Mistress's Master: Men in Blue, Book 3 (7 page)

Tony adjusted the bulge at his crotch when the prisoner danced in an attempt to evade the cruel shower.

Clint hissed a curse beneath his breath, low enough only Jeremy could hear. He followed his friend’s gaze to the original subject, who was forced to conform to the outline of a contraption along with the rest of the slaves who’d already met physical standards.

The wrangler pressed his charge to her back on a small square platform a few inches below waist height. The supporting surface ended at her ass. Her captor locked the top half of a thick wooden stockade board around her neck and wrists, which were pinned beside her face. Several chains and clips secured the board with half-moon carve outs to the matching side bolted to the platform.

The woman’s back arched at an extreme angle. Her abdomen rose as her thighs dangled and she sought to relieve some of the pressure by balancing on her tiptoes, which barely reached the floor. Her fingers clawed at the binding on her neck though she stood no chance of freeing herself. Hoarse shouts along with her struggles earned her a bright red ball gag between her matching lips.

Before she could cause herself damage or muss the carefully crafted illusion of glamour the prior team had cast, her attendant lifted two thick supports and tightened the bolts so they remained parallel to her legs at a forty-five degree angle to the platform surface, pointing backward at her body.

He grasped another plank—this one sported two larger holes—from a shelf under the main surface of the unit then knelt to guide her feet into the openings. He lifted the board until it hovered just above her knees. The leather-hooded man pressed the restraint toward her torso, bending the woman in half until the board rested on the two supports at her hips. He hammered the wood into place.

The woman reclined, her arms and neck pinned to the platform, her body folded as though stuck in an obscene crunch. Her legs spread wide, kept in place by the stockade engulfing her thighs. The position left her stretched, opened, her pussy and ass on display.

She released a keening cry when the man attempted to plunge two long fingers into her pussy. He shook his head then called over his shoulder, “Spreader plugs.”

Before he’d finished his request, someone wheeled a cart to his side. He rummaged through various supplies before finding what he sought. He lifted a moderate plug from a box and dunked the plastic object in a pail filled with thin lubrication before aligning it with the opening of the woman’s pussy. He slipped the insert between her puffy lips then held it in place with one hand while he repeated the act on her tight ass with a bit more difficulty.

When the objects were embedded, he attached a thin, clear hose to the base of each. The other end of the hose he attached to a nozzle on the shelf of the platform, which presented his slave. Once satisfied with the connection, he flipped a switch. The woman writhed to the extent her confinement allowed.

“What is he doing to her?” Jeremy wondered.

“They’re inflatable with tiny holes. One of our latest inventions.” Tony hummed. “He’s filling them with warmed lubricating jelly. They’ll stretch her and leave her moist…hot…for our guests. When they bury their cocks in her, she’ll be eager and welcoming.”

“Or at least it will seem that way.” Jeremy hid his disgust. This woman hadn’t chosen her fate. He’d bet his life on it.

Tony grinned.

The attendant patted the prisoner’s flank then released the brake on wheels at the bottom of the platform, which Jeremy hadn’t noticed. The rig became mobile. “Station seventeen, ready for placement.”

Another chain-and-leather-liveried servant approached. He wrapped his hands around a bar above the woman’s head, hidden by the fall of her hair. He steered the platform from the room, ignoring the squeals of the bound woman as cool air wafted across her tender, exposed skin.

Jeremy scanned the rest of the room. Each of the night’s entertainers occupied an original apparatus, making them each into a unique work of erotic art.

“Impressive, yes?” Tony’s thick question betrayed his arousal.

“The staff seems very…dedicated.” Jeremy stopped himself from hurling insults. While the activity below would have turned him on if he could be sure all participants had selected their roles, their false submission destroyed any measure of arousal he might have felt. His cock shriveled as drastically as if he’d joined the polar bear club.

“Thank you.” The dumbass didn’t realize it wasn’t a compliment. “They were hand selected. It’s amazing what some of our guests are capable of turning into when offered a chance to improve their station.”

“You mean some of them were slaves once?” Jeremy couldn’t believe the horrors they must have suffered. Choosing to torment a fellow human in order to escape a life of degradation and pain sounded like a coward’s bargain, but he couldn’t blame them. He guessed many had sacrificed their ethics to evade a fate they couldn’t stomach and remain sane.

“Yes. Reformed now.” He smiled. “The handlers accept various forms of payment.”

“Like what?” He didn’t truly want to know. He could guess enough.

“Some prefer topping but can’t afford their own slaves. Some are working off debts incurred by their former owners. Some…. Well, let’s just say there are many reasons.”

Sex Offender.

Jeremy couldn’t deny his gaze skimmed the helpless fodder for tonight’s feast. He searched for one sexy woman, sure she would hook his glance during his sweep of the floor.

His stare roved from end to end. Nothing.

“Ah, my friend. You’re hungry to meet her again.”

Shit, he’d have to disguise his interest better.

“You said it yourself, Mistress Lily is impressive.” Allowing Tony to detect even a fraction of his craving for Lily would only lead to disaster. He couldn’t allow the man any leverage.

Tony crooked his finger then strolled toward the far end of the observation deck. “You’re right about one thing. She’s not a common prize. I have her in a private holding room. Even tonight, she deserves respect. She’s earned that at least, maybe more. Don’t you agree?”

Tony led them to a niche, unapparent in the odd angles and shadows of the room. He lifted a subtle handle, crafted to match the hardware embellishing the decorative paneling of the rest of the loft. They slipped through the doorway one by one, Tony leading their pack with Matt bringing up the rear.

“I suppose.” Jeremy shrugged. “But what use would I have for a Domme?”

When his eyes adjusted to the dim interior of the room they now occupied, he came face to face with Lily’s accusing glare. It seemed to shout,
You liked it the other night.

He couldn’t respond—couldn’t move or even breathe. If he blinked, rage would overpower his good sense. When Clint subtly tapped his elbow, he jumped. Thank God they’d come with him. Otherwise he might have blown his cover when he saw what Morselli had done to Lily.

Chapter Five

Lily smiled as she permitted the five men ringing her to assist in removing her skimpy clothes. Tony Morselli had welcomed her in style. No fruit basket cluttered the ebony inlaid desk in her quarters. Instead, he’d gifted her with the use of his submissives to help her clear her mind and prepare for tonight’s festivities. She glanced around the meditation room in the main section of the house, dismissing the opulence of her surroundings in favor of concentrating on the priceless men at her feet.

Eagerness to obey enhanced the sparkle of their eyes, which ranged the full spectrum from chestnut brown to the lightest green imaginable. The stud by her side licked his lips and thanked her for selecting him as part of her entourage when she propped her boot on his folded leg. He untied the laces and slipped first one then the other from her aching feet.

The location of her suite in Morselli’s mansion, her temporary home, meant a longer trip to the dungeon. Ridiculous when she considered on a typical day she traversed three and a half blocks from her apartment to Black Lily yet today she hadn’t even left the building. Despite her graveyard hours, which left her walking alone in the middle of the night, she’d never looked over her shoulder as often as she had while wandering toward the main hall and the lovely presents awaiting her arrival.

The slaves’ grateful servitude alleviated her fear of abuse.

Tony wouldn’t risk offending her ideals before she’d entangled herself in his organization. He wouldn’t expose his dirty secrets until he’d gained some leverage. She regulated her deep breaths as she contemplated granting him any measure of power over her. Especially after only recently breaking free of her father’s tyranny, putting herself under anyone’s thumb rankled.

It had to be done.

For now she would enjoy the treat he’d bestowed. There would be plenty of time for worrying later. She lifted her arms and basked in the appreciative murmurs of her temporary pets when they unwrapped her torso from the racy satin and lace corset that had hugged her all afternoon. She adored severe lingerie—bustiers, corsets, merry widows. Nothing could compare to the sweet pressure, which reinforced her controlled posture and respiration, squeezing her when she donned the garments.

Lily prided herself on how strong she’d grown despite a childhood rough enough to crush someone weaker. She’d never broken. Never quit fighting until she ruled her world.

The hungry glances the attendants shot toward her assets filled her with a powerful thrill. She plumped her breasts, enhancing her cleavage, then tipped forward until she nearly smothered one of the men with her chest. A happy death. A chuckle escaped her when he groaned and proceeded to nuzzle the mounds with his smooth cheek.

Lily slung one arm to each side, curving them around the shoulders of the two closest men. On their knees, the slaves were the proper height for her to use them as supports. The dark-haired sweetheart beneath her right elbow smiled then angled his head to kiss the soft skin of her upper arm without asking for her permission. She allowed the transgression to pass. Unlike some Mistresses, she preferred the affection of her trainees to flow unfettered.

“Unzip my skirt. Take it off.” She hadn’t finished issuing the command before her matching panties and garter were revealed. Her restrictive pencil skirt didn’t have time to pool at her ankles. One of the men encircled her waist in his broad hands and lifted her so another of his brothers in bondage could remove the discarded silk.

“Come closer.” She crooked her finger at the tall blond, who hovered in the background. When he did as she instructed, she smiled. “Don’t be shy. Why don’t you roll my stockings down?”

“Yes, Mistress.” He crouched, displaying the ripple of honed muscle across his bare back as he engulfed her thigh easily in his palms. The brush of his trembling grip had her suppressing the urge to squirm.

It wouldn’t do to show even a hint of weakness. Not to these men, or any slave.

But what about a Master? The
right
Master. She would be able to release her moans beneath his caring. Let go for once. Take instead of give.

Jeremy Radisson’s intense stare flashed through her mind. The continual stroking of the men surrounding her inspired a purr. How would Jeremy’s touch differ? When he’d caught her in her office, his firm grip had coaxed and molded rather than worshipping. It had jellied her knees. She could still feel the impression of his fingertips though it had been months since their skin-to-skin contact.

Lily shook her head, clearing the wayward thoughts that had encroached on her waking hours after running rampant through her dreams. Now was not the time for distractions.

“May we offer a massage, Lady?”

“That sounds lovely. Thank you.” Lily opened her arms to the lucky man who’d suggested the treatment. She savored the floating sensation when he lifted her to the padded table occupying one wall in the luxurious room.

A sigh escaped her parted lips as she burrowed her cheek in the soft microfiber that covered the pillowed surface. Low tones of a soothing chant emanated from inset speakers behind a modern fountain. Tranquility washed over her. Completely at ease with her nudity and that of the slaves around her, she basked in their attention.

Lavender oil perfumed the air, encouraging her nostrils to flare as she inhaled deeply. Generous lubrication caused the familiar slap of slick flesh as each man coated his hands then passed the bottle to the slave beside him. The cap
snicked
closed moments before fifty warm fingers splayed across her torso.

Multiple pairs of hands worked every inch of her body, starting with her toes, palms and scalp then spiraling inward. The swirl of fingertips soothed her shoulders, rose above her wrists and ankles, concentrated on her back and calves before climbing her thighs and sinking over her buttocks until they pressed near the entrance to her pussy.

Still, their training held. None of the men crossed her boundaries or whined for what their stiffening cocks proclaimed they desired. She would grant them some of what they craved.

“Who would like to make me come?” She rolled to her back, spreading her legs until her heels dangled off the edges of the table.

“I would, Mistress.” The shy blond volunteered in a flash, beating out the rest of his comrades by a split second. “Please, may I taste you?”

“Greedy.” She laughed softly. “You would be lucky if I allowed you to touch me, never mind drink my juices as I came on your face.”

The slave bowed his head, whispering an apology as though she would punish him harshly for his honesty.

How could she refuse such sweet surrender? Granting wishes, making dreams come true—as no one had ever done for her—remained the driving force behind her role. Situations like these were win-win.

“What’s your name?” The strong submissive met her gaze when asked a direct question. The shocking sparkle of his eyes reminded her of Jeremy and the potent stare he’d leveled on her two nights before. She could drown in the attention.

“I’m Ryan. At your service, Mistress Lily.”

“Good boy.” She shifted to her right. The other four men understood her intent. They rotated her ninety degrees until she was perpendicular to her starting point and her legs draped over Ryan’s shoulders. The man who’d been at her left supported her shoulders against his buff chest, never missing a beat as he massaged her forehead, cheeks and temples.