PrimeDefender

Prime Defender

Ann Jacobs

Book 4 in the Necessary Roughness
series.

Big, tough, sexy linebacker Matt Rubin
is a killer on the field—but a willing slave in the dungeon
to his voluptuous, beautiful Domme.

Keisha loves her buff, gorgeous sex slave.
It is the ultimate erotic gratification—having such a strong, intimidating man
completely at her sexual command.

Then a health crisis forces them to make a
temporary switch. The sex slave becomes the Master. Keisha is totally out of
her element and they both wonder how they can ever really go back to that
perfect love.

Prologue

Rebels’ Roost

Five years ago

She looked like an Amazon goddess, standing
in the dungeon wearing a skintight white rubber bodysuit and a scarlet corset
that cinched her waist almost enough for him to encircle it in his hands.
Standing at least six foot three in her platform stilettos, she was a picture
of sexual power—the ultimate Domme.

He adored her, worshiped her voluptuous
body and the exotic face that perfectly reflected her mixed African-American
and Asian heritage. He respected her keen, analytical intelligence that matched
his own. He wanted the full-time, 24/7 dominance that would give him the
freedom to love her without fearing that he might hurt his woman the way his
father had abused his mother into an early grave. The dominance he’d been
missing since his family had fallen apart.

In a few minutes he would give his goddess
his unquestioning obedience. In return she would control his every action, his
every thought. She would be his Mistress, now and forever in charge of his
sexuality, in control of the ego he soon would cede to her.

The ultimate alpha football player in his
public life, he feared the total sexual submission he was about to embrace, yet
he craved it with every fiber of his being. A shudder went through his body as
he anticipated handing over the burden of self-direction and control he’d carried
for fifteen years now, since he was twelve years old and his beautiful,
nurturing mother had died at the hand of his abusive father.

He peered out into the dungeon where a
chair and a small table had been placed among the restraints and torture devices
that gave them both such pleasure. His dick swelled against the thick, gold
barbell in his ampallang piercing when he saw her place a white sheepskin on
the floor in front of the chair before setting a flogger and an ornate box
decorated with what looked like Arabic script onto the white tablecloth. When
she bent and lit a ceremonial candle, the light bathed her stunning face in
burnished gold, lent a metallic sheen to the long, straight black hair she’d
left loose tonight because he’d asked her to.

Ironic
, he
thought. He got paid for hurting opponents on the field, but he was about to
give this woman the right to humiliate, even hurt him whenever she wished—to
punish him for her sexual pleasure. For his pleasure as well, he’d been
learning since they’d begun playing at Rebels’ Roost more than six months ago.
Both lawyers, although he was postponing his legal career while he played
professional football, they had laughed together about the probable illegality
of the contract they were about to enter into. But that hadn’t deterred them.

This was the life of sexual slavery she
demanded that he embrace. A life of willing enslavement in the service of his
big, beautiful Domme, whose voluptuous body and striking combination of
features from her African-American father and Japanese mother made heads turn
every time they appeared together in public. Her engaging mind and a sense of
humor that stimulated his own had captured his soul in a way no one had ever
done before.

He reached up and stroked his head, shaved
earlier today for the collaring ceremony—temporarily, his Domme had assured
him. Funny, being bald made him feel even more vulnerable than having his body
waxed smooth, which he’d been doing since their second play date. He was used
to coming here to the dungeon nude, other than the jewelry in his genital
piercings, and he’d grown accustomed to teammates teasing him about his smooth,
hairless body. When he considered his discomfort at his hairless scalp, he
guessed it bothered him because he hadn’t had his head shaved since his team
had done it before the state championships his senior year in high school.
Until today. The Jamaican braids he’d originally affected because it had helped
him blend with his African-American teammates in spite of his white skin were
now swept off the barber’s floor into the trash. He missed those braids which
had become an integral part of how he saw himself—a tough player making a
statement about his individuality more than one finding a convenient way to
wear his hair long and still tame his unruly curls.

As soon as she summoned him to join her, he
would surrender his freedom, much like women in previous centuries used to hand
over total control of their lives to their husbands when they vowed love, honor
and obedience for the rest of their lives. As he prepared to go to her, he
looped the thick, black leather leash he would give her around his neck and
dropped to his hands and knees.

I am a sexual submissive. I’m not afraid
for everyone here to know she is my Mistress and I am her loving slave.

He repeated those words, a silent mantra,
as he crawled past a handful of his teammates, his head coach and their dungeon
playmates. When he reached the sheepskin and knelt at her feet, he bent to
place kisses on the light-brown skin of her feet and every one of her ten
delectable toes with their bright-red nail polish, dodging the white straps of
her stilettos. He set the leash on the floor at her feet. Then he raised his
upper body and, for the last time, looked her in the eye as an equal.

“Do you want to be my slave—to love, honor
and obey me in all things?” He loved the low, mellow tone of her voice and the
warmth of her hand as she caressed the crown of his bald head while she spoke
the words they’d agreed upon in advance.

“Yes, Mistress. I want that above all other
things.” He felt no reluctance, for they’d already signed the contract they had
written together, a document that spelled out what she was giving him as well
as what rights he was ceding to her. In a way the contract they had signed was
similar to those that couples who practiced his faith would sign before a rabbi
before their wedding. This collaring would bind him as much as any religious or
civil wedding ceremony. More than most. He lowered his gaze and focused on the
tips of his Mistress’ toes. “I am yours to do with as you will.”

“Then I accept you as my slave and take
full responsibility for your well-being.” When she straightened, her
distinctive scent of musk and roses surrounded the area around them, alerting
him to expect a sting from the flogger. “Stand and absorb the pain from my lash
because it gives me pleasure, and feel my pleasure in your body. My beloved
slave.”

He rose, his gaze focused at her feet.
Holding steady, he refused to wince. Truthfully, when the hot, steel-tipped
ends of the flogger bombarded his body it aroused him, something his Mistress
knew well. His cock lengthened and hardened with each bite of the metal and
leather on his flesh, until it stood out from his body as stiff as steel. His
testicles drew up in their sac, pulling against the sturdy ring in the guiche
piercing she’d commanded that he get as soon as they began considering this
commitment. When she flogged his genitals, he grew even more aroused.

She soon took pity on him and set aside the
flogger. “Kneel, slave. You will wear my collar now.” Turning to the table, she
opened the wooden box and drew out a heavy, black collar made of supple
leather. Its long, thick metal studs caught the light from the ceremonial
candle. When she sat on the chair he bent his head forward and offered her his
neck.

Stopping first to caress his cheek, she
then put the collar on him and fastened the buckle before placing a gold lock
into the hasp at his throat and snapping it closed. Despite the fact he deeply
wanted to be her slave, the click of metal against metal jolted him for a few
seconds, much like he imagined the clank of an iron prison gate shutting would
affect a newly convicted felon. The collar fit snugly, a symbol of his
enslavement for all to see, yet one she had promised to remove except when they
were playing in the dungeon—unless he should require punishment for some
predefined misdeed.

As they’d discussed before the ceremony, he
handed her the leash he had brought and she clipped it to his collar. Then he
went down on all fours, lowered his head to his Mistress’ ample lap and rested
his hands on her ankles. He awaited the club submissive his Mistress had told
him would be helping her initiate him to acts that would be part of their BDSM
play in the future. He anticipated his first act of full, total submission with
some fear, even a little embarrassment.

I am a sexual submissive, my Mistress’
sex slave. I need feel no embarrassment, no shame.

“Suck my clit, slave.” At her command he
slid his hands up her inner thighs, finding and opening the slit at the crotch
of her bodysuit. She spread her legs, giving him room to bury his face in her
damp, warm pussy and find her swollen clit. He drew it into his mouth as he
felt a warm breath on his ass. The gazes of a dozen or more voyeurs burned into
the back of his bald head and his vulnerable, exposed ass.

But only his Mistress’ helper touched him.
She ringed his asshole with her tongue as he pleasured his Mistress. The
contact aroused him yet it felt wrong. Nobody had ever messed with his butt
before. He’d always associated ass play with something gay or bi men would do,
and he was neither.

But he was a slave now. His body belonged
to the Mistress whose collar he wore, to do with as she wished for her
pleasure, so long as she did him no permanent harm. When the sub worked a
large, lubricated plug up his ass he tried not to wince, for his Mistress had
warned him that any sign of hesitation on his part would embarrass her before
the other Doms and Dommes.

“Keep sucking. It makes me hot to watch my
slave get fucked by another submissive.” Mistress pushed hard on his head then
stroked the crown, her touch intensely arousing. His cock felt as though it
would burst, but then the submissive woman took it in her hand and jacked him
while she worked the plug with the other hand. The warmth of her hands and the
arousing heat of his Mistress’ fingers stroking his head made him desperate to
come. “Use your fingers in my cunt.”

Hot, wet and slick, her cunt swallowed up
two fingers so he inserted a third. His balls tightened, his release imminent.
He couldn’t hold out for long, though he wanted to come inside his Mistress,
not on the floor at the hands of the other sub. Hoping to speed along the
ritual, he redoubled his efforts, nipping at his Mistress’ swollen clit while
he finger-fucked her hard and fast.

“Come, slave.” It wasn’t a request but an
order, Mistress to slave. He dared not disobey, but he kept up his sensual
assault on her while his climax took him in short, staccato bursts that cooled
his heat, but only for a moment, until he felt the butt plug being withdrawn
and replaced with another one, longer and thicker than the first.

He raised his head from his Mistress’ cunt.
“What?” Though he tried to choke back the question, it escaped his lips.

“Be silent, slave. You aren’t allowed to
speak except on my order. Now I have to punish you.” She reached into the box
on the table and handed something to her helper. “Attach this to my slave’s
cock piercing and then put the lock through it and his guiche ring. It’s
evident that he needs to learn what obedience means, to realize I own his cock,
just like I own the rest of him. Slave, I want you to tongue-fuck me now.”

“Yes, Mistress.” He’d expected this to
happen soon—it was in their contract that she had the right to keep him in
chastity for varying periods of time as punishment, depending on his particular
transgression. He’d even guessed a few months ago how she would do it when she
took him to a piercer and had the guiche done. While the piercer had welded a
larger and thicker ring than usual into that piercing, she’d picked out a
longer, thicker barbell for his ampallang—a barbell with a bend at each end
where a second half-ring could be attached. She’d removed his old jewelry and
inserted the new last night.
Sort of like an engagement ring
, she’d told
him before giving him a rare treat—a blowjob. But he hadn’t expected her to
lock him up right away or in a public forum in front of many of his teammates
and coaches.

I am a sex slave, a sexual submissive
bound to obey my Mistress’ every command.

He fought to keep from raising his head and
protesting against this ultimate humiliation. He inhaled deeply when the
submissive woman grasped his dick and clamped the attachment on either end of
the barbell so it hung just far enough from the lower side of his cock head
that a lock would pass through it without digging into his flesh—unless he
dared to get hard. It proved less painful than he’d imagined when she bent his
flaccid dick over his sac and locked the two rings together. But no less
humiliating.

“Make me come now.” His Mistress’ demand
rang in his ears as he knelt before her, his plugged ass in the air and the
lock swaying below his cock and balls, reminding him of his total submission—his
complete impotence.

He opened his mouth and fucked her with his
tongue, using his fingers to tweak her clit and ring her tight little ass. His
dick hurt like hell when it tried to get hard again in response to the taste of
her hot, slick nectar, but he loved it. Loved the pain, the humiliation, the
knowledge that she had accepted him as her sex slave and would give him what he
needed, no matter how much he might protest. Just before she let out a scream
and her cunt clamped down on his tongue, he heard her give her helper a quiet
order and felt a warm, wet tongue bathing his constricted genitals while she
attached something to the end of the fat plug in his ass. It tickled the backs
of his thighs, its long stiff hairs swaying against his flesh.