Rough Surrender (24 page)

“Delightful. All pert and poking up outside your lips. All slippery.” His thumb circled the hot little ball of flesh, going around and around, building the pressure in her body.

“
Unhh
. That’s–”

He bit down on her bottom and she squealed as pain pleasure lanced her. The thumb circled and circled–so wet she could hear the sounds as liquid and flesh moved. Her hands pulled at the chain holding them to the ceiling, her bottom arched upward, she teetered on the brink of orgasm. The thumbing of her clit stopped and she tried to squeeze her thighs together but couldn’t.

“Plee-ee-ase,” she said, whimpering.

“Not yet. I was going to cane you a little as punishment, but I’ll just do this instead.” Then he bit her again, on the other buttock. “This is tastier.”

Little shocks buffeted her. He kept biting her–nibbles, then proper bites on her bottom, up her sides to her breasts, her nipples and even back down to her thighs and labia, until her body was so confused she was half the time shrinking away and the other half craving more. Sometimes he changed his assault, licking and sucking as if she were the most delicious meal. More and more bites. More shudders consumed her as he possessed every inch with his teeth from the back of her neck to the tender soles of her feet. Her moisture overflowed onto her thighs. He stopped and walked around her captive body, trailing wet fingers on her nibbled trembling flesh.

“Now. What shall I do next?”

Shivering with arousal, she shut her eyes, and tried futilely to make her breathing and heartbeat slow as he stalked around her. Her gentleman wolf was on the prowl. She opened and closed her hands.

Something light drew a line down her well-bitten back. Another something touched her nipple. She caught a glimpse. A feather? Perhaps.

So light they were barely there, the soft things traced lines of lust upon her body, over and over, for minutes, hours. She lay there on her belly, her bottom thrust out, her labia swelling more, her clit pumping up, pushed out from the hood so far she felt the breeze curl over it. Finally the feathers, yes–she saw what they were–concentrated on roving around and over the tips of her breasts, the edge of her clitoris and the slippery entrance to her vagina where the dildo poked out.

She shut her eyes.

Sometimes she imagined the feather down there was fucking her and she strained to move her bottom back and into the thing, as if it could plunge inside with the dildo and satisfy the strengthening urge–the
hunger
.

“Are you about to come, Faith?” asked Leonhardt from somewhere low to her right. She kept her eyes closed. His feather flicked onto her clit and the circles grew smaller, smaller until it only teased the very most sensitive part, swirling tighter, and tinier. The other feather flickered across from nipple to nipple.

“
Ummm
.” She squirmed. “Yes. Yes! Touch me harder, please. Harder.”

“No. You will come with this, or not at all. You will come, or I’ll leave you here until just before dawn.”

He wouldn’t, would he?
She squirmed again and, somehow, the tip down there pressed just right, just hard enough in a tiny, fantastically sensitive spot. A grand shudder tore through her all the way to her very toes, which clawed at the floor. The long tremulous moment took her, balanced her forever on infinity. Everywhere strained, and her vision flashed into white as she came, moaning her primitive release. Her vagina molded hard onto the stiff dildo. Her neck arched in the air. Slowly, juddering, she lowered her head to the padding and gasped hot breaths onto the leather.

By the time she recovered, Mr. Meisner had undressed. She’d known he was doing this yet couldn’t raise the energy to look. Every so often he’d ruffled her hair like she was some furry Persian cat begging for a pat.

“My turn now, my lovely woman.”

Somewhere back there he was naked and all she could do was stare at the black leather under her. Though she liked being bound, it was frustrating not being able to turn and see her lover, her master. Yes, master. She sighed. For that was what he truly seemed whenever they were together in a sexual way. The trouble was she didn’t want it that way outside of sex. How could she reconcile this? If she couldn’t, she feared both walking away from him and staying too close. Either way part of her soul was likely to shatter.

“Not going to sleep I hope?”

“
Hmm
?”

With a quiet slurp of the sticky juices, he slid the dildo from her. She whimpered. The next moment his face was buried in her pussy and his teeth closed over her clit. The firm clasp on her delicate tissues made her yelp and made the nub spring back to life with a zing.

“Awake?” Now he had her abused clitoris in the clutch of finger and thumb.

“Yes!”

Though the way he squashed and rotated it made her ache, sent tingles swirling outward, and swept her back into arousal, despite that, she’d decided it was wise to say, yes, very quickly. Being bitten down there was not on her list of favorite things.

His fingers pulled the lips of her labia apart and she felt the prod as the soft head of his penis found her entrance. The slide and stretch as he breached her made her gasp, then he put his hands on her hips and thrust in farther, then farther, until she knew from the press of his body and balls between her wide open legs, he was in as far as he could go.

“Oh.” Somewhere deep within he’d hit a sweet spot. “More. There. Please.”

“I can oblige.”

He withdrew to her entrance, shoved in hard again then built up a regular tempo of thrusts. On the sweat-slicked leather, her body slid an inch or two back and forth each time. When he lifted his hand from her hip she braced herself for a smack on her bottom, instead he slid a finger in the thick juices alongside where his cock penetrated her, before wriggling the finger into her bottom hole.

This time she squeaked. “No!”

“No? Try it a little longer.”

At first, it felt like gravel being ground inside her but as his finger moved some more, stretching her tight opening, poking in and out, new sensation stirred in places she’d never thought could feel nice. Everything down there throbbed together. The hot invasion of both her entrances screwed her insides up tighter, slicker. His thrusts shoved her into the restraints, her heart thudded madly and her clit, all expanded and
wanting
again, was shunted into the edge of the padding as he slammed into her.

“Still no?” He almost growled the question.

“No. I mean...yes! Keep going!” Her thighs stiffened and she found herself with mouth open waiting for that last, that last–
Oh yesss
. The orgasm broke over her, muscles forcing her back into an arc as much as the restraints allowed. She cried out, once, before catching herself then was silent while her neck and back jerked, body working on instinct, her cunt clasping him, sucking in his cock.

With a last deep thrust that rammed up inside as deep as anything could ever surely go and made her throat tighten into a knot, Mr. Meisner shuddered and came.

Chapter 26

Breakfast, again, at Mr. Meisner’s. This was getting to be a habit, a nice one though. If only the murder hadn’t been what prompted this, she’d be living a dream. She eyed him over a steaming forkful of eggs Benedict.

Rather than upstairs on the balcony, this time they ate downstairs. A grand affair of French polished mahogany timber, this table stretched across the center of the room. Mr. Meisner sat at the head while she was seated at the first seat along the side. It was cozy and intimate, despite the size of the table, almost too intimate.

He tapped the newssheet by his plate. “Says here they’ve run out of clues as to the murderer of that girl. Though–”

“What is it?”

“
Hmm
. Nothing.” But he stared at the page a moment longer. Then he shifted his gaze. “Would you like to see the Egyptian Gazette, Faith? There’s a large amount of space dedicated to aviation.” He folded the newspaper and put it next to her plate.

“Thank you.” On the front was a photograph of a biplane flying above Mokkatam and beside that was a photo of the pyramids. Though the story evoked every emotion under the sun and dragged painfully at her heart–why in hell hadn’t her engine turned up, and where was Jimmy–what really made her brain run in circles was Mr. Meisner handing this to her. Didn’t he hate her fascination with airplanes?

After a minute of the thoughts chafing at her she caved in.

“I thought you disapproved of airplanes?”

He shoved aside his empty plate and leaned back in his chair, making it creak.

“I do.” The laughter lines about his eyes deepened. “I disapprove of you flying in them. That you have the intelligence, the vivacity, to wonder about the world and educate yourself–” He screwed up his face and shook his head. “That I utterly adore.”

“Really?” She blinked, couldn’t help grinning back. Well. Chalk up another tick on Mr. Leonhardt Meisner’s name in the good book.

She imagined what it would be like to live in this house and wake every morning beside this man, to roll over and be hugged, snuggle in and have her nose kissed as she had earlier, then come downstairs and have eggs Benedict or whatever meal took their fancy on every day of the year. Well, every day when they weren’t off driving across the Americas in some car rally. The idea made her dizzy.

“How are your wrists?”

“Oh.” Her face warmed. The question was one no other lover was likely to ask. “Good.” She held up her hand for him to see. Though a small amount of redness discolored her skin, it was nothing.

“Then you won’t have any trouble climbing the pyramids.” His eyes held a twinkle of amusement. “Are you ready to brave Cheops? It is quite a climb. Bring your best sporting clothes.”

She smiled back. “I’ll wear my knickerbockers under a dress. Do you think anyone will mind?”

“Perhaps, but I won’t.”

“Ah. Then that’s all that matters.”

Before they left the table the small column on the front page devoted to the murder caught her eye.

The woman’s back had been beaten with either a whip or some long thin object. The police have yet to identify her. Investigations are continuing.

Was that what had worried Leonhardt? She wondered why
.

On the way out, with Mr. Meisner in the middle of holding open the front door, Mawson arrived and delivered a small envelope to her. “From a Mister Jimmy Whitrod, Miss Evard.”

“Why, thank you, Mawson.”

He nodded and marched away down the corridor.

Though she intended to read the note in the automobile, to her surprise, Mr. Meisner offered her the wheel. The prospect was more than enough of a distraction and she popped the folded envelope into the inside pocket of her crisp yellow jacket. The pyramids awaited but first, heavens above, she got to drive the Thomas Flyer.

“Ready, Mr. Meisner?” She put her foot near the accelerator and looked at her handsome passenger. Mr. Meisner had on a sensible gray jacket and light brown trousers, nothing that wouldn’t stand up to a bit of pyramid clambering.

“Always, Faith. I’m always ready for anything you might do.”

“Really?” What a challenge. She cocked her eyebrow, looked into those warm brown eyes and grinned. Such an enormous ego, but...somehow it was one of the best things about him.

* * * *

The one thing she wasn’t ready for were the multicolored donkeys. Having driven across the bridge over the Nile, Leonhardt had directed her to park then she discovered the team of donkeys with their Bedouin handlers. Some of the handlers were young boys, others lean, weather-browned, leather-skinned men, and all wore the long ankle-length
gallibaya
, and on their heads, the loose cloth wrapping of the
kufiya
.

“Why ever are the donkeys done like this?” she asked as they lined up ready to mount their charges. The felucca ride on the Nile was nothing compared to a ride on a donkey that had patterns clipped into its hair and a rainbow of colors painted on it.

“Traditional, I suppose. Even Mark Twain travelled on a donkey to the pyramids.” He helped her to mount her donkey while their young Egyptian guide gave them instructions by the dozen.

The ride past the great Sphinx and onward to the pyramid of Cheops wasn’t without mishap–mainly that every bump and slide on the high-beaked hard saddle jolted her bottom and made it ache, nicely. But that wasn’t really surprising considering what she’d let her man do to it...her Mr. Meisner. She gulped and looked back to see him following on his own donkey. A dust cloud followed their trek through the sand. Winds were picking up and the sand and dust filtered into her mouth and nose.

Suppressing a giggle at the sight of Mr. Meisner sitting on a little donkey wasn’t easy but she had an idea she’d pay for it later if she dared laugh. Then again, maybe not. One of the things surprising her was his sense of humor. He could laugh at himself and the way at breakfast, he’d retold jokes from the latest Punch magazine had been stupefying.

She peeked another look and this time the giggle escaped. For such a large man, he jiggled strangely when riding a donkey.

“Sir! Take care or some part of you will shake loose!”