The Darker Side of Pleasure (17 page)

Deliciously evil man.

He stood back and looked her over once more. “We’re having company tonight. I am counting on you to behave as a good slave should. These are your rules. First, you will look no one in the eye unless asked to. You will not speak without permission. At all times while standing, you will clasp your hands behind your back as they are now. You will immediately comply with any command given to you.

“When not asked to stand, you will assume the classic submissive position. Down on your knees, and I will instruct you.”

She sank down immediately, her head spinning with all the new sensations and new information. Other people were to see her like this! To perhaps touch her, punish her! And maybe he would be there, her mystery man. She went hot all over.

“On your knees, Cassandra. Yes, that’s it. Now, spread your thighs wider and sink back onto your heels. I want your hands resting on the tops of your thighs, with your palms up. This is a position of supplication, you understand? Your head should be down, eyes on the floor. Yes, perfect. Very nice.”

The position was utterly submissive. It made her feel beautifully humble. She trembled with heat, desire, and the sense of gratitude that was becoming familiar already.

“I like you this way. I think I’ll leave you here until our guests arrive.”

A flash of panic as he moved away from her. But she forced herself to calm, to sink into herself, into the sensation of yielding. Every nerve in her body was alive. Her poor, tortured nipples sang with pain. Her sex pulsed with need.

She waited.

Marcus paced the length of floor-to-ceiling windows in his house high in the Hollywood Hills. For once he didn’t even notice the view of the city he so loved. He was too much inside his own head.

Confusion raged through him, which was totally unlike him. He was a man who always knew what he wanted, knew exactly what was best for him. He made his own decisions, about his finances, his portfolio, never leaving it up to his team of accountants and advisors, as the rest of his family did. No, he was involved in every aspect of his wealth. Since his tyrant of a father had died ten years ago, he had been completely in control of his own destiny. And of every other aspect of his life. Hell, he’d taken command of his life when he’d left his father’s house at fifteen and come to live with Robert, his mother’s brother. Why was it that suddenly a woman was throwing him off balance?

This was unacceptable. He had to get himself under control. He wasn’t even certain he’d hidden his reaction well from Robert. His uncle was used to reading people’s body language. And Marcus had been steaming with lust as soon as he’d set eyes on Cassandra.

Christ, she was something. That wild red hair and big green eyes, like a pair of flawless emeralds. Not to mention her perfect skin, her firm breasts tipped with plump, luscious, pink nipples. He was getting hard just picturing her in his mind.

Robert’s newest girl. He’d do well to keep that point in mind.
Robert’s.

He crossed his living room in long strides. At the wet bar he pulled out a crystal tumbler, filled it with a few fingers of a fine malt Scotch. The faint burn going down centered him a little. And reminded him that if he were to attend Robert’s coming-out party for his new slave tonight, he’d better ease up on the booze. He had to remain in control. That was his life mantra. He wasn’t about to screw up in front of Robert and the others, that was for damn sure. And not over a woman.

He was an experienced trainer himself, although he didn’t have the years Robert and some of the others had. But he was disciplined. Always had been, which is why Robert had approached him about joining him in his “little hobby,” as he had so charmingly referred to it at first, when Marcus was only eighteen.

Now, at thirty, Marcus was one of the youngest trainers in their small but powerful group. A group of old-school, formal Doms and Dommes. People who conformed to the strict rules of slave-training that had been in practice for hundreds of years. A discipline that required absolute control over not only the slaves, but over one’s own urges and desires.

He downed the rest of his Scotch. Damn it. He’d better watch himself. Because this new girl had thrown his control right out the window.

CHAPTER FOUR

H
ER FATIGUED THIGHS TREMBLED
. A
ND STILL
she waited. It had been perhaps half an hour. The exquisite anticipation alternated with fear. What would happen to her tonight? And would her dark stranger be there? The trembling in her thighs turned to a liquid heat that made her weak all over at the mere idea of him.

The clamps pulled and pinched at her nipples with every breath she took, keeping her focus on that one part of her body. The pain reminded her of where she was, and of her purpose. If not for the pain of the clamps her mind might have wandered too far. Being made to stay in one position was a sort of meditation, a state she could easily become lost in. But that sharp pinch kept her grounded in her body. That and the sensual images of the man whose face she couldn’t get out of her mind.

God, if he were to be allowed to spank her tonight! Her sex squeezed tight as she imagined his hands on her bare ass, stroking and tormenting her flesh.

Yes.

The temptation to press a hand to her aching sex was torture in itself.

She pictured his dark hair, a little wavy, a little too long. His strong jaw, his deep, gold-tinted brown eyes. She could have gazed into those eyes forever.

A sigh escaped her lips. Her yearning for this man’s touch was like a solid weight in her body, in her swollen, expectant sex. She almost moved to squeeze her thighs together.

Footsteps.

Her pulse fluttered, her heart tumbled in her chest. She kept her eyes cast down and tried to breathe.

Voices, both male and female. They had arrived.

It was a strange sensation, kneeling naked on the floor, silent and waiting for someone to notice her. How could they not notice her? But these people would be used to such things.

More guests arrived. They moved around her as though she were merely a piece of furniture, there only as decoration. But wasn’t part of what she wanted that feeling of becoming lost in the most extreme of objectification? Her heart pounded in her chest.

From the corners of her eyes she caught sight of expensive shoes and trouser cuffs moving around her. Drinks were poured. Ice tinkled in crystal glasses. She could smell it: the sharp, acrid bite of good gin, the more aromatic scent of Scotch whiskey, the perfume of red wine.

She wasn’t sure how long she was there before Master Robert moved her hair aside and stroked the back of her neck. She knew it was him, knew his touch, his unique scent already. She shivered beneath his hand.

“My sensitive girl,” he said with a quiet laugh.

The conversation in the room faded and died. Robert signaled her with a small squeeze on her neck.

“On your feet, my dear.”

She rose slowly, her knees a little stiff and her heart hammering a thousand miles an hour. She had to face these people!

She could feel Master Robert behind her. His hand slid down to one shoulder, steadying her. “Lift your eyes now, Cassandra, and meet our guests.”

She struggled for a moment before doing as he asked. She tilted her chin up, fluttered her eyes open, and saw them all.

Perhaps a dozen people, all well dressed in different ways. Designer clothes, the best in leather and fetish wear. Most were men, but there were a few women, too. Several slaves knelt in various positions around the room. They were all naked.

She pulled in a deep breath. Suddenly, this all seemed more real to her. She moved her gaze from face to face, searching for her stranger. He wasn’t there.

Still, she was filled with a jumbled mass of confusion and exhilaration. The crowd had started to talk again in hushed tones. And then a very distinguished-looking man with thin, gray hair approached her. He smiled over her shoulder, at Master Robert, she imagined. And then he reached out and ran a finger over the curve of one breast. She was surprised by the sudden touch. And her sex went damp when he gave that same flesh a sharp little pinch.

“Beautiful,” he murmured.

More people approached, touched her, pinched her breasts, her thighs. Master Robert turned her around, and somebody’s hand swatted her buttocks and the back of her thighs, making her tremble with need and nerves.

The touching, spanking, and pinching went on, none of it very hard, but it was overwhelming, all of these different hands on her. And it was that sense of being overwhelmed that helped her to let go, to yield, to sink into it.

Master Robert turned her around again to face a tall, slim woman in a long, narrow black skirt and a red leather corset. Her black hair was piled in a loose tumble on top of her elegant head.

“What do you think, Delphine?” Master Robert’s voice came from behind Cassandra’s shoulder.

“Lovely girl. And so responsive.” The woman’s voice was low and smoky. “I would love to call in that favor you owe me, Robert.”

“Certainly.”

What did this mean? Was she to be given to this woman to play with?

Master Robert went on. “But she’s brand-new. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather wait until I’ve worked with her a bit first?”

The woman grinned. Her lips were painted perfectly in bold scarlet. “You must be joking! Virgin flesh is our favorite. Don’t be greedy, Robert.”

He laughed. “You may as well have her now, then.”

Now? But before she had time to think about it the woman’s hand was around her wrist and Master Robert whispered into her ear, “Go with Mistress Delphine and obey her as you would me. You will refer to her only as Mistress if you are spoken to. Be a good girl and perhaps you will be allowed some release later. Then again, perhaps not.” He sent her off with a chuckle and a gentle push toward the woman who waited to torment her.

“On your knees, pretty girl,” Mistress Delphine’s voice was in her other ear. “You will follow me on your hands and knees.”

Cassandra obeyed, even as her heart pounded, her limbs going weak. What would this woman do with her? But it was all she could do to keep up with the black stiletto heels peeking from the hem of the Mistress’s black skirt.

They crossed to the other side of the room, the wool rug rubbing against her knees. There, a naked male slave helped her to her feet and stood her beneath a crossbar hanging from a chain overhead. She caught his eye as he steadied her with a hand on her arm. Blue eyes. And brown curly hair, a pretty-boy face. He gave her a small smile as he fastened heavy leather cuffs around her wrists and drew her arms over her head. She heard the metallic clink of chain links as her cuffs were fastened to a pair of clips on the bar.

“Beautiful,” Mistress Delphine said quietly.

She circled around Cassandra, stroking her skin here and there, making her shiver. The male slave handed the woman a small, black leather slapper, a device made of two wide strips of stiff leather perhaps five or six inches long, fastened together with a metal ring at one end. The Mistress used it to caress Cassandra’s skin, to prod the full flesh of her breasts. When she swiped it between her thighs Cassandra went wet again.

“Spread your legs. That’s a good girl.”