The Cyberkink Sideshow (13 page)

Victor opened one eye. Perspiration had begun to sheen his cheeks and forehead in the torrid heat of the shut-up caravan. “I exercise every day. I eat a balanced diet. I’d be prepared to bet money I’m healthier than you are.”

Sylvia couldn’t think in this heat. She needed a drink. She headed into the tiny but impeccably designed kitchen and found a tray of ice cubes in the freezer compartment there. Upturning it on the work surface, she smacked the heel of her hand down on its base to dislodge the cubes. She dropped two of them into a glass and filled it with orange juice from a carton in the fridge. As she drank the glass in rapid gulps, she picked up the remaining cubes and slotted them back into the tray.

When she finished the drink and went to put the ice cubes back, an idea occurred to her. She tipped out three ice cubes into the empty glass and put the tray back in the freezer. She carried the glass back into the main cabin.

Victor must have sensed her coming closer. His eyes opened and fixed on her. She reached down and twitched his robe open. As she’d expected, he wore nothing beneath. His skin had that pink, turgid look imparted by too-warm weather. She knelt beside him and put one of the ice cubes to his lips. He took it into his mouth without a word.

Sylvia placed a second cube on his throat, just under his larynx. It was so cold it stuck to his skin before it started to melt, lubricating its own path as she slid it down the midline of his chest and along the fold under his breast. From there, she glided it up the plump contour of his chest to his nipple, which contracted into a firm nub as the ice circled, the skin edging it tightening into goose pimples.

He said nothing, but laid back his head and closed his eyes. Sylvia slid the ice across under his other breast. He swallowed convulsively, the cube in his mouth making a muffled crack against his teeth as she traced over him.

She slithered the shrinking cube back to the center of his chest and slowly guided it down his belly, where it sank into his navel. A slight murmur escaped him as she rolled it a few times with her finger, before the last remnant of solid melted away to leave a convex dewdrop, like a jewel worn by a belly dancer.

The remaining ice cube had already begun to melt. It didn’t stick when she pressed it into the soft flesh of his groin and slid it down, along the length of his phallus, nudging the corner into the loose hole at its tip and rotating it, eliciting a sharp gasp from him. She grasped his shaft and rolled the ice down the underside, over his balls, and pressed it against his perineum until it slid between his buttocks and the depths of his flesh swallowed it.

She crouched beside him to study his expression, which hovered somewhere between discomfort and delight.

“Victor.” She cupped his testicles in her hand and squeezed them like stress balls. “Let’s go to Vaughn’s dungeon.”

Victor reached down and took hold of her wrist. “No. I’m not in the mood for it now.”

Sylvia hesitated. She didn’t know whether she should say this or not. “You know you said you’re ninety percent sub and ten percent dom?”

Victor opened his eyes, a curious sort of expression forming. “Yes?”

She took a deep breath. Once she got herself into this, there’d be no turning back, but the idea of handing control of her body over to him filled her with exhilaration. She trusted him, and she wanted him to trust her, and giving herself to him felt right. “Well, I think I might be ninety percent domme and ten percent sub.”

He rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow. Sylvia admired how the fabric of his dressing gown flowed over his curves.

“I see.” He cleared his throat in a slightly uncomfortable sort of way. “And do you want to do something about it, now?”

Sylvia blurted, “What I just told you about penetration... I’m not into sadomasochism. I don’t want to be hurt.”

Victor gave a lopsided shrug with the shoulder he wasn’t leaning on. “Of course. I won’t do anything worse than the way you treated me. Excluding the arrest, of course.”

Sylvia didn’t say anything in response to his goading. Probably she deserved it anyway, and there wasn’t really anything to say. “No penetration.”

“No, I won’t try to insert anything. I’ve already told you it doesn’t do anything for me.”

There was another thing. If she didn’t make her wishes known now, she’d regret it. Sylvia inhaled deeply. “One exception.” As she locked eyes with him, she chickened out. “It’s nothing.” She looked away from him.

“What? What is it?” Victor got hold of her elbow and pivoted her back to face him. “Don’t deny yourself your deepest desires. Each of us only lives once. Our bodies are ephemeral things, and our own to do as we will with. If we don’t yield to hedonism when we get the opportunity, our lives will be filled with regret.” His eyes were bright with excitement, a wicked half-smile curling the corners of his mouth when he spoke.

“I want something on my body, something like your fish piercing.” She glanced down, but he was too close to her and the overhang of his stomach hid where it would normally be. “I want you to choose what it is and where to put it.”

Victor was looking her up and down, in a completely different way to how Baxter and Pikesley had. It was as though he were a sculptor, appraising a slab of marble before he began work. “Do you fully understand what you’re asking for? There are some places on the female anatomy where piercings tend to be an irritation and a hygiene issue.”

“Then I trust you to choose a sensible place.”

They stood, beholding each other for an awkward moment.

“Did you bring your costume?” Victor asked.

“It’s in my car.”

“I want you to go and put it on, and then to meet me in the dungeon. Vaughn will be there as well.”

Sylvia nodded. She turned and left.

* * * *

It was midday, and the air was very hot, very still. Victor awaited her at the bottom of the steps. He was dressed as a pirate: tight leather trousers and roll-topped boots with square buckles, a wide sash and a crimson silk shirt, its hem tucked into the belt but with most of the upper fastenings undone to reveal a narrow strip of his smooth chest.

“Vaughn,” he said, his tone casual, “restrain her.”

At his words and the appearance of the dungeon master from the shadows under the stairs behind her, a rush of adrenaline shot to Sylvia’s head and a pounding started up where the crotch strap of her costume gripped her sticky flesh. Vaughn’s rough fingers gripped her by the arms and raised her hands above her head, manacled her wrists together and attached them by the chain connecting them to a hook on the ceiling. Sliding his palm down the inside of her thigh in a motion that made Sylvia start, Vaughn moved her foot outward. He attached another manacle, over the ankle of her boot, to fix a spreader bar between her legs.

Sylvia couldn’t move. If she tried to lift one of her feet, she’d fall and wrench her arms on the wrist restraints. Victor approached. His hands immediately went for the buckle that secured the crotch strap on her harness, and she was powerless to stop him. Deftly flipping the buckle undone, he whisked the leather away from skin sticky with sweat and the juices of arousal. Exposed to him and without even hair down there to provide some modesty, she felt hot and turgid, her swollen genitals throbbing with blood.

It took Victor only three more buckles to cast the harness off her. He dropped it casually to one side while he stood there looking at her body. Sylvia’s breath came rapidly, sounding loud to her ears. She could feel the skin around her nipples tightening, despite the stifling warmth of the atmosphere. Oh
shit
…was he going to touch her? Where? On the breasts? Would he slide his fingers into the shamefully bare wet crevice between her pried-open legs? Somewhere else? What was he going to do? She was breathing so hard it was starting to make her dizzy, and the pounding of her own heart sent shivers convulsing over her.
Calm down
!

Or perhaps don’t calm down. From the wicked expression Victor was making, the animated alacrity of his gestures, she could tell he was aroused. Her excitement and anticipation was feeding him. Behind her, she could hear Vaughn’s breathing, rough and lusty. It came upon her as an epiphany–this was power. It was a different power to the sort she wielded when she was the domme, but it was power nonetheless, and strong enough to enslave these two men.

Victor paced slowly around her, his pirate boots making a heavy, hollow sound on the wooden floor. The weight of his focus on her was almost palpable. He halted where he’d started, facing her.

“You will keep that mask on,” he instructed her, “and I’m going to blindfold you.” He untied the sash from around his waist and handed it to Vaughn.

“Yes, my lord,” said Vaughn gruffly. He stepped behind Sylvia. The edge of the sash came down over her vision, and she could see nothing except for a dull reddishness. The sash smelled of leather and male sweat as he knotted it behind her head. Now, with sight deprived, she was even less able to anticipate what Victor might do to her next.

“You can keep those boots and gloves on as well,” Victor continued. “Let’s begin. Vaughn, over here.”

“With pleasure.” Vaughn’s callused hands roved up her thighs, over her hips and waist, up under her arms and over the outer curve of her breasts, making Sylvia gasp, before he untied her hands. He brought her wrists back down and pinioned them behind her back. He maneuvered her forward over the floor, the bar between her ankles forcing her to swing her feet in a waddling fashion.

They must have reached some kind of bondage apparatus now, because Vaughn turned her about and pushed her back up against something. It was padded, not at all uncomfortable. Her arms were moved back behind her, elbows restrained beneath soft grips and wrists secured with leather straps. Then came the grate of something being adjusted through the frame, and the surface against her back tilted to take her weight.

Vaughn unshackled her ankles from the bar. It clanged loudly when he dropped it on the floor. Now he took hold of her right leg, raised it and bent it to hook the knee over another foam bolster. More straps around her ankle. Vaughn repeated the procedure with the other leg. After this, he fixed something around her crown, preventing her from making any significant movements with her neck.

When he made his next adjustment to the frame, it moved the leg restraints, easing her legs knees wider and higher, exposing her. The position made her embarrassingly conscious of her throbbing, engorged clitoris and the liquid stickiness that she could feel oozing down from her gaping labia.

“Are you sitting comfortably, Sylvia?” Victor asked, a hint of mirth in his voice.

“Yes...thank you.” Sylvia replied.

“Good. Then we’ll begin. Your safe word’s ‘haggis’ because that’s what’s for dinner tonight, if you’d like to join me.”

Sylvia found herself laughing, despite her predicament. “Yes, please.”

She heard him turn and take something from the table. Then came the sound of a bottle cap unscrewing, and something warm and oily landed in the middle of her chest and started to trickle down. It pooled in her navel before spilling over between her legs, mingling with her sex juices and sliding between her buttocks. Hands began touching her, spreading the oil over her skin in slow, sensuous strokes. Without the liberty of seeing what they were doing, every sensation was so much more intense. She couldn’t really tell which belonged to Vaughn and which were Victor’s. Their fondling became almost overwhelming, fingers and palms gliding over her slick torso, one man kneading her breasts, stimulating her nipples with constant motion and pressure, the other massaging her belly and buttocks, occasionally slipping a flat palm over her vulva, but never lingering long enough to drive her close to orgasm.

Both men relented at once, removing their hands suddenly. One of them stepped away from her. When he cleared his throat, she identified him as Vaughn. It sounded as though he was wiping his hands on a towel.

Victor slid his fingers down the cleft of her vulva and took hold of her labia between finger and thumb. He pinched them together and pulled, stretching them out. The oiled flesh slipped from between his fingers and snapped back. He repeated it, teasing her to new heights and sending shivers over her sides. Her clit ached for him to press it with one of those chubby, nonetheless deft fingers. She wanted to orgasm, but he wasn’t going to let her. Yet. If at all.

He flicked one finger between her labia, wet and frictionless, moving it up and down. His thumb and another finger pushed into the folds either side. If he decided to shove his hand up her, she’d be incapable of preventing it. A bitter fear at the memory of the last time she’d let someone try that crawled up her back.

Something in her body language must have given her away, because Victor’s hand stopped moving. “Sylvia, I gave you my word that I would not do anything that would hurt you. I won’t renege on it. But if you’re to enjoy this to its full potential, you have to relax and trust me before you can lose yourself in it.”

Sylvia concentrated on breathing deeply, trying to push the memory out of her mind. As she did, Victor attached clamps to her labia. From the feeling of wires running under her thighs, they were connected to the electrosex box. By pulling the wires outward and sticking them to the backs of her legs with large strips of tape, he stretched her vulva open. At the click of him flicking the switch, a vibration spread through her groin and legs, and a strange, liquid sensation as though her flesh turned to jelly. Victor must have started fiddling with the voltage setting, because the subtle hum she could just hear in the background began to steadily rise in pitch, and the sensation grew more and more intense, a tickling feeling that got closer and closer to being intolerable. However, Victor somehow knew to stop increasing it right on the threshold before it reached it.