2 comments/ 18533 views/ 2 favorites Donovan's Doms By: powelldonovan [To my readers: Here are two shorter stories about mistresses and their slaves. In the first one, it's a couple of novices; in the second, long-term members of the scene. You choose which appeals to you more.] Drop Your Pants When I found out what Jack had paid for the new fishing-rod, I growled like a tigress. Downsizing and paranoia were the order of the day at the company where he worked, and I'd been told to economize just in case he got the corporate hatchet. So I used self-control instead of my credit cards, passing by the most intriguing black plastic jumpsuit and an assortment of fascinating double-ended dildos. But all my efforts were in vain when Jack splurged on a designer fishing rod that cost enough to reel in Moby Dick. "A man needs his hobbies," was Jack's defiant reply to my initial complaint. "A woman needs hers," I muttered to myself. I had even given up the tennis lessons with the cute twentysomething instructor who wasn't afraid to discuss technique -- in an older woman's bedroom. Jack and I hadn't made love in years and years, and it cost a decent amount of money for a woman my age to find sexual gratification. But I'd nobly done without for weeks, all in the interests of conserving our cash. And now this! The hell with it. I grabbed the fishing rod in one hand and a kitchen knife in the other. After a bit of surgery, the designer fish-killer was transformed. It would no longer serve its previous function -- but it was now a long, wicked switch. Jack was in shock. "Are you out of your mind?" he yelled. "Drop your pants," I said coldly. "Now." "You're too young to be menopausal," he groaned, mourning his lost fishing opportunities. "So what's your excuse for going postal on me?" "Sexual need," I replied. "You think I sacrificed my young lover so you could go fishing? Drop your pants, Jack. It's time you accepted some punishment. You've acted like a little boy, not a grown man." Jack waved his hands in the air in protest. Wrong move. I deftly stepped behind him and swatted him hard on the meaty part of his ass. Even through his pants, the whip must have made quite an impression, for he squealed and grabbed hard at his buttocks. "You're crazy!" he shouted. "You're only making it harder on yourself," I said sweetly. "The sooner we get started, the sooner your punishment will be over." Jack had nothing to say to that. I spanked his hands with the rod, and Jack learned the first new thing of the day: hands don't have very much padding. He squealed again and hurriedly removed his pants along with his boxer shorts, and bent over a leather armchair to show me the hairy contours of his naked ass. Not exactly an erotic sight, but from this new perspective, quite attractive to me indeed. It had been almost five years since I'd had a good look at my husband's naked butt, and it had gotten quite a bit bigger in the interim. Fishing isn't nearly as good exercise as tennis -- or fucking younger men. Cackling to myself at the wide expanse of white, vulnerable flesh, I drew back with my arm and beat his ass with all my force. No squeal this time. He screamed full-out and started to dance as I brought the rod down over and over and over. I'd always fantasized about giving a man, and especially my husband, a good whipping. What woman hasn't wanted to from time to time? I'd never had the courage to act on my desires, however, not until I was half-crazed myself with sexual denial. Beating Jack's ass felt even better than I had hoped it would. The sight of his fat and jiggling flesh collecting hot pink stripes -- well, it just made me go all wet in the panties. Hell, I hadn't leaked so much in the crotch since that tennis instructor asked me if I liked to sit on men's faces. "I hope you're learning something from this, Jack," I screeched. "After all, this hurts you a lot more than it hurts me!" Jack thrashed and moaned as the implacable switch came down on him as he bent over the chair. But he made no further attempt to protect his tender ass cheeks. Nor did he make any attempt to run away, which after all he could easily have done at any time. I began to grow suspicious. Did Jack have something that he'd been hiding from me all these years? I flicked the switch against his flanks and demanded, "Stand up and turn around." Clutching at his agonized buttocks, he obeyed, though his face turned as red as his rump with shame. After a moment, though, it wasn't his face that drew my attention. No, after fifteen minutes or more of all-out whipping, he was so excited by it that he'd developed a monster hard-on, as big and purple as I'd ever seen on him. "So," I said, trying to continue to play it cool. "You enjoy being whipped." Jack sank to his knees in a posture of abject shame. "It's true," he whispered. "But I could never admit it to anyone. Not even to you." I was touched, but I didn't show it. "Then it's a good thing I finally beat the truth out of you, isn't it." He nodded slowly. "Remove the rest of your clothes." Jack's shirt, socks, watch, and wedding ring were off quickly enough. I pointed to a place on the floor and commanded him to lie on his back there. I wanted him to feel the weight of his body pressing his well-beaten buns into the bare wood. His stalk was as big as ever, pointing straight to the ceiling. Standing tall above him, I began to remove my clothes in a slow strip. I could feel his eyes rolling as he stared up my tennis-toned thighs and into the pink depths of my plump cunt. As I've said, I keep myself in shape, but a woman invariably gains a little voluptuousness around the pussy area as she gets into her forties. "My God, you're beautiful," Jack breathed. "You're just finding that out now? After twenty-three years of marriage?" My voice was full of scorn as I flicked the rod against Jack's thighs. I was sure he could feel the breeze from the stroke fanning his balls. If I wanted to, I could probably have made him beg me to whip them. That's how badly he was under my spell. But I wanted something a little more basic than that. I wanted Jack's cock inside me. He could have told me that he needed a little something more to turn him on as he got older, instead of allowing me to think that he'd lost all interest in sex. We had both been denied a fascinating experience for way too many years. Well, I was going to make up for lost time starting right now. I straddled his body and slowly sat down on him. I grabbed his cock and guided it into my cunt, and began to ride him hot and high. My sticky juices poured onto his balls and thighs. Delicious little screams, quite different from the ones he had given me before, broke from his lips each time I bounced him hard on his well-whipped ass. It was music to my ears. The only downside was that there was hardly any friction, because I was sopping wet. I had to grind my clit quite forcefully into his pelvis to bring me to my climax. Of course, my fervor did nothing to decrease the pressure on his painful behind. I howled in triumph as I galloped into the first of what was to be a whole string of full-throated orgasms. Eventually Jack gave up his joy juice, and the scene was over. I no longer need a boy toy, and Jack no longer has time for fishing. When people ask what the secret of our long and successful marriage is, I just smile and look mysterious. ##### ##### ##### Yes, Mistress He wore a studded black dog collar around his neck, a pair of form-fitting black leather jeans, and not much else. There was no doubt in my mind that he was somebody's slave. Besides, the look in the eyes is unmistakable. When you've had as much experience as I have, you can always tell. However, I've never had any hesitations about poaching on other women's property. So when I spotted him across the room at a certain well-attended leather convention in Vegas, I walked right over and padlocked my leash to his dog collar with a satisfying click. If a bitch is dumb enough to let a slave walk around without a lead, she's got to expect that he'll be picked up by the local dog-catcher. What's more, this one had a body that must have been exercised daily with the finest weight-training equipment around. He was waxed and tanned like a professional bodybuilder. I like physical strength and beauty in my slaves, so I wasted no time in yanking his chain in the direction of my hotel room. "I'm not allowed to go with strangers, Mistress," he whined. I yanked harder on the leash, pulling cruelly on his neck. Slaves aren't the only ones who work out with weights, of course. "Haven't you been trained to be respectful to women?" I asked. "If I have to report your discourtesy to your mistress, I shall expect to witness a harsh punishment. Very harsh." He licked his lips and looked around the room, apparently not seeing what he was looking for. "Yes, Mistress," he whispered. I was staying in the convention hotel, of course. Like many casino hotels, it was laid out so that you had to walk past the maximum number of tables and slot machines to get from the meeting rooms to your own room. Patrons turned their heads to stare at the beautiful long-legged woman in leather (I know my own looks, no one better) dragging the hunky, shirtless male body behind her on a leash. I heard approving murmurs, too, mostly in female voices. If the stud was ashamed of himself, he certainly didn't show it. Alone with him in the elevator, I felt the lump in his form-fitting pants. It was impressive. In fact, his zipper had come unsprung and moved slightly downward in response to the pressure from within. I squeezed gently, making him moan. Had his mistress missed him yet? Or was she busy herself getting it on with some other slave -- maybe even one of mine? I smiled at the thought. If so, I would be able to beat it out of them soon enough. But that was then and this was now. Once we were behind locked doors, I unclipped the leash from the slave's collar and ordered him to remove his pants and kneel. Naked now except for the dog collar, he knelt at my feet and confessed everything -- his real name, his years of service, his particular fetishes. He tilted his head back and opened his mouth, showing me the stainless steel stud that pierced the fleshy part in the front of his tongue. I smiled to myself. Impressive again. I used a pair of safety handcuffs to secure his hands behind his back, leaving him in the submissive kneeling posture. Then I removed my own clothes. The thought of that stud was already filling my mind with fantasies. He began to pant fervently when he caught sight of my slick and well-oiled nudity. "Eat me," I commanded. "And do a good job, unless you want to feel this!" I took my favorite riding crop from my luggage (I carry most of my tools in a golf bag -- it saves questions at the airport) and brandished it across his shoulders threateningly. He ate me. Sweet Christ, how he ate me. His tongue was any woman's delight. He must have been a talented suck even before he got the piercing, because he knew everything: how to pucker up to diddle a clit, how to guide a tongue-tip into an oozing vagina, how to suck hard on low-hanging pussy wattles. Combining all his techniques with the extra pressure created by the stainless steel stud and all I can say is, I nearly went through the roof. My knees were jelly, but my clitoris was a rock. Screaming, arching my back, pounding him with clenched fists, I came again and again on his face in sweet shuddering waves of ecstasy. Nevertheless, there was never any doubt that I had to punish him. It wouldn't be hard to find a suitable excuse. When I came back down to earth, I pulled him roughly to his feet, leaving his hands still bound. I flung him face upward on the bed, lying awkwardly and uncomfortably on his handcuffed hands. His cock was thrusting forward and upward, and the tip was oozing pre-come at an alarming rate. Then I knew. "Who gave you permission to get excited, slave?" I screamed at him, slashing at his chest and upper thighs over and over again with the whip. "No one leaks in this room without my permission!" "I'm sorry, Mistress, I'm sorry," he whimpered. "I can't help myself. You taste so wonderful. Oh please, Mistress, let me make it up to you?" Well, I liked the crisscross pattern of whip marks on that handsome chest and strong legs, but I liked the shape and movement of that dick of his even better. I flung the riding crop to one side and dived headlong for the bed. We both grunted when I crash-landed on his fully loaded rocket, and it bent back and forth ominously before slipping between my pussy petals without my having to grab it. My damp opening stretched wide to accept every inch of him. Did I mention that his cock wasn't only long -- you take that for granted in a slave like this -- but thick? Ahhhh, so thick. I impaled myself on him over and over again, yowling. I sat high in the saddle, bouncing up and down as I galloped to heaven on top of him. Did he come? I don't know or really care. I knew that being with me would more than satisfy his real needs, even if he had to take care of himself in the bathroom afterwards. Bitches, if you don't want your slave stolen, whipped, and well fucked, all I can say is, don't turn your back on him for a second. Otherwise he's mine. Donovan's Door Kat Valdez bit her lip as Peter Richards led her toward Donovan's. It was strange—a little wrong—that it felt so uncomfortable and awkward coming here. It's not as if she'd never been there before. In the nine months that they'd been dating, Peter had taken her to Donovan's, a fairly trendy downtown bar and grill, on several occasions. They'd grabbed drinks there, had dinner and dates there. Hell, they'd even met there. It really shouldn't feel so unfamiliar. But, as she stared at the large, mostly untrafficked oak door in the back of the restaurant, Kat knew this wasn't going to be like the other times before. She took a deep breath and stared at that door. It looked heavy and old, stained a dark, glossy umber, and its thick, black hinges were beginning to rust. It held secrets, that door. Housed things few people ever got to see or know. "Are you sure you're ready?" Peter asked, turning to face her, his hazel eyes concerned behind his wire-rimmed glasses. "We don't have to do this tonight." No. Kat scrunched her brows together. They did have to do this. Tonight. She'd put this off for too long. Peter had been a part of Donovan's exclusive membership for years now—more than half a decade—but he hadn't been to a party or an event for almost a year now. Because of her. Because she hadn't been ready. Tonight, she would be ready. Even if she wasn't so sure she was at this very moment. So she bit her lip and nodded. "I'm ready. Let's go in." Peter smiled at her, calming her nerves instantly with just that simple but familiar gesture. He grabbed the strap of his toy bag, shoving it further up his shoulder before touching her cheek. He grabbed her hand in his larger, lighter-skinned one, squeezed—letting the familiar callouses and scars strengthen her—and opened the door. It was a little disappointing that behind the Wonderlandian door was just concrete, gray and dully ordinary. She frowned as they made their way down stark, black metal stairs that trailed down in a helix. The stairs opened to a hallway, revealing a concrete cave making up the walls, ceilings, and floors. Peter had told her that the parties were held in the bar's basement. He had. It's just that, she supposed, she hadn't been expecting the party to be in—well—a basement. It was all just so plain for a playspace. So much more common than she imagined a kink party to be. They were on the last few steps before she ever heard a sound, just a sigh, high-pitched and breathy. It existed in that very tremulous state between pain and pleasure. A place Kat knew well. They stepped down onto the concrete floors and the smell of leather and sweat swept over her, an earthy aroma under the musty cellar smell. Suddenly, she could hear the mix of voices, a chorus of conversation accented by harsh strikes of wood or leather against skin and the sweet cries of ecstasy. "Peter," a man greeted as he held out his hand. The man was tall, broad, and very intimidating. A massive mountain of man, covered in tight, black leather like armor. Next to her Peter—who was so sweet-looking, an alter-ego Dom hidden in Clark Kentish, computer-nerd clothes—this man looked...a little frightening. "It's been awhile." "Yes," Peter said, taking the man's hand in a friendly shake. "I've been a little busy," he said, nodding toward her. "Rand, I'd like to to meet Kat." "Kat, huh?" the man asked, raising a curious eyebrow at her. He gave a decided, appreciative nod toward her. Kat shrank under his assessing gaze. For a second, she wondered if, maybe, Rand might be one of those men with a foreign fetish—those men who treated Asian girls like collector's items. But then he grinned cheekily. "You're first time in our little club?" he asked her, still looking her up and down. She nodded. "Is it really that obvious?" "You have that look," he said with a bit of a mocking grin. "Like your not sure if you should bolt or jump right in." His grin widened as she gave an acknowledged tilt of her head. "Let's go grab a drink." Peter tucked Kat's hand into the crook of his arm as he followed Rand through the throng of people gathered around the foyer area. They grabbed three cans of soda from a table in the back that held a tempting buffet of food and drink before making their way to another room off to the side. Kat sucked in a deep breath as they entered the playspace. She'd never played anywhere except at Peter's house, bent over or tied up to his bed or his couch or a chair. Sometimes, if they were feeling daring, he'd take her outside in his yard, using trees or ladders or even the tall fence shielding them from his neighbors' lawns. She'd never seen anything like the massive structures feng shuied around the large open room for optimal usage and viewing. Even the ones she recognized—like the spanking bench in the corner with a woman bent over the padded velvet or the bamboo, ladder-like A-frame that had a man trussed to it—she'd never seen any of it up close or in person. Even the massage table looked unfamiliar, covered in black leather and studded with gleaming metal grommets with hooks and eyes. Rand led them to a set of open chairs near a large, metal suspension frame, the crisscrossed scaffolding like an adult jungle gym, with a thin androgynous bottom held contorted in the air by a spider's web of knots. Kat watched as the top, a woman whose face was tight in intense concentration, moved with dancer's grace around her bottom as she wove the rope around and through in intricately deliberate patterns. It was beautiful. Like watching art in motion. Kat bit her lip and wondered what a scene like that would be like. "Hey there, handsome," a sultry voice purred behind them. "How's it hanging?" Kat turned and blinked at a gorgeous, African American pin-up girl dressed up in a two-piece lingerie play at a Pan Am flight attendant. She was posed with her gloved, long-fingered hands squeezing Rand's shoulders. She tilted her head and flashed a welcoming grin, her pill box hat cocked jauntily as she saluted him. "With you here, Pip?" Rand asked, squeezing her ample ass underneath her short skirt, causing her to squeal and chuckle throatily. "Let's just say that I'm in the full upright position and ready for take off." The woman just laughed harder, smacking him on the shoulder playfully with more confidence and surety than Kat was sure she'd ever felt in her life. "You are so crude," Pip scolded with a shake of her head, her curly cloud of black hair bouncing about playfully. "You love it," he said, grabbing her around her thighs and pulling her close. "You going to play tonight or are you just here to cock tease the room?" Kat watched the tall, leggy woman tip her head thoughtfully. Pursing her full, dark lips, Pip hummed, tapping a long, manicured nail against her angled cheek. "I can find the time, if you can," she said with a smile. Rand snorted and smacked her butt. "All right, Pipsqueak," he joked as she jumped. He jutted his chin out toward the towering scaffolding. And the odd cross between a pommel horse, a step stool, and headless rocking horse seated next to it. Kat saw Pip straddle the horse as Rand bent low to adjust the legs to her considerable height. Kat squirmed as she watched Rand place her heeled feet on the horse's thin, rocking rests. Her gaze narrowed as Pip's body jerked up just as it touched the row of vicious-looking edges carved into the horse's body that bit into her flesh whenever she put weight on it. Kat stared as Pip tried to balance the now rocking horse as it forced her body back and forth against those cutting ridges, her wince half-way between a grimace and a smile. Kat worried her lip as Rand trussed up Pip's arms, forcefully raising her body taut and high to hang from a high bar on the frame. Cautiously, Kat scanned the room and saw other people stopping to watch the scene as well. The couple who'd been playing on the spanking bench, now sat curled up on the matted floor in a corner, cuddling as they enjoyed the show. The Dom still working his sub over on the A-frame paused mid-strike as he heard Pip squeal at Rand's smack to the back of the horse, causing it to again sway uncomfortably beneath her. Even the couple playing on the frame with them were watching, grinning as they watched Pip squirm and sputter curses at Rand who just laughed and pushed or tugged at this and that. "Now that I have you safely strapped in," Rand chortled, "let's see how you handle some turbulence." "So funny, Captain Jacka—" Kat gasped as Pip's foot slipped off its narrow rest, causing her to drop hard onto the horse. A loud, pain-filled yip escaped Pip's lips as the ties on her arms pulled and her thighs crashed down on ridges. Kat winced at the mix of sympathetic moans and gleeful giggles aimed at Pip's rocking, writhing, ranting form. Kat's lips thinned as she turned away. She didn't think she could do that. Have a room full of people watch her while she was so vulnerable and helpless. Have them all smirk and laugh while she wrestled and panted, out of control and at the mercy of her emotions and sensations. Her chest tightened and her face paled as she heard all the twittering, expectant coos from the crowd when Rand pulled a long, harsh, leather crop out of his bag. "Now," he said with a menacing smirk, "sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight" He laughed. "If you can." Kat stood up as Rand pulled back his arm to strike the still struggling Pip, the room's every sound and breath jeering in her ear. "Kat?" Peter asked, touching her arm. She shook her head and pulled away. She had to leave. She couldn't breathe in here. "Kat?" She turned to leave. "Kat!" Ignoring his hiss, she rushed through the rooms, pushing her way through the people and up the spiraling stairs to get to the door. Shoving the heavy door open, she thrust herself out into the dark night. "Kat," Peter called as he stepped out the door after her. "Kat, what's the matter? Where are you going?" Kat covered her face as she kept her back to him. She shook her head. "I can't do this," she whispered into her hands. "What was that?" he asked, coming close to place a hand at her waist. "I can't do this!" she repeated as she whirled away from him. He sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Aw, Kat." "I'm sorry," she groaned, "but I can't do this. Can't be..." She paused, waving her hand toward the door. "That." She wasn't that girl. To do what they did in private, what was so intimate and personal as that, in front of all those people? She shook her head. "I can't," she murmured sadly. She wished that she could—could be the kind of girl Peter wanted, the kind of girl he deserved—but she just couldn't. It just wasn't in her. She just wasn't strong enough. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. They stood there in the shadows of Donovan's back lot, still and silent, for a long moment. Kat's shoulders slumped under the weight of her own disappointment. She'd thought that she was ready. Thought that she'd come far enough to brave this. Now she knew that she hadn't. And she just couldn't see herself ever doing so. God, that was just so pathetic. "Kat," Peter said, his voice low and thick, "look at me." She pressed her face further in her hands. She couldn't face him. She just couldn't. Not now. How could she ever face him again? Knowing that she was holding him back. Knowing that she was denying him the life that he wanted. Because she wasn't strong enough, wasn't experienced enough. Because she wasn't enough. "Kat," he said, the warning and demand clear in his voice. She took a deep breath before thrusting her hands back through her hair, pulling on the long strands before peeking up at him. She winced at the hard expression on his face. "I asked you if you were ready," he reminded her softly, matter-of-factly, even as he crossed his arms over his chest. "You said that you were." She bit her lips and nodded. She'd thought she was. "I told you that we could leave," he said. "That we could do this later, when you felt more comfortable." He leaned back, resting his weight on his heels. "You told me that you wanted to come." "I'm sorry," she said again miserably as she looked away. "I just—" He held up his hand, cutting her off. "The offer still stands," he interrupted. "I brought you because this is what you said you wanted. If it's not," he said with a shrug, "we'll go." Kat turned back to him with surprise. Really? Her brow furrowed. He shook his head as he stepped toward her. He touched her face, cupping her cheek as he brushed his thumb across her skin. "I," he paused, his jaw locking on the words they'd both been avoiding for months now. "I care about you," he settled on. "I care about who you are and what you want." He pulled her close, wrapping her in his arms. He cradled her head against his chest. "I would give you anything you asked." He kissed the top of her head sweetly. "So ask." Kat pressed herself close to him, breathing in the strong, woodsy scent of him, letting it and his strong arms around her soothe her. She stared over his shoulder at the door behind them. At the secrets it held. And the promises it offered. That she could be what he needed, what he wanted, what he deserved. That, somewhere in its depths, she could find a way to be his match. "Come on," he said, holding her tighter, "let's go home." Kat planted her feet, holding them both in place as Peter tried to steer them toward the car. "Kat?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. She bit her lip, staring—really studying—him in the parking lot's dim light. "Do you know what I like best about you?" she asked him. Peter sighed and shook his head as he stood back. "You know just how to push me—" "I don't want to push you," he insisted, shaking his head and frowning. "I should never have taken you here." "Encourage me, then," she amended. She licked her lips nervously as she began to pace. "I get scared sometimes," she admitted. "I can," she sighed, rolling her shoulders, "get overwhelmed or panic sometimes. Over nothing, really." She shrugged helplessly. "It's just that I've been hiding this," she said, gesturing to herself, to the club, to him, "my fantasies and desires, for so long. Facing them in front of other people, even in front of you—and myself, for that matter—can be hard sometimes." "I know," he said, his voice rough. "And I am so proud of you. Always." Kat smiled, letting his words settle over her frayed nerves. "Thank you," she said, her eyes beginning to water at little as her mouth wobbled. "You've been so patient with me," she said. "You're worth waiting for," he assured her as he stepped closer to her, stroking her arm. "And I'm not going anywhere. We have time; I'm in no hurry." "And I think that's why I trust you so much," she told him, placing a hand over his. "Because, whatever I decide, you're there for me. Supporting me. You challenge me to do and try new things without ever making me feel like I have to. Without ever making me feel bad for hesitating or doubting." No, he would never do that; she did that herself. She smiled and took his hand in hers. "It makes me want to do and try all those things. You make me feel safe enough to want to." He brought their joined hands to his lips, kissing the back of her hand. "What are you saying, Kat?" he asked. "Tell me what you want." Say the words. Kat inhaled deeply. "Wanna play?" He grinned. "Always, Katherina," he said, his voice a sexy rumble. "What do you want?" The words. "I want to play," she stated. "With you. Here. Now. I want to show everyone." "Show them what?" he asked, squeezing her hand. "Us," she said simply. ——— God, he loved her. There was no hiding it anymore. No hiding from it. He was in love with Kat Valdez, more than he'd ever been with any woman before. It didn't even scare him anymore; he'd been living with that reality for too many months now to be frightened of something that felt so right. He tightened the leather strap that held her wrist to the St. Andrew's cross. Leaning in, he kissed her, capturing her mouth in a deep, soulful kiss. He let it say all the things he may be ready to say, but that she may not be ready to hear yet. His Katherina, while so brave and willing, was still skittish. Still held her heart and herself so close, afraid to open up fully. Even to him. And, like he'd said, he wouldn't rush her. Especially, not with this. "What's your color, Katherina?" he asked for their pre-arranged safeword, knowing—hoping—she wouldn't say red or yellow. Hoping that she was—as she'd said—ready for this. He cupped her jaw, letting his thumb rest on her racing pulse. He stared into her wide, fear-dilated eyes. He knew she was scared. Knew that the people playing and watching around them worried her. Her lovely, black, lotus-shaped eyes scanned the room as she worried her beautifully full lips. He drifted his thumb up, forcing her chin up to look at him. "Kat, color. Now." She focused on him, staring deep into his eyes. "Green," she said. "I'm ready." He leaned in, kissing her on the forehead before whispering, "Be sure." She nuzzled his chin, her head the only part of her that she could move with her long, lanky, coffee-colored limbs tied to the large wooden cross in the back corner of the room. "I'm sure." "Okay," he said with a slightly forced smile, not entirely convinced. But convinced enough. He gave her one more smacking kiss before reaching into the pocket of his cargo pants. He pulled out the familiar, well-used gold chain, two pinching clamps dangling from each end. His lips curled into something much more genuine as he watched her eyes widen even further and she began to pant. He could see her arms tense as the stretched, bound limbs reflexively moved to cover her now bare breasts. Her gaze flickered all over the room, jerking from corner to corner, as her face paled. The crowd was distracting her. Okay. He'd give her something else to concentrate on. He leaned in and took one dark nipple into his mouth, sucking it deep. He heard her gasp as he flicked his tongue against her hardening flesh. He looked up at her, satisfied when he saw her focused completely on him. He placed a hand at her now arching back before moving to the other straining tip, suckling at it too. "Hello," he murmured as he moved back to stare into her eyes, glad to see her attention back in the game. Back on him. He kissed her navel. "Hi," she hissed as he attached the first clamp, her body tightening beautifully as it flexed against the pain. Her small, pert breasts thrust forward as she heaved. He closed the other over her still damp nipple, his cock hardening as she jerked at the bite. He tugged at the chain, causing her to moan as she bowed into into the pull. "Let's get started," he said as he turned to open his toy bag with a loud zip. He looked inside, fingering through the many implements he'd packed earlier. He smiled when he found what he was looking for. Slipping on the buttery soft leather gloves, he fought the urge to cackle. He'd ordered the vampire gloves a week ago, had been anticipating using them on Kat's luxuriously soft skin long before that. He ran the palms of the gloves down his arms, feeling the sharp points that ran like vicious teeth down the fingers and palms of the gloves scratch his skin. He felt the mars burn ever so slightly, heightening the sensitivity of his skin. Oh yes, this would be fun. "What are those?" Kat asked, eyeing the red stripes now lining his forearm. He arched an eyebrow. "Want a closer look?" he asked as he came close to stroke one finger lightly across her jaw, letting her feel just the threat of the sharp points without actually scratching her skin. She hissed as he dipped lower down her throat and between her breasts. Donovan's Door "Fun, don't you think?" he asked as he trailed his barbed finger along the underside of her breast before cupping the small, firm flesh in his hand. She gasped as he squeezed, letting the needle-like teeth sink into her giving flesh. "What do you think, Katherina?" he asked as his other hand trailed lazy lines along her inner thigh. He heated as he watched her thigh shiver under his touch that climbed higher and higher toward her now glistening, full flesh. He inhaled deeply, smelling her arousal—hot and heavy—as it wafted up to him. Quickly, he grabbed her ass hard in his hand, making her violently twist from his touch. "C'mon, Kat," he chuckled, "what do you think? Tell me, do you like our new toy?" "Uh," she grunted as she settled into the touch, her eyes closing as she let the bite's sensation seep throughout her whole body, "huh." He gave her delectable ass one more pinch before he let her go. Then with slow, deliberate, almost gentle strokes, he ran his hands up and down her exposed flesh. Over her smooth, sloping shoulders. Along the lean length of her arms. He felt himself heat as he touched her breasts, swirling his hands over her subtle curves, watching intently as her flesh shuddered under his touch and her nipples hardened under the unforgiving clamps' bite. She groaned low in her throat as her eyes rolled back in her head and her knees buckled. Lowering himself to his own knees at her feet, he trailed his fingers down her trembling stomach and over her waist and hips. He peered up at her face. Her mouth was parted as as she heaved shallow, quick breaths and small, helpless sounds escaped her lips. Her eyes were shut, fluttering as if in deep sleep or a zen-like trance. Her limbs hung slack from the ties, her body blissful and relaxed as she gave over to his touch. He leaned back, taking his hands away to gaze at her beautiful body displayed to perfection on the St. Andrew's cross. She looked serene and satisfied. Peaceful and pleasured. He grinned. With quick fingers, he pinched her thigh. Hard. His smile spread at her high-pitched yowl. Her tilted, brown eyes popped open as she glared at him. He chuckled as he waggled his eyebrows at her. He heard laughter coming from behind him, her gaze shot up to dart around the room daringly. The laughter not only continued, but roared. Just as fast, he pinched her other thigh. And her hip and stomach. He pinched his way up her sides and down her thighs. He let the gloves' sharp, little teeth sink into every inch of her responsive flesh, loving it as her body bounced as she struggled against the cross and the bonds. She made harsh, choked squeals as she uselessly tried to escape him. "Peter, please. Please." "Please what?" he asked, his voice practically a growl as he gingerly teased her nipple. "Please, Peter," she rasped as he squeezed just a bit, "I need more." "More what?" he asked as he played with the gold chain running between her breasts. "Just more," she whined, writhing as he gave the chain a tug. "Peter!" Peter let out a satisfied breath. He loved listening to Kat cry out, loved watching as her body—her mind and soul—stopped being hers and became his. When his little Katherina got lost in the sensations and pleasure he gave her. He swallowed hard as his fingertips traced the triangle of curls at the apex of her spread legs. He smiled as her body tensed, her stomach sucked in as he trailed the sharp points softly against her sensitive skin, touching the seams of her thighs. He kissed her gently just above her pubic bone as her back arched and she thrust her head back with her mouth open on a moan. Her hips pushed toward him hungrily. Suggestively. "Peter," she begged as she squirmed. "Peter, please." She bit her lip and bucked even further. "I need your mouth on me and your fingers inside me." God, he never got over how hot it was to have his innocent, sweet Kat talk dirty to him. He chuckled low again. "You want these fingers," he said, pressing one barb-covered finger over her mound, just above her clit, making her hiss and jerk, "inside you." "As fun as they are," she mused with a conceding frown, "I could do without the gloves for this." He laughed loudly as he gave her a quick smack on the ass. "That's what I thought." He smiled as he slipped off the gloves and turned back to his toy bag. "Good thing for you the gloves aren't the only new toy I picked up." He reached in and found what he was looking for. Pulling out the brand new, wireless, hands-free, dual-bullet vibrators, he grinned. He applied lube to one finger before reaching between her legs. He felt her instantly clench as he reached between the firm, full cheeks of her ass. "Umm," she whispered warily, "Peter, I don't know about this." "Don't know about what?" he asked, pausing. "It's just," she said, worrying her lip. She shrugged. "I don't know if I can do this in front of people." "This?" he asked, pulling back his hands. "Be specific, Kat. Are you calling the scene?" "No," she said hurriedly. "No," she repeated before she paused. "I just," she sighed before saying softly to him as she looked up at the people around them, "I'm feeling a little self-conscious. With everyone watching." He nodded. "Do you want to stop?" he asked, standing up to look her in the eye. "Wait until we get home?" "No," she said again, sounding less sure this time, "I'm still green." She swallowed hard. "I just don't know if I can do this, knowing everyone's watching me." He nodded as he wiped his hand against his pant leg. "So," he said, "you're still green so long as you don't know there are people watching." He nodded again. Okay, he could work with that. Reaching into his pocket with his other hand, he pulled out another long strip of leather. "Close your eyes, Katherina," he said as he held out the long tie. Giving the room one last wary glance, she breathed deep and closed her eyes. She held that breath as he fastened the blind over her eyes, careful of her hair. Finished tying it, he stepped back. "What's your color, Katherina?" he asked. Kat just breathed for a long moment, her face held in thoughtful concentration. Someone coughed behind them, making them both turn. Peter made a mental note to add ear plugs and a proper blindfold to the toy bag next time. He leaned in and whispered in her ear, "You are so beautiful." He licked the edge of her ear before capturing her lobe between his teeth. "There isn't a woman in the world who affects me the way you do." He growled low in his throat. "The things I want to do to you right now;" he groaned, "it turns me on to have you here. At my mercy." He nipped the sensitive shell of her ear. "Here for my pleasure." Kat panted as she shivered. "What's your color, Katherina?" he asked again, his voice low and rumbling in her ear. "Green," she replied breathily. Good. "Glad to hear it," he said as he smiled against her skin. Seen without seeing; that would fit Kat perfectly. Why hadn't he thought of it before? He moved to kiss her deeply before putting more lube on his finger again and sinking to his knees. "Shh," he cooed, as he moved to rub gentle circles against the still tightly clenched opening of her ass again, "relax." He leaned in and kissed her clit, sucking it between his lips. Hearing her—feeling her—sigh, he let his finger slide in past the knuckle as he licked her labia. As he slowly eased his finger deeper in her, he let his tongue lazily lick her, peeking in to flick and play with her cunt or bathe and love her clit. Slipping his finger out, he replaced it with the smaller vibe. He gave her labia one last kiss before he pushed the other bullet deep inside her vagina. "Hold them in, Katherina," he said against her thigh, making the warning in his voice clear and unmistakable before pushing himself to his feet. Taking a lollipop crop and a small remote out of the bag, he turned back to her with a smile. Flipping the remote's switch, he reveled at Kat's surprised cry as he caused the two bullets deep inside her to vibrate. He slipped the remote into his pocket and stood in front of her. Holding the crop in his hand, he took aim at her breasts. He gave the top of her left breast a light tap, just enough to get her attention. He saw Kat freeze, her body going rigidly tense. Yes, even with the blindfold, she knew the crop by touch. The cold, hard, unforgiving feel of it against her flesh. She knew the damage it could do. The ease and speed with which it could deliver the harshest punishments. A lazy top toy, the man who'd sold it to him called it. With just a flick of his wrist, he could leave a bruise that she would carry with her for months. With just a few well-placed strokes, he could reach her limit. If he wanted, he could have her calling yellow or red within moments. But that wasn't what he wanted. Slowly, lazily, he strolled around her, letting her hear his heavy steps against the concrete floor. He could see her try to track him with her ears, her head turning this way and that trying to place him. He could see her breaths rush as her chest heaved, panic and anticipation taking hold of her. On silent feet, he crept out of her range of hearing. He waited, letting her imagine and wonder at what he had in store for her. The whole room seemed to still as if it—the room, the house, the whole world—held its breath, just waiting. He saw the second Kat let her guard drop—where her wondering slipped from when to if—and, the moment she didn't expect it, he struck her. He let the lollipop crop's hard, polished sandstone head smack her hard just above the aureola of her nipple. She gasped and jerked, clenching her whole body as she wrenched against her bonds. He could see the clear outline of the crop's round head, left red and angry on her skin. She pulled as if she meant to curl around herself, protect herself. But there was no protection for his Kat. Moving to other breast, he tapped her clamped nipple, the jarring sound of stone against metal making a much harsher impact than the actual hit as it messed with her head. He moved to strike at her thighs, giving each a quick and vicious smack that left mirroring marks on the inside of her thighs. Peter, so tuned in to Kat, could almost feel the burn of those marks as the sting spread throughout her sweet body. Could almost trace the shudder that wracked her. He could definitely feel the same heat that raced through her, like a current that ran from him to her then back to him. A cycle that fed both their hungers. That sated both their needs. As lost in that heat as she was, he swung the crop in quick succession. The tops of her thighs. The underside of her breast. Her nipple. Her hip. It was a need, a force the drove him. And the only things that seemed to ease it were the soft, mewling sounds that fell from Kat's lips to beg him on and the rising marks on the perfection of her skin. His marks. "Peter," he heard her cry. "Peter, please." He pulled back instantly, dropping his hands at his side to come closer to her. "What's your color, Kat?" "Yellow," she said. "Yellow. Don't stop, just I can't take any more of that." He nodded. He understood. He set aside the crop and moved close to her. She gasped as he took off the nipple clamps, her body shaking under his hands from the overwhelming sensation. Tenderness tugging at him, he shushed and soothed her as he caressed her body. She sighed as he touched her stomach, her waist, her neck. She whimpered as he laid his hands against her tender breasts, letting the heat and pressure of his skin weigh on aching flesh. God, he could feel her heat. Could feel the blood that rushed hot under her welted skin. Could distinctly feel the outline of the crop like a brand—his brand—on her body. He swelled with indescribable pride and passion. And possession. God, he had to have her. He let his hand slide down. Let it coast over her thighs, reading and reliving the past few moments over again in the story of lines and scars left on her skin, before letting his hands move between her legs. He could still feel the bullets whir inside her as he cupped her vulva. "You're so wet, Katherina," he told her, nipping and licking at her jaw. He loved how responsive she was. How excited and aroused she got by their play. "More to your credit than mine," she purred as she gyrated against his hand, urging him on. "Is that a hint?" he asked as his finger snaked up to stroke her clit. "If it was," she sighed as her breath hitched, "I think you got it." "Really?" he asked as he circled her sensitive bud. "Almost," she begged. "Almost." He chuckled as he increased the speed and pressure of his strokes. God, he loved her. With his other hand, he pushed aside the blindfold, letting it fall from her face to the floor, so he could look into her eyes as her pleasure built. When she came, he pulled her close, kissing her as he swallowed her cry. "Thank you," she murmured sweetly between kisses. "Thank you." She hung there on the cross weakly as he eased the bullets from her shaking body. He kissed her forehead as he pocketed the toys. "Good girl." He knelt down to undo the ties on her ankles first before releasing the ones at her wrists. He caught her limp weight, carrying her down onto the floor as he cradled her in his arms. "Good girl." Weak as she was, she clung to his neck, wrapping herself tight around him with a fierce strength that always awed him. He stroked her back and cooed against her soft skin. He held her tighter against himself, wrapping her legs around his waist, as he pressed every part of him against every part of her. She was still shaking so hard. "Shh, Kat," he whispered into her neck as he squeezed her close. He kissed her cheek, her forehead, her hair. "Shhh, baby, you're all right." But she wasn't. He didn't know how he knew, but he felt it in the shudders that wracked her, in the grip of her hold on him, in the wet sobs that he felt against his shoulder. It worried him. Sent a cold chill up his spine and had a crushing grasp over his heart. Was she hurt? Had he hurt her? Oh God, he'd never forgive himself, if he had. "Kat," he said as he swallowed hard against the choking fear inside him. He rocked her as he held her, needing the comfort as much as—if not more than—her. "Kat, are you okay?" Oh God, please be okay. "Baby?" he asked as he stroked her hair back and tried to loosen her grip on him. She wouldn't let go. Only held tighter. "Baby? Talk to me." He wanted to shake her. Wanted to make her answer him. But she looked—was—so fragile and he would never do anything to harm her. So he held her, rocked her, and silently begged for her to speak. After a long moment, her breathing calmed, turning her sobs into quiet hiccups. Her grip, while still sure, clung less desperately. With a shaky sweep of her arm against her face and a soppy sniffle, she looked up at him as she bit her lip. A worried look crinkled her tear-soaked face. He reached toward her and wiped away the tears her arm had missed. "Are you okay?" he asked her quietly. "Please," he begged as he laid his forehead against hers, "tell me." "Tell you?" she murmured idly as she leaned back. She nodded, a determined look crossing her face. Placing her hands over his chest, she looked deep into his eyes. "I should tell you." She took a deep breath. "I've wanted to tell you for a while now, but I've been afraid." "Afraid of what?" he asked as he held her around the waist. She never had be afraid of him. He never wanted that from her. "I was afraid it would change us," she whispered in a small voice that echoed inside him. "That it was too soon. Or too late. That, once said, I could never take it back. Even if we both wished I could." He felt his chest clench as he saw her cringe into herself as shame flushed her face and her eyes flitted about the room, making her shrink and retreat further. His hands tightened on her as he held his breath. "You don't have to say it," he told her, the words like sand in his mouth. He brushed back her hair. "Not here. Not now. Not if you're not ready." "I'm ready," she told him as she sat up straighter. "I am." She took a deep breath and cupped his face with her hands, shutting out the rest of the room. Seeing only him. "I love you, Peter," she said as she pressed her lips against his. She laughed as she kissed him. "I love you."