The circle adjustments kept her there with a snug hold, but as an added psychological measure, the locked chain between the nipple clamps underscored how impossible it was for her to pull away and free herself. When he let the padlock fall out of his hand, she jerked hard, a cry wrenching from her throat at the shock of the sudden pull against the clamps and her already hugely aroused nipples. Beautiful, mauve, impossibly aroused peaks.

“Oh, God, Master . . .”

She was so wet that her thighs glistened with it, the thong useless to absorb her arousal.

He loved it, couldn’t wait to strip her out of it and take her in only the stockings, corset and collar. If he had his way, that was what he’d always have her wear when she was in his house, in his bed.

“Now for what I promised you.” He made the words wet, covering her ear with his lips, dipping in with his tongue to trace the crevices around her hearing aid. “I’m going to make you come by sucking your pretty tits, sweetheart. You’re going to gush like a man.

I know you want my cock, but you’ll wait for that, as punishment for pulling the leash out of my hands, until you’ll never do that again, will you?” She shook her head wildly, eyes glazed and mouth parted. “Please . . . Master.” Jon had had a staff person bring Peter a chair, so now he sat to study the display in front of him, stretching out his legs under the stock so they pressed against her calves on either side. She shifted on her toes, making the muscles in her thighs and that heart-shaped ass strain. Her gorgeous tits looked round and heavy. The lock was dragging her bare nipples down, which he knew were tingling like a son of a bitch. Taking his time, he leaned forward and blew on one.

She screamed, convulsed in aroused reaction. He wanted to do this forever, but because he didn’t want to damage those tender blood vessels with prolonged constriction, he closed in, put his mouth over one nipple and the clamp.

“Oh, God, oh, God . . .” It was a chant. On another night, he’d ask Lucas to lick the fluids trickling down her leg, all the way back up to her cunt, start drinking that nectar he liked so much, while Ben slid a few nicely lubricated things in and out of her pretty little puckered anus. She’d come again and again, until she was so exhausted they’d have to carry her. But tonight, he wanted her to come from his mouth on her nipples only, a reminder that he could command her response. That he could take care of her in all ways.

Oh, fuck, she tasted like butterscotch. Jon thought of everything. He suckled her, so gently, because hard would have been way too much right now. It was the thing he’d learned first about pleasuring a woman, and it remained the most important. Take it slow and easy, keep it slow and easy, until she was begging mindlessly for it rough, and then the time was right to let loose his own needs. That was fine; he was so hard, he wasn’t getting out of the chair until the very second he intended to ram his cock into her.

Her head thrashed this way and that, fighting her restraint not because she wanted to be freed, but because her body had to move in response to the stimulus. He moved to the other nipple, teasing that one, swirling, nipping, then slow, long drags of his tongue. He brought his hands into it, adding to the squeezing sensation, milking her breasts into his mouth while she became animal and savage, her words reflecting the fact he’d put his claim on a soldier as well as a good churchgoing girl.

“Oh . . . fuck. Please fuck me . . . Let me fucking come . . . Oh, God . . . love you sucking my tits . . . Please, Master . . . My cunt needs you . . .” He kept sucking, licking, biting. Her legs were shaking, but he didn’t need to worry about her falling against the restraint and hurting herself. Ben materialized out of the shadows and slid a capable arm around her waist, holding her steady. He met Peter’s eyes, gave him a nod, and Peter kept doing his magic on her breasts. Ben had to be light on his toes, because in her state, her pussy was seeking his hard thigh to rub and hump. He kept his leg away from what was Peter’s alone tonight as a flush rose along her throat and the expanse of smooth flesh above his mouth. Her face was straining, lips pulled back in a pre-orgasmic snarl. Peter bit, sucked harder now, and squeezed one last time, pushing her over.

Her shrieks could have been heard in the lobby, as if he hadn’t already attracted a sizeable crowd. He and the other K&A men weren’t normally public players. Cassandra and Savannah were sitting up in a mezzanine seat with Matt, where they had a good view of the display, but were not part of it. Peter liked keeping his woman to himself as well, but he’d known Dana needed the more hard-core, the sensory overload. It would push her into the mindless ecstasy state that was a Master’s drug, where nothing stood in the way of her true self and desires.

As her climax rocked her against the stock, her hips pumped wildly. Ben was intent on her reaction, his jaw tight and eyes green fire. Some girl was going to get the ass-fucking of her life tonight. Ben would make Peter pick up the tab, because he’d likely use one of the house submissives who could handle his rougher needs. That was okay. He’d gladly pay it.

Peter rose, circled around. Ben held her until Peter opened his slacks, slid a condom on, and then the lawyer stepped out of the way. Perfectly in sync, Peter’s arm slid around her waist as Ben’s was sliding away. As she collapsed back against Peter, he slammed into her cunt, into rippling, slick-as-an-ocean flesh. She was still coming, her pussy oozing sweet honey as he plunged into it.

She cried out again, a deeper, animal cry of satisfaction. Digging his fingers into the back of her collar, he held her head up, drawing the tether taut between its hold on the D-ring and her hands as he worked his hips against her ass, striving for deeper, harder. “Fuck . .

.” He came as violently, ramming her so her tits pressed harder through those holes, the lock swinging in a way that had her flinching even through her pleasure. Jon moved into Peter’s chair, catching the lock so it couldn’t cause her further pain. As she whimpered through aftershocks and Peter’s final thrusts, Jon removed it, as well as the nipple clamps. Knowing the blood surge could be intense, he brought his fingers into play, massaging her sore breasts as he loosened the stock. She moaned at the additional stimulation, but stayed where she was, good little slave that she was.

Peter shuddered with her through their aftermath, even though he wanted to be where Jon was, making sure she didn’t experience the terrible pain that could sometimes come with the returning blood flow. Damn, he wanted to be everywhere at once. Jon gave him a wry smile, backing off as Peter’s hands came around and took over, earning another dove’s cry of need from his sweet girl. She was near full collapse; he could feel it. There was nothing medically wrong with her, no, but the workout this morning had told him what her conditioning was, where her limits were. He had promised he’d always take care of her, and he wasn’t going to fall down on the job.

Glancing up at the viewing mezzanine, he saw there was no space between Matt and Savannah and Cassandra, the women sitting on either side of him. Though of course Cassandra was all Lucas’s, that odd code that bound them permitted some liberties in such an arousing environment. So Cassandra leaned into Matt’s support, her fingers working up and down his thigh in a needy little gesture while Matt had his hand discreetly up Savannah’s tight skirt, probably fingering her beautiful pussy in slow circles. Her lips were already parted, her throat working. He had his other arm around Cassandra’s shoulders, fingers lightly running up and down her upper arm. His knuckles grazed the side of her breast, which displayed a very attractively jutting nipple through the hold of her snug knit dress, since Lucas had had her shed the bra in the shadows of the limo.

As Peter expected, Lucas appeared beside them. Cass was up and in his arms, nearly climbing up his body such that he hitched her up, let her wind her legs around him as he cupped her ass and took her away toward a private room. Matt and Savannah rose, Matt supporting Savannah around the waist as they followed. They’d been known to take the same room, and enjoy the pleasure of watching one another, though they didn’t often invite the single members of the group to such displays. That was all right. Jon and Ben were already seeking their own partners, seeing Peter had things well in hand, literally.

He was now alone with his remarkable woman, trembling with reactions as strong as what he himself was feeling. Removing his condom, he eased her back from the stock.

Before he could arrange his clothes and lift her in his arms, she’d turned and dropped to her knees. With hardly a hesitation, she found him, closed her mouth around his drained cock, licking and cleaning him, a desperate gratitude that pierced his heart as he saw the tears. Withdrawing gently, he fastened his slacks and bent, lifting her. She nestled into him, her wrists still bound, else he suspected she would have wrapped herself around his shoulders.

He wasn’t going to one of the rooms, he realized. He was taking her home. He wanted to be with her at home.

Twelve

The limo would return for the others. Peter had told her that, but said little else. It wasn’t an awkward silence. She didn’t say anything, because she couldn’t speak. She’d never had an orgasm like that—hell, an experience—in her life. She’d shuddered and jerked for a good half hour now, so that Peter had moved her into his lap, holding her close, pressing kisses into her brow and murmuring to her. Her nipples were still vibrating, and occasionally he would touch them, stroke and massage in a way that kept a low simmer of arousal swirling.

“I don’t understand,” she said at last. She could hear the broken tone in her voice, echoing in her head, knew it reflected what was shattering inside her.

“What?” He tipped up her chin, traced her cheek, telling her he was looking into her face.

He’d removed the mask, but now his hand passed over where it had pressed into her skin, reminding her of it. Her tears fell without her permission all the time, so why she ducked her head now, embarrassed, she didn’t know. But he kept her face up. “Tell me, sweetheart. Don’t cry. Your tears will destroy me.”

She heard it again, that mysterious dark lake of his emotions that kept reaching toward her and then withdrawing before she could grasp it. She gripped his wrist. “It’s too intense. I know it’s not just sex between us, Peter. But how can I . . . I can’t wrap my mind around this in a couple days, make any kind of decision about anything. I’m terrified to rely on you, to be disappointed, or to disappoint you. I mean, hell, if I’d come back whole and we’d dated, I would have been in a position of strength. Not needy and dependent. How do I know you know what you’re getting into? How do I know any of this is real, for either of us?”