Undone Dom (10 page)

“Yet you’re aroused.”

Lulu lowered her gaze. “Yes. I don’t know why. I don’t want you to do that to me, but watching it happen to Cheryl…”

He stroked her clit as her words trailed off. She moaned when he pulled away. He pressed his fingers to her mouth, making her lick her juices off. He picked the gag and ginger off the floor. Wiping the gag against his jeans, he rubbed the surface with the exposed edge of raw ginger.

She sucked in a breath, shaking her head. He raised a brow, leaning into her and she slowly lowered her gaze. Her lips parted. He gagged her once more, watching as her tongue found the sting of the raw ginger.

“Imagine what Slave Cheryl feels, what you’ll feel when I do it to you.”

She shuddered at his words.

Alton turned back to Cheryl. He’d spent only moments with Lulu, but figging was not long-term play. He selected a cat-o’-nine from the wall. It was a harsher tool than the flogger he’d used on Lulu, and its knotted leather pieces would leave marks if swung hard enough.

“Slave Cheryl.”

She was lost in her pain, her pleasure.

“Slave.” He cracked the cat against his leg, the dull
whump
getting her attention.

“Yes, Master Alton.”

“You never thanked me for using your ass.”

She didn’t hesitate. “Thank you for using and abusing my ass, Master Alton.”

“You will be punished for your failure.”

He held out the cat, watched for the acceptance in her eyes. Panic came and stayed—she didn’t know if she could handle this. She wasn’t used to beatings with more than one implement—she’d told him that much—and he’d already caned her. Acceptance came, but it was slow, and Alton knew that she couldn’t handle a flogging with the cat. He adjusted his plan, responding to the slave’s needs and capacity.

“Y-yes, Master Alton, thank you for correcting me.”

Alton tucked the flogger into his waistband. He grabbed her around the middle, holding her legs and upper body in her folded position. With his free hand, he withdrew the ginger from her ass. He could feel the shudders racking her through the bare skin of her back where it touched his chest as the burning ginger slid free.

“I cannot flog you in this position.”

Working quickly, he undid the surgical clamps that held her pussy open and the quick-release knots on the ropes, holding her as her legs dropped to the floor.

He massaged her hands and forearms and said, “On your back on the ottoman. Legs spread.”

He wouldn’t put her in bondage again so soon, so the St. Andrew’s Cross was out of the question. Loosely draping rope around Cheryl’s arms and legs, he tied them to the eyes on the ottoman. It was the reminder Cheryl needed without risking further constriction.

He selected a small cup vibe and placed it on her clit, leaving it off for the time being. He taped it in place with surgical tape.

“If you move and the vibe falls off you, you will not be allowed to come. Remain still.”

“Yes, Master Alton.” She licked her lips, eyes bright with desire. Her need to please was morphing into the selfish need to come, a natural progression as her body and mind sought to justify what she’d been through.

“You still need to be punished.” He dangled the cat in the air above her head, then trailed the tails along the inside of her thigh. Some of the light in her eyes faded.

“Yes, Master Alton. Thank you.”

“Have you ever pleased another woman, Slave Cheryl?”

Alton felt the tension in the room go syrup-thick and both women tensed.

“Yes, Master Alton, a few Mistresses, and a few other slaves.”

“Good.”

Alton returned to the kitchen, allowing himself a small smile while neither slave could see him. Instinct told him that Lulu would enjoy this, even if she’d never been touched by another woman before. She’d admitted to finding Cheryl’s torment arousing, even if she didn’t desire that same play herself.

There was the possibility that he could lose Lulu if this was pushing her too fast, too far, but he didn’t think so. She was brave and smart and sexual. She was perfect.

He grabbed a half mask from a drawer and took it to Lulu. Her eyes were wide as he approached. He stopped in front of her and waited. Her gaze flicked to the mask in his hand, the camera and back. She relaxed, leaning away from the wall, into him, into the moment. He put the black half mask on her, obscuring her identity before releasing the chains and leading her to Cheryl.

“Slave,” he said, touching Lulu’s cheek, “on your knees. Wait for my instruction.” She was too new to know exactly what to do, Alton realized as he picked up the tripod, moving the camera so Cheryl’s Master could continue to watch the action. But to his surprise and delight, Lulu knelt with her legs spread, arms up and behind her head, eyes lowered.

Damn, she was perfect.

“Slave, you may watch.”

Her eyes met his and he couldn’t help but smile.

The flogger lay across Cheryl’s stomach, waiting.

“Slave Cheryl, you will pleasure my slave as you receive your punishment. The sooner you make her come, the sooner your punishment ends. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master Alton.”

Lulu couldn’t believe this was happening. Alton motioned her to her feet with an arrogant flick of his finger.

“Kneel on either side of Slave Cheryl’s head, with your back to her feet.”

Lulu put one knee on the ottoman, jumping as the skin on her calf touched the other woman’s bare arm, which rested at her side. Not at all sure how this would work, Lulu brought her other leg into place, then stared straight ahead toward the kitchen. She was vaguely aware of Alton moving around as she positioned herself.

Now he was in front of her, seeming tall and huge, the bare muscles of his belly visible under the vest he seemed to always wear, glistening with sweat. He reached between her spread legs and touched her pussy. She knew she was wet through her panties.

“Good girl.”

He pressed the fabric of her underwear up into the folds of her pussy, molding the satiny cloth to the dips and hollows of her sex. With a hand on her shoulder, he forced her down. She watched him, focusing on him, as if in doing so she could pretend she wasn’t anticipating what was about to happen.

Her pussy touched something, someone. Slave Cheryl’s mouth, nose and chin were rubbing over her, her lips seeking out her clit. They didn’t feel different than a man’s—why would they?—but they
were
. When Cheryl’s tongue passed over her sensitive nub, Lulu tried to lift herself up and away, but Alton held her down.

He bound her in place, ropes from her cuffs leading to the rings in the sides of the ottoman, pulling her arms down and out. She wanted this, and now she would have it. He’d taken away her choice and in doing so, the guilt and strangeness. It was a good thing she was gagged, because if she hadn’t been she might have said something like “No, I shouldn’t, this is strange” or “stop, I don’t want this”. They both would have been lies.

Alton lifted the flogger, but Lulu was vaguely aware that it was not the frightening one he’d had before. It was the one he’d used on her, the one she thought would leave her black and blue but that had left no marks at all. She wondered if Cheryl would know of the switch.

The first blow landed with a loud
whump
. Cheryl gasped against Lulu’s sex. Lulu shuddered at the sensation, her hands balling into fists. With her back to Cheryl’s body, she couldn’t tell what was happening, could only guess based on the way Cheryl gasped and moaned against her sex.

When she wasn’t crying out, the other woman’s tongue was working in a perfect rhythmic circle around her clit, through the fabric of her panties.

Lulu had always wondered if gay people had better sex because they understood how their partner’s biology worked. Yes. Yes they did. Cheryl seemed to know just when to pause, when to speed up, and most of all to keep that perfect rhythm that built a beautiful tight-bellied orgasm.

The sharp edge of her arousal had faded from fear when Alton had made it clear she was about to become part of this, but within five strikes Lulu could feel that new powerful arousal, that beast she’d only just discovered rising inside her. There wasn’t much time before it would be set free. It wasn’t just Cheryl’s oral skills that were doing it but the situation, what she’d seen Alton do, what he was, what he’d done to her, what she knew he
would
do to her.

With the gag in her mouth and her back to him, she had no way to tell him of her impending orgasm and she couldn’t have stopped it if she tried. Lulu came screaming into the gag, her body lifting, ropes creaking.

The flogger clattered to the floor. Lulu heard Cheryl cry out as the faint buzz of a vibrator began.

“Again,” he commanded, pushing her down onto Cheryl’s mouth as he undid the gag, pulling it free and tossing it away.

She opened her mouth to tell him that she couldn’t, that post-orgasm weariness was dragging her down, but he was undoing his jeans, his massive cock springing free. He held her by the neck and guided his cock to her mouth. Lulu had never been a huge fan of giving head, and guys were always too polite with her to force the issue, but with Alton she simply obeyed. She opened her mouth. His cock pushed past her lips, her teeth, opening her mouth more than was comfortable.

His cock touched the back of her throat for a moment before retreating, only to press in again, the skin silky against her lips, but so hard and unyielding.

Between the cock in her mouth, the mouth on her pussy and the ropes on her wrists, Lulu was overwhelmed. The savage need inside her was feeding on these sensations, growing wild and strong. As the second, intense orgasm built she lost the rhythm of the blowjob. Alton was forced to take her head in his hands and fuck her mouth as her eyes fluttered.

She was poised on a peak, ready and waiting to tumble over, but unable to fall.

Below her, Cheryl succumbed to her own beast. The vibrator on her clit brought the other woman to a blistering orgasm. Cheryl nipped Lulu’s clit as she clenched her teeth in pleasure.

That was what she needed. Lulu pressed her head forward, swallowing as much of Alton’s cock as she could. In that moment, having his cock in her mouth was exactly what she wanted, what she needed, to remind her that she belonged to him—and he belonged to her.

Because in the next breath, Alton tossed back his head and shouted his pleasure as he too climaxed.

Chapter Ten

It had been forty-two hours since he’d seen her.

Not that he was counting.

No. He was counting but it was only because…

Alton pushed his desk chair back. He could not think of a single non-pathetic reason why he would know the exact number of hours it had been since he’d last seen Lulu. It was Friday evening, and he’d last seen her late Wednesday.

After the intensity of the Tuesday session with Cheryl—whose Master had promptly and eagerly picked her up the next morning, as he’d hoped—he’d planned a very easy scene Wednesday, which included some basic training. He’d planned to feed her by hand, but it had somehow turned into her feeding him by hand while wearing an apron she’d found in the kitchen. It had ended with her getting a spanking with a variety of kitchen tools while bent over the kitchen counter.

Remembering how much she liked that and how good she looked as a XXX version of Donna Reed, he intended to repeat that particular scene early and often. He hadn’t quite known what to say when she said next time she’d bring over ingredients and they’d actually cook—he had grocery delivery bring in prepared, prepackaged food for the slaves on a weekly basis. He didn’t cook. People didn’t cook for him.

“There are pots and pans in this kitchen, aren’t there, Master?” she’d teased, starting to open drawers.

“They’re not in there.”

“Are these fishing hooks?”

He’d peered into the drawer she’d opened. “Those are piercing hooks.”

She’d slammed the drawer closed, eyes nearly popping out of her head.

He’d grabbed her waist and lifted her onto the counter. Pulling aside the front of the apron, he exposed one breast, toying with the pretty pink nipple. “Maybe you should have a little gold ring in your nipple. What do you think?”

“I think that’s a terrible idea.”

“I could attach a little bell, so every time your breast jiggled the way I like I’d know.”

“I don’t want a cat bell, or a nipple ring.”

“It seems like a good idea.” Alton had kept his face stern, though he wanted to grin. This was…fun. He liked teasing her. He’d never had fun with a slave like this.

Lulu had taken his face in her hands, studying him with a worried look. “You’re kidding, right? You wouldn’t do it against my will,” she whispered.

“I would not,” he reassured her, not wanting the teasing to make her worry. They’d had a discussion about the limits of BDSM in her life, and for the first time ever Alton found himself embracing the idea of a submissive rather than a lifestyle BDSM slave.

Her brow smoothed. “Maybe I could convince you not to, Master.”

“I’m willing to be convinced.”

Her lips twitched, both of them barely holding back smiles.

She’d slid from the counter and then slowly undressed him, using lips and teeth, a skill he’d taught her earlier in the night when he walked her through the basics of being a sex slave.

“I like you naked,” she’d said, running her hands along his exposed flesh. Alton had been embarrassed to admit, even to himself, that he wasn’t used to being naked, and it was slightly unnerving.

She’d removed the apron so he could look at her naked body, toy with her nipples and pussy lips as she kissed and massaged him. When they were both near the edge, she’d dropped to her knees, taking his cock into her mouth.

He hadn’t come in her mouth—he’d dragged her up, bent her over the counter and pounded her sweet pussy until he exploded.

He’d told her things he’d never told anyone before, about how he did have a normal job, just no one in the community thought he did. He told her how he ran this BDSM guesthouse as a small business, charging Doms to keep them from taking advantage of him or their slaves. He’d even told her some of the crazier stories about women he’d trained.

Things were changing. She was changing things.

He could handle change. Just because his life hadn’t changed much in the past few years didn’t mean it couldn’t.

He looked at the clock.

She should be here in an hour. Time to change clothes and go to the guesthouse.

Alton stood, stretching in the basketball shorts and decrepit undershirt that was his everyday uniform. The jeans and leather vest he wore for BDSM was dressing up.

His phone rang. He frowned. No one ever called him. Grabbing it off the table, he checked the display. It was Lulu. Her number was saved because they’d exchanged text messages if she was running late, or if he had pre-arrival instructions such as “don’t eat dinner”.

Alton stared at the phone, mouth suddenly dry. Should he answer? What should he say?

“Uh, hello?”

Fuck! Great start, dumbass.

“Alton?”

He thumped his fist against his head, feeling absolutely stupid. “Yes, hello, Lulu.”

“I’m not going to be able to make it tonight.” Her breathing was thick, voice husky, the way it was when she was about to orgasm. His cock twitched and for a moment her words didn’t register.

Anger flared in his gut. She couldn’t cancel on him. He needed to see her.

“I was expecting you in an hour.”

Silence stretched over the airwaves, full of anger.

“I hope you’ll excuse the late notice.” Her tone was bright and light, as always, but there was a husky quality to her voice that made him think she was fighting back tears. “It was unavoidable.”

“I’d prefer you come. We can discuss whatever upset you.”

“You know what?” There was a muffled scratch as if she’d covered the phone. When she came on again her breathing was again heavy. “This time you’ll have to trust me. I can’t make it. And another thing—you’re kind of self-involved. It’s not really attractive.”

She hung up.

Alton stared at his cell phone.

That did
not
just happen.

Grabbing his desk chair, he dropped into it and wheeled back to his computer. There were a few perks to being a consultant for one of the biggest U.S. Department of Defense contractors—one of them was access to the kind of databases that would give you the address associated with a cell phone number.

If Lulu didn’t come to him, he was going to her.

Well, this was not what he’d expected.

Lulu lived in a small apartment building in Koreatown, which was not the nicest area unless you could afford one of the million-dollar condos. Hers was a run-down little building with a broken front gate, meaning he’d walked right in and up to her door.

Considering that her store was on one of the best shopping streets in the city, he expected she’d live someplace much nicer.

Raising a hand, he knocked on a door with dingy paint covering the peephole.

After a few minutes it opened as far as the security chain would allow. One bleary blue eye peered out.

“Alton?”

“Open the door.”

“What are you… How did you know where I live?”

“Open the door.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I am not up to arguing with you,” she said softly. The door closed. Chain clicked.

Lulu opened the door. Alton’s jaw dropped in shock. She was wearing a huge sweatshirt, baggy gray sweatpants and slippers. Her hair was in a mangled-looking ponytail and she had on no makeup. It was the most
normal
he’d ever seen her look. She was suddenly the girls he’d gone to college with, who’d wander the halls late at night looking for places to study in similar outfits. Gone was the pinup girl, the sassy woman hiding the perfect submissive.

Lulu’s eyes fluttered. She raised her hand to her face. She sneezed.

“You’re
sick
.”

She stared at him, turned and padded to her couch, where she flopped down on top of the mound of blankets and pillows waiting there. She dragged in a shuddering breath and let out a string of deep, racking coughs.

“You’re really sick.”

She glared at him over her fist as the coughing fit subsided.

He stepped inside and closed the door.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I thought I might be able to take over-the-counter stuff and still come, but then I realized no way, and then you sounded weird on the phone, like I shouldn’t have called, so…”

Damn it.

“I just… I don’t talk to people on the phone very much.”

Lulu looked at him as if that was the strangest thing she’d ever heard.

“Your call took me by surprise.”

“Okay.” She picked up a mug of tea and Alton could see her hand shaking. “Sorry you came all this way.”

Alton looked around, selecting the largest chair—which was far too small—and having a seat. “I—” He was about to say that he wouldn’t have come if he’d known she was sick, but that didn’t feel right. Now that he knew she was sick he wanted to make sure she was okay. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked instead.

“I was going to order groceries, you can help me with that. I don’t have my contacts in and my glasses are an old prescription.”

“You wear contacts?”

“Yep. You promise not to laugh?”

“Yes.”

She took a case off the table in front of the couch and extracted a pair of black square-frame glasses. Dropping them on her nose, she looked at him. Now she looked like a cute little book nerd in pajamas.

He couldn’t help it, he laughed.

She picked up a pillow, prepared to throw it, but broke into a coughing fit. Her entire body shook with it. The pillow dropped as she wrapped her arms around herself.

Alton went to her, pulling her shuddering body against his. He didn’t know why he did it—he didn’t really touch people outside the purview of BDSM. He certainly didn’t touch to comfort—unless it was in an it’s-okay-to-enjoy-this way. The heat coming off her was immense.

He touched her forehead. She was hot. Hotter than submissives normally were.

“You’re hot. Do you have a thermometer?”

“I was worried about that. Yes, in the bath—uh, no, no, I don’t have one.”

Alton raised a brow.

“I’ll get it,” she said, trying to stand.

“Stay. I’ll get it.” The apartment was tiny, the bathroom not hard to find.

He could see why she hadn’t wanted him to go looking.

Her bathroom was a disaster. It looked as if she was trying to decorate the room with bras and underwear, and every inch of counter space was covered with bottles and boxes and tubes.

Women.

Miraculously, he found the thermometer in a drawer.

“Under your tongue,” he said, trying to ignore the fantasy he was having about taking her temperature in another way. She was too sick for fun, and mixing necessity with pleasure was never good.

She looked at him sheepishly as he placed the thermometer in her mouth.

“Your bathroom is a disaster.”

She covered her eyes with the floppy sleeve of her sweatshirt.

“And why do you live here? You own a successful business.”

She glared with one eye.

“Also, your furniture is very small.” Giving up on the chair he’d returned to, Alton sat down on the couch next to her.

What happened next Alton would remember until the day he died. Lulu, still frowning and clearly disgruntled by his comments, thermometer sticking out from between her too-pale lips, moved next to him, lay back against his chest, and relaxed.

She curled up with him as if it were the most normal thing in the world, the tension leaving her body as she leaned against him, sighing in pleasure as she took his hand and laid it on her hot forehead. He felt, as clearly as if she’d said it, that she was happy he was there, that she enjoyed and wanted his touch.

Just him.

Just Alton.

Not Master Alton.

Not can-turn-a-woman-into-a-perfect-sex-slave Alton.

Alton.

He’d remember that moment until the day he died, because that was when he realized that in less than a week he had fallen hopelessly and irrevocably in love.

For a breathless moment—he really didn’t breathe—Alton didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know if he should stay still to avoid jostling her, or wrap his free arm around her. He
didn’t know what to do
.

The thermometer beeped.

Lulu took it out of her mouth, grimaced and tried to throw it on the table.

“What was it?” he asked.

“No…that bad.”

He held out his hand.

“It’s 101.5?” Alton looked at the digital display, then down at Lulu, whose head was tipped back against his chest so she looked at him upside down. “That’s bad.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you been to the doctor?”

“No.”

“You’re going.”

“Nope.”

“Why not.”