Ice Queen (5 page)

Bending, he pressed his lips hard to the bottom of the black heel. His eyes raised briefly to take a hungry snapshot of her face, showing her those clear, pleading eyes she could not find it in her to resist.

It twisted things inside her, his words, his expression, the beautiful power of his body, so eager to please, to rut, to fuck if a woman commanded it of him.

No teasing came from the other Dommes now. There were moments a sub could humble his Mistress with his devotion. While Brendan did not belong to her, he was offering her that exceptional level of loyalty based on their one session together. She knew what they said about her, that her reputation deserved such responses, the things 31

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she was able to pull out of a sub in such a short time, like this. It didn’t mean that the gift did not affect her.

“I’ll think on what you said. In the meantime, prove how much you want my mark.

Until I tell you to cease, every Friday you will submit to a session with Master Tiberius.”

Master Tiberius was a pain administrator the Inquisition would have envied, bringing subs to orgasms so interlaced with agonizing physical strain that they did not know how to separate pain from pleasure. And she knew Brendan was deathly afraid of him, of having the walls shattered that pain could destroy.

“Yes, Mistress. Gladly.”

The lack of disagreement or hesitation startled her. She lifted his chin, allowing herself to stroke his smooth cheek with her fingers. His lips were soft, pale pink, but then all the subs she chose had that quality, innocence still preserved in their features despite the transition to full, fine manhood.

“You’re not afraid.”

“I fear Tiberius but I fear your displeasure more, Mistress.”

“Go then and do my bidding this week. And the next, and the next, until I’m satisfied and tell you to stop.”

She’d stopped over Tiberius’ favored room at times during the next couple months, breaking her pattern to come to The Zone on several Fridays. Not to play, just to see Brendan and how he was doing. Gagged, nipples and scrotum clamped, his anus stretched with plugs of impressive size, balls forced through cruel stiff straps, Tiberius’

flogger leaving red marks on his flesh until Brendan screamed and came, again and again. And he would risk the Master’s wrath to look up, find her and bow his head to show he would endure anything for the chance to bear the mark of her servant. Even though he would be a servant that he knew and she knew would never be called to serve her.

* * * * *

She hadn’t made an idle choice. After two months of Fridays, Brendan was ready for what she would do to him tonight. He could not only bear the pain; she intended that he would find pleasure in it.

She knelt at his face, cupped it in her hand and touched those soft lips. She’d let him kiss her pussy in that first and only session, she remembered. It had been through her clothes and just the press of his lips. She’d made him remain completely still with his mouth on her clit for several minutes, his nostrils flaring to take in her scent, his jaw tense to keep him from moving as ordered, though it was obvious he wanted to disobey with his whole body. Even that still touch was a liberty she didn’t often allow those she took into the private rooms. Once, she’d allowed a sub to fuck her with a dildo strapped around his jaw while he serviced her clit with his mouth but she hadn’t repeated the 32

Ice Queen

experience. It had done too many strange things to her, things that had kept her from coming back to The Zone for a month. Intimacy was too dangerous for her.

Taking down the front zipper of her snug bodysuit one set of teeth at a time, she revealed what she had cradled between her breasts. A lifelike phallus, warm with the heat of her skin. She put it into her mouth to lubricate it with her own saliva. It was not particularly large. After the sessions with Master T, she knew Brendan could easily take it.

“Shall I put this in you, Brendan? Up that sweet, fine ass of yours?”

“Yes, Mistress. Please.”

“Did you clean yourself for me?”

“Yes, Mistress. Thoroughly. Tim helped me.” He referred to his roommate and live-in lover. “But I mean, we didn’t… I saved myself for you tonight, Mistress.” She nodded, rose, this time walking the length of his body so closely that her thigh brushed his side. She noted that just that brief contact raised fine gooseflesh on him.

Stepping over his anchored calves, she positioned the dildo in both her hands before her hips as if it was attached to her in the way it was attached to a man and guided it in.

She’d had Jeremy grease him up further, so even with her saliva, it was a smooth glide.

She put her pubic bone against the base once she had it started down the passageway and let go. Gripping either side of his buttocks, she used her carefully balanced forward weight to push it slowly inward, her hips brushing the inside of his quivering thighs.

She made a mental note to thank Master T for his thorough work, though he’d already sent her a dozen long-stemmed pink roses for the gift of Brendan these many weeks.

Brendan moaned his pleasure.

Running her nails down his cheeks, she watched the red marks rise up on his flesh, then slid one finger in the crevice and caressed the stretched rim of him around the plug. When he gasped, she saw his testicles tighten between his spread legs.

“Are you hard for me, Brendan?”

“As steel, my lady.”

She liked the improvisational title. “But you won’t come.”

“Never without your permission, Mistress.”

She reached down, cupped his balls, found the rigid line of his cock up against his belly with one straightened finger. Rubbing her fingertip idly over the pulsing vein in its center, she watched his ass clench in reaction, his tiny jerks as he involuntarily tried to thrust into her touch.

“My apologies, Mistress.”

“You don’t displease me, Brendan. I want you to hold nothing back but your seed.

When I put the iron to your flesh, you will not make a sound or movement. Do you understand?”

“I…I understand. I can do that.”

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“I know you can.” Tiberius would have been sure to train him that screams could command greater degrees of pain. She would use the lesson to show him how euphoric the internalizing of intense sensation could be.

She savored the feel of him in her hand another moment. The hard length, its heat, the pulsing want it conveyed. She wondered how Tyler would feel, his size and thickness, how his heat would taste in her mouth.

She stopped a moment. That was an unusual thought. She’d certainly tasted a sub’s cock before, usually when he was strapped and turned upside down on a wheel so he could stare at her pussy while she enjoyed taunting his erect member at her eye level.

But that wasn’t what she imagined with Tyler. In her mind, she moved down his body to her knees, taking him in her mouth while his hand came to rest on her head, tightening in her hair, driving her down on him.

Good Goddess… She straightened abruptly, stepped back, paced away to collect her thoughts. Did another circle of the room. Deep breaths again.
Accept. Analyze later.

“Are you all right, Mistress?” It was Jeremy who spoke in a low murmur, but she could tell from the flick of his lashes that Brendan had heard.

“Nothing that Brendan can’t fix for me,” she said softly. A pleased flush rose in her captive’s cheeks. She moved back to him, slowly. Heel, toe, heel, toe.

Tyler watched her from above, his brow furrowed. He’d picked up on her agitation as well, a mere ripple in the normal pond of tranquility surrounding her, though she seemed to refocus herself now. She was stunning tonight. The white bodysuit fit her like skin. A ripple of reaction had gone through the crowd when she stepped from the shadows for she’d decorated herself with diamonds. A choker at her throat, teardrop clip-ons at her ears and an ankle bracelet on the left boot. His lips curved as he imagined asking her what man had given her those. Imagined her tart reply that she didn’t need a man to give her diamonds.

“This skin…” She was passing her fingers over every bump of Brendan’s spine now. “Is mine. As is the muscle and sinew, every dark corner inside you, any disease or infection, every thing. I accept all of it. It is
my
skin I’m touching.” Hypnotic. Her voice filled the air as some enterprising staff person bumped up the sound system so it reached every corner of The Zone.

“She’s like a priestess, isn’t she?”

Tyler pulled his attention away from them to see Lisbeth, another Zone Domme, take a seat next to him. Lisbeth was in her fifties, beautifully maintained and wealthy and a very good Mistress to her subs.

“Her acolytes are trained and prepared under the tutelage of the other ordained priests and priestesses, like Tiberius, while she watches from afar.” Lisbeth considered the tableau beneath them, her expression absorbed by it. “Then, when they’ve earned it, when they’re ready mentally and physically for the punishment she’ll put them through, she takes them to enlightenment.” She took a sip of her vodka and tonic.

“You sound reverent.”

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“And a bit intimidated by her. When she turns those pale eyes on a sub, he wants to give her everything and yet he’s petrified, wondering if she’ll ask for more than he can give. And then she plunges a hand into areas he doesn’t know he has and wrests it out anyway.”

He turned his attention back to Marguerite thoughtfully. It was another piece of the puzzle. Perhaps Marguerite provided her subs a transcendental experience because her goal was not her own sexual pleasure but to see them reach spiritual bliss through physical release. And that’s what she did, every time.

“We judge one another all the time, don’t we?” That sensual voice came through the speakers. Marguerite was pacing around Brendan. “But when we do that, we’re just projecting our perspective on someone and not really seeing them.” She crouched, so close to Brendan their noses almost touched. He looked dazed by his lust, mesmerized by her. “When I look into your eyes now, I see beneath the surface, everything you’ve built or constructed. Minds don’t know each other. Only souls. That’s where I’m going, Brendan. Straight to your soul. I see who you are and you see me. We know each other.”

“Yes, Mistress. God, yes.”

She studied him another moment, then rose. Marguerite went to the metal container holding the briquettes, lifted the first iron. Taking two steps to him, she laid her hand precisely on the center of the small of his back. “Not a sound, Brendan,” she reminded him.

She laid the brand on his skin with the deliberate precision of an aristocrat putting her seal into wax and held it. Jeremy’s nostrils flared, emphasizing that the most uncomfortable aspect for bystanders was the unfamiliar smell of burning human flesh.

Every muscle in Brendan’s face contorted, his jawline frozen in rigid agony, his shoulders trembling with the effort not to do anything to anchor himself. Marguerite’s countenance was a study of focus, her full concentration on what she was doing and how she was doing it.

“Feel the pain, Brendan. Accept it.” She lifted the iron, handed it to Jeremy.

Reaching down, she worked the plug in slight movements, her fingertips whispering against the sensitive bulge of his sac as he breathed hard through his mouth. There was a light sheen of sweat on his skin. When she held out one hand, she was handed a soft cloth which she patted in the dip of his spine on either side of the fleur de lis brand.

“It hurts now, almost more than when I did it, doesn’t it? That will go away, because the nerve endings will die. But the nerves around it will compensate every time you move for a while, bringing you pain. Reminding you of your gift to me.”

“My…pleasure, Mistress.”

There was a soft murmur among the watching audience at the devotion in the trembling male voice, even though he knew he had two more coming. Two that would hurt worse because of their proximity to the first brand.

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Tyler could only shake his head in amazement. Even Marguerite for once displayed a less than perfectly controlled reaction. Laying her cheek in the middle of Brendan’s back, she swept her ponytail to the side so the strands of her hair spilled over his shoulders, the line of his cheek, across his mouth. Pursing her full lips, she blew soft, cool air along the brand. He shook in response. She cupped his buttock again, twitching the plug with her thumb and forefinger, her head moving as he writhed at the stimulation. “Two more to go, Brendan. I could do them at the same time but I won’t.

Do you know why?”

“Because my pain is your pleasure, Mistress.”

“Yes. Yes, it is. And I like to savor gifts.” She rose, one lithe movement from the erotic squat where her knees had been splayed, the white material straining over her ass, the dark shadow of the cleft visible, showing Tyler, showing them all that she wore nothing underneath it.

As she turned, Tyler’s eyes narrowed.

“What?” Lisbeth asked, apparently catching his reaction.

“She’s not wet.”

Lisbeth lifted a brow. “With that pristine white, she could be wearing something inside to keep from staining. For some Mistresses, part of the turn-on is completely controlling their external reaction to the slave. Keeping them guessing, not giving them the advantage of thinking they’ve aroused you, though of course they know you wouldn’t be doing it if it didn’t.”

“Of course.” But his gaze drifted up as Marguerite straightened, caressing Brendan’s hair, allowing him to place a fervent kiss on her palm. Her nipples, clearly visible in the bra that had to be open-cupped or thin beneath the outfit, were not drawn to taut points that arousal indicated. In fact… He leaned forward, studied her skin. She wasn’t even perspiring.

But he wouldn’t say she wasn’t aroused. He sensed the still explosiveness of her, the total attention that was possible with intense sexual sessions with a submissive. It was as if her physical response was hidden somewhere that no one else could see or find it. He wondered if even she could feel it, or if it was somewhere contained inside her like a bomb she had no idea she was carrying. When he kissed her neck, he’d had a clear view down the front of her blouse, the full curve tucked into white lace. He’d seen gooseflesh rise on her skin then. If he’d commanded her to be still, if he had inserted his finger into that neckline, down the column of a perfect throat, would he have felt her nipples harden beneath his fingertips, her body tremble? And if he’d pressed the heel of his palm in between those elegant thighs, would he have discovered damp heat?