Authors: Jade West
Her tears would taste so much fucking better for it.
Her tits were colouring nicely, swollen with blood, long rubbery nipples jutting out at me. They made the perfect target for the tip of my cane. I flicked at her, mottling her skin plum with the early promise of bruising. They’d come up so fucking pretty. Shame I’d never see it.
“Please hurt me, Master.”
“More.”
“Please, Master, please. Hurt me, please. I need pain.”
I fought the urge to bury my cock in her dirty little asshole. I could punch-fuck her cunt at the same time, make her gush her filthy fucking juices all over the floor.
Later.
I completed my circuit, taking up position to her rear. I let the cane rest high on her buttocks.
Tap, tap, tap.
“Beg.”
“PLEASE, MASTER, PLEASE!” she yelled. “HURT ME!”
I landed the first blow before she’d even finished. It landed hard, and she jumped a clear mile, straining at the chains. I let her settle back into position. Her legs were already shaking.
“More,” I hissed.
“Please hurt me,” she wheezed.
“Good girl.”
I landed the next two in quick succession and she cried out, dancing on one leg like a wounded ballerina. Instinct took over as I read her movements, leaving her just enough time to regain her balance. Again, and again, and again. I savoured her stripes: savage white flashes of punishment on tender skin. Neat lines from a steady hand, a practised hand. Her ass looked so fucking pretty.
Her breathing grew frenetic, pain flooding her body with adrenaline. She started swearing, hissing out filthy obscenities. It only made me punish her harder. I increased the pace of my strokes and she started to flail, losing her fight for composure. She twisted and turned, howling like an animal until her throat was raw. I gave her a moment, moving close enough to finger the ridged stripes on her backside.
“Cry for me,” I whispered. “Let it all go.”
I hit her again and she wailed like a butchered pig, flapping her useless arms around in her cuffs. The next stroke buckled her knees, and she swung in her chains, wailing without breath, just one long, desperate wheeze. It sounded so fucking good. She got to her feet, knees knocking, and her shoulders began to bow, hunched. I ran the tip of the cane down her spine and she straightened.
“Ready for more?” I growled.
“Yes please, Master.”
“Good girl.”
She screamed through the next few. It’s that beautiful final stage, the one before they break. I love that part. Feral cries of torment, skin on fire. I eased up slightly as her chest began to heave. Tears. Beautiful fucking tears. I made sure to land two hard strokes in the same spot on her ass, and it sent her right over the edge. Sobs. Loud, desperate, gorgeous fucking sobs. I pressed myself against her back, wrapping my hands around to squeeze her poor, sore titties. She liked that, I could tell. They always like that. Sore titties make wet pussies.
“That’s right, Violet,” I whispered. “Let it go.”
She cried freely, resting her head back against mine. I nuzzled the tender spot at the nape of her neck and her breathing calmed, slowly. I turned her face in my direction, eager for my prize. She was even more beautiful than I imagined. Black rivers of tears ran thick down her cheeks, make-up spoiled so perfectly. I licked them up, all the way from her jawline, running my tongue right the way over her puffy eyes, digging for more. She groaned, straining for my mouth on hers. I gave it to her, wide open and wet, forcing my tongue in as far as it would go. When I pulled away her eyes were glazed, high on endorphins. She smiled at me.
“I’m going to really fucking hurt you now, Violet,” I breathed.
“Please, Master, please more,” she said, and she really meant it.
There were no more screams. Only tears. The soft yielding of a body hungry for punishment. She took it well, like the true pain slut she is, until I finally rewarded her with my whole fucking fist where she takes it best.
The beast inside savoured every fucking second.
***
Lydia
Masque
. Sculpted from sin, and sex and sweat. His brutality, so measured. The beast on his chest, pain embodied. He was all I could think about. He was all I
had
thought about, through the early hours of Sunday morning with the taste of Explicit still ripe on my tongue, and on still through the day,
all
day, without reprieve. I had endless questions about the man in the mask, all to which Rebecca replied one damning phrase.
No, Lyds. Not him. He’s way too dirty-bad-fucking-wrong.
But she couldn’t know. How could she? She couldn’t possibly know the way I’d thrummed to his darkness, the way his body had called mine across that room, the way every part of me ached for liberation in his chains.
I jumped in my seat as a thwack boomed loud. Metal on wood. A metal ruler slamming onto a desk, more specifically.
“Jesus Christ, Lydia. Are you even here today?”
James Clarke didn’t look happy. His brows were heavy with annoyance. His jaw set in a grim line.
“Sorry, I am listening.”
“So, answer the question.”
Shit.
“Sorry, what question?”
He sighed. “Get with the plot or take the day off, I’ve got no time for this.”
I thumped back to reality. “Sorry, James. I’m listening now.” I watched him place his metal ruler back in position, unable to avoid the observation that James Clarke’s hands were big and strong, and ripe for brandishing implements – or for sitting on.
Like Masque’s.
Thoughts of what he did with his fist made me shudder, I could almost feel him inside me. Goddamn it, I was actually screwed. Masque, Masque, Masque, everywhere I looked. I shoved chimera-man and his strong hands back in the closet and forced my eyes back to James. “What was your question?”
“Are we fully prepped for the phase one sign-off visit? We’re going on Thursday, unless you’ve been sailing so high in fairy-land you haven’t checked your email this morning.”
“Thursday? To Brighton?”
“Well, that answers my question,” he groaned. “
Yes
, Thursday,
yes
, Brighton. Another overnighter, returning Friday evening. If it goes well we can begin your phase two project plan next week. It was good, by the way.”
Suddenly I was right back on planet Earth. I couldn’t help but smile. “You read it? Already?”
“Finally, some sign of intelligent life. Yes, I read it.” He slid the file across the desk to me, careful not to disturb his pen alignment. “There were a couple of typos on page thirty-nine, you should run spellchecker on the next one.”
My pride took a knock. I could have sworn I’d used spellchecker. “But it was good? Apart from that?”
He fought back a smile that twitched at his mouth. “It was excellent. I don’t even want to know how much time you spent learning WHM’s case-management processes, but it paid off. You did well, Lydia Marsh. Gold star for Cat’s eyes.”
I flicked through the file, at his pencil notes in the margins, all positive. “I didn’t think you were going to read it yet.”
“I’m pleased to surprise you.”
“Thank you,” I grinned. “And yes, we’re ready for the phase one sign-off visit. I spoke to Trevor White this morning and he was very happy with how we handled their accounts migration.
Fantastic
was the word he used.”
“Trevor White is calling
you
now, is he? I thought he’d gone a bit quiet at my end.”
“On my direct line. I think we’ve developed a good working relationship.”
He gave me another of his unreadable looks. “I’m sure he’s very
impressed
by you, Lydia.”
“Thanks.”
“Enough of this love-in. You need to be on your game with WHM, and this morning you haven’t been. Anything I should know about?”
“Anything... like?”
“You tell me. It’s not like you to be so... distracted. I need you on point.” His gaze was razor-sharp. “Is it Stuart? Has something changed?”
I tried to fight back a smile but my mouth wouldn’t listen. “No,” I said. “Nothing’s changed with Stuart. I’m sure he’s happily hanging out in Babies-R-Us choosing rattle-toys with Carly.”
And I’m happily hanging out in Freaks-R-Us with Rebecca
, my brain added. “Everything’s good.”
“Then I’ll put this morning down as a one-off. Keep focused, Cat, I need you with me.”
“I’m with you,” I said. “You can rely on me, James.”
His smile was all genuine this time, tension forgotten, and all over again I noticed how fine a cut James Clarke made in a suit. Musk and linen and dark, dark eyes, brooding and smoky and goddamn gorgeous.
Masque, James, Masque, James. Between the two of them my sanity stood no hope in hell. I never recalled singledom feeling this damned crazy before.
***
“Cara said
she’s
been with him, and
she’s
not got a high-tolerance. You said it yourself,
a slap and tickle.
He hasn’t fucked
her
up, has he?”
“Fucking hell, Lyds, not this again.” Rebecca fake stabbed me with dramatic hand gestures, scowling like a lunatic. “Seriously, Masque is NOT for you! There are a shitload of men out there who’ll give you a slapped ass and a fucking good time.”
“But I want
him.”
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about or what the fuck you’d be up against.”
“I’m not asking you to set it up, I’m just asking that you take me there again.”
“Sign up if you want, it’s a free country.”
My heart dropped. Four hundred a month, not likely with Mum’s track record of emergencies. “You can take me as a guest every month, you said so. Or Cara could.”
She sighed. “So, I take you back to Explicit. Then what? You’re going to march up to him and say ‘
Hey, Masque, I saw you beat the fuck out of some redhead on stage the other week, how about you slap my pretty little ass and tell me I’m dirty?
’ Is that your plan?”
“I dunno,” I admitted.
“You have no idea who the hell that man is. He’d eat you for breakfast, Lyds. He gives Cara a slap every now and again as a favour to
me.
Do you want to be a favour, too?”
“No. I don’t want to be a
favour
.” I choked back the irritation. “Do you think I’m too ugly for him? Is that it?”
She got up in my face, eyes deadly serious. “No. I don’t think that. That’s ridiculous.”
“What then?”
“I’ll slap you
myself
if you keep going on, Lyds.”
I brushed her aside and put the kettle on. “There’s something in me. I can’t explain it. I need this, I need
him.
”
“You don’t need
him.
”
“The way he was with that woman, it did something to me. I’ve never felt anything like it.”
“He’ll hurt you, Lydia. Bad. Really bad. Dirty fucking bad.”
“Maybe that’s what I want,” I snapped.
She took the coffee mugs from my hands, placed them on the counter and dragged me from the kitchen, right the way through into her bedroom. My insides tickled at the sight of her torture implements, but it wasn’t them she was taking me to see. She fired up her laptop, plugged in an external hard drive from her desk drawer. “Have you ever seen proper marks, Lyds? I doubt it.
This
is what Masque does.
This
is what he’d do to you.”
I watched over her shoulder as she enlarged a thumbnail, and there he was. My heart pounded at the sight of his perfect chest, the chimera dancing on his skin. There was a blonde stood facing away from the camera. Her back was a mess, red-raw welts criss-crossed over each other, and below that her ass was purple. Literally purple. Bruises like I’d never seen before.
“He did that?”
“The welts are fresh, the bruising is days old. You want to look like that when he’s finished with you? You’ll hardly be able to sit down for a week. That’s what redhead is feeling right now, don’t doubt it.”
“That’s supposed to put me off, is it?” I asked, crossing my arms.
She spun back in her seat to face me. “Doesn’t it?”
“No.”
“Sure, well how about these?” She flicked through some more until she found what she was looking for. On this one the blonde’s face was cut off, the picture stopped at her shoulders. Her breasts were bound and swollen, blotchy with deep red bruising. She had needles threaded under her skin, rows of them leading right up to her nipples.
I felt the pulse in my temples. “What else does he do?”
She shrugged and exhaled all her breath. “Fucking hell, Lyds.” On the next the woman was spread-eagled, bound tight to a wrought-iron bed like the one in my room. Again I couldn’t see her face. The picture was focused on her pussy, red and puffy, between purple-streaked thighs. Masque was knelt over her, ready to strike her again. On this one he was naked. I felt my cheeks burn. His stiff cock was as threatening was the rest of him, a weapon in its own right. His implement of choice in this picture was a metal ruler, his target her poor swollen clitoris. “You can’t even imagine how much that hurts.”
I recalled the thump as James Clarke had landed one on his desk. Ow wouldn’t even begin to cut it. I stared at the image, willing it to burn into my memory forever since I doubted I’d ever get to see it again.
“I shouldn’t be showing you these, Lyds, it’s purely to knock some sense into you. Most doms stick to the ass or the thighs, the fleshier parts, you know?”
“But not him?”
“Masque isn’t most doms. He’s dirty...”
“I know, dirty bad and wrong.”
“Yes, dirty bad and wrong.” She slapped my arm. “You’re getting too bloody cocky.”
“Maybe,” I smiled. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do here.”
“Clearly you don’t,” she said. “He gets off on your pain, Lyds, proper pain. He craves submission, like all doms, but it’s more than that with Masque. He needs you to break, that’s what gets him off. Could you break for him? Would you cry? Beg him to stop? Let him lick your tears? Would you fall apart enough to sob in his arms like a broken little doll?”
I felt my heartbeat between my thighs. “I don’t cry...”
“He’d
make
you cry, Lyds, trust me.”
“Maybe that’s what I need,” I spoke aloud.
“Or maybe Explicit has sent you round the twist.”
“I need to find out.”
“Don’t do this!” she said. “Don’t put me in this position.”
“Please, Bex. Just give me a chance!” I yanked the arm of her chair until she was facing me, forcing her to meet my eyes. “Just one chance. If I get hurt, it’s my own fault.”
“You
will
get hurt. It would be irresponsible and downright fucking stupid.” She crossed her arms, resolute.
I paced away from her, Masque’s image burning at the corner of my vision. “You took these, right?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Why?”
“So, you must know him pretty well, yes?”
She paused awhile, eyeing me suspiciously. “Yes, I know him well. He’s the only dom to ever leave me with scars. I’ll show you them, if you like.”
“He’s hit you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, he’s hit me. Hard. I’ve subbed for him a few times, when the mood takes me. Occasionally, I’ll add, it’s very occasional.”
“So, you’d know if I could cope with him, right?”
“Just where the fuck are you going with this?”
She knew damn well where this was going; I could see the spark in her eyes. “We have a month, yes? Until you can take me as a guest again, I mean.”
“Yes...”
“So, use it! Test me! Train me or something, whatever you call it. If I can convince you in one month that I’ve got what it takes to cope, then take me back to Explicit. If not, then I’ll forget all about him and never mention him again. I promise.”
A sly grin crept across her lips. “Are you propositioning me,
Cat
?”
I’m sure I was the colour of beetroot but I kept going. “I want to prove I can cope. Please, Bex.”
She stood up from her chair, closing the distance between us. My heart raced so hard I could have sworn she could hear it. “It’s
Raven.
Have you ever been with a girl, Lydia?”
I shook my head. “Not yet.”
“Good answer,” she smiled. “On your knees.”
“Now?”
She took my chin in her hand, gripped me rough. This wasn’t the Rebecca I knew, but it wouldn’t be, because this wasn’t Rebecca at all. This was Raven.
Mistress
Raven.
“Don’t ever question me again. I speak, you obey.”