Hot Pursuit (8 page)

‘You've done well so far,' Ginger reflected. ‘But I need to be absolutely sure you'll stay quiet when I tell you to.'

Ginger's pet blonde opened her mouth to protest, ready to tell her mistress that she would obey any command, but she knew she couldn't speak. She had been instructed to be silent and common sense told her that she would be defying that instruction if she argued the point. Impotent with frustration, wishing she could say something to make her mistress understand her devotion, she was only able to watch as the
muscles in Ginger's arm stiffened and she slashed sharply downwards.

The tip of the crop bit her inner thigh.

She instinctively pulled away from the blow and her body was buffeted by shock waves of agonising delight. The ropes strained more tightly around her breasts, her nipples seemed to swell to the size of plum tomatoes, and she knew she was on the verge of orgasm or unconsciousness.

Ignoring her pet's responses, concentrating solely on the discipline, Ginger struck again. This shot bit higher, hitting the other leg, and landing closer to her pet's pussy lips. The tip snagged pubic hairs before it nipped sensitive skin and wrenched the follicles from their roots.

On the precipice of a frenzy, eager to suffer more and worrying that her body might not be able to cope with the enormity of the pain, Ginger's pet blonde was overcome by the familiar headrush of arousal. Blood pumped furiously through her temples, dizzying her with the deafening echo and underscoring the same certain pulse of her excitement. Her teeth were clenched tight together, she inhaled and exhaled through her nostrils, and every ragged breath was a lover's balm to her aching nipples. Frantic with the need for orgasm, delirious with the knowledge of how close that release now was, she held herself still and waited for Ginger's final blow.

The master's favourite did not disappoint her.

The initial shots to her inner thighs had been little more than appetisers – teasing her with the promise of what lay ahead – but the last cut of the crop landed hard against her sex. The tip slashed viciously against her clitoris and Ginger's pet blonde almost lost consciousness as pleasure and pain became a seamless meld. She writhed euphorically, not caring that every
unplanned lurch tugged harder and wrought fresh pain. It was a fantastic cycle of subsiding and exploding delight and she was left to wonder if, during the pinnacle of her ecstasy, she might have overlooked the experience of her orgasm.

‘Well done,' Ginger murmured. There was genuine approval in her tone as she tossed the crop to the bed. Her freckled cheeks were flushed with her own excitement and her sparkling green eyes shone brightly. ‘Very well done.'

Ginger's pet blonde wanted to be warmed by the praise but she sensed the torment hadn't yet finished. That thought was confirmed when the redhead renewed her grip on the spreader bar, then pushed roughly away.

For an instant she was spinning, her body a helpless merry-go-round dangling from hateful ropes. The motel room fled past her gaze at a frenetic speed and the agony of her aching breasts crept closer to being unbearable.

Ginger grabbed her ankle and stopped the manic revolution instantaneously. Gripping tightly, pulling herself closer, she pushed her face close to her pet's pubic bush. Her breath tickled through the dense curls and her tongue slipped fluidly against the dewy lips. Slowly, clearly savouring the moment, she lapped the sodden folds.

Ginger's pet blonde held herself rigid.

The warm, wet heat between her legs was as sweet a pleasure as any she had ever known. Coupled with the torment at her breasts, and the promise of more dark kisses, she could feel her body being propelled toward another orgasm. The inner muscles of her sex began to clench, then convulse, the wetness grew more profound, and she knew the climax was going to be swift and strong and satisfying. Bracing herself
for its impact, basking in the bliss of her mistress's attention, she strained her wrists against the cool bracelets of her handcuffs.

‘Not a sound, remember.' Ginger shaped the words awkwardly, keeping her tongue against the moist flesh as she spoke. ‘You aren't going to wake the master.'

She cast a meek glance in Donald's direction, sighed with relief when she saw he still slumbered, and turned her thoughts back to the joy of her encroaching climax. The ache in her breasts had now gone beyond being unbearable but that only added to her rising arousal. Ginger continued to kiss her sex – lapping lightly and playfully nibbling on the folds of her labia – and she knew the inevitable explosion would mushroom up from her cleft then flood her body with pleasure. Wanting to savour that delicious release, eager to bask in the rush of that climax, Ginger's pet blonde released a sigh that sounded similar to a groan of contentment.

Boldly, Ginger trilled her tongue against the pulsing clitoris. Using her lips and her teeth, slurping greedily against the wetness, she devoured the glistening flesh.

The struggle to contain her response was taking its toll and Ginger's pet blonde realised this battle would prove hardest to win. It was easy enough to stop herself from making a noise while she was suffering pain – years of practice had made her adept at the art of silently accepting discomfort – but the encroaching delight threatened to be a different matter. The surges of pleasure were buffeting her body in waves, urging her closer to a climax and promising the release for which she yearned. But she feared that, when she reached her pinnacle, she wouldn't be able to contain the heartfelt cry that swelled in her lungs.

Still licking her pussy, not hesitating or breaking her rhythm, Ginger slipped both hands behind her pet. After caressing the small of her back, then smoothing her palms over the well of her pet's hips, she cupped her buttocks and stroked the peachlike mounds of each cheek. The tips of her fingers slipped into the cleft of her pet's backside and one fingernail teased the tight ring of her anus. The unexpected contact made her want to shriek with joy and she bit her tongue to maintain her silence. Firmly shaking her head, trying to refuse the release that she knew her body needed, she almost moaned with complaint as Ginger continued to tease.

The fingernail stroked at her anus again, no longer tickling the sensitive ring of flesh but this time pushing against its centre. As Ginger's mouth remained at her sex, the tongue chasing whorls of raw arousal from her pulsing heat, the tip of the finger slipped slowly inside her rear.

Its dull penetration, and the devilish glee that came from that forbidden delight, were almost too much. Ginger's pet blonde bit the insides of her cheeks, bitterly relishing the additional pleasure and pain, and fervently hoped that the stimulation wouldn't force her to cry out. She was still fretting over her predicament when the climax finally struck.

The suspended bondage was a shriek of endless agony as she guilelessly squirmed in midair. She thrashed from side to side, unable to control the convulsions. Her inner muscles clenched with jubilant release and she unconsciously arched her back as the waves of pure elation trembled along her spine.

Ginger's finger remained inside as the climax trembled to an end, and her mouth stayed firmly fixed over the sopping wetness of her pet's sex. Throughout the orgasm she tried to coax her finger deeper while
delivering kisses to the dewy labia. When she finally drew her head away her mouth was slick with a lustre of musk.

‘You did well,' Ginger sighed, shivering as she spoke. ‘You did very well.'

Ginger's pet blonde smiled warily at the praise. She had received compliments from her mistress before, and they always warmed her and made her feel special, but she knew they usually came at a price. Knowing she was still at the redhead's mercy, and sure Ginger was plotting something rebellious, she remained silent as she stared down from her position of torment and restraint.

‘You've proved you can stay quiet when things are a little awkward,' Ginger explained. She wasn't whispering but her voice was low enough to not disturb Donald. ‘And, if you can stay quiet when things are a little awkward, that means you'll stay quiet about my plans.'

Ginger's pet blonde regarded her mistress doubtfully. She didn't know what plans the woman meant and, seeing the bitter curl on her crimson lips, she wasn't sure she wanted to know about them. Respectfully, she remained silent and waited for the redhead to continue.

‘Lucy should never have run away,' Ginger said softly. ‘Her absconding is an insult to our realm of the barony. It's an insult to me and it's an insult to the master.' Shaking her head, her sullen mood deepening, she said, ‘Lucy's insulted me and she's going to pay.'

Not sure she understood what her mistress meant, but beginning to think that it might mean trouble, Ginger's pet blonde struggled to find appropriate words. She didn't want to condone Lucy's escape, or be hypocritical enough to condemn it, but she could
see that her mistress expected some response. Swallowing down her nervousness, she asked, ‘What are you planning, mistress?'

Ginger fixed her with a glowering emerald glare. ‘I'm going to catch the little bitch,' she growled. ‘I'm going to catch the little bitch and I'm going to make her suffer.'

The explanation made no sense. ‘Why should I need to keep quiet about that?' Keeping her voice as low as her mistress's, Ginger's pet blonde glanced at Donald's slumbering form and said, ‘The master knows we're all looking for Lucy. He's taken out that classified ad, he's brought us on this pursuit and I think he's quite enjoying the – ‘

Ginger held up a warning finger and her pet immediately stopped talking. There were many warning signs she had been taught during her servitude and the raised finger was only one of them. ‘The master won't be the one who catches Lucy,' Ginger said solemnly. ‘That pleasure is going to be all mine.'

Understanding came slowly to Ginger's pet blonde and, when she finally realised what she was hearing, her eyes opened wide with horror. ‘You're going to try and catch Lucy before the master?'

Ginger silenced her with a glare then glanced warily in Donald's direction.

He continued to snore lethargically, a slug-trail of drool trickling from the corner of his mouth. Convinced that he was asleep and hadn't heard their conversation, Ginger said, ‘I'm going to capture Lucy
for
the master. I'm going to capture her first and, before I return her to him, I'm going to make the little bitch sorry that she ever thought to run away.'

Ginger's pet blonde swallowed and tried to deal with the enormity of what she was hearing. It seemed unthinkable that a favourite could purposefully defy
the master and Ginger's pet blonde was uncomfortable with the idea that she was expected to be a part of this intended heresy. Unable to contain her shock, and only remembering to keep her voice low at the last moment, she asked, ‘What are you going to do to her?'

Before Ginger could reply a shrill tune whistled through the room. The noise was familiar enough to both of them – Donald's phone always played the same descending arpeggio when it was receiving a text message – but the sound broke the silence so unexpectedly that they both jumped.

Donald blinked his eyes open and wiped his mouth dry with the back of his hand. He regarded Ginger and her pet, first with groggy confusion, then with a glint of weary surprise. ‘Was that my phone?'

Swallowing before replying, inadvertently showing she was just as unsettled as her pet, Ginger nodded and eventually stammered, ‘I . . . I believe it was, sire.' Rushing to the bedside cabinet, snatching the mobile phone from the cradle where it was charging, she passed him the handset before fixing her pet with a warning glare. The expression was enough to say that she shouldn't mention any detail of their conversation.

Donald pushed the phone back into Ginger's hands. ‘Read it to me,' he grumbled as he shook the last vestiges of sleep away. ‘You know that technology isn't my forte. Especially if it involves buttons.'

Ginger's pet blonde watched her mistress press the keypad and noticed her frown grow darker. Her perfectly painted lips shaped hesitant words before she finally glanced up. ‘It's from her,' she snarled. ‘It's from that runaway bitch, Lucy!'

‘Kitten's sent a text?' Donald's delight was the exact opposite of Ginger's thunderous rage. Cheerfully, he asked, ‘What does it say?'

‘She says,
”Run, run, as fast as you can
. . .” '

‘. . .
you can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man,'
Donald concluded happily. He laughed and slapped his thigh. ‘She really does understand the spirit of the chase, don't you think?' Without waiting for a response, he pulled himself from his chair and regarded Ginger's pet blonde. The suspended bondage clearly met with his approval because the familiar leer of his smile inched roguishly wider. Absently, he rubbed the growing erection at the front of his trousers and appeared to dismiss the distraction of the text message.

‘Is this the night's entertainment you promised me, Ginger?' he asked softly.

Ginger tore her gaze from the mobile phone and began to tell the master about the evening she had planned for them.

And, although she wanted to look forward to the pleasure of being tormented by the master and his favourite, Ginger's pet blonde couldn't help but notice her mistress's thoughts seemed elsewhere. Even though the redhead spoke eloquently about the torment they could inflict and the suffering they could cause, it was clear that her enthusiasm for the evening's sport was only a secondary consideration. Knowing the woman's moods and drives, Ginger's pet blonde realised her mistress was now more determined than ever to recapture Lucy.

Familiar with the menacing glint in her brilliant green eyes, Ginger's pet blonde could see that unless she made her escape permanent, Lucy's suffering was going to be legendary.