Bound With Pearls (3 page)

He reached out and tweaked a nipple. She froze, a moan escaping her lips.

“Christine, I’m adding.”

She scrambled over him, laying her upper body across the bench and her pert ass over his lap.

He trailed his fingertips along the tender skin at the back of her knee and up her thigh. She shivered. Her breathing was erratic, her response uncontrolled.

He stopped and focused on her back. He hadn’t expected a tattoo.

He pushed her hair out of the way. It was tribal, but done in shades of red and purple in such a way that the ink blended with her freckles. Entranced by the swirls of color, he traced a line, finally realizing it was a bird of some sort. The wings curled and fanned up in an arc, the neck arched toward her spine and long tail feathers swirled down her ribs.

“What’s this?” The stylization wasn’t a typical tribal, it was different and soft.

She turned her head to look over her shoulder. “A tattoo?”

He brought his hand down hard across her ass. Christine yelped, unprepared for the hard blow, hands scrabbling against the cushions.

“I can see it’s a tattoo.”

“I don’t know what you want to know, Sir.” Her voice wavered, her body tense.

He ran his hand over the hurt, her skin warm and pink. She slowly relaxed.

“Fine. What’s the inspiration?”

“Oh.” She sighed as he kept his touch light, stroking the globes of her ass, exploring the crease where her thigh and bottom met. “Our family has Russian roots. I read a kid’s book with these beautiful pictures. I liked the firebirds.”

He lightly paddled both sides of her ass. The flush was paler, though the area from earlier was still an angry red.

Daniel wasn’t one for inflicting pain. It did little for him. It was the response he was after. The way her skin turned colors—from rose quartz to something closer to a rhodolite garnet—turned him on. Even the way she gulped down air and braced herself for the blows that had stopped coming.

Gently massaging her skin, he leaned back. If she were his, he’d be tempted to order her to lie across his lap anytime he watched TV so he could pet her ass as though she were a cat. The mental image had him muffling a chuckle.

“What’s funny?” Her voice was husky.

He smacked her other cheek, giving it a red, blazing handprint to match. She yelped, but instead of tensing, pushed her ass into his palm. A cat, indeed. For good measure, he delivered varying blows, concentrating on framing the two splotches of color. Her yelps turned into moans and her head tossed back and forth while one leg kicked up.

“Up,” he ordered.

Christine’s head spun. How long had it been since someone spanked her? She was learning her lesson—when Daniel wanted her to do something, he wanted her to do it immediately.

She slid off his lap and into a crouch. Fingertips resting on the polished concrete, she used the coolness to steady herself.

He reclined as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t petted and smacked her. As if she hadn’t been moaning her head off.

“I want you to go to the wardrobe. Inside the bag is a yellow pouch. Bring that here. Go.”

Obeying was easy. If she concentrated on what he told her to do, everything would be okay. Her ass would hurt tomorrow. She bruised easily, but she didn’t care about the marks he’d leave. She wanted to please Daniel. Show him that she was better than her sister.

The yellow pouch was sitting on top of an assortment of toys she wanted both to try and to run from. In comparison, the pouch looked innocent.

Returning to the chaise, she kept her eyes down.

“Straddle me.”

Her head snapped up. She hesitated, at least until he lifted a brow. Bag in hand, she did as he asked. His hands settled on her thighs, thumbs rubbing small circles against her.

“Open the bag.”

She followed his directions and held it in front of her without indulging her curiosity.

He’d stirred her into responding to him from the moment he picked her up. She wanted him to touch her. She’d said no sex, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy themselves in other ways. If he wanted to.

Daniel reached into the bag, rummaging around.

“You don’t have to avert your eyes.” He sounded amused, the hard, clipped edge gone. “We are supposed to be enjoying one another.”

She smiled. “Yes Sir.”

“Should I know about any other limits you have?” He plucked out two smaller pouches, tossed them on the cushions next to him and tied up the bag.

“No Sir.” If she didn’t have the gut reaction to him she did, Christine would be tempted to rethink what she would allow him to do. But she had a sure feeling about him.

“Good.”

He tossed the bag farther down the chaise. She dared to lay her empty hands flat against his chest, feeling the muscles veiled by his shirt.

The side of his mouth hitched up. “We’ll use yellow and red for safety. What does yellow mean?”

“Slow down, I’m uncomfortable or something hurts in a bad way, Sir.”

He nodded. “And red?”

“Stop, Sir.”

“Very good.”

He pushed her hair over her shoulders and the cool air kissed her skin. She fought the knee-jerk reaction to cover herself. He placed his hands over hers and flattened them to his pectorals.

While she was relishing the firm feel of his hands and the unspoken permission to touch, he swooped down and latched on to her breast, flicking his tongue over the tight peak before switching to the other.

The sensation of his mouth on her nipples shot heady desire through her body. She tossed her head back and thrust her breasts forward.

“Perfect,” he growled.

She was barely paying attention to what he was doing because touching him was a heady experience. His chest was hard, the muscles well defined without an inch of flab on him.

“Deep breath.”

She inhaled and looked down. He eased a clamp onto the tight furl of her nipple, his gaze focused on her face as the clamp pinched the bundle of nerves. It hurt. Damn, it hurt, the initial pain settling into something else that wasn’t quite pleasure but made her squirm.

“Beautiful,” he muttered.

While she concentrated on breathing, he repeated the process to her other breast.

“Look at your tits.”

Her breasts were swollen, the nipples clasped with odd-looking clamps. Two strings of beads connected each peak. The beads swayed as she breathed and created more sensation.

“How do you like that, hm?”

“I-I do, Sir.” Her breath came in pants, jostling the beads.

“But how much?” His gaze swept from her face down, farther down to the apex of her thighs. “Lean back, hands on my knees. I won’t let you fall.” He put an arm around her waist while she obeyed.

She did as he asked, forcing her body to bow toward him.

“I see you’ve enjoyed our time together.” His fingers caressed her folds. She was so wet she practically dripped. It was almost embarrassing.

“Can you hold yourself for a moment? Are you going to fall?”

“No Sir. I’m fine.”

He feathered touches over her clit and parted her. Two thick fingers dipped between her lower lips. His skin was rough. The muscles in her stomach fluttered as he worked his digits in and out until her eyes rolled back.

“Sit up.”

His arm was there, circling her waist and helping her. One side of his mouth hitched up and the gleam in his eye made him appear boyish but no less commanding.

“You’re very responsive. And modest. If we hadn’t had our little talk earlier, I would wonder if you were giving me an act. It makes me hard. I have a matching clit ring. I’m going to put that on you.”

“But I’m not pierced,” she blurted out. The idea of playing with needles made her stomach clench.

He quirked a brow. “I know. For tonight I’m your Master, and you trust me to know your limits.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Good.” His gaze flicked down to her lips. “Were you going to include ‘no kissing’ as one of your limits?”

Honestly she couldn’t remember, but considering she wanted to kiss him badly, she shook her head and leaned forward.

He leaned back. She compressed her lips. He didn’t want to kiss her?

“Stop that. Like I said, I’m not your therapist. I’m your Master and you trust me, correct?”

“Yes Sir,” she muttered, feeling two inches tall.

“Christine, I’ve told you I find you attractive. I’ve told you that you make my dick hard. I asked if I might kiss you, and what did you think?”

Shit. He expected her to answer this? She worried her bottom lip for half a second. “I wanted you to kiss me, Sir.”

“And when I didn’t do what you wanted me to?” The way his eyebrow arched and the gentle tug on her clit brought her attention lower in her body.

Clutching his shoulders, she struggled to reply. “You didn’t want to kiss me, Sir.”

“Maybe you really are as spoiled as your sister.” The comment might have cut but his tone was teasing. “Has no one ever denied you anything? Made you wait?”

“Oh,” she said, the word drawn out as he applied gentle pressure to the needy button.

“Oh?” He mimicked her, the mischievous tone still there.

“I-I’m sorry, Sir.” She hadn’t done this with a real Master in so long her head wasn’t interpreting things the right way.

“Hm, I’ll have to come up with a punishment for you. This might tickle.”

“Wha—? Oh!” She clutched his shoulders tighter and saw stars as Daniel pinched—no, clamped—her clit.

He held her, hands sweeping up and down her back, pushing her hair this way and that as he waited for her to catch her breath. The hair on his arms tickled her sides and underarms with each pass.

“Can you sit up?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Look at yourself.”

She did as he ordered. The clamps were delicate. She could barely see the one between her legs, but she could feel it. Together, the set made those three points on her body sing with want.

“Beautiful, huh?”

He grasped the string of beads and tugged. Even watching his hand and anticipating his intent didn’t prepare her for the sensation. She yelped as more pressure tightened on her distended nipples.

“Yes! Yes Sir!”

“Glad you agree.” He grinned and slapped her on the ass. “Up. Time for your next punishment.”

The order worried her. Moving with the clamps on her nipples wasn’t a task beyond her, but the clit clamp was uncharted territory. Still, she scooted backwards, pausing as sensation raced from her clit all the way up her spine.

He spread his arms out over the back of the chaise and watched.

Everything made the beads sway, teasing and tweaking her nipples, while her clit hummed with a painful, needy feeling. Still, she managed to stand.

“Right.” He slapped his hands on his knees and pushed to his feet, towering over her. “Your punishment.”

The way his brows drew down into a wicked line made her breath stutter, or maybe it was the jolt of desire shooting straight to her clit, where it was amplified by the clamp.

She was ready for a flogger, maybe a cane or another spanking. She wasn’t ready for him to discard his shirt on the chaise without care. She drank in the sight of his bare chest, the ladder of muscles working its way up from the waistband of his jeans, and the solid planes of his chest. She wouldn’t say no if he offered to fuck her, in fact he’d be doing her a favor.

When he tabbed his jeans open while toeing out of his shoes, she stopped breathing altogether.

“Punishment?” Her voice was high pitched. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “My punishment, Sir?”

He chuckled and ignored her question in favor of shucking the rest of his clothing.

Her gaze caught on the proud thrust of his cock, not that it was easy to miss.

“What’s going through that pretty little mind of yours?”

“I want to do something for you, Sir. Can I—may I suck you?” She wasn’t typically forward. Her blush flared brilliant scarlet.

“Allowing you to do that wouldn’t be much of a punishment, would it now?”

“No Sir.”

“And the point is punishment. Go to the bag and get out a black lacquer box. Go ahead.”

Moving. That was a particularly daunting task since every movement jostled or pulled on one of the clamps. The strings of beads swayed, slapping her stomach, and the clit clamp made each step erotic enough to be almost uncomfortable. In the few steps it took for her to cross to the wardrobe, she ached.

When she finally turned around, Daniel was lying on the bed, propped up on his side, watching her progress.

He crooked a finger at her. The turd was twice as far away as he had been. Box in hand, she began the slow trek back.

He patted the bed. “Come up here, on your knees.”

Easier said than done. She crawled onto the bed, hissing as the clamps elicited more sensation. She didn’t doubt she would hate the punishment, but love what came next.