Steel Dominance (18 page)

Though centuries ago this would have been impossible, the river had slowly narrowed, and when the walkways met, the river would be covered from bank to bank.

She observed her Master. Dankyo’s usual black suit set off that hint of menace that was his normal air. If she didn’t know what lay beneath… She smiled to herself, remembering their morning tussle—yes, more menace, but also someone who could laugh.

Odd how she’d become used to this. She would never become as subservient as a true slave, but she didn’t mind Dankyo taking charge most of the time, especially in the bedroom. She squeezed her thighs together, and the silken ropes running down between her legs shifted. This costume was making her so hot.

As the silk of her outfit ascended her body, it became a fine bodysuit covered in metallic threads with tiny diamonds strewn here and there. The branching spray cupping her breasts revealed more than concealed. She glanced down. The delicate silver coils of metal and gems atop her nipples glinted in the morning sunlight. And right now her nipples poked up like turrets. The one saving element was the opaque swishy skirt with interleaved swathes of material.

But beneath it, she seethed. She sighed and moved her feet apart. Whoever cleaned her clothing at the compound would find the crotch soaked.
I am never ever visiting the laundry.

Metal clanged. A whistle blew. The crowd surged forward.

“Come, Sofia.” Dankyo beckoned. His gaze brushed across her breast area, then her face. “So red? Why is this?” He put his hand to her naked back where the electricity of his touch fired up another flood of wetness down below.

She peeked at him. Her voice came out rough. “Shouldn’t I stay behind you, Master?”
Please?
She was so aroused already that his scent, his nearness, and the way he dwarfed her made her want to pull his hand between her legs.

Am I in heat or something?

He linked his hands at her back, then leaned in and lightly kissed her forehead. “I like this costume. But today I’ll buy more accoutrements for you. Now, listen well. We are not just visiting the bazaar, we are also meeting a representative of the Ottoman.” She opened her mouth.

“Shh. I’m still speaking. We will meet on safe ground, so do not worry. However, remember that I will always be aware of you. You are clever, so if you have something to say, just beg permission, and say it. Okay?”

What would she need to say? “I solve puzzles and codes, not whatever this is about. But yes. I understand.”

“So enclosed in your world of study?” He squeezed her. “Never mind. Behind me now, please. The security detail will get to watch your ass. Not me, unfortunately.” His lips twitched.

She snorted.
Men!

Four men were behind them, and three in front, plus Henry.
Eight just to escort us to a bazaar? And this is safe?

The journey out onto the extended walkways led past many small shops. Every Saturday, the markets from the Byzantine and the Ottoman sides joined in the middle and people intermingled. Merchandise and money changed hands, as did goodwill, apparently. Half the people she saw seemed to be greeting old friends from the opposite side—joking about their purchases, tasting food, sharing coffee and sweets. Whatever would they do if the war recommenced in earnest and they found themselves firing upon their friends?

Dankyo bought clothes here and there, mostly for her. One costume was a fine skirt and sheer top with a forest represented in ochre-and-cherry embroidery that climbed up in a tangle of trees and foliage. The halter top ended in a subtle merging with a night sky. If, as always, her nipples were bared, at least it was pretty.

As Dankyo paid for it, she smoothed her hand over the fabric on the bench top.

“Have you seen what goes with this?” he whispered from behind her.

“No.” She half turned her head to see.

“These.” He pressed himself against her back, then held his hand before her eyes. Three ornaments with chains going to tiny clamps dangled from his hand. The first was a moon in silver. “This for your right nipple. This”—he held up a golden sun—“For your left. And this for your little clit.” From the last clamp swung a gold and silver cat.

Oh Lord. “A cat?” Stunned, she raised her brows.

“A pussy.”

His expression was bland, deliberately so. But she couldn’t help laughing.

“Master is joking, surely?”

“Master is not.” He jiggled the cat. “You laugh? I want your ass up here on the bench. Also part your skirt.”

No. Oh no
. The blush must have shot from her cheeks to her toes. She shook her head an infinitesimal amount. But the implacable look on his face, and the way her pussy tightened at the thought… She shivered once. The idea had made her wet.

Then she inched back and with Dankyo lifting her under the arms, got herself on the bench. He was standing between her and the prying eyes of customers. He was watching her so carefully. Waiting. After one intake of air, she moved aside the cloth.

“Good girl, Sofia.”

But she shut her eyes and leaned back on her arms when he touched her. Feeling became everything. Her mind concentrated down, and the tip of his finger drew a slow circle on the top of her clit while his other finger and thumb held her below. She held her breath. The metal of the cat bumped her labia.

“I’m doing it now.” The touch of the clamp made her jump, and then the metal grasped her clit. “Too tight?”

It felt wonderful. Holding her down there, reminding her of her sex. With Dankyo touching her, and the public place he’d done this… Everything rolled together into such a deep, blossoming heat. She swallowed. Moisture seeped from her, and she could feel her labia swell.

“Sofia? Too tight?”

“No,” she whispered.

“Next is the meeting. Be good for me.” He kissed her nose, then her lips, gently moving them with his own.

“I will.” She opened her eyes and stared into his. If he wanted to take her there and then, she’d have lain back and spread her legs. But instead he pulled her skirt back into place and helped her down.

The walk to the final shop was only a short one. But the cat swung and possibly did back flips all the way. Her clit was so awake and expanded that every slight touch of the silk rope running between her legs had her aching.

Dankyo had threatened punishment if the tiny cat fell off and was lost.
I’ll put something more painful on your clit if you lose it
. The delicious threat made in that deep growly male voice had made things worse. She couldn’t stop thinking of that little weighted jewelry, swinging, tugging. She almost groaned when they halted.

EMPORIUM FOR SLAVE AND MASTER, declared the sign. This was a large shop. The waters of the Bosporus showed to either side like a moat, but the base of the shop covered a good thirty square yards. An awning shaded a table at the front with the back of the shop enclosed and entered via a canvas door.

Sofia studied the goods on the table. Shackles and bracelets, wrist and ankle cuffs in serious metal and brightly colored soft leather. Coiled whips, stands of floggers, knives, ropes, chains and varieties of small clamps like the ones Dankyo had bought, even—she shuddered—a set of needles with red bulbous heads. Of all the places to meet someone, it had to be this.

Still, she couldn’t help wondering what some of these things could do to a person…to her. As she leaned in to look closer, the little cat swung. She half closed her eyes and squirmed.

With a
thunk
Henry deposited a leather bag on the counter in front of the woman who seemed to be the shop’s owner.

“You’re Fire Annie?” Henry asked. She nodded. “I’m Henry Twine, and I have a business proposition for you.” His mouth twitched. The determined look on his face seemed contradicted by the rapid tattoo he beat on the table with two fingers. “Interested?”

“What?” She grinned. “You’ll need to give me some details, little man.”

Henry went pinkish. “Oh. ’Course.” He ran a hand over his close-shorn gray hair, then took hold of the bag and pulled it open. The first device he removed was another of the buzzing lightning things like the one Dankyo had used on Sofia’s clit.

The memories of what that thing had done to her made everything close in around her, and Sofia couldn’t bear to look away.

“There’s this,” he declared.

“Ah-huh.” Eyebrows arched up into her hairline, Fire Annie stared down at the device, then shrugged.

With her hard-ass attitude and her rough yet sturdy garb of leather pants, dusty coat, shirt, and black boots, Fire Annie looked as if he could beat Henry hands down in any combat devised. She’d snap his wrist if they tried arm wrestling. Blonde ponytail swinging, she grabbed a chair and sat. Then she dragged another closer.

“Okay, Henry, sit in that chair and talk. Tell me what this does.”

“Umm.” Slowly he sank into the chair, his face going redder by the second. “It’s a, uh, sexual device.”

“Well.” Fire Annie plonked her elbows down on the table to cup her face and waggled her eyebrows. “Keep going.”

The exchange had Sofia riveted. Henry, the man who made exquisite sexual torture devices, was embarrassed? She couldn’t wait to see where this went.

“Inside, Miss Sticky Beak.” Dankyo coaxed her with bent finger.

Darn
. She reluctantly followed him through the doorway.

It was darker. The timber underfoot swayed with the rocking of the river, and she could hear the little waves lapping below and the mild creak of the joints.

Sunlight filtered through the roof of the tent. In the center was a collapsible table, and around it a series of strange man-high metal frames.

“Do you know what all this is, Sofia?” He ran his hand over the padded metal of a frame. When she shook her head, he continued. “Most of these devices are for strapping a slave to. Perhaps to beat her well. Perhaps to take pleasure from her. Perhaps even to give her pleasure.”

Well, if her eyes weren’t big, they were now. She didn’t blink much as she examined each of them. The one Dankyo rested his hand on had a long, padded section that curved slightly back up to neck high where a narrow piece extended higher and a pair of cuffs were attached. At the bottom it split into a Y that reached to the ground.

Dankyo stepped up to her and swept her hair back on one side. He softly stroked the whorl of her ear as he spoke from inches away. “Can you see the cuffs for your wrists at the top, and for your ankles at the bottom?”

She found she’d held her breath, and with a slow shudder, released it. “Yes.”

A faint whistle sounded, and he moved back. “He’s here. Kneel, please.”

She did, though the timber hurt her knees. “What do I do?

“Shh.”

The canvas flap opened, and a man entered. He beat Dankyo’s height by at least six inches. His blond hair was short and tinged with darker coloring. Though his skin was as olive as an Ottoman’s, he wore a dark gray suit and tie like some Byzantine businessman.

“Sir. I know you from your reputation and, of course, my acquaintances identified you. You may call me Agrif.” He shook Dankyo’s hand but jerked his chin at Sofia. “A slave? You trust her to stay silent if questioned?”

Dankyo stepped away. “She is trustworthy. As much as I am.”

“Ah. Good. Then to business. I’m only here as long as I must be.” New voices outside made him switch a sharp glance that way. “I had followers. We must pretend to discuss merchandise.”

“Very well.” Dankyo looked at Sofia and studied her face long enough to make her wonder what he was thinking. “Let us test out some of the paddles and floggers, and perhaps if we still need time, some of the other equipment. Her sounds of pleasure will confuse any listeners.”

“Excellent idea.”

The words struck.
Lord. With this other man watching?
Her cheeks heated, and she shifted her knees. The little cat squeaked on its hinge. “Sofia. Come here.”

She rose and went to him. He reached around and gathered her skirt until she felt the coolness of air touching her bare cheeks. Then he drew the divided skirt to the front and loosely, slowly, knotted it together. She bit her lip, then swayed. How easily he commanded her.

His next order was quiet. “Get up on the table. I want you on your knees, head down, facing away.”

No
please
. Just an order. But, his eyes questioned. She remembered—she could beg to speak. The blue eyes of the stranger, Agrif, assessed her also, and not as a slave, but as a woman. Two men, watching her. Sounds seemed muffled. Her chest rose and fell quickly.
Should I do this?

This wasn’t so different from the dinner party. That had been amazing. She shut her eyes and remembered his words at the airship.

 “This is Byzantium, where no one will know if you surrender yourself to me… Sofia, will you let me take you to the edge and beyond?”

Her decision came to her.
Yes, oh yes, I will.

She climbed onto the table, shaking but already terribly aroused. The timber table was hard and cold when she put her forehead to it. She waited, and waited, for the first blow.

Without further talk, with only the sound of their shoes on the timber and of some object being picked up, he began. The blows, at first, were not blows at all. Leather caressed her, dragging down her back, flicking at her buttocks, caressing her slit.

“Damn, she is wet there.” From where he spoke, she could tell the stranger stood to one side, watching.

Dankyo grunted. The flicks turned to swats, the swats turned into heavier smacks. As he’d said, though, he tested one flogger after another, one paddle after another. Her skin heated, her body rocked, and she leaned her ass back into the strikes. Stinging pain built and spread like wildfire to her groin. Her puckered nipples scraped on the table, and small sounds huffed out past her lips. The little silver-and-gold cat moved also, and by the time Dankyo ceased hitting her, she was so close to orgasm she was gritting her teeth. Pleasure throbbed into her flesh.

“Here, Sofia.” A man took her arm, helped her off the table. Who was this?