The Scarlet Letter Scandal (30 page)

“The dungeon?” Kevin asked, his eyes still cast downward.

“Exactly,” said Jo. She noticed his arousal, picking up the remote control from the equipment table and running it across the bulge in his pants. “And there will be extra punishment for this exhibit of your lack of self-control.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Kevin, braving a glance directly into her eyes, a twinkle of mischief in his own.

“Meet me in the dungeon in five minutes—I need to clear this studio,” ordered Jo.

Kevin nodded his agreement, his hands clasped in front of his arousal to shield it from her penetrating gaze.

Jo walked briskly around the studio, thanking actresses as they left the studio to head toward their cars and jobs in waitressing and house cleaning. She locked the doors. Vixen Den Enterprises wasn’t the location of anyone’s full-time job. Although the company was profitable, Jo didn’t want to leave the safety of her full-time benefits package at the elementary school where she taught.

Right now the only package she was concerned with belonged to a madly sexy former military pilot she wanted to dominate. She walked over and slid a large hanging wooden door across its rusty, creaky track. She actually enjoyed the old industrial setting for the site of not only her side business, but the playing out of the very real fantasies that were part of her dominatrix lifestyle.

She walked down a set of wide, dark steps to the partially underground dungeon space, opening a huge metal door to enter. Once a refrigerated holding area for the fresh catch of the day, it was lit by the sunlight that entered the space through chipped-paint windows cut high into the metal walls. Glass block had been used in the construction of the openings, which offered privacy to the space while still allowing the natural light of the outdoors. Today the room was a gloomy gray, darkening as a storm gathered on the horizon of the Chesapeake Bay outside the walls.

Kevin had removed his clothing and stood against the wall between the windows, his head down, hands clasped in front, awaiting instruction. He had learned this routine over time and after extensive punishment sessions. The sex was consensual, outlined in a detailed contract created at the beginning of their passionate, ongoing dominant-submissive relationship.

“Kneel,” said Jo, and Kevin did as he was told. His loins throbbed in anticipation of her every move. He’d never been a part of a relationship like this; in fact, had discovered Jo through her own website, where she had been testing the “Bonds” personal relationship meet-up section. Members could view one another’s profiles, video chat online, and set up meetings “IRL” (in real life) at this section of the site. Jo was perusing the Bonds page and accidentally discovered the new curious member Kevin, a traditional vanilla, who would be a virgin to the BDSM lifestyle.
I need someone to take charge of me
, he’d written. Jo noted his Maryland location only an hour from the island, raising an eyebrow at the photo of him in a dark military jumpsuit uniform on a plane. She was transfixed by the contrast of his mysterious green eyes, the sexiness of that early-gray hair, the confidence of his smile. She would take control of this new member with a direct, personal welcome. She removed his profile from the website, sent him a private message, and claimed him as her own.
I will take charge of you
, she’d written to him. Now, a few months later, his post-military film directing hobby that started out with wildlife had been transformed into coverage of the human species’ wild lives instead.

Jo walked over to the huge iron hooks on the heavy steel walls that once held seafood packing equipment. Some of the original nautical rope remained, but only for show because of their harmony with the theme than for actual use—those ropes were too thick for practical use. She ran her finger across the silk ties and blindfolds that were neatly arranged over a clear fishing line between two old hooks. She selected a simple red silk blindfold; its ends featured a slightly grittier texture for easier tying behind the head. She placed it on a small table next to him.

She glanced over at Kevin—his head was, as it should be, downcast toward the cracked, whitewashed concrete floor.

She took him by the wrist and walked him over to the large wooden X-shaped St. Andrew’s Cross in the corner of the room. Thunder rumbled outside. Jo lit four massive pillar candles on tall iron stands in the corners of the room as it grew ever darker in the sky, stealing light from the room around them.

She walked across the space to a large, wooden cabinet, custom-built using old wooden floorboards. He twitched ever so slightly when he heard the creak of the cabinet door opening; he knew what it meant.

Several dozen whips, crops, cat-o-nine-tails, and other devices hung in a neat array. Jo ran a manicured finger over the selections, thinking. Facing the cabinet, she unbuttoned her blouse, dropping it gently onto the floor. She could feel the heat of his gaze; knew she could turn around and catch him in the act of watching her without permission. She let him watch as she removed her long black skirt to reveal the black leather garter belt and panties that matched her bra, the French stockings with their single black seam down the backs of her perfect, shapely legs.

Kevin took the risk of watching her, knowing if she turned and saw him, his ass would literally pay for it later. His dick pulsed with its own heartbeat, filled with longing for her—the sweet anticipation of the next hour or so. Lighting struck outside as he waited, waited…

She picked up a small cat-o-nine-tails with long, thin strips of leather bound at one end with a firm leather handle. She turned to face him, noting that his eyes were probably recently turned downward. Suddenly, she cracked the worn leather against the wooden cabinet. He jolted slightly. She walked slowly across the room in her four-inch red patent leather heels, placing the whip on the table beside the blindfold, which she picked up.

“Lower your hands,” said Jo. He did.

“I see you still can’t seem to control yourself,” she added, glancing down at his arousal.

He looked up at her to determine whether she expected a response.

“You may answer,” she said.

“I’ve tried, but when it comes to you, Empress, I have no control,” said Kevin. The candlelight reflected in his sexy green eyes and Jo began to feel a familiar tingling between her legs. Her nipples grew hard in a room chilled by the impending storm, as thunder rolled again. This would be fun.

“I see,” she said, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Well, it seems I need to remind you of your manners.”

She walked behind him, securing the blindfold around his head. He took in a breath when she pulled it tighter to knot. “Stand,” she directed. He stood.

Jo took the cat-o-nine nails in her left hand and walked behind Kevin, admiring his strong shoulders and firm ass, slightly clenched as it was under the circumstances. She spanked him, hard, on his right butt cheek. He flinched only the tiniest bit. She switched the small whip to her right hand and bent slightly to drag it slowly from his left ankle up to his left butt cheek, where she paused. She lazily grazed three fingers on her left hand over the handprint she’d left on his ass, feeling his goose bumps rise. She traced the fingers across the middle of his back and around to his left front nipple, which she felt stiffen as her fingers took it in, twisting slightly and pinching hard.

Kevin could barely stand. The sensation from the slap was so exhilarating, and the sudden softness of her skin such a contrast. The nipple pinch brought another wave of desire. He felt weak in the knees.

She seemed to sense the weakness. She walked around to face him, placing the leather loop on the handle end of the whip in his mouth so its leather tentacles dangled across his neck and chest. Taking him by the wrist, Jo reached up to shackle his hands one by one to the St. Andrew’s Cross. The modern bondage device was primarily steel and leather, though conjured images of older wooden cross styles. It was hinged and could invert to different angles as well as rotate to any degree. She bound his feet into the leather and metal shackles, tracing the whip’s tendrils along his abdomen after removing it from his mouth.

“No way to hide yourself now,” she said.

Kevin, now blindfolded, could only hear her to try to anticipate her next move, and with his hands and feet bound, he felt himself give in to her control. His years of military training, of piloting planes, even in wartime in the Middle East, meant he was used to being the one in the driver’s seat. But it had been a lifelong fantasy of his to be dominated by a woman—and it was finally coming to life.

“You have been quite noncompliant today,” said Jo. She gently grazed the leather strings across his right leg, then his left, tapping them with only the smallest amount of force on the side of his upper left thigh.

Kevin spoke only one word: “Forgiveness.”

“Repentance,” responded Jo.

She grazed the whip across the surface of his complete arousal, watching as it twitched in response to her, glistening at the tip. She took a single finger and rubbed the very end of it, only for the briefest touch. She heard him take in a breath.

“Mmm,” she said, as he heard her lick her finger and smack her lips. “This reminds me that I’m hungry.”

He exhaled slowly, waiting for her next thought, her next motion. The rain pelted against the glass block windows as the wind whistled, rattling the old wooden doors. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness behind the blindfold enough to see the flickering of the candlelight at the edges of his vision, masked though it was in a tight silk embrace.

Jo turned the heavy metal crank on the side of the large device clockwise, and click by click, the angle of the cross changed. Kevin was rotated onto his back almost as if on a spit until she stopped the rotation and he was splayed almost completely flat, his head raised only barely, his arms and legs extended in their X-shape.

Kevin heard the click of Jo’s heels as she opened a cabinet door, closed it again, slid open a drawer, closed it, and returned to his side.

“You are my table,” said Jo.

He felt her place something round on his abdomen, holding it in place as,
holy shit,
she began to cut it with a knife, slowly. The smell of the apple filled his nostrils. He concentrated on not moving. She cut only part of the way through the slice, popping the rest of it off. He heard the metallic clank as the knife landed on the table beside him. He felt a tiny trickle of juice drip down his side as she placed the apple face down in the center of his belly.

And,
oh, God
, the sweet, unexpected sensation of her hot tongue as she lazily licked that drop of juice from his side. Sounds were louder when you couldn’t see and just as a sudden crash of thunder ended he heard the sharp crunch as she took a bite from the slice of apple she’d cut. She picked up the knife, cutting another slice from the apple that rested on him. His abdominal muscles tensed despite his efforts to relax them.

“Trust,” she said, putting down the knife again.

She slowly dragged the slice of apple along his chest as she licked another stray drop of juice from his body. She traced his right nipple with the piece of fruit, watching how his lower half reacted. She placed the slice into his mouth; he hungrily accepted it. She cut another, using his body as the table. This time, she traced the slice down the lower half of his abdomen, gently across his thighs. She took it into her mouth, sucking. He listened to the sounds of this, growing ever harder. She returned the apple to his engorged dick, tracing it up and down, slowly, circling it around the tip, returning it to her mouth to suck again.

He ached for her. His ass muscles arched against the steel of the cross. His rippled chest muscles, shoulders, arms, legs—every muscle he had stiffened along with his center as he waited for her to quench the unending hunger he had felt for her since the very moment he’d laid eyes on her.

Jo allowed her tongue to trace this aching hunger, to taste him for one brief moment before simply placing the apple slice into her mouth and eating it, chewing slowly.

She quickly slapped the cords of the whip across his abdomen, leaving a pink mark. She placed the handle on his chest, taking two leather strips and winding them around his arousal.

“I have a lunch date with Eva,” said Jo. “So I’ll be back to see you when I am ready for my dessert.” She gathered her clothes and left him as the storm beat on the windows and he smiled, ever waiting, tense with the knowledge of her power over him.