Natural Law (6 page)

“It would be fun for you to watch as well.” Kiera was still making sly suggestions.

Violet pulled her attention away from the attractive slave on the floor, with his stiff cock in its cruel restraint and his eyes directed toward the floor. Marguerite caressed his hair with tenderness, her expression quiet, tranquil.

In contrast, Violet wasn’t sure if ‘fun’ or ‘tranquil’ would describe the way the twins operated. While watching the two of them work was undeniably a visual orgasm, Violet preferred her mastery in the area of emotions, not the realm of pain. She had seen T & K

take a sub to the limit of both and beyond. It was disturbing, and yet so potent it felt like witnessing a sacred ceremony. Or a session in a Baghdad torture chamber.

She realized suddenly that, if they knew he was in the room, then he had left the ceiling screen open. He had not done anything to protect himself, a message that he was leaving himself open to her desires. She nodded to the others, closed her hand on the doorknob, took another steadying breath. She’d kept him, and herself, waiting long enough.

“Enjoy, flower girl,” Tamara’s chuckle caressed her spine as Violet turned the latch, stepped into the room.

* * * * *

Mac kept his head lowered as the door opened, but it was difficult, particularly when that lavender and vanilla scent wafted into the room, tightening his cock in the harness instantly, painfully, increasing it with every step she made across the wood floor. She was wearing a dress again, he could hear the rustle of the soft fabric, and he saw the shadow cast by the light, but she wasn’t close enough to show him what shoes were making that crisp tap against the slick finished wood.

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His back and legs ached from maintaining the straight-up kneeling position; her punishment, he was sure, for his behavior last night. He hadn’t moved an inch, had left the ceiling clear so anyone she asked could tell her, so she’d see he could take anything she’d dish out. His shoulders throbbed from keeping his hands laced behind his head for the entire time.

The whir of gears and a flicker of shadows told him she was closing the screen, making it just the two of them again, and he stifled the sense of relief.

“You’ve done well. I’m pleased. You may lower your hands to the floor, knuckles flat on the wood, please.”

Her voice, soft velvet, told him she was indeed pleased with him, and his heart tipped in his chest, ridiculously. She was coming back toward him. Tap. Tap. Pause.

“Keep your head down.”

He obeyed, but his muscles trembled with the effort as her small hand reached down, came into the field of his view and grasped his cock in firm, gentle fingers.

Through the openings of the harness, her skin touched his, and his cock jerked, responded, leaked a drop of semen onto the delicate pulse point of her wrist.

“My apologies, Mistress,” he said.

“For what?” Her hand released him, rose, lifted his chin.

He had seen many beautiful women. After thinking about her for nearly twenty-four hours, waiting for her on his knees over two hours, and then, the longest time of all, these few moments she had been in the room, letting him hear her body move but not permitting him sight of it, he expected he had exaggerated the appealing quality of her features and form.

If anything, he decided he had not done her justice.

He supposed there was some standard for beauty that model agencies used, somewhat the same way dog breeders did it. Legs must be this length, proportion of torso to arms must be this, nose this shape, eyes this color. He was sure she might not meet all those standards. But her lips were a deep, wet burgundy, and those violet eyes beneath slim brows and the mass of upswept raven curls held him, affected him so that he knew he would have waited on his knees for her until he lost all feeling in his limbs.

“For dripping on you, Mistress.”

She was bending forward, for if she had squatted, he would have been taller than she was. The bodice was snug enough that it did not gap, but the low neckline showed him she was wearing jewelry to stimulate her breasts. He saw the shape of her nipples pressed against the tight fabric and wished he could see how lovely they looked, enclosed in the silver rings which he was sure would match the beaded chain strung between them.

Her face came closer. Just as his lips anticipated the brush of hers, she turned her head away and licked delicately at her wrist, tasting the drop he had left there. He 38

Natural Law

could see the pulse in her neck beating in time with the rapid pulse in her wrist, felt his blood heat further, knowing she was aroused.

“You exercise control when I tell you to do so. If you hold back when I haven’t commanded you to hold back, it’s as much an insult to me as ignoring a direct order.

Now, where was I?”

Her touch slid away from his face, caressing it before she curled those clever fingers around the full length of his erect cock again.

“You are nicely equipped. I like that,” she purred. “But that big cock of yours may cause you problems in serving me as I wish tonight.”

“I won’t let it,” he said, meeting her gaze, so close to his. Her lips seemed even closer, and he thought he might lose all control and kiss her in a moment, just to suck on those lips and see if they tasted like a perfectly ripe plum, as they appeared to.

“We’ll see. But first, I need you to tell me the rule I imposed last night.” Mac tightened his jaw, averted his glance. “Mistress will not need—”

“It is not Mistress’s needs the rule serves, but her desire to protect her possession.

Don’t fuck with me, Mac, or we’re back to where we were last night, and I walk out of here.”

His attention shot back to her and he cursed himself for the involuntary protest his expression conveyed. Even though he knew she’d seen his moment of alarm, of need, he made himself go deadpan. He didn’t want her more than ten feet from him. Hell, he might tackle her bodily to keep her here with him, where he could just have the bliss of smelling her, aroused woman with lavender and vanilla highlights.

“If I’m thirsty, I should let you know.”

She considered him, and the silence stretched out between them. It wasn’t enough, he knew it wasn’t, but damn it, he didn’t need it. He wouldn’t break. He couldn’t.

“For tonight, that will do. But I know you can do better. What surprises me is I don’t think you know that. No one’s ever broken you, Mac.”
Damn right.
He couldn’t keep it out of his eyes, so he lowered them, but knew she’d seen it flare there.

Instead of getting aggressive with him, as he expected, her gentle touch stroked his hair, caressed the nape of his tense and screaming neck, disarming him.

“You deny yourself the pleasure of surrender. I suppose I’m just going to have to force you to see what you’re missing.”

After that cryptic remark, she backed from him two steps. She lifted her foot from the floor and placed the point of her heel against the muscle between his shoulder and pectoral, used him as a stool to bend forward and adjust the garter fastening at the top of her stocking.

Mac lifted his hand without permission, but it was an automatic gesture to curl his arm over her leg just above her knee to steady her so she didn’t fall. She appeared to have perfect balance, but it certainly gave him the excuse to feel the texture of those 39

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sheer hose and the hint of smooth skin beneath. The heel dug into his flesh as she shifted her weight forward, but the discomfort only heightened his body’s response in that odd way that certain levels of pain could do.

A small frown line puckered her brow, made him want to kiss it. “This pair of hose has a tendency to roll, but I do like the color of them,” she murmured, then flashed him a small smile. She straightened, lifting her foot clear of him, not dragging it down his skin. The motion gave him a quick glimpse into the shadows beneath the skirt, a fleeting image of the pale petals of her pussy just beyond the silk of the stocking and the garter. She wasn’t wearing any underwear, and the brief exposure brought the scent of her arousal to him. He wanted to seize that leg, bring it back to his shoulder, bring both of them to his shoulders. He’d scoot her forward with both hands gripping her soft cheeks and hold her waist to make her ride his face, work his mouth up between her thighs until he reached the heaven he had just seen.

He knew he could, knew he was ten times stronger than the little pixie, but he also knew what happened in these rooms wasn’t about physical strength, not always.

She did not tell him to lower his gaze again, so he had the full pleasure of watching her walk across the room, the shift of an ass he now knew was buck naked beneath that skirt. It had to be a stretch material, because otherwise she had to be sewn into that dress. But it was classy, the dragon pattern across the blue, the soft flutter of ribbons as she moved. She knew how to tease a man to insanity and yet keep him back at the same time. Like a goddess. A tiny fairy goddess.

She brought a wooden chair over to face him, the kind a stable hand might tip back against the wall to draw on a length of straw and catch a nap, but this one was not old and scratched. Like all the accoutrements of this room, it was a finished expensive dark wood, a valuable antique.

“Not your usual barn chair,” he observed.

“Because this isn’t a barn,” she said. “It’s a suite for thoroughbreds to be petted and pampered by their Mistresses or Masters. Or disciplined as needed.” She sat the chair less than two feet from where she had him kneeling, tethered by his cock.

“Let’s take care of those hands now.” Violet moved around him, touched another control, and he heard the eyebolt in the ceiling engage, lowering itself on a wire. He didn’t look up, he knew better than that. This was the challenge, every time, and he had learned not to show the fear, but it was there, nipping at his vitals. He’d gotten to the point he could be anyone’s sub, allow any woman he chose to play Mistress to him.
To
him, but not
over
him. The similarity of the thought to what she had expressed to him last night struck him, raised his trepidation.

“Lift your wrists above your head,” she said. “And put your hands through the cuffs.”

Mac obeyed, his heart thundering in his chest. She pressed another control. The cuffs tightened, a hydraulic control like the powering of a blood pressure cuff. She 40

Natural Law

stepped forward, her knees brushing his back, and tested the fit. She’d got it right on the first try. He couldn’t get loose, but the blood still circulated, pumping with a vengeance.

“I’m going to take you up, now,” she said. “You tell me if you get thirsty, Mac.”

“It won’t happen, Mistress.”

“I’ll remind you of that when either your arms are dislocated or your cock gets ripped off.”

“You won’t let that happen, Mistress. You have plans for the latter, at least.”

“Yes. Yes, I do.” Her tone was slightly amused, in a way that made him somewhat ashamed of the desperate attempt at charm, though he didn’t know where the shame came from.

“Spread your knees for me, Mackenzie. I need them about three feet apart.” He moved his legs apart, feeling the cock harness strap that ran between his legs lift and divide his balls. A moment later he felt the straps of the ankle restraints bolted onto a slide rack on the floor tighten on his flesh. She added a second set of restraints to his calves just above the knees and tied them to rings in the floor parallel to the outside of his legs, leaving just a touch of slack. He didn’t have long to wait to find out why.

The gears whirred, and the cable above him began to retract, taking his arms up higher and drawing his upper body into a straight, stretched line. He’d obeyed her orders and made sure he was back far enough from the ring in the floor that there was little slack in tether between his cock and the harness, so when she anchored his legs to the floor and began to raise him up, the line between cock and floor became even tighter. His knees left the floor a half inch, pressing against the knee restraints, and he grunted despite himself.

The switch locked him into position, and she came around and ran her hand over his scrotum and bound cock, testing the tension of the line between the harness and the floor. It was taut enough to cause him apprehension, but not painful. With his ankles spread and shackled to the floor behind him, his body suspended in the air by the ceiling tether, his calves bound and his cock tethered to the strap pulled taut to the eyebolt in the floor, he was counterweighted on all sides. Gravity would not twist or pull him in any direction that could injure him. However, the position itself was excruciating and left him vulnerable, and there was a knot of tension low in his gut that he had not experienced since his first time being trussed by a Mistress. He was also hard as steel and getting harder, his desperate lust and the emotions she was somehow driving in him giving him one of the most enormous hard-ons he’d ever had. In odd contrast, she was methodical, gentle in the way she touched him, her fingers brushing his naked body lightly as she passed him, fondling his shoulder, his throat. He tried to nip her fingers as she passed, but she just smiled at him and went back to her chair.

She sat down like a lady at tea, crossing one ankle over the other, folding her hands in her lap. She took a long moment studying him, erect and suffering.

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“I know making you sit there and do nothing while I look at you may not do much for you,” she observed. “Men aren’t very psychological when it comes to stimulation.

Suggest the erotic to a woman in a voice rough with passion, or on the written page, and she’ll become wet. But a man needs visuals.” She uncrossed her ankles, and inched up her skirt with a finger following the line of her thigh, tracing the garter. She put the middle finger of her other hand to her mouth, wetting it. He followed that finger as if it were the last crust of bread for a starving man. Her knees spread wider, displaying those soft pink cunt lips again. With barely a hesitation, she slid the wet finger deep inside herself, up to the last knuckle, and he heard the sucking sound of her eager pussy, soaked already, taking her in and craving more. Craving something he would kill to give to her.