Masters of the Shadowlands 7 - This is who I am (16 page)

After donning the furry glove she’d tossed on the “good” end of the table, he stroked her shoulder with the back of the glove. Fuzzy and soothing, yet her skin was so incredibly sensitive, she felt every tiny, soft strand. Her eyes half closed as he caressed her whole body.

“Like the glove?” The amusement in his voice pulled her eyes back open. “You didn’t really check it out, though.” He turned his glove-covered hand over and slid it, palm side down, across her collarbone to the top of her breast.

She sucked in a hard breath of air at the scritchy-scratchy feeling. When he lifted his hand, she saw the fur had concealed thumbtack-like points.

Alternating between the innocent fur side and the evil palm side, he glided over the tender places left by the quirt and the flogger. As her stomach muscles flinched, he pressed harder. “Don’t move, girl.”

“Mmm.” She should move, do something, but as the glove created swaths of sparkling pain all over her body, she was sliding down, down, down into her happy place. Into the shadow world where decisions were made by someone else. Where her body wasn’t really hers. Where the hurting and the yearning wove together into a basket that held her safely inside.

The glove spiraled up her inner thighs and, before she could tense, covered her pussy. A million spiky points pressed into her labia, ricocheting through her clit. God, she needed to come. Every cell in her body throbbed with burgeoning need, sharp and sweet, and she heard a long, husky moan. Hers.

The deep rumble was Sam’s laugh. “There’s a good girl.” Something pinched her chin, and she dragged her eyes open to see Sam’s icy ones. “Give me a color, Linda.”

Color? Oh, there was supposed to be a color. One to keep going. Her mind floated like foam on rolling waves. Continue or stop.
Must continue
. Like a stoplight. “Green. More. Green.”

He snorted. Then his lips touched hers in a gentle kiss. “For a little while, then.”

Something slapped against her bottom, and it hurt—maybe it hurt. She couldn’t even tell anymore as the molten sensation flowed through her. Caning. He was caning her, mostly on her bottom, light taps on her thighs, flicking at intervals between her legs hard enough to make her cry out. Hard enough to make her shake with need.

The wonderful edgy pattering continued on and on until her body felt so full of sensation that she was rocking. Humming. Her tipped-up lips tasted of the salt from her tears.

“I think you’re done, missy.” His voice splashed like rain into her warm pool of bliss. “I’m letting you loose.”

“More. Green. More.”

He chuckled, and his rough voice shivered over her, far sweeter than the whip. “You’re past the point where you can decide. No more.”

Coolness ringed her ankles when the cuffs came off. His fingers traced over her clit, circling, sending her to the edge, before he drew her legs together over the throbbing tissue.

Her whimper of protest got a laugh. He hooked an arm around her as he reached up to her wrists. Her shoulders seemed to groan—or was that her?—as her arms lowered.

“There we go,” he said. Her head bounced off the clouds as he lifted her up into his arms, but he was warm and solid and so very safe. Her eyes closed again…or had she opened them at all?

“Ask Peggy to clean up for me, please.”

Was he talking to her? She rubbed her cheek against him, listening to the low reverberation of sound in his chest. His musky fragrance sent need washing in hot waves over her.

A voice murmured.

“The toys go into a plastic bag. It all goes behind the bar.”

“Yes, Sir,” someone answered.

“Thanks, Tanner.”

He was walking. Carrying her. The noise from the clubroom was a lovely song of torment and joy. She tried to lift her head, to see what was happening. A railing. Stairs. They were going upstairs.

Okay.

When a door shut, she opened her eyes again.

One of those sawhorse things was in the center of the room. Sam deposited her, stomach down, along the length of the padded surface, moving her until her forearms and knees rested on lower supports on each side. The cold leather on her burning skin sent a chill through her.

Slow and sure, he positioned her breasts so they dangled free.

“Sam.” She blinked, unsure if she wanted—

He pinched her nipples, making her jolt. The carnal pain seared through her system, throwing her back into the clouds. Making him laugh.

As his hands moved over her roughly, harsh on her abused skin, the wonderfully hurtful caresses made her moan and squirm with need. “Please, Sam, I want—”

“I know, baby. And you’re going to get that.” He chuckled. “I want to hear you scream a little first.”

Her mind told her body to tense, but the anticipation of more was…wonderful. “More. Want more.”

“Yes. But this will be different. Let’s see how you like a clamp.”

She didn’t like clamps, did she? She tried to shake her head, but her cheek rested on the cushion and hadn’t moved.

He patted her hand. “I’m not going to restrain your arms, baby. Just your ass.” He tugged her body down toward the end of the horse so her butt stuck out. Something pressed into her left calf—a strap—then the right. Another one chilled the skin on her lower back, and she realized she couldn’t move her bottom at all. The sensation of being so exposed, so…ready…sent more need sizzling across her pussy.
Want. Please, want.

He massaged her stinging ass cheeks, then smacked each one hard, and like coals with fresh tinder, the glow under her skin flamed up, searing through her in every color of the rainbow. Her moan shuddered inside her ribs before escaping.

Cold drizzled between her ass cheeks, making her squirm, and then he pressed something hard against her asshole. She instinctively tightened. Slowly he worked the plug through the rim of muscle, ruthlessly pushing in until her nerves sparkled like fireworks in the night. Confused, she tried to move, to escape, and couldn’t. Her bottom was held right there for his use.

Her hands opened and closed convulsively as she realized he’d do exactly what he wanted. Her arousal expanded like a balloon.
Need to come. Oh, need to come.

When the anal plug plopped into place, throbbing and burning, she whimpered at the jagged onslaught of fresh pleasure.

She heard his belt, then the crinkle of a condom wrapper, and his grating laugh. “Now for the part that you’ll hate—and will really enjoy.”

What?
The pulsing sense of need eroded her thoughts and tied her tongue.

His hands slid over her bottom, down her inner thighs. And then his fingers settled on her clit, pinching hard enough that she screamed and tried to buck.

The urgent coil in her lower belly tightened and grew.

His fingers released her. Then something else locked onto her clit, tighter and tighter, as if tiny teeth were gnawing on her. The exquisite bite was shocking, overwhelming, and everything inside her exploded.
Oh God!
Her body spasmed, tried to move…couldn’t…and the waves of sensation spread outward through her body, filling her mind.

Before she could recover, she felt his finger opening her labia. His thick cock pressed against her entrance, pushed inside, stretching her ferociously.
Too much
. As the tidal wave of ecstasy swept her away, she screamed.

LINDA’S SCREAM ALMOST sent Sam over the edge. The sound of a woman screaming and coming at the same time was the finest of wines, filling his soul. As her cunt convulsed around him in an unstoppable orgasm, her body shook like she’d break into pieces.

He gave her a few seconds to adapt to his entry, then pulled back and thrust in harder. Faster. Damned if she didn’t keep spasming around him. Couldn’t complain about that.

She finally sagged against the sawhorse, gasping for breath as if he’d held her underwater.

She was incredibly wet, and by God, he wanted to see her come again. He changed to a gentle sliding in and out as he ran his hands over her reddened back, savoring her moan. He’d never had someone more fun to play with. To hurt. To fuck.

He kept his thrusts slow enough to maintain control until she stirred. As her eyes blinked open, he ran his hands over the backs of her thighs. When his fingers encountered the tiny raised lines, he knew she’d get a fine burst of pain. As if in agreement, her cunt clenched around him, and he grinned. He could fuck her for years and never tire of it.

Mercilessly, he massaged her ass, pleased at the light welting, even more pleased at how she wiggled when the tender skin was further abused. As she started to pant, he tugged on the anal plug, adding new sensations. Overloading her system.

When he leaned forward, his cock rammed in deeper, right up against her cervix, and he heard her sharp inhalation, her attempt to squirm away. But the low back strap kept her right where he liked her, kept her feeling just what he wanted her to feel.

With his chest against her back, he reached around to palm her swaying breasts. Gorgeous breasts, heavy and large enough to fill his hands. He massaged them, tugged at them.

Her nipples were already sore from the wheel, the vampire glove, even a few hits from the quirt. When he pinched hard, her body stiffened, and her low shriek made him laugh. The way she tightened around his cock reaffirmed she was hardwired for pain, and those sensitive breasts made a direct circuit to her pussy. As he played with them, her breasts swelled, increasing his pleasure.

Increasing hers. She gave a sweet moan and slid deeper into subspace.

“That’s my girl.” He pounded into her hard enough to make the sawhorse rock. As he shoved her toward coming again, her cunt clamped down and tested his control.

Her breathing quickened, the sound mingling with her moans as he teased her nipples.
Goddamn
. His jaw clenched. His straining cock felt as if it would split; his balls seemed as if they’d been compressed between boards. Almost there—both of them.

Reaching around, he removed the clamp from her clit and could almost hear blood rush back into the abused nub. He drank in how her wailing scream filled the room, how her neck arched to lift her head, how her core clenched and spasmed around him as her orgasm hit her like a pile driver.

He gripped her hair, pulling as he released control and drove into her fast and hard. His balls were boiling, and the heat poured out of them and through his cock in bone-jolting jerks as he came and came and came.

God. Damn
. With an effort, he released her hair and buried his face in the scented silkiness, content to stay just where he was—buried as deep as a man could go.

Seated at a chair near a suspension scene, Aaron watched the little brunette trainee clean off a nearby table. Quite amusing how Sally—wasn’t that her name?—never looked at him if she could help it. Not since he’d slapped her face for speaking up during a scene.

Her horror had been delightful—her tears even more so.

But everything had gone to hell after that. Z’s mouthy sub had charged in, which meant Z had gotten involved. Truly a mess. At least the trainee had admitted she hadn’t specified no slapping. When she said she’d been too shocked to safe word, he’d almost laughed. What was the point of slapping someone if you didn’t shock her?

But it had pissed him off when Z monitored him closely for a time afterward. That was the slut’s fault. He motioned to her. “You. Come here.”

Her jaw tightened. Didn’t it just break his heart that the trainee bitch had to acknowledge a Dom, even one she hated?

She approached, although he almost laughed at the ample space she left between them. “Yes, Sir.”

“Bring me a…” He frowned, remembering he’d already had his two drinks. Cullen kept careful track. “Bring me a mineral water.”

“Right away, Sir.”

“Wait.” When he raised his hand and she flinched, he laughed. “Remember our scene, do you? I enjoyed it.”

Her whole body turned statue still, and an angry flush lit her cheeks. But, oh, too bad for her, the trainee couldn’t yell at a Dom. Couldn’t do shit.

“Maybe I’ll ask for you again.” He massaged his hand, enjoying how warily she watched him.

She clenched her tray so hard her knuckles turned white, but her voice stayed polite. Cold. “I’m afraid that would be a waste of your time…Sir.”

The slut had a backbone. And he couldn’t prod her further without chancing Z’s attention. He flicked his fingers at her. “Go.”

Her posture displayed a cock-hardening mix of anger and fear as she walked away. He shook his head, regretting that the Harvest Association hadn’t picked her up. She’d have been perfect for the “rebellious slave” themed auction. Unfortunately, she’d gone to visit relatives before the contractor could kidnap her.

Truly a shame. He’d have loved to break the insolent bitch. Easy-peasy. Force her mouth open with a spider gag and let everyone face fuck her until only whimpers came out. Wouldn’t take long before that cocky walk would turn to a slink, showing her fear of attracting any attention.

But that opportunity was gone. The Harvest Association wouldn’t expand back into the southern quadrant for quite some time, if ever. Stinking FBI.

However, the northeast quadrant was in operation, and the Harvest Association took
vindictive
to new levels. The two asshole agents leading the investigation might well come to regret their actions.

Something to look forward to.

Turning, Aaron eyed the unoccupied submissives near the bar. His need wasn’t urgent since he’d indulged in a whore last night. When he’d flashed a wad of money, the foolish woman had climbed right into his car. Poor safety awareness on her part. A shame she’d never learn any better.

She hadn’t been a bad fuck. After getting off, he’d played with her, hurting her with his fists, then his knife. He’d been furious when she got quiet, like she’d mentally retreated. But no—she’d been dead. No stamina. Truly, the older slaves were more fun.

Damn Davies for latching on to the redheaded slut.

Then again, she’d undoubtedly be around. Without Davies. Her hair would look good in his drawer. Maybe he’d tie it up with a black ribbon for contrast.