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  “Be still,” she commanded, and held on to his hips. “Be still or we stop.”

  As fucked up as it was, Rick didn’t want the burning to end. It was one of the most erotic things he’d ever experienced and the pleasure rolled through him in wave after wave. He wanted to come, ached to come, but the denial, the way this incredible body rush of sensation sustained him on the edge of ecstasy, was way too good to stop.

  In fact, she just might kill him if she pulled the damn thing out. Instead, she just tortured him some more.

  “Squeeze your ass tight,” she commanded in what he thought of as her best Domme voice.

  Holding his breath, he complied and her eyes flared as she watched his sphincter contract. Rick howled as the burning intensified. She made him squeeze while she counted to ten, gave him a reprieve, then ordered him to squeeze again.

  Minute after exquisite, aching minute, the ginger burned into him and ratcheted his arousal. Then, just as slowly as it had built, the sensation began to diminish. The sweat on his body evaporated and he shivered.

  Brenna was beside him instantly. With gentle, cool fingers, she turned the ginger carefully, drizzled water over his tortured ass, then began to withdraw the root with a slow corkscrew motion. When it was out Rick couldn’t do anything more than pant. Quickly she untied his arms and legs, asked him if anything felt numb, then climbed onto the counter.

  He hadn’t noticed she’d taken her clothes off, which was pretty damn unusual for him. Straddling him, she positioned his cock against her opening and slid down onto him. She was wet. Rick wasn’t sure but this was probably the wettest she’d ever been—and he hadn’t even touched her. Humbled because Domming him had made her so hot, Rick grabbed her thighs, punched his hips up and grinned fiercely when she cried out.

  He felt harder than iron. As if he was almost too hard to come, if such a thing was possible. He held on tight as she rode him into the counter. He’d never seen anything as erotic as her breasts swaying with each thrust. Slick cream coated his groin and balls, soothing the residual fire in them, making him shake as ecstasy shot through him, claiming him and making him grunt like an animal.

  Brenna hadn’t come yet but he couldn’t hold back. Didn’t want to hold back. In desperation, he grabbed her waist and drove into her hard and fast as ecstasy overwhelmed him. Unbelievably, after his cock softened a little, it started to get hard again. He hadn’t been able to do anything like that since he’d been a teenager. Feeling his face split in a wide grin, Rick slowed his pace, slid a hand between their bodies and rubbed his thumb over her clit.

  Leaning back, Brenna gasped. She grabbed his wrist, holding him right where he was. The long muscles in her thighs powered her until they both shook. This time Rick managed to hold back just long enough for her to come first. Her soft sobs, the way her back arched, driving her onto him, took his breath away. If he hadn’t loved this woman before, he sure as hell loved her now. Her sheath contracted, over and over, fisting him with her wet heat. Then, incredibly, Rick felt a tingle build at the base of his spine. His hips shot up and he was coming, spraying the mouth of her womb with his seed, wallowing in the feel of her loving him.

  Finally she simply collapsed on top of him and it was a toss-up to decide who was breathing harder. Rick wrapped his arms around her, brushed her hair back and lost himself in the quiet surrounding them and the rhythm of her breathing.

  Blinking and regaining his equilibrium, Rick noticed the untouched half of the ginger root. “Seems a shame to throw that out,” he said.

  “I’m not going to. Apparently ginger gets stronger after it’s been stored. I’m going to seal it in plastic, put it in the refrigerator and in about two days, fig your ass again.”

  Just the idea alone turned him on so much his heart rate picked up.

  They fell silent for a while until, out of the blue, Brenna said, “I think the lounge cushion is going to need hosing off.”

  For no good reason other than he felt incredibly happy, Rick broke out in laughter.

  The rest of the day passed too quickly. After they showered and dressed—again—Rick pulled a piece of paper out of his wallet. “Pleasure craft operator’s card,” he announced proudly. “Took the test online last week. How about you show me how to drive a Jet Ski?”

  “The lake’s still pretty cold.”

  “I figured as much, so I bought myself a wetsuit. The salesclerk said I looked sexy in it.”

  “Huh. And was he good looking?”

  “Nowhere as good looking as you.” That made her grin.

  Brenna took him down to her boathouse. “I’m really jazzed about the meeting we’ve got Tuesday morning with a rep from Kingston Medical Associates,” he said. “All four of us are. Kingston’s drawn up contracts and if we like their offer, which I’m sure we will, we’ll be rolling in enough cash to set ourselves up as a premiere, full-service medical center. Tests that we have to send patients to specialized clinics for because we don’t have the right equipment…we’ll be able to perform and bill for ourselves. We were talking about hiring more nurses and one, maybe two doctors.”

  His enthusiasm lit up his face and his hands moved animatedly. Once inside the boathouse, Rick looked around the interior and frowned. “What, no canoe?” he asked then scratched his head. “That’s practically un-Canadian.”

  “You know how to paddle a canoe?”

  “My parents sent me to camp every summer when I was a kid. I can shoot rapids with the best of them.”

  “If you want you can rent one from the marina. Maybe when you come up next weekend.” Her eyes twinkled as she smiled at him.

  “Next weekend, huh? Is that an invitation, Mistress?”

  “Definitely.”

  Still smiling, she showed him how to operate the strap winch…which gave him ideas for later…that cradled the Jet Ski above the water for storage. The hardest thing to remember was, at idle, he had no steering. It was more fun than he’d anticipated though, racing through a light chop with the sun blazing overhead, and Brenna snugged up tight behind him with her arms around his waist. She directed him to the lock at Young’s Point. He dragged her to the chip truck for lunch. Just hanging out with her, looking at the falls and asking the fishermen lining the pier about good spots on the lake was more relaxing than anything he’d done in years.

  He made her promise to set the alarm so they could get up early the next morning and fish. Rick sprang for the worms. And when she told him he’d need a fishing license, he pulled another piece of paper out of his wallet.

  “Way ahead of you, babe. You know, I could get used to this waterfront lifestyle.”

  “You sure came prepared.”

  “You ain’t seen nothin’,” he taunted then nuzzled her temple. “Wait’ll you see the toys I packed in the bottom of my suitcase,” he added in a whisper. He kissed her soundly, then asked her to take him to the Shell station so he could gas up the Jet Ski.

  * * * * *

  After dinner—steaks, as promised—he built a fire in Brenna’s modest, steel-rimmed pit on the beach. Leaning back comfortably on padded chairs, they held hands and watched the light fade from the sky.

  “You can fish off the dock if you like,” she suggested, pointing. “Now’s a good time to catch trout close to shore.”

  “Tomorrow,” he said with a sure nod. “Tonight, I was hoping you’d consider christening your dungeon. Mistress.” Lifting her hand, he kissed her knuckles gently and held his breath as he waited for her answer.

  He got it when a sultry smile lifted the corners of her mouth.

  “Put the fire out,” she ordered in that tone that always got him hard. He obeyed quickly, using a little plastic bucket to pour the water. The inefficiency made him anxious and eager.

  “Follow me,” she commanded.

  Rick wiped his hands off on his jeans and followed her up the incline to the house—with his eyes glued to her ass every step of the way.

  Chapter Ten

  The first t
hing she did was send him upstairs to retrieve the toys he’d brought. Then she led him down to the basement. On one side the stairs opened onto a finished rec room with Berber carpet, a small bar, comfortable sofas and a flat screen. That, apparently, had been her original lab and where Oh My Darling Organic Soap had been created.

  The room was big enough to hold a pool table and Rick had to stop himself from mentally accessorizing a house that wasn’t his.

  The door on the other side of the stairs was closed. Brenna unlocked it and invited him in.

  “Wow,” he breathed and looked around. Like so many rooms at the club, the walls were dark red, almost black. The floor was a wood laminate. Aesthetically that wouldn’t have been his first choice but considering this was a basement, it was a practical one. He ran his hand over the raised padded bench and a length of chain hanging from a ceiling-mounted pulley. Brenna also had a spider web—rope literally interwoven in the shape of a web. He nodded his approval. It was a compact bondage device, perfect for a private dungeon like this, and the weave of the rope created any number of points to tie a sub to.

  Lucky him.

  “Place your toys here,” she said and indicated a narrow table set along one wall.

  With anticipation building throughout his body, Rick laid out his flogger, crop and two paraffin-wax candles.

  She picked up the candle and examined it. “I’d have to shave you before I used this.”

  “I know.”

  “That would be a pity,” she said, touched his chest then moved over to a tall cupboard. “Perhaps later. But for now…” Opening the cupboard, she revealed three black outfits. “What to wear?” She spoke quietly, as if she was talking to herself, but as she trailed her fingertips down one outfit, then another, Rick realized she was watching him out of the corner of her eye.

  Niiice. He’d never been allowed input on what she wore when she Dommed him. But since she was asking, the latex sheath dress was his favorite. When she touched it, he licked his lips and nodded subtly.

  Wearing a seductive smile, she chose the latex and walked toward the door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I expect you naked and standing at attention when I return.”

  It was a struggle getting his briefs off over his hard-on. That voice of Brenna’s did it to him every time.

  She didn’t make him wait long. When she strolled back into the room wearing those sexy as hell shiny black boots and her latex dress, Rick felt his eyes widen and his mouth open. She was so beautiful, so awesome, he couldn’t stop staring. Despite that, he held his position. Feet shoulder width apart, standing up straight, hands behind his head.

  Being alone with her—really alone—made it so easy to get his head into the atmosphere and she hadn’t even laid a hand on him yet. Like their first time together, she walked slowly past the toys, letting her fingers linger over each one as she watched his reactions.

  The crop. Definitely the crop. It was the first implement she’d used on him and it seemed fitting to use it here, now. When he nodded, just a little, and licked his lips, she picked up the crop, slapped her palm with it, then stood close enough that he could smell her skin, the leather and latex, and feel her hair brush his back.

  “Your body is so beautiful,” she whispered as she circled him.

  His breath caught at the earnestness in her voice. It caught again when she slid the tip of the crop across his chest, his raised arms, his balls.

  “I don’t tell you often enough,” she said. The leather grazed him, sensitizing his skin. “The trust you give me, the strength you show when you trust me with your pleasure, it’s…humbling.”

  Leaning down slowly, asking without words, he lowered his mouth to hers. With her free hand Brenna touched his cheek then wove her fingers in his hair before lifting her mouth to his. Her lips were warm, and soft as always. She tasted like desire with a hint of the wine they’d drank with dinner. When her breasts crushed into his chest he inhaled sharply, as if he couldn’t take in enough of her to satisfy the many levels he adored this woman on.

  As if by mutual agreement, they pulled apart. Rick lifted his chin, held himself tall and proud for her inspection, and Brenna circled him slowly. Fingertips and the flat of the crop grazed his skin, stroked his ass, moved up his leg.

  “Hmm. You please me. You may relax and come here,” she ordered and Rick followed her to the spider web. She had him stand facing it. When she cuffed his wrists and attached them to ropes at the same height as his head, stretching his arms away from his body, he pulled hard and was delighted when the ropes held. She used leather cuffs padded with lambswool around his ankles and spread his legs just far enough to make him feel vulnerable yet not off balance.

  He loved how she’d taken the time to learn what he needed to be comfortable enough to really get into a scene and did everything she could to get his head into the right place.

  Facing away from her, with his hard cock poking out the other side of the web, he felt her move behind him, felt the tips of her fingers. When he was bound, Brenna never left him feeling alone and he relaxed into her touch.

  The flat of the crop moved in a small, light circle on the right side of his back, above the jut of his shoulder blade. Breathing deep and even, he waited eagerly.

  The first hit was negligible, more sound than sting. The crop came down on him again, on the same spot, in the same way, again and again. Rick’s cock got a little harder. His skin felt warm but not abused so when she moved to his other side, when she began striking his other shoulder, he had to fight his frustration. The hits weren’t hits at all and he wasn’t a lightweight.

  “Be still,” she said. Her voice was quiet and close and utterly persuasive. “Accept your punishment as I choose to give it. You are not in control here, I am.” Her fingers trailed over his arm, then his belly where they rode the cadence of his breathing. “Your only responsibility is to simply be, and to accept the pain.”

  “Yes, Mistress.” Nodding, Rick held on to the cuffs binding him to the rope. With his arms outstretched, she’d taken away his ability to fight, to move. His only option was to submit. When he realized that, he felt incredibly free. Even in this position, his shoulders managed to relax so much the feeling was novel.

  Perhaps his breathing had changed or perhaps she saw his new stance. It might have been both. Brenna always focused on him as if he was the center of her world. She moved beside him, touched the tip of the crop to the left side of his butt then smacked him lightly. Breathing with it, accepting it and giving up responsibility for his own pleasure became Rick’s focus. When she moved to the other side his skin was warm and primed. Eager for her return.

  Again she frustrated him by returning to his back but now the frustration was itself arousing. Denial required discipline and hurt in a different way. And he did so love it when she disciplined him.

  The next round of hits fell a little harder. They left his skin warmer. Endless rounds with a short pause between each. His lover touched him, let him feel the brush of her bare shoulder, her breath. Shutting his eyes, Rick focused on the scents in the room and his growing sensitivity. Belowground, no sounds penetrated except for the ventilation fan and even that quickly faded into ambient noise. He heard his breathing, the rustle of her dress but mostly he felt the rhythm of her strikes as he slid deeper into them.

  She hit him harder now. Renewing his grip on the handcuff chains, Rick had to force himself not to flinch. Warmth had morphed into heat that streaked across his back. He’d started to gasp without realizing it and concentrated, hard, on regulating his breathing. The crop was whistling now and the sound made his lips pull back from his teeth in a demented smile. That sound became his lifeline and his curse as the precursor of each and every hit.

  Behind him, Brenna was breathing hard now. In it, he heard the effort this cost her and her determination to give him the most perverse of pleasures. As he dwelled on that, as he struggled to process the sensations, he shuddered. The heat had tripped over into pain. H
e struggled to keep his head within the rhythm of her strikes. Shoulder, shoulder. Ass, ass. Over and over, harder and harder, the heat, sounds and sensations built on themselves. His hips canted to the side and he couldn’t stop it. The sting of the crop was overwhelming. Rick groaned loud enough to shatter his headspace and whatever composure he’d managed to hang on to. There was only inescapable pain and gasps of air.

  The crop whistled and struck but, oddly, the pain was muted. He felt every hit but instead of wrecking him, it sparked a sexual need. As his breathing slowed and deepened, he stopped gasping and his head felt heavy. He tried to hold it up, tried to stand tall and proud for Brenna, but the weight became too much and his head dropped forward. Aware of the handcuffs cutting into his wrists and the sting of the crop, he could no longer feel the pain of them. Tranquility flowed through him like a high-grade opiate, relaxing his muscles and leaving his mouth lax. Vaguely, he was aware of Brenna’s soft voice but couldn’t comprehend the words. He was no help when she unlocked the cuffs holding him in place and felt only euphoria when she laid his arm over her shoulder and led him to the padded bench.

  The blanket she settled over him was warm and soft…exactly like his brain felt right then. He felt her gentle lips on his forehead, her hand on his hair.

  Floating in some primordial dimension, he looked at her beautiful eyes and knew he was exactly where he needed to be.

  * * * * *

  On Tuesday morning Rick unlocked the clinic door and walked in like a man on top of the world. He’d flown for Brenna over the weekend, twice. The atmosphere at the club was phenomenal but, in her home, their scenes blew him away. They’d talked it over and concluded he needed peace and privacy to let go with her. Maybe it was thinking about the other subs’ jealousy that held him back. Or his chronic fear of being recognized. All he knew was he’d given his Domme her due.

  He’d spent the night at Brenna’s and when the alarm had woken them sometime around the crack of stupid, he’d made love to her. It had been terrific, like it always was, but bittersweet too. He had to drive back to the city and wouldn’t see her again until Friday. Greeting Janice, their nurse, and handing her the second cup of Tim Hortons coffee he was carrying, he headed straight for the lunchroom.