Billionaire Romance Boxed Set (9 Book Bundle) (82 page)

But this exhibition was not about
sex, not like the Madam had done with Mia during her lesson, and after a
moment, he quickly released her, pulling her down with the loving care of a
parent, stroking the red whelps as the girl curled into him.

Syria was blown away by the sheer
emotion of the experience. The men in the audience were silent, appreciative.
She imagined the same scene with other people, hooting and clapping. But here,
only the lyrical cascade of the music filled the room in the aftermath of what
felt and looked sexual, but had actually had almost no contact you would
normally consider to be sex.

Her body throbbed in key places,
and she knew she was slick. Maybe Mia would be the same way afterward and they
could go home together. Tyson had introduced her to video chat, and a whole new
set of possibilities had opened up. She wished she had her phone and could show
him where she was, but judging by the silent deference of the audiences,
pulling out an electronic gizmo to shoot video probably wouldn’t go over too
well. Once more, Syria wished they had a real relationship and lived in the
same town.

Another man came on stage, this
one dressed more normally in jeans and a white turtleneck. His submissive
strutted on stage, completely different from the childlike deference of the
first girl. She was deeply tan with long blond hair falling over the thin
straps of a formfitting black dress. She cocked a hip, elbow out, and tossed
her hair over one shoulder. The man laughed, chin high, then rubbed the stubble
on his jaw as if trying to decide how to manage his charge.

The audience had visibly relaxed,
and the tone of this pair was completely different from the first. The girl
walked in a tight circle around him, as if appraising his appeal. He grabbed
her and twisted her in front of him, but still held her in the same pose as the
first man had held the first girl, hand on the belly and holding her chin.
Maybe it was some element of the ritual. The first girl was innocent and had to
be taught. This one was to be tamed.

He kissed her deeply, his hand
moving to clamp a breast. When the woman relaxed, he moved to a tender stroke
of the back of his hand along her arm, just grazing a nipple with his thumb.

The tension in the room grew and
Syria felt it within herself. He was about to strike, like a lion coiled unseen
to his prey.

They stayed in that position
another moment, then the man grabbed the straps of her dress and jerked it down
in one swift movement.

Syria inhaled so sharply that a
few of the men turned around. She covered her mouth. She couldn’t get thrown
out before Mia’s turn.

Like the first man, this one
worked swiftly, but the differences were monumental. He blindfolded his girl
and used a spreader bar to maker her knees go wide. His touch was much more
sexual, lingering on her popped-out breasts and sliding through her folds. His
touch on his submissive made Syria writhe in her seat, much hotter and
wondering if she touched herself, if anyone would notice. She longed for her
coat to place in her lap.

The men were impassive, smoking
or sipping drinks, but otherwise seemingly unmoved. Syria didn’t know how they
weren’t going crazy. Maybe they saw this all the time.

The girl spun slowly in a lying
position, anchor ropes at her head, shoulders, waist, and thighs. The spreader
bar made it easy to see the glistening sex as it passed by. Now the man lit red
candles and held her still, heating the soles of her feet until she flinched.
He dripped red wax along her legs, across her belly, and dribbled it on her
breasts. The room grew more tense, the men shifting in their seats, and Syria
saw they were not as unaffected as they had first appeared.

The man bowed and then his part
was over. The woman was not released, but shifted to the side, still in her
suspension. Two boys tugged additional hooks along the pipe. Apparently there
would be more than one girl bound now.

A third man came out on stage,
bowed, and led a figure encased completely in black onto the stage. She had no
face or hands or any visible feature, but the shiny fabric clung to her like an
outer layer of skin. This man did not caress or comfort his submissive, but
quickly bound her body in neon yellow ropes. As he worked on her, the Madam
came out on stage. Syria held her breath as the woman bowed in her brilliant
blue kimono, then stepped aside as Kana led Mia onto the stage in her gold
robe.

She seemed so small and
vulnerable up there. The man with the black figure finished his work,
suspending the girl high above the stage and setting her into a slow rotation.

Mia glanced at her, then turned
back to the Madam, who nodded at her. Mia slowly bent backward, the slippery
robe cascading along her form as her hands reached the floor behind her. Madam
knelt, tying a quick bind around one ankle.

Mia walked her hands closer to
her feet with a contortionist’s practiced ease until she was tight in a circle,
the robe flowing along her body. Madam tied the bound ankle to Mia’s wrist and
tugged on the fabric until it covered Mia’s face to form a loop. She was no
longer a woman, but a circle of gold.

Then men straightened in their
chairs, leaning in as they watched. Syria surged with pride for her friend,
creating something so beautiful and challenging.

Now Madam untied the gold robe
and jerked it free, letting the shimmering fabric flutter the ground. The
tension grew again as the men took in Mia’s body in its tight circle, her
breasts floating near the floor, her hips high. Madam swiftly created a sturdy
corselet around Mia’s waist, distributing her weight across several loops. With
only two simple areas of binding, she attached the ropes to the metal loop and
raised Mia up.

The men pressed forward in their
seats. Now that Mia was aloft in her tight ring, Madam pressed her further,
taking the free leg and tying it up and away from the other. Syria slid to the
edge of her chair, anxious, worried that Mia might be in pain. Her face showed
only calmness, but a small tremor in her arm did not go unnoticed by Madam. She
adjusted a cinch and pressed her hands along Mia’s body, much like she had
during their lesson. Mia relaxed into her position, a near perfect ring of
skin, one leg gracefully outstretched. Madam took the free arm and stretched it
out to balance the form.

Oh, to have her camera. Syria
glanced back at the attendant’s stand, where a line of coats were hanging. Her
bag was lying on the counter. The boy who had taken it from Kana was not there.

Syria stood slowly, back against
the wall, easing toward the stand. The bag was in a good position. All she
needed was to press the proper spot, and she could capture this amazing scene,
three women in suspension, Mia in the middle.

She’d reached the counter when
Madam herself glanced out and saw her. Something in her expression made the men
turn around. Syria tried to lean nonchalantly on the counter but it was not
fixed to the floor and shifted backward with a squeal.

Everyone was watching. A coil of
rope sat on the end of the counter, and not knowing anything else to try, she
picked it up and began tying a coin knot. The men turned back around, and Madam
bowed to show her work was complete. The men began to stand and approach the
women, keeping a respectful distance to admire the displays.

Syria set the coin knot down,
still considering bumping the bag to take a shot. But one of the men walked
back to her rather than to the stage. “Are you studying the art?”

He wore a black suit, no tie. His
dark hair was impeccably trimmed above a classically handsome face.

Syria remembered the instruction
not to speak and simply nodded.

The man fingered the coin knot.
“Will you make another?”

Syria untied the ropes and began
again. The knot was both intricate and simple. Only four steps, but every loop
had to be in place and each movement needed its specific order, angle and
tension, or the two overlapping coins would not appear. She held up the
finished work and he nodded appreciatively.

Syria’s anxiety increased as they
stood together. She had no way to explain her position there without speaking,
and no telling what he might be assuming about her.

“I can only assume you came with
Madam’s new submissive,” he continued. “Forgive me for not introducing myself.
I am Erik Andrada. I am visiting from the Philippines.” He held out his arm.
“Might I escort you to the stage to admire the art?”

She nodded and took his arm. From
the corner of her eye, she saw Kana rush into the back of the room, see her,
and stop. Whatever Syria was doing, it was probably the wrong thing.

The Madam bowed as they
approached but her lips were a thin line of displeasure. Mia hung only a few
feet away. Syria wanted to ask her if she was comfortable, but didn’t want to
make matters worse by speaking. Several of the men had returned to their chairs
and now spoke amiably to each other, smoking and drinking.

Syria longed to touch Mia, make
some small contact to reassure her. But her eyes were closed, perhaps in
concentration, maybe to manage her position.

Erik pressed lightly on Mia’s
thigh, continuing the slow turn. Mia flinched lightly, but Syria knew that
movement, not of pain, but a state of high sensitivity, the one that makes
every touch feel like a jolt. Syria throbbed again. She’d never felt so much
like an arrow in a bow, stretched taut and ready to spring. Tyson had
encouraged her to be Mia’s lover too, and seeing her vulnerable like this was
more stirring than anything they had done together.

The man who had tied the blond
woman brought over a lit candle, running it along Mia’s calf. Now Mia moaned
and the sexual tension in the room ratcheted up a notch.

The girls from the makeup room
came out, wearing sheer gauze that hid little of their tight, lithe bodies. A
few of the men tapped on their tables and the girls scattered among them. The
music bled through it all, lyrical and melancholy, beautiful and haunting. The
candle man dripped the scarlet wax along Mia’s leg and now Syria could barely
stand it so she reached out to touch her, smoothing the still-soft color along
her skin.

A gong sounded from somewhere,
and the man with the candle returned to his submissive. All three girls were
lowered, and Erik returned to the audience. Syria stayed near, not caring
anymore if she was breaking tradition, wanting to be close to her friend. Madam
removed the rope carefully, letting Mia down slowly. All the submissives
groaned in their exhales, relief from the bindings.

The room gradually grew in sound
as the girls sat among the men in the audience, and the music swelled. Syria
rubbed her own hands along the red marks on Mia, who shuddered again and again,
but still kept her eyes closed. Syria remembered how limp and groggy Mia had been
after Madam had come to her house, and wondered how to handle her here on the
hard stage. The gold robe still lay on the floor and Syria snatched at it,
prepared to cover her friend. But Mia opened her eyes, piercing Syria with
need, and this brought Syria over the edge, forgetting she was on a stage, that
strange men sat only a few feet away, and that the Madam presided over them
like a statue, disapproving and stern.

Mia took Syria’s hand and laid it
on her breast, and Syria tweaked the nipple. Mia’s hips lurched upward. Syria
kneeled between her legs and used her other hand to stroke the marks on her
belly, soothing the pain away. The stage emptied as she worked over Mia and now
they were the focus of the room, although she could see the gentle gyrations of
the lithe girls on laps, large dark hands clasping pale bodies.

Syria shut all that out and
focused on Mia, who sat up and untied Syria’s halter. The gossamer fabric
fluttered away. Syria lay fully on Mia now, back to the familiar, her friend
and lover. She kissed the red marks, and her tongue could feel the groove of
the indentions. “My Mia,” she whispered on her skin.

But Mia was impatient and thrust
against her. Syria moved downward, tongue reaching her folds, hot and slick.
And Mia bucked upward instantly, crying out, and the music came down to a soft
undertone so the room could hear her.

The attention was intoxicating
and Syria plunged in, flicking her tongue on Mia’s clit, her hands bracing
Mia’s body to keep her in place. Mia required little contact at all and rose
almost instantly into an orgasm, the muscles tightening and clenching. She
hadn’t even subsided completely when Mia lurched forward, switching their
positions, mouth hot on Syria’s nipple.

Mia’s arms were weak and began to
tremble as she tried to work. The man who had used the candles approached and
slid a soft length of silk along her rib cage and her hips, quickly tying a
simple cradling suspension that took her weight off, looping it through the
dangling hook above.

Mia relaxed and now swung freely
over Syria, nipping at her skin, and tugging on the skirt.

Am I really doing this? Syria
lost her concentration on the moment and realized where she was, lying on a
stage, her clothes coming off. Two girls arrived and helped Mia remove Syria’s
boots, and the skirt. Mia pulled down the panties and plunged fingers inside.
Her knees still touched the floor, only her upper body suspended, and she
scooted backward. The man lowered her silks enough that her lips could encircle
Syria’s belly button and now they were lost again, forgetting the audience,
only the rhythm of the fingers and mouths, the bodies that fit together with
familiarity.

Mia seemed to be recovering and
worked downward, her mouth fitting over Syria’s mound, sucking lightly on the clit.
Syria’s cry seemed to wake the audience and the man with the candle, who had
hovered closely, began to run his hands along Mia’s back. He whispered
something in her ear and Mia lifted her head and nodded. Even as Mia returned
to Syria, the man moved behind her, stroking Mia’s hips and bending over her
back.