NINETEEN

As they pulled up to Release, Athena’s belly quaked. There were nearly forty cars in the parking lot. Maybe they were having a demo tonight, like the rope bondage. If so, that could be a good thing, because if the members’ focus was elsewhere, it wouldn’t be directed solely on the two of them.

Dale put the truck in park, cut the engine and then turned on the seat to look at her. She couldn’t meet his gaze. Her hands were tight in her lap, her back straight, her breathing shallow. She stared at the doors and thought there was nowhere in the world she wanted to be less. Her resolve at the house had drained away with every mile.

“It’s more than just Sheila and Amy, isn’t it?”

He was so good at that, though in all fairness, anyone who knew anything about her would know this reaction had to be more than that. “It’s not you. I don’t want you to think—”

“Stop.” The quiet command drew her attention to him. Dale closed his hand over the two of hers. “My ego doesn’t need stroking. This moment is all about you, nothing else. You’re not Roy’s wife, his widow, Lady Mistress or name-your-mask. You walk in there as who you want to be, claiming something for yourself, a gift for you. There’s nothing harder for a woman like you to do. That’s what’s scaring you so badly. Isn’t it?”

As always, he waited her out, let her think it through. She nodded and felt a wave of sheer misery. “What if I can’t do it? What if it feels wrong to me?”

“Then you make that choice.” He stretched his arm along the back of the seat and played with her hair. He nodded toward the street. “There’s a great Cantonese place a few streets over. We’ll go get dinner, maybe—”

“You’d be okay with that?”

His body language seemed to answer that question, since he was relaxed, no censure in his tone. All this preparation, yet at this moment, he saw it as no more than a change of plans. “This isn’t about me, Athena,” he reminded her.

“Yes, it is. We’re . . . together. You have needs as well. And I . . . part of who I am, what I want, has to do with your happiness. Truly.”

“I get that. I know making the person you love happy will always be a significant part of what brings you joy. That’s not just the sign of a natural submissive, but a generous and loving human being.” He gave her a smile then, and they weren’t Master and sub, just Dale and Athena. “But when I say something, I mean it. As long as I believe that what you want, what you truly want, is not to go into that club, but to explore what we need from each other in other ways, ways like we’ve been doing, I have no problem with that. I want you to be yourself. That’s my desire.”

He took both her hands again, rubbing her cold fingers inside the grip of his warm ones. “Whenever I master you, you open up and show me that deep, beautiful submission that’s so much a part of who you are. I feel like a kid at Christmas, given every present he ever wanted. Yes, I want to walk through that door. I’m enough of a guy that I want to show off this gorgeous, smart woman who trusts me enough to let me be her Master. But more than that, I want your happiness. I want you to value that as much as you value my needs. I want you to realize, once and for all, they’re the same thing. Those two things feed off one another, and become even more than either of us ever realizes.” He moved one hand to her shoulder, tightened there. “Okay?”

“Okay.” She looked back at the doorway again. He’d given her an image she liked. She imagined walking in there as his possession, with him as her Master. She thought of how often she’d brought Roy here, and the way he’d looked at her. There was another misconception about male subs, that the Domme was “the man” in the relationship, that it was a role reversal, but she’d never felt that. She’d always felt safe with him, physically.

Yes, at times she’d felt a little alone with her emotions. Roy was the kite she sent flying. She held on to the string, controlled his direction, yet it was him soaring in the clouds. But the way Dale described it, when each was playing the role they truly desired, it was more like two birds, chasing one another through the clouds, twisting and playing. Soaring together. Tonight he was giving her the chance to experience it.

“Master?” She turned, met his blue-green eyes.

“Yes, Athena?”

“Please . . . I’d like to go inside. Will you take me?”

“Yes, I will.” He unbuckled her seatbelt, fingers caressing her hip. “I’m very proud of you.”

As a wave of warmth suffused her at the praise, he curved his hand around the side of her neck, bringing her to his mouth. She let out a pleased hum as he made it hot, demanding, teasing lips and tongue, giving her a sharp nip that made her gasp. When he lifted his head, that mildness was gone. She looked into the face of her Master and was deliciously lost. His hand dropped and her legs parted for him. She made a tiny noise of need as he cupped her sex beneath the feathers of the skirt, making idle circles with his thumb as she held his gaze, jerked in aroused reaction to the intimate fondling.

“You trust me?”

“With everything.”

“Any fear?”

“A little,” she admitted. “But other things . . .” She bit her lip as he pressed on her clit. “Seem to be outweighing it.”

A feral grin crossed his expression then, making her heart lighter, even as her body was heavier, needier. “Stay there,” he ordered.

He stepped out of the truck, pulled a duffel from the back, then came around to her side, opening the door and handing her out of the vehicle. She’d seen Masters who made their subs walk behind them as they entered, snapping a leash on them once inside, since blatant displays of BDSM practice weren’t allowed in the parking lot, but Dale wasn’t one of those. He took her to the door with a hand on the small of her back, low enough it rested the upper curve of her ass, a titillating tease. He opened the door for her, a Southern gentleman, and once inside, pressed against her side.

“You keep your eyes lowered unless I tell you to lift them, Athena. You rely on me to guide you, and you don’t speak unless I give you permission to do so or ask you a direct question. All right?”

She nodded. He pinched her and she jumped, clearing her throat. “Yes, Master.”

Keeping her gaze lowered was like being partially blindfolded. She expected he’d realized that. It relieved her of the need to confront expressions. When he stopped at the desk to check them in, she felt Susan’s eyes on her, heard the tone of surprise as she responded to Dale. The hostess did the obligatory check of their membership cards, which Dale had secured from Athena at the house.

“Have a good time,” Susan said. “Both of you.” There was a question in her voice, as if she wanted Athena to respond, to confirm her unexpected role.

“You may respond to the hostess, Athena.”

Athena lifted her gaze then, more ready to do that than she’d expected herself to be. She met Susan’s gaze fully with a faint smile on her face. “Thank you. I intend to.”

“Would you like to sign the guest registry?” Susan’s well-manicured hand pushed the book more squarely beneath her view. Dale’s touch on her back told her it was okay. Picking up the pen, Athena made a slash mark and wrote her name next to his. MC / athena.

She was one of the lowercases now, as Jimmy said. No. She’d always been, just as Dale had known.

He took her past the bar, through the main room. She heard the voices, tried not to pay attention to any modulation of the conversation that suggested they were being stared at. Dale took her to the suspension room, like he’d taken Willow, only his destination wasn’t one of the large frames. Instead, he took her to the stockade. It was an upright T-shaped steel device. A sub’s collar and cuffs could be attached to the horizontal piece and then the vertical part of the T would be lowered or lifted to the angle the Master desired. A different interpretation of the stocks of historic times.

Putting his bag down next to it, Dale grasped her hand with all the ceremony of a man taking a woman’s hand to dance at a Victorian soiree. He’d brought cuffs for her, as well as a stiff strap collar. After he buckled the cuffs around her wrists and the collar around her throat, a looser fit to allow her Trident to rest beneath it without harm, he secured all three restraints to the horizontal bar. He attached the cuffs to the clips that stretched out her arms so they were level with her shoulders, the collar secured to the center of the bar. He stroked her loose hair away from her neck so it spilled along the right side of the bar.

She’d seen Masters and Mistresses lower the vertical bar to the point that the sub’s head was hanging down, but Dale wasn’t interested in such an extreme angle. He lowered the horizontal bar so her upper body was at a ten o’clock angle from her hips. Then he guided her feet onto the foot pads and strapped them down, her legs shoulder-width apart.

She kept her eyes on the floor, but she was aware of people coming closer to watch. They were bound to attract attention. It wouldn’t be just her identity, but because Dale’s skill in conducting a session routinely drew interest. He wasn’t wearing a mask tonight. Maybe he’d worn it that night with Willow because the idea of an anonymous Master particularly aroused her.

Was Sheila or Amy part of the crowd? Were they staring at her with derision, or simply prurient curiosity? The thought gave her a wave of uneasy feeling, reminding her she was the center of attention, so vulnerable. Thinking of her dream, she had an unpleasant thought about what an accused witch might have felt, dragged from the safety of her home, strapped in a wooden stock with no defense against the ugly fear of her neighbors, their censure.

Dale’s boots were in front of her, his denim-clad legs. He stroked her hair, her face. He traced her lips with his thumbs, making them part. “Such soft, pretty lips,” he murmured. “All the things I want to do to those lips.”

She thought of all the things he’d already done with them, and a small shiver of anticipation went through her.

“There’s my girl. Dressed up so sexy for me, taunting her Master with her charms.”

He moved behind her then, hands sliding over her hips in the filmy dress. He pressed his body up against her, letting her feel his solid strength, his thighs against the back of hers, the heat of his groin against her core in the perfect position for fucking. If he’d meant his text, and she had no reason to think he didn’t, he planned to do that to her tonight, here in front of them all.

“When I’m ready for a break, I’m going to shift you over there.” He nodded to the forced orgasm frame next to them. It consisted of one upright pole, against which the sub was firmly bound. It had foot pads like the stockade, to lock the feet in place. A short, adjustable rod in front of the main pole was designed to hold a vibrator of the Master’s choice. The rod could be angled so the vibrator could be pressed against a pussy or pushed up inside it—or into a slave’s ass, if they were bound facing the pole. Then the Dom could force an orgasm as often as desired, while he or she watched.

“I like to take a coffee break, midsession. I’ll enjoy a cup and watch you come a couple times. Would my slave like that?”

The idea terrified her. And her thong was soaked. “Yes, Master.”

“Good answer.” He tugged on her hair. “We should get one of those for our bedroom.” He put his hand on the horizontal part of the T, between where her neck and wrist were restrained. She wished she could reach his hand with her mouth, but she was held fast. “We could put a stock like this out in the garden, and when you need a reminder of who your Master is, I’d make you stay in it for thirty minutes or so while I’m helping you out there. I know you’ll need that reminder, Athena. You get too lost in your own head, in others’ expectations of you. Whose expectations matter?”

“Yours, Master.” She took a deep, shuddering breath, let it out. “I want to please you, sir.”

He tsked, gave her a swat. “Talking out of turn.” But he sounded pleased. “We’ll have to take care of that.”

He slid his hands under the skirt, heated hands making contact with her bare thighs. With her legs locked in that spread position, she was open to him, and he took full advantage of it, pressing harder against her ass as he reached over her thigh, fingered her pussy through the tiny thong. All the unspent arousal of the week was gathering in her stomach, such that she made a guttural sound of pleasure when he barely brushed her.

“Such a hot and needy little pussy. I’ll bet you’ll come in less than a minute.”

He kept stroking her, pinching her engorged clit. His other hand slid up to reach inside the low-cut neckline, scoop her breast from the bra cup, fondle it, tweak the nipple. “I’m going to do breast bondage on you tonight, before I put you on that forced orgasm tower. You’ll be an unforgettable picture. Fuck, I’m hard as a rock, girl, thinking of everything I can do to you here.”

She was getting lost in his ideas as well. Initially, she’d been distracted by the murmurs around them, trying to decipher if the tone was derogatory or voyeuristic in an unpleasantly personal way, but he was spinning a web around her that was making all of that far less important. In fact, the idea of them watching her was starting to be unexpectedly titillating. Her Master was here, doing as he desired to his sub, his slave, because that was his right. He was the wall between her and those others, her protection. He was the only thing that mattered.

He untied the dress and released her left wrist to guide her arm back, slide the dress off it. Then he remanacled the wrist, did the same to the other, leaving her only in bra and panties, her collar and the functional restraints. He caught his thumb under the stiff collar. “Look at me. Only me.”

When she lifted her head, she could have come from the look on his face alone. Everything that had drawn her to him that first night was there in full spectrum. It was as if she was captured at the bottom of his soul, staring up with reverent devotion at her Master, while he stared down at his most treasured possession, so treasured he put her deep in the center of himself.

“Master,” she whispered, staring into his face. “I love you.”

His hand gentled on her face. His blue-green eyes dominated her vision, showing her how much the words meant to him, the first time she’d ever said them aloud. Leaning forward, he touched his forehead to hers, and she closed her eyes. “I love you, too, girl.” Then he drew back, gave her a wicked look. “But it’s not going to save your gorgeous ass tonight.”

She knew her own gaze sparked in reaction. Showing anticipation, dread, as well as a whole lot of desire, because that response was reflected in his own.

“Eyes down again.” Shifting behind her, he trailed his hand down her back, down to the thong. He hooked his thumb in the strap between her buttocks, tugging it against her swollen and wet pussy. “Raise that ass for me, girl. Let me see those marks I’ve put on it. See if I’ve missed a spot.”

She arched her back, lifting to him, and moaned as he gave her exposed pussy a hard rub through the silk. “Yeah, there’s a spot.” He dropped to one knee out of her sight, and she jumped as he bit her ass cheek hard, making nerve endings scream in pleasure and pain both. Then he’d moved aside the thong and was licking her cunt.

A gasp escaped her lips, that contact shooting her up to the cliff edge. She was trying not to be too loud, given that they were in a public place, but the attempt to restrain her cries made it all the more intense.

“It’s time to give those spread legs some different marks.” He pulled back, leaving her vibrating like a humming engine. She heard him open his duffel, and now a switch slid along her thighs. “You were embarrassed the other day when you opened your legs instead of your mouth. I’m going to remind you there’s no shame in showing me that beautiful pussy of yours. Ever.”

He used a lighter hand with the switch than he had her brush, but it didn’t take much for a switch to deliver a wealth of sensation. Her bleats became yelps of pain, but her mind was doing that odd thing, wanting the pain to stop, yet not wanting him to stop, all at the same time.

Still, she was making pleading noises for mercy when he finally granted it. But apparently this was only the warm-up. As he ran his fingers over the marks, he leaned over her, speaking softly in her ear. “You’re trembling, sweet girl. Time to make you mindless. I want your only thoughts to be about what your Master desires. That’s all there is.”

—

She didn’t know everything he’d brought with him, but over the next timeless eternity, he must have used them all. A flogger on her back, then a plug he slid into her anus, holding it there as he worked his fingers over her clit and the slick inner lips of her labia. When he took his touch and the plug away, she was so close to coming she cried out in protest, winning herself another punishment. Then he switched to nipple clamps, ones that he tightened gradually until she was squirming, almost whining with the discomfort. As he removed them, the rush of blood made her moan. For that she earned a rubber ball gag he cinched around her head, making her feel the bite of the straps against the corners of her mouth. Pushing down her bra cups again, he started suckling her nipples, soothing the pain and making her empty pussy ache.

She was a shuddering, sobbing, mindless slave in truth when he at last opened his jeans behind her, nudged her pussy with the head of his cock. She was almost too disoriented to register that he was at last going to fuck her, but that realization centered her. When he slid that bar of thick steel into her, she moaned in intense relief. The act of penetration fulfilled a need so great it was as fierce a release as an orgasm. He felt it, pressing his body fully against hers, curving his hands over hers on the bar as he worked himself slow and deep into her. “There she is,” he murmured. “Am I being too cruel, sweet girl?”

She shook her head vehemently, wanting, needing to be everything he wanted, because that was what she wanted as well. She couldn’t explain it even to herself, how she could dread the torture and yet embrace it like this, finding a euphoria inside its embrace that let go of everything she’d ever worried about. She gave him every iota of control and received bliss in return.

She lifted her hips to him, so he slid in deeper. She clutched him with those internal muscles, her own challenge, earning a perilous chuckle in her ear. “So be it. You’re a brave girl, provoking your Master.”

He put his hands back on her hips, began to work himself in her, hard, powerful thrusts that let her feel the purely selfish pleasure he was taking from fucking her while she was restrained. He knew that was part of the rush as well. Meeting one’s own expectations, giving oneself a gift, was a gift to both.

She tried to warn him, but with the gag she couldn’t ask permission to come. She couldn’t tell him when she was going over that cliff. He knew, though, but this time he pushed her off himself, taking her there with those pumping thrusts into her pussy. Denied the climax for over five days, and for the entire session, it hit her like an asteroid taking out the earth. Everything exploded.

She spasmed over him, screamed against the ball so hard it stripped her vocal cords. The hot shot of semen inside her only made it more intense, the weight of his body against hers, his teeth biting into her shoulder, marking her there. She was going to be a mass of bruises and bite marks . . . and she’d love every one of them. Her Master’s marks.

As he slowed, her aftershocks were like a seizure, jerking her body in short waves of involuntary movement against her restraints. He kissed his way down her spine and then back up. Slow. So sweet and slow. He ran his hands down her quivering sides, gently cradling her breasts in his hands as he eased out of her. He readjusted her thong, putting it back into the crevice of her buttocks, smoothing it over her swollen cunt.

She was in a fog as he removed the gag, uncuffed her and unbuckled the collar. He had her by the waist, turned her so she was holding on to his shoulders. With a little hitch, he lifted her, one hand under her ass, the other around her waist, carrying her over to the forced orgasm tower.

“No,” she whimpered against his shoulder. “I don’t think I can.”

He brought her to the device and stood before it, rocking her with a swaying movement. When he at last let her feet down beside it, he stroked her hair, kissed her temple and just held her some more. In the end, it was she who turned toward it, steadied by his hand as she put herself in position to be strapped into it. She lifted her lashes, daring more punishment so she could lock herself inside the blessed prison of his gaze. Anything for him. Her quivering body wanted more, as crazy as that sounded.

He bound her hands behind her, around the tower pole that followed the line of her spine. Now at last he removed the thong, setting it aside before he added straps at the waist and thighs, her shoulders and forehead, holding her fast. Retrieving a Hitachi Magic Wand from his bag, he fitted it into the shorter rod. He adjusted its angle so the bulbous head of the vibrator was locked against her sex, the wand’s stem pressed against the seam of her thighs.

After he was done, he stroked her hair some more and then turned the wand onto a medium setting, his fingers sliding over her sensitive skin. A rasping plea came from her lips. He brushed his mouth over hers, and she could tell he was absorbed in her every reaction, in how she was completely his, no will of her own. Even if she was surrounded by a whole stadium of judgmental faces and angry voices, she wouldn’t hear, see or know anything but him.

“Time for my coffee break, sweet slave,” he murmured.

If there was such a term as diabolical selflessness, she thought it would apply to him. He asked someone to bring him a coffee, refusing to be more than a few feet away from her. He put the gag back in her mouth and cinched the straps tightly around her head once again. Pulling up a stool and balancing his coffee, taking an occasional swallow from it, he studied her. The twisting of her expression, the twitching of her body like she was being shocked as the wand worked against her clit, making the overstimulated tissues scream in protest at first. Eventually, though, her body reset. Everything started to get tight and needy again, ramping her up and then locking her into a stasis of hard arousal, unable to go forward or back, something that was frustrating as hell as well as impossible to resist.

After a time he rose, unhooked the back fastener of her bra and reached beneath the loosened cups to grip one of her breasts, tease it as she stared at him with pleading eyes, her mouth filled with that gag. He’d wrapped it in a cloth to absorb the saliva, but he traced her stretched lips with a finger. Taking his attention back to her breasts, he clasped the left one and spilled several drops of the hot coffee on it.

She squealed against the gag, undulating against her bonds. He did it again, then did it to the other one. “I should cover your tits in wax one night,” he observed. “They’d be gorgeous, vanilla-scented wax melted over them. Then I’d come over them, over your stomach, your pretty pussy. I’d clean you up myself. Look at those gorgeous, pleading eyes of yours. You want mercy but you don’t want it, too, don’t you, sweet slave?”

She nodded, spoke the words even if they weren’t intelligible. He would understand them, would require them. “Yes, Master. Ohhh. . . .”

He turned the vibrator to a stronger setting, and now her head thrashed this way and that, her throat raw from crying out in frustrated pleasure. He unhooked the bra straps, removed the garment entirely. Standing back, he watched the way her breasts quivered, the nipples jutting out. He took another sip of his coffee.

He hadn’t told her she had to look down again, so in this position, staring hungrily at him, she had an impression of what was behind him. Lots of people, gathered and watching. But it was so vague, no specific features. She was trapped in a painting, detached from her audience, a wavering shield behind Dale, the only thing she cared to have in focus.

He stepped forward and turned the wand on the low setting, thank God. Squatting, he withdrew several coils of nylon rope from his bag. She sensed the stirring of the crowd. They liked watching him do this, and who could blame them? Being the subject of it was mesmerizing.

Whereas the switching, the wand, all of that had been high powered, volatile, what he did now slowed everything else, even as things inside her curled up in a concentrated constant arousal.

He wrapped her upper body, her shoulders. Crisscrossing over her sternum, he slowly constricted her breasts in the hold of the half-inch nylon. Her nipples began to tingle, that sense of hampered circulation. That feeling spread throughout the curves and slid lower, like syrup over the edge of a pancake, pooling in her loins. Her hips moved in slight motions against the vibrator now, her head tipped back against the pole. Her lips pressed against the gag as she swallowed. To have her body be tied up in such an excruciatingly incremental way, to watch his hands move over her skin, to see the intent focus of his eyes on what he was doing . . . she wanted to do those demonstrations with him. She wouldn’t care who his audience was, because to her, there was just him, his hands, the way he was making her feel.

“Beautiful.” He stepped back, and directed her gaze to the mirrored wall across from her. He’d wrapped her breasts tightly enough that the swelling was noticeable, the nipples and areolae distended and dark. When he brushed his knuckles over a curve, the nerves responded like chimes touched by a breeze. He didn’t stop there. He did a diamond pattern down her abdomen and tied it off before commencing a leg wrap. He started at her ankles and wrapped her to her upper thighs, rendering her almost completely immobile. Now only her pussy wasn’t covered by rope, still exposed to his whim on that vibrator.

She was making little noises, her tongue taking kitten licks at the gag, her eyes following his every movement. She wailed against the gag when he reached between her legs and turned the wand back onto high.

Forced orgasm was an apt term for it. He’d noticed her slight, flirty movements against the vibrator and had taken away that ability with the ropes. Now she experienced what it was like to be driven to a climax with no ability to move, no mercy from the pummeling of the vibration. It was excruciating and unforgettable. She shrieked and shrieked against the gag, knowing she couldn’t take any more. She begged, pleaded, asked for mercy once more, and at the same time was forever lost in the avid pleasure in his steady gaze, the tension of his powerful body, the impressive erection she wanted back inside her.

As the climax ebbed, it was an Inquisition torture, having that rapid vibration against her spasming clit. Proving he wasn’t a complete sadist, he turned it off, and she sagged against her bonds in relief.

Thank you, Master. Thank you.

She was mumbling it against the gag. From his tender look, he understood. He removed her gag and must have read her needy expression, for he immediately put his mouth over hers. He licked her dry lips, teasing her tongue, giving her his own saliva before he offered her the bottle of water. He held it to her lips, cupping the back of her neck.

“How are you, sweet girl?”

“I want . . . I need . . . please fuck me, Master. Please. I feel . . . empty.”

She was exhausted physically, but never had an emotional need felt so large, so imperative inside her. She absolutely had to have him inside her or her heart might shatter.

He nodded. Unwrapping her legs, he freed her from the pole. He left the breast harness in place and swung her up in his arms, because she literally had no strength. He took her to the last piece of equipment in this section of the room. It was an I-frame bolted to the floor. It already had cuffs and a functional collar so he put her on hands and knees and cuffed her wrists, knees and ankles to the frame. An upright pole at one intersect of the I-frame held the collar. He wrapped it around her throat, keeping her head up and her facing forward.

She’d seen Masters and Mistresses put their subs here and then pull over the fucking machine to pump a dildo into their submissives while others watched, but Dale didn’t do that. He gave her what she fervently needed. Kneeling behind her, he once more opened his jeans. The erection he pushed against her soaking wet cunt was even larger than before, telling her how her reactions had affected him. Her climaxes had also made her tight as a virgin, such that she made a soft noise of distress as he stretched her. But he took his time, sliding his knuckles down her spine, caressing her hips with his big hands. Then he stopped, only halfway lodged inside her.

“Beg me again, girl.”

“Please, Master.” Tears were in her eyes. “Please. I love you. Please.”

She could barely form the words, but that was all he needed. He slid in slow and deep, easy. She felt the stretch, the demand, but she felt the power of his gentleness as well. He pulled back, pushed back in. From his size, she expected the easy rhythm he set was an effort to maintain, but he’d made it clear, hadn’t he? His first priority was always caring for her, and she knew that was what he was doing, aware of how sensitive everything was at this point.

She didn’t care about climaxing; this wasn’t about that. She just needed to know her connection to him was there, unbreakable. He was inside her, in all ways. She wanted others to notice he was inside her without a condom, proving the bond between them.

The man’s control was phenomenal, as always. He took a while to come, drawing it out, making the experience so deeply pleasurable to her that she was moaning with every stroke, far beyond the base physical response of a climax. This was the pleasuring of her heart and soul. She would have gripped him tighter if she had any strength left, but she didn’t. He’d attached a padded upright bar to the middle of the I and adjusted it beneath her lower abdomen and hips to support her. That, the pole holding her head up, and the sure grip of his hands, were the only things keeping her upright.

When he started moving faster at last, he still kept the pace even, steady. She heard the rasp of his breath, wished he’d put her at an angle she could see him in one of the mirrors. Maybe later . . . at home. She wanted him on top of her, all that strength caging her, his hands tender on her face, fingers digging into her hair. Her legs would be spread by his body lying between them, and his cock would be sunk deep into her. She wanted to hold him like that all night, let him lie upon her, as unrealistic as that was. The man was two hundred pounds of muscle. But she felt the need to be crushed, held, surrounded, fused together in such a way.

As he climaxed at last, she let out a blissful cry, lifting her hips to take all of him, to show her desire and willingness to be taken by her Master, no matter her soreness or exhaustion. He’d gripped her hair there at the end in the way she loved, tugging on her scalp as he worked himself against her, pelvis striking her abused flesh. Tonight he would lie her down on their bed, massage her with his wonderful hands. He would care for her, punish her, need her, love her.

She now understood to the very depths of her being why it had been wrong for her to come here alone, to try and explain it to the others. She couldn’t define or explain such a thing, any more than she could have made them understand why she’d embraced being Roy’s Mistress with joy. They thought she wasn’t being true to her nature, but she’d been as true to it then as she was tonight.

Love was like that.