my breasts up nearly to my chin. My shiny black heels force me to lean back to keep my balance as I walk. The rest of my outfit is nothing but a pair of thigh-high fishnets and a red garter belt.
Marko’s ultimate fantasy.
“I couldn’t hear you, pet,” I say, unfastening the gag and freeing his mouth.
“ Da .” Yes. The word is a tortured moan. He’s locked down to the bed with handcuffs on his wrists and ropes on his ankles. His struggles have already formed welts on his flesh.
“Oh dear,” I say, running the tip of a riding crop along his abs, making his muscles jerk. “You’ve hurt yourself.” I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth. “What if someone notices tonight? Are you going to tell them it was me?”
He shakes his head. “No, mistress.”
I slap the crop down on his stomach so hard my arm throbs from the contact. “I don’t believe you.”
His jaw hangs slack, his breathing accelerated as he squirms. “No, mistress.”
The words are still barely a whisper—he’s egging me on. He wants more. I give it to him. I slap him twice on his side, once across his chest, and work my way down his body to whack his thighs. I can tell it hurts. His pale skin is so red I can practically hear it throbbing with pain. I run the tip of the crop along his erection. He’s so hard he pulses against the leather.
God, he loves pain.
“What did you say, pet? I didn’t hear you. Don’t disappoint me. Will you tell them I’m the one who hurt you?”
“No, mistress,” he says with more force. He’s shaking with need.
I feel so detached but so right in the moment. It’s like I’m lying on my stomach in the raft again. The gun is poised in my hands, and I control a man’s life.
This isn’t something I ever thought I’d enjoy. Honestly, it’s more Marko’s thing than mine. It’s an even exchange. I give him this, and he repays me in a way only he can, too. The first time he asked me to do it I think I surprised him with how easily I consented. Maybe I don’t see the point in the costumes and the lingo, but I know a thing or two about finding pleasure in pain.
Other people, the ones who aren’t like us, call this wrong. Maybe it is. Real pain happens outside these walls. I deal in real pain every day with my job. There has to be something wrong with us if it gets us off, right?
Thing is, pain’s a fact of life. You can live as perfectly as possible, and yet somehow, someway, pain will find you. Controlling the time and place, controlling the pain, is a high that so few are willing to accept. I get why they can’t. It takes torn soul to really want to exist in enough hurt to make it feel good.
Guess that’s why Marko and I get along so well. Our souls have been fractured for a long time.
I look at the clock beside his bed. The party starts in twenty minutes.
We’re going to be late.
I climb onto the bed, straddling his waist. My bare sex is hot and wet, and he tries to move when he feels it touch his skin.
“Tell me, pet,” I say, running my fingers through his hair. “What have you missed the most? My lips.” I lean in, brushing my lips against his just enough to tease him. “My tongue.” I flick my tongue into his mouth and pull away before he can taste me. “Or my maybe my hands.” I run my nails down his chest, scratching darker welts into his already bruised skin.
He moans, pulling against his restraints.
“All of it,” he says. “I’ve missed all of you.”
“ All of me,” I echo, smiling when he whimpers. “Well… you’ve been a good boy. So I guess you’ve earned all of me.”
I pull his blindfold off, plunging my tongue into his mouth as I kiss him. He responds with enthusiasm, bruising my lips with the force of his.
I trail kisses along his jaw, down his throat, and across his body. I feel his erection pressing against me. I rub my ass along his shaft, eliciting a groan from him that warns he’s close to ending this.
“What do you want, pet?”
Sienna Mercer
Craig A. McDonough
Marc Krulewitch
Elizabeth Marshall Thomas
Belle de Jour
Patrick Quentin
Catherine Jinks
Stephen Tunney
Regina Scott
Ben Okri