Mistress of Redemption (23 page)

self-restraint at her behest, Nathan

was sure. When the woman turned

her head, she saw Nathan.

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Joey W. Hill

It was Lauren. Her blue eyes

freezing, she stood, the ice dropping

from her fingers.

Her lover rose beside her, a man

with gray intent eyes that shifted

between the two of them, taking the

situation in at a glance. His

expression told Nathan that he knew

his history with his Mistress. He

underscored that by stepping up to

her side. No, even somewhat in front

of her, an unmistakably protective

motion.

He had tried to love Lauren. In the

end, it was safer to believe she was

like all the others. Looking at her

now, he saw the inner and outer

beauty that had always been there.

The pure strength of the love she’d

given to this man next to her, binding

him to her. The face of her lover

reciprocated that devotion in spades.

He wouldn’t hurt her like Nathan had.

“I never deserved you,” he said

hoarsely. “I betrayed you, and all you

ever offered me was love. I’m

sorry.”

He wasn’t even sure where the

words came from. It was as if the

pain Dona had been inflicting on him

since he’d come into her care had

opened a well inside him that was

filled with simple truth. All it took

was dipping a bucket into it to offer it

to himself. To Lauren.

Dona’s whip snaked through the air,

struck. The park, Lauren and her

lover exploded in a shower of glass,

the mirror shattering outward. He

would have ducked his head, but in

the air the shards became silver

confetti, glittering as they settled on

the floor, on Dona’s hair, across the

ample tops of her breasts.

In the shards still floating through the

air he saw the image of the corpulent

woman again.
Such a pretty little

boy…

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Mistress of Redemption

Chapter Nine

He closed his eyes. As he did, he

became cognizant of the woman

beneath him, still trembling. He felt

an odd urge to stroke her hair, soothe

her. Almost as he had the thought, his

hand was free, so he did it

tentatively, though the rest of his

body remained bound so that all he

could do was stroke her hair with the

one hand. Moving to the side of her

face, he followed the tracks of the

tears coming from beneath the

blindfold. When he touched her lips

stretched around the ball gag, they

quivered, but she didn’t make any

other movement.

“She endures this every day?”

“Yes.” Dona stepped over his legs,

stood behind him. Daring a gaze into

the mirror again, he was relieved to

see them in present time. Leaning

forward, she propped her elbows on

the small of his back, those generous

breasts shaped into tempting globes

over the edge of the corset. Her

pelvis brushed the base of his

buttocks, her thighs teasing his

testicles.

“I’m going to use your cock now.

Because it’s my cock to do with as I

please. You’ll move only at my

direction, as if it’s attached to me in

truth. You’re going to be my strap-

on.”

She straightened, unclipped the belt

triple-looped low on her hips, the

one that was decorated gypsy fashion

with tiny sun discs and moon

crescents done in beaten metal that

made a sultry chime sound as she

moved. It did so now as she removed

it, reached under him and double-

looped it around his cock and balls.

Bringing the remaining ends of the

belt up past his hips and around hers,

she re-latched it at the flare of her

buttocks.

The rotating mirrors gave him the

ability to see them at all angles. Now

she was pressed to his ass, her thighs

in tight and straight between his

spread ones. Putting her hands on his

hips, she lifted her own, drawing him

back with her, moving up, then down,

pressing him against the ass of the

woman whose lips had tightened, in

fear or anticipation he did not know.

The blindfold slipped so he could

see her eyes, wide and frightened,

bright blue like Lauren’s, blonde hair

spilling over her shoulders as the

gargoyles pulled the blindfold

completely away and re-secured his

hand.

“No.”

“You have no right to say no. You’re

my strap-on cock and you’ll do

exactly as that mindless, hungering

dick of yours would do.”

“She’s looking at me. She’s afraid.”

“You had no compunction about

fucking Lauren over, figuratively.

Now shut up.

You’re hard as a rock.”

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Joey W. Hill

He was. It seemed he had been erect

nonstop since he got into Dona’s car.

It made no sense, except that he’d

been filled with an undeniable hunger

since she came over that hill. As if

sinking into her body might heal so

many of the things inside him that

were as raw and exposed as his back

had been under her lash. What was

beneath his cock was incidental. His

arousal was centered on what was

behind him. Dona’s thighs, her breath

on his bare back, her fingers digging

into his hips, moving him exactly as

she wanted to move him, the way a

man would fuck a woman. She even

gave a guttural sound of satisfaction

as she made the right adjustment and

he sank deep into the woman’s

accessible pussy. She writhed,

whimpering around her gag, but he

felt how wet she was. The fear in her

eyes was mixed with self-loathing.

“She can’t help but enjoy your big

cock. What woman wouldn’t?”

The woman’s eyes changed, became

trusting, too innocent, too blue,

reminding him of other, even more

painful memories. He tried to fight

against Dona. He should have been

strong enough to overpower her, but

not with his arms and legs bound.

His cock wanted to thrust more

eagerly, but he wanted to pull his

body away from the woman he was

being forced to rut upon. The jagged

edges of the sunbursts and points of

the crescent moon jabbed into him,

goading his cock like spurs as Dona

rocked him forward, thrust,

withdrew. He tried a different

strategy, deepening the power of his

thrusts to increase the speed and get

it done with, but she used the belt

like reins, drawing them taut,

embedding those points more deeply.

Cursing, he was forced to stay at her

pace while she laughed at him, a

taunting, velvet caress in his ears,

reminding him she had all the power,

all the control.

She had to know it wasn’t this

nameless woman’s cunt drawing him

closer to orgasm. It was the way

Dona was controlling him, teasing

him, the images that rose in his own

mind called by no one but himself. Of

her sliding on an actual strap-on with

a clitoral stimulator, fucking him the

way a Mistress gave herself the

privilege to do, driving herself to

climax while her slave suffered

jetting into a condom. But there had

to be that blessed moment when

she’d straddle him, sink down on his

cock while he trembled, obeying her

will for the better-than-dying

pleasure of watching her rise and fall

on him, letting him serve her.

“That’s it, baby.” He heard the lust

and demand in her voice, rippling

over him like the rake of her nails.

“You’re such a good cock for your

Mistress. Are you going to come for

me?”

He groaned in answer, his head

bending down. She yanked, drawing

the chains cruelly into him, sending

pain rocketing through his groin.

“As Mistress demands.”

“You’re just playing with me.

Charming me, fucking with my mind

like all those other women.” She

drew harder on the belt and yet this

time drove him forward so the

decorative metal disks pierced his

cock, the agony roaring through his

mind so he could barely speak, only

beg.

“No…Mistress Dona…please…”

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Mistress of Redemption

“Feel this.” Her fingers came

between them, penetrated his ass,

burying deep.

He climaxed in an instant, a burning

pleasure and pain like having his guts

wrenched out by the denizens of Hell

while being treated to the pure light

of Heaven.

He screamed, jerking, pumping on his

own, Dona’s hands allowing him to

drive into the girl at his own pace

now, as brutal and mindless as a

stallion. She cried out around her

gag, her cunt convulsing, a tight

orgasm that spurred his, especially

with Dona’s hand deep within him,

fisting him now, driving up the pain

quotient so that he knew this had to

be an otherworldly realm. No man

could climax while under such

torture that broke down his mind. It

was the true essence of Hell. Finding

the heights of pleasure a man sought

his whole life, but experiencing it

only at the price of a pain that would

turn his bowels to water.

He could bear no more. “Please,

Mistress…mercy…” He didn’t know

how his cock could be attached to his

body still. More sweat or blood or

both had to be running down his legs.

As if she sensed his thoughts, his

tormentor withdrew her hand, making

him groan. She thrust her other hand

between his legs, closed it around his

wet, sticky member at the base, her

fingers erotically caressing the

joining point between his buried cock

and the girl’s stretched pussy.

Dona straightened then, her hand

pulling back. She released the belt

from her waist, but looped it around

and tightened it on him like the cinch

strap on a bull’s testicles, only he

didn’t have the ability to buck to try

to relieve the torturous pain. When

she came around the table, she let

him see her hand, wet with blood and

his cum. Turning away, she curved

backward toward him in a lithe move

worthy of a circus performer.

His cock suddenly was exposed to

the air as his partner in torment

vanished. He was bound alone on the

altar and the gargoyles lifted their

heads, drawing his upper torso a foot

above the altar to allow Dona to arch

along the table’s edge just below his

mouth.

He could not imagine how tightly she

was laced in that corset to prevent

her breasts from coming out of the

garment, but the nipples remained out

of view. Just.

Taking her hand, she brushed the

blood and semen across the tops of

those straining breasts as if painting a

canvas, her fingers artfully marking

her skin.

“Your seed, your blood, your sweat.”

Her dark eyes burned into his. “Lick

it off me.

When every bit of it is gone, I’ll free

your cock.”

In the life that seemed a century ago,

he would have turned on charm and

his not inconsiderable sex appeal to

get his way, but the Mistress who’d

insinuated her upper torso under his

mouth had outmaneuvered him at

every turn. He was in too much pain

now to take the risk. She was not a

Mistress of Mercy, or one who let the

needs of her cunt or heart drive her.

For some reason, knowing the latter

bothered him personally, not

competitively.

It was his total submission she

craved and demanded, no matter his

pain. He understood that. The wonder

of it was, though his cock screamed

for release from its torture, saliva

pooled in his mouth at the anticipated

privilege of touching his mouth to her

skin.

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Joey W. Hill

Loosening the top lacing of the

corset, she arched her back further.

Her breasts spilled completely free,

nipples pink, that incredibly delicate

female color. Earlier, when she first

fucked him, he’d expected them to be

rouged black or dark red, like her

makeup. The feminine contrast

fascinated him.

Catching his chin with one hand as

the gargoyles started to bring him

within touching distance, she dug in

her nails to command his attention.

“Don’t touch my nipples with your

mouth. Not until I permit it. Now get

busy. I want your filth off of me.”

She had said his mouth couldn’t touch

her nipples, but she’d said nothing

about how often his forehead or the

coarse silk of his eyebrows could

caress those beautiful plump tips. He

strained forward, laid his open mouth