The Darker Side of Pleasure (22 page)

“Yes, I’m ready, Sir.”

He smiled, looking pleased, his gaze resting on hers perhaps a little too long.

Was she really to be handed over to him for the evening? She would be grateful for even an hour. Torture, not knowing. Of course, mind-fuck was half the power of BDSM, she was coming to discover.

He was still looking at her, smiling at her, when Master Robert leaned down and spoke in her ear in his smooth, sophisticated tone. “I am giving you to Marcus for the night. You are his, understand? You will obey him as you do me. I will come to collect you when I’m ready. And I will have a full report, so you must be on your best behavior. He will not tolerate any infraction of the rules, and he will punish you for misbehavior. You haven’t been punished yet. I guarantee you won’t like it. Pain without pleasure. Is that understood, Cassandra?”

She nodded, barely able to speak. “Yes, Master Robert.”

Marcus flicked his eyes to his uncle. “I don’t like the nodding. A posture collar will cure her of that.”

“Do as you will, Marcus.”

She heard Master Robert’s footsteps as he left the room. Marcus tapped the top of her head lightly with the crop.

“Into submission pose, Cassandra.”

She knew what he wanted, but it was a moment before she could make her muscles obey. Suddenly she was terrified at the idea of being left alone with him. She knew what that would do to her head, to her heart. And then she would be sent home with Master Robert. Unbearable.

A quick, hard smack of the crop on her right breast got her moving. She sat back on her heels, spread her thighs, laid her hands there, palms up, and bent her head, which was filled with the sound of her own breathing.

“Stay there. I’ll return in a moment.”

She held as still as possible, shivering just a little all over. She could not believe she was to be his tonight! The idea was intimidating. What if she didn’t please him? It seemed hugely important that she did.

He was back quickly, leaning over her from behind so she couldn’t see him. He whispered in her ear, “I wanted to be sure he was gone before I told you this: that you have no idea what this does to me, knowing you are in my hands tonight. This is not the time to talk, as much as I want to hear your voice again. Tonight we are at The Lair, and we must use this place as it’s meant to be used. And I will use
you
as you are meant to be used. Thoroughly. Lovingly. Tell me you want this.”

Her insides shivered at the sound of his voice, at his meaning. “I want this. I need this. I need you.”

“As I need you. Lift your hair, my sweet Cassandra.”

She did. He unfastened Master Robert’s collar from around her neck without ever touching her skin. Her stomach did a little dip of disappointment. But very quickly the narrow leather collar was replaced with something very tall and stiff, built almost like the cervical collars people wore who had strained their necks. He buckled the device at the back of her neck, which felt stretched out, luxuriously elongated. A strange sense of panic washed over her when she found she could barely turn her head, or move it in any direction at all.

He laid his large, warm hand on her shoulder. “Calm, Cassandra. It’s alright. You’ll get used to it in a moment. It will make you feel safe.”

She didn’t know about safe, but she was flooded with lust at that slight touch on her skin.

More.

When his hand slid down her arm she closed her eyes, breathed in, trying to catch his scent. Yes, there it was, that woodsy scent which smelled like the deepest part of a forest to her. That deep, dark, dangerous place in the very center, where anything can happen.

Then he was leaning in closer, until his breath warmed her hair. He whispered, “You are in my hands, Cassandra. You are mine tonight.
Mine.
”

Her thighs trembled. His scent was driving her crazy. And in her mind was simply the word again,
yes
.

“Come, on your feet.”

She stood, swaying just a little. Then his big hand slid around her wrist, and for the first time she was able to get a real sense of how tall he was, at least six feet, perhaps an inch or two more. But his presence, his essence, was enormous.

He took her to the wooden frame. Up close she could see the intricate carvings of flowers and vines, and here and there a phallic symbol or a couple in a sensual embrace woven into the pattern. The work was exquisite. But she didn’t have time to think about it.

Marcus brought her to the long, velvet-covered table at the far end of the structure and had her lie down on her back, the velvet soft beneath her naked skin.

“Bring your arms over your head for me and spread them for me. Yes, and now spread your legs wide.”

She did as he asked, her heart pounding so hard she could barely breathe. He buckled her wrists into heavy leather cuffs, amazing her by kissing each wrist before he bound it. Her heart swelled. If she hadn’t been bound she would have wrapped her arms around his neck, demanding to be kissed.

But no, this was Marcus—she would never do such a thing with him.

He attached her ankles to the velvet bed in the same way as her wrists. She was spread-eagle, open to his searching gaze. The vulnerability of her position was sending her to some trancelike place already. She watched him from beneath half-closed lids. His bone structure was unbelievable, like some classic statue. And his mouth was impossibly lush for a man’s. She didn’t dare try to look into his eyes.

When he ran one finger lazily down between her breasts, she gasped. His touch was like heat lightning, burning her flesh. Her breasts immediately began to ache, her nipples coming up hard and tight, pulling against the silver clamps there.

As though reading her mind he gave the chain between the clamps a small tug, sending a burst of sensation through her nipples. She let out a moan.

“I love that you’re so sensitive.”

She groaned when he slipped his hand between her thighs and thrust his fingers inside her. She was wet, aching. Her sex convulsed around him. She could not believe it was him touching her like this.

“God help me, Cassandra,” he muttered.

She could barely stand it, his voice, his pained expression. She had to fight not to move her hips, to thrust into his hand. But after a moment he started himself, sliding in and out of her at a slow, agonizing pace.

“Oh, God,” she groaned, ready to come.

“Not yet.” His voice was firm, commanding, but ragged around the edges.

He continued to stroke her, angled his fingers to slide against her g-spot. She bit her lip as pleasure built in her, a tight coil of heat and need.

Not yet, not yet.

But then he took her chin in his other hand, forced her gaze to his. His eyes were intense, hazed with emotion or lust, she didn’t know which. She was too filled with both herself. Her head was spinning, out of control.

“Not yet, Cassandra. Hold it back.
For me
.”

She gulped in a breath, bit her lip harder, squeezed her eyes shut. Her body teetered on the edge of climax. But she held it back for him.

For
him
.

His fingers pumped harder inside her and tears fell from her eyes, slid over her cheeks.

“Do not come. Not until I tell you to. I can see that you want to. That you want to please me.”

The pleasure was overwhelming, but yes, anything for him. Her head strained against the tight hold of the posture collar with the effort to hold her climax back. Her sex, her breasts, ached, burned. Her arms and legs pulsed with need. The brink of climax was knife-edge sharp, until it began to feel like an orgasm in itself; one long, drawn out wave of almost unbearable pleasure.

He pumped his fingers faster, kept his gaze on hers, forcing her to focus on nothing but his face, his voice, his fingers inside her.

Marcus.

When his thumb hit her clit she almost lifted off the table.

“Now, Cassandra. Come for me.”

Her body let go with a torrent of pleasure. Sharp, stabbing through her system at a hundred miles an hour, dragging her over the edge, hurtling her into darkness. Her sex clasped around his fingers, holding him tight inside her. Her thighs shook, pulling against the bonds as her entire body convulsed. She cried out.

Wave after exquisite wave, it seemed to go on forever. Her breath came in ragged gasps as her climax subsided, a little at a time. When he finally slipped his fingers out of her body, her sex was still clenching. She was dripping wet.

“And now we begin,” he said softly, holding her chin, still. Holding her gaze. His eyes were glittering, bottomless. She could drown in them and never come up, happy to do so.

She hadn’t yet caught her breath when he started in with a small flogger that appeared in his hand as if by magic. Soft strokes of the leather over her skin, all across the front of her body, her belly, her breasts, her thighs. The strokes quickly became harder, the leather tails biting into her sensitized skin.

Oh, he was wicked. She was still half-coming, and the flogger felt like heaven to her, even as it burned her flesh. It was even better when he brushed her skin with his fingertips in between the lashes, one stroke of the whip, one stroke of his hand. His touch on her was gentle, in stark contrast to the evil little whip, making her feel each ripple of sensation even more.

“That’s it, Cassandra, take it all in.”

She realized vaguely that she was overloading. The lovely touch of his hand, the bite of the flogger, she didn’t know which was which anymore. She didn’t care. She just didn’t want him to stop.

When he did she was only very dimly aware that she was totally out of her head, dreamy, drifting on the pain.

It wasn’t long before he started on her again, this time with a small bristle brush. He dragged it over her body, sometimes softly, sometimes so hard it felt like sandpaper on her skin. Over her breasts, her rib cage, her stomach, then down over her thighs, her calves, even the tops of her feet. She loved the feel of it, loved the way it made her skin quiver all over, even as it hurt. And it did hurt; he made sure of it.

He kept on with the brush for what felt like a long while, until she was in an almost meditative trance. Her skin was really burning now, absolutely on fire. And she was floating; her head, her body. Her eyes fluttered closed.

His scent brought her around enough to take in what he was saying.

“I’m going to really whip you now.”

Marcus couldn’t believe how incredibly responsive she was. She shivered at the mere sound of his voice! He loved it, that he could affect her in this way. She would make a perfect slave with a little training.

Not your slave.

No, but he could borrow her, as he had tonight. He knew already it would never be enough.

She was panting hard as he unbuckled the cuffs which held her to the table. Her glazed eyes were a gorgeous flash of green fire. The front of her body was crisscrossed with fine red welts. Beautiful. She let out a quiet moan and his gaze moved to her mouth. Her lips were a dark pink. Soft, tender-looking.

Kissable.

Restrain yourself. Impossible to kiss her here, where Robert could walk in at any moment.

Instead, he went about the task of getting her to sit up, then to stand, so he could move her to another area where he bound her hands in black leather cuffs, then clipped them to a heavy golden chain hanging from one of the crossbeams on the play structure.

Concentrate on the task at hand.

Difficult, when the task was Cassandra. When he wanted to kiss her, to hold her in his arms, every bit as much as he wanted to spank her. When his mind was whirling, wondering why she made him feel this way.

Focus.

He checked her bonds to make certain they were secure, then left her for a moment and bent over the leather bag on the floor that held his equipment. He found the three-foot-long single-tail whip he wanted. From what his uncle had told him, no one had used such a toy on Cassandra yet.

Nothing like virgin flesh. It was always an honor, and frankly a thrill, to be the first to do something to a new slave. Even more so because it was her, the first woman ever to enchant him. He knew on some level he was dangerously out of control when it came to her. But he was not going to pass up an opportunity to play her.