Vampire Mistress (5 page)

He’d been caught twice by vampires, and in both instances had had the good fortune—or misfortune—of them trying to torment him instead of killing him outright. So he’d had to learn to keep his wits about him when restrained, boxed in. But he was in a different mind-set tonight. This wasn’t about vampires. She’d raked those sharp, razor-laden nails over his defenses, shredded them so he wasn’t sure what to do or be in this situation.

Normally, he was fine with the fury that could erupt from him. It was a deadly tool he could use against his enemies. But Mistress Queen Bitch was a mortal woman, and he could hurt her. He reminded himself of that, but it was lost in the red haze. The restraints had become the suffocating walls of a coffin, his lack of ability to see or speak increasing the sense of claustrophobia. He’d shaken off the soft, female bodies pressing against him, snarling and spitting at them, letting them know he was no longer playing along, and they’d retreated. Were they still here? He needed to calm down, listen, try to get a grip, rather than turn into a berserker who would do something irreparably stupid.

“You aren’t in control right now.” Her voice, only a few feet away, had him stiffening. He hadn’t even heard her. Was she still wearing the heels? “You need to accept that. I have all the control. All the decisions to be made are mine.”

Yeah, she was still in the heels. That hollow
tap
,
tap
came across the tile, a rhythm that easily brought to mind how her hips swung with the help of those fuck-me-blind shoes. She was sauntering, the bitch. He couldn’t talk. He needed to talk.

When her palm slid over his slick shoulder, he jerked, but it was that same soothing stroke, as if she understood how close he was to losing it. Her knuckles drifted over his chest, drawing little circles in the oil over his nipples, teasing them, then up to his jaw, painting that same slickness over his lips, stretched over the ball gag. The caress sent electricity straight down to his groin. The oil had a tart lemon flavor.

“Easy,” she crooned. She moved her fingers along his nape as she shifted behind him, following the curve of his spine, down the oily line of one ass cheek. His cock bucked hard in its restraints; then he tensed up like a virgin as her fingers probed. “Nice and tight.”

He made a helpless growl, a denial, as her fingers eased in, then . . . oh, holy Christ. The blunt end of a dildo. “No, no!” He shouted it against the gag, yanking against his restraints. The rings tightened against his cock, biting hard enough that the pain rocketed up his body.
Fuck.
He groaned.

The dildo continued to fondle his rim. She wasn’t trying to push in, just caressing, stimulating, making his cock ache in a decidedly disturbing way. “I see scars on your back here . . . and here . . . and here. Everywhere. Terrible things, terrible moments. Yet you fear this? Though you’ve obviously never had anything in your ass, you know this little cock won’t hurt you as badly as these things did.” Her other hand settled on a jagged knife scar, eased down to press on two shiny bullet marks. “What you fear is what it might do to you. What you might reveal to me about your desires. Your needs.”

“Fuck you.” The gag interfered, saliva sprayed, but he was pretty sure she got the drift. Her laugh was soft, mocking.

“That has to be earned.” Both hands went up under his hair, gripped and pulled back so the collar put pressure on his throat. “Behave, angry man.”

The fact the dildo was still at the lower level told him she was wearing it as a strap-on.
Fuck.
He didn’t realize how hard he was clenched until she gave his buttock a playful pinch, setting him off balance. “You know,” she said, “if a child holds his breath, all you have to do is wait for the body’s survival instinct to kick in and force him to breathe again. Sometimes you have to wait until he passes out for that to happen, but I don’t think that will be necessary.”

It was as if they were holding a casual conversation in a park, rather than her circling his completely restrained naked body in a room that echoed every purring word. “Easy, Gideon. You’re going to want how this makes you feel.”

Subjugated. Dominated. Nothing. Used. And yet, under her touch, those words seemed different, more provocative than condemning. Even so, he couldn’t get himself to relax. Every muscle remained rigid, his buttocks clenched tight. He made another furious, strangled noise of protest.

Her palms pressed on his buttocks like wings, her thumbs teasing the seam before they moved up his back again, slow, firm, a thorough massage that traveled up to his shoulders. Leaning into his body, despite the oil, she pressed hers against the planes and valleys of his torso and ass. The phallus slid innocuously between his legs, stroking his testicles. Her thigh pressed to the inside of his, making his balls draw up at the friction.

“Do you understand what you’re looking for here, Gideon? We have men who seek pain and restraint for one reason. To give themselves permission to be helpless, to cry for what they’ve lost, what they can’t control. But you’d rather die than be that vulnerable, right?”

He was swaying into her touch, that erotic kneading. It was as if she was individually assessing every muscle in his shoulders, his back, then along his nape, pulling his head back onto his shoulders again, tugging at his scalp, reminding him of the collar around his neck and stimulating nerves there as well. As she shifted, her breasts rubbed beneath his shoulder blades, her nipples a distinct, tantalizing pressure beneath a thin, stretched fabric. He realized she’d changed shirts, a fabric that didn’t seem to have any trouble sliding over the slick surface of his skin. But he wanted the intimacy of her flesh.

“If it was only sex you wanted, you’d jerk off in whatever dive you burrow during the daylight hours. From your clothes, your body, I can tell you don’t give yourself much. But for some reason, you’ve given yourself this. Which means it’s a very, very powerful need. You hate that, believe that it’s weakness that brought you here, searching for something you don’t understand.”

Her fingers dropped, closed around his cock, and he made that strangled, involuntary sound again, even as he grew more solid in her hand, every nerve ending straining toward the touch of slim, firm fingers. “You sought the darker levels of my club, like you seek the darker levels of yourself. Down here, sex is merely the gateway to what the soul wants.”

She didn’t need implements of torture. Her tongue was sufficient, and with his pressed down by that ball gag, he was helpless to stop her. Letting him go, she moved around to his front. Her fingers glided wherever they wished, in no pattern he could anticipate, another torture. Up, caressing his throat beneath the collar. Down to a nipple, skirting it to explore his rib cage. Then a serpentine, lazy path across his abdomen. Her thigh brushed his again, the hard rubber of the dildo a vague threat. His cock leaked more fluid, and a drop splashed against his foot.

A soft, moist tongue licked it away, making him start as it teased the sensitive crevice between two of his toes.

“Janet is still here,” his Mistress said in a conversational tone. “I could tell you particularly liked her. Men may look at supermodels, but that’s not what they want beneath them. When it comes to fucking, males want the full, big tits, the soft belly and generous, ripe ass.”

Gideon sucked in a breath as Janet’s mouth closed over his cock with a blissfully flexible tongue. She teased the base ring, sucked on the length of his shaft, a slow, easy rhythm that made him groan with the friction of the metal against straining flesh.

Was she going to watch him totally lose control, be blown off?

His Mistress laid her head on his shoulder now, her arm sliding under his to stroke his back in broad, drifting sweeps. From the shift of her body he thought she might have passed an affectionate hand over Janet’s hair as well. The strap-on was pressed to his belly, where his own cock would be, hard and tall, if it weren’t chained down.

“You’re looking for more than that generous ass, though.” She moved again, another circle of touches, the occasional treasure of her mouth, sipping here and there on his neck, his shoulder, the tender skin between his shoulders. Which tensed as his Mistress leaned in behind him again. Meanwhile, Janet sucked away at his cock, so that his legs were trembling. She was too damned good. He was going to explode, and he didn’t want to do that. Couldn’t do this.

His tormentor rubbed her face between his shoulder blades, wound her arms around his chest. It was a gesture of comfort, reassurance, that lasted one breath before she scraped across his nipple with that razor blade.

He arched up with a hiss, the fiery pain wrapping itself up with the thrust into Janet’s mouth. When he felt that dildo again, pressed against his buttock, he tensed immediately, but his Mistress remained leaning against his body, holding him in a light clasp of her arms. Idly, she played with his nipples, then followed the line of hair that arrowed down his abdomen toward the busy Janet. The submissive was making hungry little humming noises in the back of her throat, such that he couldn’t help but imagine her before him on her knees, head moving and gorgeous ass quivering and tits wobbling as she worked him. If he was free, he’d be tempted to pull back her head and spill his seed over them, or work his cock in that slippery valley between.

He wondered what it would be like to have this cool Mistress on her knees before him and almost came then and there. Would have, if she hadn’t scored the other nipple with that sharp edge, as if she was anticipating the edge of control he was riding.

“You won’t come until I tell you that you can. You won’t be weak. You’ll hold out for me, won’t you?”

He gave a muffled curse, and her smile pressed against his shoulder. “That’s what I thought. You want to know what else I think? Sometime, not so long ago, there was a night where you finally got those terrible voices in your head to be quiet. On that one blissful night, it wasn’t about how you’d failed, or what you had to do. Things got so intense and simple at once, it was all about feeling, but not the bad kind of feeling. You moved past conscious thought to what your heart and soul wanted, needed, so desperately. They could breathe for a little while.”

She lifted on her toes, her voice dropping to a whisper, as if she spoke to him through a closed door, telling him that she had the key to free him, that his shields were an illusion she could swing out of her way at any time. “A woman held the reins that night. Your heart and soul keep bringing you back to my door, because you know Atlantis has what you’re seeking.”

Not Atlantis. Her. But she was still talking, her voice stripping him more effectively than the removal of his clothes. “Your problem is your mind came here looking for what you want, rather than what you need. Your soul is the battleground between those two forces.”

A helpless, angry groan escaped him as her words, her caressing touch and Janet’s mouth distracted him enough that the well-oiled dildo slid past the opening of his ass, sinking inside a couple inches. A wealth of nerve endings awoke, obviously responding well to her pioneering efforts. He bucked against the stimulation, though, and the cock harness bit into his turgid flesh.

“There you go. There’s my boy,” she crooned, and used his movements to slide in farther. Christ. It burned and yet it felt good, too good. His cock was pulsing in an alarming way.

“A sweet, fine, virgin ass. Stop resisting, Gideon. Just be my slave. Let me use you until you’re mindless. This is actually very slim, a beginner’s size. Slim enough that you can’t keep it out, but a nice flared head to give you the proper friction and pressure.”

“Stop it,” he mumbled around the gag, and saliva escaped onto his chin, embarrassing him. Janet’s mouth withdrew, and a handkerchief touched his mouth, as if the submissive were a nurse, ready to mop up the blood or wipe away the result of his Mistress’s surgical incisions into his soul.

Now past the clenched muscles that could provide any resistance to her, she sank in to the hilt. He shuddered, his cock spasming. No, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, let go. As if she knew how close he was, both women went still as he fought the release. It was a near thing, his heart thundering in his ears, his face tight with concentration, her breath on his neck, waiting.

“You are powerless, and yet you are also invincible, Gideon. Nothing is so dichotomous as human beings. You’re a warrior, a killer . . . yet you’re helpless against this need in you. You need to serve a woman’s desires, her demands.”

He shook his head, kept shaking it. In answer she moved again, a thrust and rock that took her right against his prostate, pushing with the right amount of pressure. And again, and again, until his cock was pulsing. He yanked against the restraints, yanked hard, and got nothing. Damn. It incensed him, but she increased her thrusts, starting to fuck him in earnest. He groaned as Janet’s mouth closed over his cock again, taking him to the root, tongue flicking in a way that took the rest of his brain cells. The women worked in tandem. As he jerked forward, he plunged into Janet’s mouth. When he jerked back, he impaled himself.

She’d said not to come, but he couldn’t stop it. He was going to fail her. Fail himself. But then she gave him Heaven from inside Hell’s grip.

“Come for me now, Gideon. I command it.”

He roared against the gag as his seed came boiling forth. Despite that, he fought his own body and the stimulation like a battle in truth. No matter what she said, this wasn’t what he wanted, needed. But she didn’t care. She worked him deeper, harder, drawing the climax out longer than he expected, so that his roar became a bellow, a snarl of frustration. Particularly when Janet pulled off him, leaving him hot and hard, hanging in the wind, jetting out onto the tile floor.

Even without that wet heat closed around him, it was one of the most intense orgasms he’d ever experienced, the combination of stimulation and deprivation together, his hot, relentless pump into the air, the contraction of his balls as his cock flooded with one last, hard expulsion of semen. He rocked against the chains, swayed, the world spinning. Without the chains’ support, his knees would have buckled.