Master.”
Darcy loved the bite. Even when she’d been sensitive due to pregnancy, she’d reveled in the pain. Sometimes when he was gone, he texted a brief order to put on the clover clamps and masturbate while thinking of him. This last trip, he’d called her later that same day to ask what he’d been wearing in her fantasy.
Nothing at all, Master.
Smiling at the memory of her breathless tone, he took his time with the clamps, making sure they were just right, before he attached small weights that would increase the pull. Then he started in with the flogger, warming her up with deerskin before switching to elk. His aim true, he covered her back and ass, occasionally moving down to catch her thighs and calves. By the time he finished, her body leaned fully against the cross. He pressed his body to hers, trapping her even more, and let his hands wander over her body.
“How are you holding up, sweetheart?” He bit her earlobe.
“Great, Master. How are you holding up?” She tried to laugh, but her attempt was pitiful.
“Tell me everything that has you upset right now.”
She sighed. “I failed to even get onstage at a speaking engagement. I declined their fee, though, so at least I didn’t take their money.”
He stepped away. While having her lay flat was preferable for caning, he was confident in his ability to hit the right spots while she was standing. He selected her favorite rattan cane. It was thin enough to cut her if he struck too hard or lost control. As he was going for a good welt, he practiced a few strokes on the mattress he’d set up in the corner when Darcy had indicated an interest in honing her skills. He used it to keep in shape, and she sometimes used it for stress relief.
The only warning he gave with the first hit was the hum of the implement through the air and the sharp crack of it against her left cheek. It took a few seconds to register, but when it did, she moaned loudly. “You are a god with that thing, Master.”
“Don’t you forget it.” He let the mark sit for a little longer. “What else is bothering you?”