Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set (11 page)

There was a soft rap on the door. “Are you all right
in there?” Daisy asked, breaking me out of my reverie.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I called back. “Great, in fact.” I
made one more slight adjustment to my mask and stepped out of the
room. Daisy gave me a quick once-over, and smiled her approval.

She led me further down the hall to a narrow spiral
staircase. “The submission rooms are downstairs,” she said. “You’ll
be in a voyeur room adjacent to the Blossom Submission Chamber.
There’s a one-way mirror that looks out onto the chamber. You can
see everything going on in the submission chamber, but the bondage
participants can’t see you.”

“Participants?” I asked. “As in, more than one?”

Daisy laughed out loud at my ignorance. “Of
course
there’s more than one, Jasmine. It’s hard to engage
in bondage play by yourself, after all.”

I felt my cheeks flush. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s all right, Jasmine. We all have a first
time.”

I followed Daisy down the spiral staircase and into
the viewing room. There were several empty chairs in front of the
darkened one-way mirror, but it appeared I would be the only
“secret voyeur” that day. I strained to hear what might be
happening on the other side of the mirror, but could hear
nothing.

“The submission rooms and the viewing rooms are
separated by a soundproof wall,” Daisy explained. “You’ll hear
what’s going on through an intercom once I turn it on. Are you
ready to begin?”

I took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “Yes,” I
whispered.

Daisy motioned for me to take a seat, then handed me
something that looked like a remote control. “If at any time you
want to stop watching, press the red button. If at any time you
want to join the participants in the submission chamber, press the
blue button. And if at any time you need my assistance, press the
white button. Do you have any questions?”

“Umm, no.”

Daisy turned to leave, then stopped short. “I almost
forgot to tell you what your persona is whenever you’re in
attendance here at the House of Flowers. When you put on that mask
and robe, you cease to be Jasmine Rand, and you become Hyacinth
Slaughter.”

Hyacinth Slaughter?
What kind of name was
that? It sounded exotic and sexy, yet violent.

“Enjoy yourself today, Hyacinth,” Daisy purred.
“It’s your first time with us, and first times are always special.
Today, you’ll be observing Mistress Violet and her favorite Slave,
whom I think you might recognize.” Daisy flicked a couple of
switches on the wall, then slipped away.

Something inside the one-way mirror changed, and
suddenly I could see everything that was happening in the Blossom
Submission Chamber. It seemed that Senator Grayle was indeed in
there, although like me, he wore a black silk robe and a black
mask. The only thing I recognized about him physically was his
silver hair and the tiny bald spot at the very top of his head. He
was crouched down on the floor in the “prisoner of war” position,
with his arms tied behind and beneath him with studded leather
straps, his head and torso thrown backward and upward. His black
silk robe was open at the front, leaving nothing to the
imagination. A masked woman with long raven hair and clad in
studded purple leather stood over him, brandishing a
cat-o-nine-tails. The cat-o-nine-tails’ streamers were five feet
long at least, and each one was a different color, making the whip
into a waving rainbow every time Mistress Violet flicked her wrist.
Each streamer ended in highly polished, spined brass bells that
both rang and scratched skin with each blow, giving the recipient
sensual stimulation of three separate types—sight, sound, and
touch. Mistress Violet whacked Senator Grayle with her whip three
times across the chest—the bells ringing one, two, three—leaving
marks. The paunchy old man shivered with ecstasy at each blow.

And even if I hadn’t recognized my boss physically,
there was no mistaking his voice, which I could now hear through
the loudspeaker. “Give me more, please Mistress Violet,” Senator
Grayle begged in his trademark North Dakota drawl.

Mistress Violet shook her head. “No, Slave, I am
afraid you do not deserve any more pain today. You have been a very
bad boy.”

Senator Grayle’s face contorted. “Please,
Mistress—“

“Silence!” boomed Mistress Violet. “Slave, you must
now perform a task of penance. Get on your hands and knees.”

I watched transfixed as my boss—a powerful senator
from the nation’s tight-laced, ultraconservative heartland for more
than thirty years—groveled half-naked at Mistress Violet’s feet.
“Please, Mistress Violet,” he begged. “Please!”

“Silence, slave!” Mistress Violet cried, and cracked
her whip against the wall.

Senator Grayle bowed down even lower, until his
forehead touched the floor and his face was buried in the carpet.
His silken robe slipped off his wrinkled body, revealing his flabby
thighs and sagging buttocks. At one level, I felt sorry for him.
But at another, I was thrilled at the sight of a powerful
government official begging and pleading for mercy at the feet of a
violent female temptress.

It was probably the most arousing sight I’d ever
seen, in fact.

And it was only fair to preserve it for all
posterity.

I took my camera phone from my inside pocket and
snapped a photo, making sure that Senator Grayle’s face was clearly
visible. My temperature rose and my breath quickened when I saw the
perfect result light up my phone’s digital viewfinder. Excited, I
stood up and started moving around the viewing room, snapping photo
after photo of the pathetic-looking senator from all different
angles until I had almost a dozen of them saved in my phone’s
memory. To my surprise, I was no longer frightened or nervous, even
if I was taking blackmail-quality photos of my boss in the basement
of a secret sex club. I was euphoric, drunk on that unique kind of
arousal that only comes from one thing—
power.
With those
photos, I had plenty of power. Power over Senator Grayle, power
over Rodney Doyle for as long as I withheld those photos from him,
and power over myself, Jasmine Rand, for as long as I wore the
secret mask of Hyacinth Slaughter. My face got hot, my pussy got
wet and puffy. I was more turned on that I’d ever been before, and
nobody had even laid a finger on my body.

Damn.

Who knew watching somebody else get humiliated could
be so much fun?

Ever since my first college boyfriend tried
unsuccessfully to get me to watch a porn video with him once before
sex, I’d never understood why so many men got sexual thrills from
going to strip clubs, watching peep shows, reading girlie mags, and
renting dirty movies. The whole scene had just disgusted me. But
perhaps that was because the main attraction in all those products
was scantily-clad, surgically modified blonde bimbos gyrating their
hips and shaking their plastic boobs. There was no style, no
substance, no subverting of gender roles or blurring of power codes
in old-fashioned, male-oriented porn. But this was different.This
was one of our nation’s most powerful men reduced to sexual slavery
by a beautiful woman in a skintight purple leather corset that
hugged all her natural, voluptuous curves. There wasn’t a dash of
silicone anywhere in sight—just skin, leather, and expensive
silk.

Here at the House of Flowers, true eroticism dwelled
in elegance. There were beautiful silken robes, feathered masks
peppered in faux crystal diamonds—style, mystery, and intrigue.
Even the whips here were fashion-forward. And the show couldn’t be
beat. My crotch was begging to see more.

Maybe there was something to this whole voyeurism
thing after all.

Senator Grayle trembled as Mistress Violet held him
at bay, flicking her cat-o-nine-tails against the floor just out of
his reach. “Are you prepared to do my bidding, Slave?” she
boomed.

“Y-yes, Mistress,” Senator Grayle warbled, his voice
barely above a whisper.

Mistress Violent leaned down until her elaborately
made-up face was just above the shaking senator’s. “And you know
the penalty if you fail, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, Mistress.”

Mistress Violet slapped the handle of her whip
against the palm of her hand. “What is the penalty, Slave?”

Senator Grayle muttered something
unintelligible.

Mistress Violet cracked the cat-o-nine-tails against
the wall; the combination of slapping leather and ringing bells was
deafening. “Slave, SPEAK UP! Or you will be punished further.”

Senator Grayle was shaking so hard now he could
barely keep from falling over. He spoke, and this time his voice
was a bit louder, but still barely audible. “M-Mistress, the
penalty for failure is that I will be denied my right to
orgasm.”

This did not satisfy Mistress Violet. “Say it again,
Slave! LOUDER this time.”

“M-Mistress, the penalty for failure is that I will
be denied my right to orgasm!” Senator Grayle shouted this time,
his voice breaking as he began to weep. I felt a slight tinge of
pity for him, but that melted away when I saw how huge his erection
had gotten. No matter how much he might tremble and cry with fear,
Senator Grayle was
enjoying
this—the proof was in plain
sight.

Mistress Violet seemed pleased. “That is correct,
Slave,” she said. “So let the act of penance begin. Since you have
redeemed yourself, I will make it an easy one. Today, you will lick
all the dirt and mud from the soles of my boots. You will lick the
soles of my boots clean, and eat anything you find on them. When
the soles of my boots are shining like the diamonds on your mask,
then and only then will you be given the satisfaction you desire.
Do you agree to carry out this penance, Slave?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Mistress Violet smiled. “Will you savor each and
every second you spend licking my boots, Slave?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Mistress Violet ran a finger up and down Senator
Grayle’s spine; his whole body vibrated with pent-up desire. “And
once your penance is done, will you be a good Slave and withhold
your orgasm until I give you the command of release?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Mistress gave Senator Grayle’s shoulders a light
squeeze as a reward. “You are a good and obedient Slave,” she said.
“Let us begin.” She unhooked his wrists from the restraints, but
the old man still didn’t move—obviously he was waiting for
permission to do so.

Mistress Violet climbed onto a large, high wooden
chair that left her booted legs dangling just above the floor.
“Assume the position, Slave,” she said.

Senator Grayle lay flat on his back underneath
Mistress Violet’s chair so that his face was just underneath the
soles of her boots. Mistress Violet offered him her left foot
first; he took it into his hands and held the shoe over his mouth,
lapping the sole of the boot with his tongue like a cat cleaning
its paws. It was clear from the slow, careful way Senator Grayle
was licking his mistress’ boots clean (not to mention his giant
erection) that he loved every second of it. After a moment or two
of watching this strange sight, I felt a low thrum starting to
build between my legs. I shifted in my seat, and the Chinese balls
moved inside me, intensifying the vibrations in my body even
further.

I glanced upward at Mistress Violet and was stunned
to see that she’d spread her own legs wide, revealing that her
purple leather catsuit was crotchless. Her pussy was red, swollen,
and glistening. She was clearly enjoying the game just as much as
Senator Grayle was. Her hand strayed to her sex and she gently
began to stroke herself in time to the rhythm of Senator Grayle’s
lapping of her boot soles. Her strokes became harder, longer, and
faster, until her body began to seize and tremble. She didn’t let
herself go over the edge, though; she seemed to be saving her
orgasm for something bigger later on.

I wasn’t about to save my orgasm any longer, though.
The juices of my sex were soaking through my bathrobe onto the
chair upholstery. I untied my sash and opened my robe and legs
wide. My right hand went straight for ground zero, rubbing and
stroking my clit in perfect unison with the lapfest happening on
the other side of the glass. My left middle finger jammed itself in
my vagina, competing for space with the Chinese balls and their
dangling silken ribbon. The result was an incredible symphony of
strokes, pokes, and the rough-and-tumble action of the Chinese
balls deep inside my vag. I closed my eyes and saw my orgasm
approaching from over a precipice, and at just the right moment I
went over the edge to meet it, crying out as my vagina clenched
like a vise around my fingers and pushed the Chinese balls up high
against my G-spot. My clit melted, my uterus vibrated like a
thousand exploding suns, and I could feel more explosions radiating
from my belly all the way out to the tips of my fingers and
toes.

Not to be outdone, my hands and fingers kept right
on pumping their way through that orgasm, until I came out on the
other side only a second away from descending into another. This
one was longer and even more intense, with my vag pulsating so hard
that the Chinese balls travelled up and down my sheath until they
bumped up so hard against my G-spot they almost popped out of me
entirely. The spasm took hold of my entire body, rocking me back
and forth until I lost my balance on the edge of my chair and
toppled down onto the floor. As I fell, the remote control Daisy
had handed me at the beginning of the session lost its perch on the
arm of the chair and landed squarely underneath my heaving bottom.
It all happened so fast that I didn’t realize I’d accidentally
pressed one of the buttons on the remote—the blue one—in the midst
of my ecstasy until I heard Daisy’s voice interrupting over the
loudspeaker.