His (7 page)

But not really in her place. Not with all her interests, her few restrictions, and her darned near perfect submission, to say nothing of her wonderful body and quick mind. She had rapidly become the focal point of his life, and had come awful close to replacing his business, which no one and nothing had ever been able to do in his lifetime. He wanted her with him permanently, and not just on her say so alone. He wanted her bound to him in every possible way, and if that entailed marriage, then he was more than willing to take that step.

The next thing she said blew him away as much as his original proposal had done to her.

"I want a pre-nup."

Chapter Five

Her breasts were killing her. She thought they were going to fall off - worse than that, she thought they were going to stay attached. He had bound them at the base, as usual commandeering a pair of her own stockings and looping them around each breast in a figure eight that he cinched tight and tied off between her breasts, then tacked each of them individually. Not only were they each very tightly bound, but her now almost nonexistent nipples had also been previously clothes pinned, so that now, only the barest tips of them remained between those terrible wooden jaws.

This was a very different situation from their usual. Not in their location, which was their bedroom, where she'd been punished and her limits had regularly been tested since they'd met. And not in circumstance - she had been spread eagled and attached to the recessed hooks in the ceiling more times than she could count. A long, thick spreader bar kept her legs well apart, and her ankles were also anchored to recessed hooks in the otherwise immaculate hard wood floor.

She wasn't going anywhere. Raina was subject to whatever whim came into his head at the time.

The difference this time was that he was mad.

He'd been mad since she'd mentioned a prenuptial agreement. Not that he had wanted to have mentioned it first, and had to talk her into it, which should have been the case and probably would have with any other woman but Raina. But because she had mentioned it first, and even spoken - as far as he was concerned, as if she thought that if they ever ended up parting company, which he didn't intend, he would somehow try to come after her for money, or her business.

He had flatly refused to sign one, even if it was drawn up by his own lawyers. He knew that this could simply be a trick, some sort of reverse psychology on her part to get him to be just that much more generous with her, to make him think that she wasn't after his money.

But the bald truth was that he'd never thought she was a gold digger. She was doing too well on her own - granted, she didn't have the blue blood, blue chip money that he did from generations of ancestors profiteering in various industries; she was nouveau riche, and her millions couldn't compare with his billions. But he'd never thought that she looked at him as a dollar sign. Hell, the woman never spent any money of her own - except on the cooking gadgets she insisted on collecting or the occasional piece of Waterford that caught her eye - much less his own. She'd always taken him to task when he'd tried to spend any of his own money on her, complaining - genteely, because that's what he required, but complaining none the less - that she had her own money and had no need of his.

For some reason, though, her suggestion that she would be requiring a prenup before she'd say yes incensed him. It was as if she could trust him with her body and soul - and did on more intimate occasions than he could count - but she couldn't trust him financially.

She should have known him better than that, and he was struggling with himself not to take it out on that very pretty hide - and he was losing. Badly.

He often inflicted pain on her just because he wanted to - not when she'd done anything to deserve it, but because he could, and because it always amazed him that, even though her bottom was striped to within an inch of its life, she would still be literally dripping wet when he cut her down - if he hadn't already brought her to a thundering orgasm that outstripped any amount of pain he'd inflicted.

He adored her breasts, and adored torturing them even more. They were perfectly shaped, as far as he was concerned, and definitely had not undergone any sort of enhancement surgery, which he personally detested. They were still relatively high and firm, though, even more so now that he'd gotten to work on them with those stretchy stockings of hers.

Standing directly in front of her as he forced her to throw those slim white arms wide, he began to lazily flick those clothespins up and down with one finger of each hand, letting the sounds of her anguished whimpers flow over him like the auditory aphrodisiac they were. He was, of course, rock hard, tenting the dress pants he hadn't bothered to change out of when they'd gotten home. He was still in his Italian leather shoes, the sleeves of his hand tailored, white silk shirt rolled up to just below his elbows, accentuating the heavily muscled forearms he was using to fiddle with those poor, beleaguered breasts, as well as when he'd laid deep lines of anguish across her bottom and the back of her thighs.

Now, though, he'd put the thick leather belt he'd used to decorate her backside down, and, instead, had taken up a small leather flogger where each small strand was knotted at the end. It was designed for maximum sting with minimum effort. He could stand there and abrade her breasts for hours without breaking a sweat.

And she knew it.

He'd blindfolded her, with a comfortable, padded leather blindfold that he'd had custom molded to her face, so that she could wear it for hours and it wouldn't become uncomfortable, and not so much as a peep of light leaked in. Since she couldn't see what he was doing, he was very careful to tell her. She'd seen every implement in her closet, and she knew how pretty much all of them felt against that tender skin. He'd seen her flinch when he'd dropped the belt to the floor with a clunk, and then flinch again when he told her what it was that he was picking up as he made his way to stand in front of her.

At first, all her master did was just draw the small cat over her burgeoning, already over sensitized flesh, letting some of the tendrils dance down onto the edges of her nipples where they were squashed out the sides of the clothespins.

She was swinging her head around wildly, knowing what was coming next and not wanting to think of it, chomping at the wide, leather covered bit he'd forced between her teeth and well back into her mouth, strapping it tightly behind her head near where her pony tail trapped that long mane.

The bit assured him that she wouldn't be able to utter anything but long, anguished moans and high pitched shrieks as he had his way with any part of her body he chose to turn his attentions to.

"I love to see your breasts like this," he whispered hoarsely, having to hold himself back from just taking her and having done with it.

Raina wanted to twist and turn and wiggle and writhe, but every movement merely accentuated the agonized condition of her breasts, so she stood as still as she could, whimpering softly behind her gag.

And then the cat fell, softly at first, almost caressingly, once on the top of each breast as he picked up a rhythm and began slapping that horrid thing down on her more frequently, windmilling it as he heard the knots splat against her skin, and watched her struggle not to dance to the tune he was calling and thus increase her own suffering.

Then he moved the windmill forward and to the side, so that it would hit that nipple flesh that was already in excruciating pain, adding another layer of explicit discomfort, and she did begin to move then. She had absolutely no choice. The stinging added to the incessant ache he'd already created had overtaken her brain, and Raina could no longer think; she could only react.

When he was finished, when there were lovely, angry red lines criss crossing that plumped out breast flesh, he stood in front of her again, the cat discarded, listening to her soft, stunted sobbing. He held a wicked looking knife in one hand. "You must remain still, Raina. I don't want a nick in my property," he ordered. Seconds later, he had cut through the nylons binding each of her breasts, slipping his fingers beneath them so that they fell to the ground, releasing all of that pent up blood into her starved body.

Raina's breasts tingled and prickled terribly, and her poor beleaguered nipples that were still trapped and clamped by those torturous clothes pins swelled immediately as much a they could, which wasn't much, and that only made them hurt more. Then, after she'd settled somewhat from that latent insult, in one quick movement, he set his fingers on the closed ends of the pins that were pinching those sweet nipples, and opened them quickly, removing them entirely and dropping them on the floor with the strands of stockings.

Her squeals and shrieks as those small buds became engorged, as they were meant to be, as they had been trying to be all along, brought a barely there smile to his face, and suddenly, he couldn't wait any longer to do what he wanted.

He lowered her arms some, so that they were more to her sides than stretched upwards as if she was pleading with the ceiling for mercy, so that she could lean into them. And she would need it. He was throbbing so badly he was afraid things were going a lot more quickly than he intended.

Moving around behind her, he ran his hands down her flank possessively, squeezing the already blazing red cheeks, noting with immense satisfaction the bright red stripes he'd laid there. But as much as he simply wanted to part those cheeks and drive himself into her - into whichever opening his cock found first - he knew that if he did that, she'd be forced away from him by his own thrusts.

So he went to the closet and tugged out a barricade that she sometimes had to bend low over to receive a correction. It was a simple wooden wall, with an almost saddle like leather area for her to lie across, with lots of padding for her to be pushed up against - hard, like he liked to - without getting bruises he hadn't intended for her to wear. It bolted very securely to the floor, so that even he would have a very hard time knocking it over.

After he'd gotten everything arranged the way he wanted it, all the while still listening to her cries and sobs, he came again to stand behind her, reveling in the sight he'd made of that luscious bottom. He placed a hand on either rounded cheek, over the welts he'd laid previously, and saw her head jerk up at his touch. Blindfolded or not, she no doubt knew what was in store for her merely by the positioning of the sturdy horse in front of her.

"Ah yes, my dear. I've held myself off as long as I can, and now I'm going to bury myself inside you," he growled, leaning over her. "I'm going to fuck you, Raina. In whatever hole I find first."

The spreader bar kept her legs well apart, and because she could lean onto the platform he'd put in front of her, he forced her ankles even further apart, since he had no concerns that she would fall over. He wanted her exposed, and that's just the way she found herself.

As he rose from the squat he'd assumed to make those adjustments, he let his fingers trail up the insides of her legs, until they found that lush, humid grotto they were so familiar with, inserting themselves between lips that had been naturally tugged apart, that provided absolutely no defense against his marauding exploration. She was, as he'd suspected, dripping wet, and he carried some of that dew to her clit, which was already as engorged as her nipples, pinching and tweaking it, lazily considering that it needed its own clothespin, but not willing to go to that trouble.

He was too interested in slaking his own desires at this point.

Appreciating the fact that he was fully clothed and she was completely naked - which, for him, was a hugely sexual situation in and of itself - he undressed himself as little as was necessary to free his rock hard erection, unzipping his pants and rearranging his underwear, but guaranteeing that she could feel the fine fabric of his Armani pants against her sore butt. Keeping those cheeks spread well apart, both of those enticing openings automatically exposed by the way the horse required her to bend low over it, he nevertheless stabbed blindly into her, his rigid cock finding a home in the area of least resistance, swelling up into her pussy as it clamped down upon him almost as surely as those clothespins had clamped down on her poor nipples.

A sigh of the purest of ecstasies escaped his lips as he drank in the sight of her, nude and bent and bound before him, blind and mute, able only to receive that which he decided to give, be in pain or pleasure. After only about three strokes, he knew that he could easily lose complete control, so he backed away for a moment and came around to her head, reaching to the back of it to unbuckle the rod that was yanked so far back in her mouth that it bit into that other set of rounded cheeks.

It fell to the floor with a thud. "Tell me who you belong to," he commanded, moving back around behind her to drive himself into her again, hearing her guttural moan as his swollen length filled her to capacity.

"You, Sir," she whispered.

"Again, louder," he commanded, snapping himself in and out of her in time with his orders.

Raina cleared her scratchy throat and tried again, anxious to please him. "You, Sir,"

"Engagement, wedding, common law marriage, who do you belong to?" he ground out, pumping into her harder and harder.

"You, Sir," she answered immediately through her own groans as she tried to absorb the impact of his powerful strokes.

He let himself enjoy her, just a bit, just for a while, enjoying the way she couldn't quite cringe from him, that she couldn't escape from whatever he did to her, and knowing that she was christening his cock with her own juices, knowing that she loved what he did to her.