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  “Enough?” she asked and he felt her hand on the side of his neck.

  “Oh god.” He had to shake his head to clear it. “Yes. No. Maybe another half turn. Please,” he added and grinned foolishly. Brenna obliged. “Shit,” Rick barked. His gut clenched at the hurt, the slow, creeping pain that was so intense and focused it felt good. When she let go of the clamp, when the weight of the metal tugged his nipple downward, he broke out in a sweat.

  Malcolm’s low moan brought Rick’s head up. His friend was watching raptly, alternately licking his lips then letting his mouth fall open at each painful reaction. Yeah. Sometimes watching was almost as good as feeling. Sometimes. Almost.

  Rick groaned when she stepped away from him. With her head tilted to one side, she seemed to be admiring his distended nipple, the pull of the clamp. He wanted to be touched and tormented, maybe even deluded into thinking she cared for him as more than just a sub. It could be pathetic if he let it. Instead it was incredibly freeing, even empowering, to hand control of his most basic instincts as a man to this woman, mostly because she obviously cherished the trust he gave her.

  Taking another, centering breath, Rick held on to the chains, let some of his weight sag against them and willed himself to submit patiently.

  He felt his nostrils flare when Brenna picked up Malcolm’s mask. She stood between them, turned the crafted leather over in her hands, stroked it, tested the smoothness of the seams. Straining against his chains, Malcolm grunted.

  “Ever the impatient one, hmm?” she cooed with what sounded like deceptive sweetness. Reaching out with her free hand, she wrapped her thumb and forefinger around Malcolm’s rod, squeezing just beneath the flared head until he hissed and jerked his hips forward. “And you’re so hard already. That cock ring of yours will never fit with you in this state now, will it?” When she glanced back at Rick her eyes were gorgeous, blazing with unaffected yet unmistakable power. She turned back to Malcolm. “Pity. We’ll have to put that toy away for another day.”

  Holy hell yeah. She’d just promised them another play session. Well, technically she’d promised Malcolm but there was no way Rick was going to let himself be left out. He started breathing faster when she positioned the mask over Malcolm’s face. Leaning to one side, Rick watched and was puzzled at first. She wasn’t actually putting the mask on Malcolm, wasn’t tightening the laces that ran up the back. No, she was waiting for something. It took a moment for the light bulb to go off in Rick’s head.

  Malcolm liked his submission on the wild side of kinky. Always had. At times, next to him, Rick felt vanilla…soft-core and missionary. He was convinced Malcolm would someday find himself in an emergency ward with a knot of ginger shoved so far up his colon a proctologist would have to go in through his mouth to fish it out.

  Maybe Brenna, with her vigilant attention to what they were experiencing, had figured out you had to be careful scening with Malcolm because he sure as hell wanted his physical punishment to go beyond the light bruise and pinch stage.

  A mask like the one hovering about two inches in front of Malcolm’s face would probably make Rick wig out. Breath play made him nervous as hell and besides, he liked to see what was going on. It ramped up the kink factor for him. But as he watched, the rabid adoration on Malcolm’s face relaxed into what looked like calm anticipation. Malcolm nodded and said, “Please, Mistress. I’m ready.”

  She put the mask on him, but slowly. She was wearing another black leather dress tonight. This one left most of her back exposed and he loved how her delicate muscles shifted beneath her skin. When she moved behind Malcolm to tighten the laces on his mask, she touched him constantly. Even Rick was reassured by the contact between her body and Malcolm’s. She paused and laid her hand over Malcolm’s diaphragm. She had to be checking his respiration rate. After another pause, she finished securing the laces.

  The clothespins were still on the table and she had to step away to get them. Even before she broke physical contact with Malcolm, she was talking to him to fill the void.

  “What other naughty toys have you brought, Malcolm? Clothespins? My, my, you are a wicked sub, aren’t you?”

  Malcolm might have moaned a response. There was no way to know for sure. Muffled behind leather, the sounds he made were indistinct, although Rick could see his friend’s nostrils dilate.

  “If you want me to stop hold up your fingers, Malcolm,” she said in that husky, commanding tone that grabbed Rick’s balls and made them hum with pleasure. “You can’t speak your safeword. Use your fingers instead. Understand?”

  Malcolm nodded, spread all ten fingers, clenched them, spread them again then let them relax.

  “Very good,” she murmured, then closed her teeth over his nipple and bit down until he quivered. After she released him she pinched him, high on his pec, not too hard but long enough to make the spot pale. Then she secured a clothespin where her fingers had been.

  Everything about her technique was smooth and purposeful. Small steps with pauses between each didn’t make Rick think of hesitation. They made him think of considered intervals for her to evaluate her sub’s reactions.

  Hot. Damn.

  It took a while for her to fix a line of pegs down Malcolm’s body. By the time she stopped there was a neat, even row from shoulder to groin. As she worked she talked to Malcolm, whispered near his ear. She praised his body, the strength of his hard-on, the texture of his skin. As a finishing touch she fished a length of string out of Malcolm’s little bag of tricks and threaded it through the holes that had been conveniently drilled into the ends of the clothespins, turning the string into a zip cord.

  A final kiss to his throat, an assurance she would return, a brush of her lips against Malcolm’s shoulder then she turned to Rick.

  He started to shake and had to tamp down on the tingling building at the base of his spine before he came. Jeez, what was he, nineteen again?

  Tonight, his body felt like it.

  His cock was so hard his skin felt like it was ready to split. She was a goddess, sex incarnate as she strutted toward him. Those small, soft hands caressed his abdomen, reached around to squeeze his ass, tug his cheeks apart then mold her palms to him. Her breasts nuzzled his ribs and he exhaled raggedly when her soft skin tried to pop out over the bodice of her dress. Grinning like a fool, he leaned down just a little so his bare chest touched hers.

  He’d never felt anything as intimate. He felt like she got him, even though she hardly knew him. The connection was genuine though, the spark undeniable.

  “Mistress…” he breathed and watched his words rustle her hair. He opened his mouth to say something else, something witty and enticing. All that came out was air.

  There was a pause as she looked up at him, at his eyes, his mouth. Her throat moved as she swallowed. Then she raised herself up on her toes and kissed him.

  Rick felt the floor of his world drop out beneath him. There was only this moment, the space around them, her lips against his. She was warm and the only solid thing in the universe. The demands of his job, the pressures of life faded until everything felt normal, equalized. With Brenna he was simply a man giving her what she wanted and accepting the things he craved. Holding the chains above him so tightly they creaked, Rick tasted the seam of her lips then pressed into the sweetness of her mouth. With aching slowness, fingernails scored his back. The sensation made his hips rock forward and his cock rubbed against the soft leather separating them. She held him to her before releasing him.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. She smiled until the lush, painted corners of her mouth tipped up, then eased away from him.

  Before he had a chance to mourn the loss of her body against his, she took hold of the butterfly clamp attached to his nipple, lifted it then pulled gently. Then a little harder, then hard enough to make him groan and rise up on the balls of his feet.

  She might not be a mind reader but she had no problem reading his reactions. “Your responses are so beautiful, my sweet sub,” sh
e said and picked the second clamp up off the bench. “You’ll be even more beautiful and, I think, even more responsive after I twist this evil little toy onto your other nipple.”

  Malcolm grunted and his hips flexed at her words, and he wasn’t even the one being worked over at the moment.

  Holding himself still, willing his breathing to settle, Rick watched the gorgeous Domme pinch his nipple, pull it away from his chest and, when the pressure began to dull the sensation, she fit the clamp just behind her fingers. Like its twin, the cool metal tugged his flesh downward. She watched his face, not his chest, as she slowly tightened the clamp.

  When she stepped back to admire her handiwork Rick straightened, took a fortifying breath then immediately regretted it. The movement made the clamps sway, renewing the pinch and burn. He gasped but shook his head when she reached for the little tightening screws.

  “It’s okay,” he blurted, although his voice trembled. “Just…a little overwhelming for a second. It’s better now.”

  With her palm riding the rise and fall of his abdomen, she stared at him. Just stared…watched his eyes, his forehead, his mouth. Finally she exhaled slowly and stepped back.

  Rick trembled again, but with frustration when she moved back to Malcolm. This was his colleague, his best bud in the world, but his envy bordered on hatred as she tended to the other sub, attached a second zip-lined row of clothespins down the other side of Malcolm’s chest, moved behind him and did something to his ass that made him cry out and jerk his hips forward and back, and had precum coming out the end of his cock in an almost constant drizzle. Trembling with need, Rick was on the verge of shouting his frustration but he held it together. There was grace in holding it together. A strength, an experienced Domme had told him a few years back, true submissives had that the most talented Dominants never would.

  Submissives took control of their reactions, let their psyches mold negative sensations into the sublime. Rick straightened his back, held himself tall and let the ache in his nipples flow through him. He let his body process the feeling as pleasure, build on itself until his teeth clenched and his hips rolled with an inborn need to fuck. The denial of anything to fuck wrung every wicked, delicious bit of sensation out of the experience.

  That denial and the exquisite frustration it brought was multiplied as he watched Malcolm receive what he himself ached for.

  He watched his mistress reach for Malcolm’s heavy flogger, heard the thumping chatter of the rubber tresses. No soft, seductive swish for that brute of a tool. He could tell by the way Brenna’s forearm bulged the thing was heavy but she pulled the tresses back without complaint.

  Behind his leather mask, Malcolm yelped when the rubber tips stung his back. His torso twitched with every strike. Rick swore she timed her strokes to the beating of his heart.

  When she was finished Malcolm’s chest was gleaming with sweat and he was breathing hard and fast through his nose. He was hanging on to his chains so hard his knuckles were white but his fingers weren’t extended. In fact, it looked as if they were clenched determinedly. Rick swore he could see the outline of a smile behind Malcolm’s mask.

  By now Rick’s cock was pointing straight at the ceiling. As she set Malcolm’s flogger down and picked up the paddle Rick had brought, Brenna drew that pouty lower lip of hers into her mouth, held it between her teeth and looked at his shaft as if she was dying for a taste. He lifted his hips in her direction and grinned when she did.

  When she touched him, when she ran those soft, cool fingertips down his length, then cupped his balls hard enough to make him hiss, Rick thought he’d died and gone to heaven. The feeling only got better when she ran her nails across the back of his scrotum, across his perineum until he couldn’t stop grinding himself into her palm.

  This close, he could see the light sheen of perspiration that made her skin glow. Her eyes shone with a light that made him feel owned, loved even. The woman intoxicated him.

  He breathed harder—anything to distract himself from the need to come. By the time she released him the tingling at the base of his balls had crossed over into the red zone. Pursing his lips and exhaling slowly, Rick forced himself to relax as she stepped behind him. He groaned quietly when she rubbed his ass with the flat of the paddle.

  “Will you take the pain for me, Rick? Will you let it turn you on?” Her voice was sultry and it wrapped around his chest like warm strands of wool that prickled just enough to keep him on edge. “Will you do this because it pleases me?”

  “Y-yes,” he choked out, moistened his lips and swallowed before trying again. “Yes, Brenna. For you. Anything. Anything you want.”

  The scent of her filled his head. Her skin, her hair, the leather hugging her body. When she breathed he felt the warm, moist air as it left her mouth and washed his shoulder. Felt it binding with the sweat on his skin.

  He groaned again as the paddle continued its light, steady, seductive rub. When she lifted it away from him, when she angled her body beside but behind his, Rick tried not to tense. Tensing only made it hurt worse and he didn’t know if he was ready for that. Some weird, untried instinct told him he could trust her to give him what he needed, and no more than he could handle.

  It was a good way to get himself majorly fucked up by a sadist but he had zero belief it would happen with this woman.

  That brought a smile to his lips and his body relaxed into the chains and spreader bar without conscious direction from his pleasure-addled brain.

  Whack.

  The first hit of the paddle made heat rush to the surface of his ass. The whistle as the wood moved through the air, the sound of it hitting skin, made him hiss.

  Malcolm moaned and thrashed against his bonds. He settled only after Brenna ran her palm down and up the middle of his chest.

  “Do you want me to remove your mask?” she asked him.

  Even though his nostrils were flaring like a racehorse’s, Malcolm shook his head violently. He grunted, mumbled something indecipherable, held tight to the chains holding his arms up, but didn’t give his fingers-raised signal.

  “Then it will stay in place.” Without warning, Brenna yanked one of the clothespins off Malcolm’s chest. Held to the others by the zip cord, it bounced against his chest as he thrashed and yelled in pain. “And you’ll stay there and learn the discipline of patience until I’m good and ready to flog your hard ass some more.”

  All traces of that sultry, seductive voice were gone. She spoke to Malcolm with utter authority and a demanding tone bordering on harshness. Rick had to bite back his own gasp of pleasure while his friend shook then lifted himself up straight and still.

  “Better,” Brenna said softly. Her voice was another reward, another signal she was pleased.

  Rick’s jealously flared again because it wasn’t him pleasing her. The emotion faded when she stepped up beside him again, positioned her body perpendicular to his and swung the paddle.

  Whack. Whack, whack. Three solid hits, dead center on the meaty part of his ass. Light slaps really, although the sound was impressive. She moved to his other side, raised her arm and swung again.

  He breathed into the rhythm of her strikes. Warmth then tingling then a sting zipped through his groin and hardened him even more. Each hit translated into sensation and the buildup was so slow his mind latched on to the feelings as pleasure. More than pleasure. Sublime, erotic stimulation. His balls started to ache, adding to the sensations. The sounds, the dungeon-like atmosphere, the way she breathed and the bulging of the long muscles in her arm, the scents let the forbidden eroticism of what he was doing, what he was feeling, flow through him, grab his gut and squeeze.

  A drop of precum oozed out the tip of his penis. He watched it trail down his veined shaft before it was joined by another drop, then another.

  When Brenna stopped, when she laid her cool hand on his burning ass, Rick shivered and cried out in frustration.

  Malcolm’s chains rattled and his abdominals clenched but no sound came
out of his leather-covered mouth.

  The paddle lightly tapping Brenna’s bare thigh preceded her predator-like stroll. She moved into his line of sight, stood between him and Malcolm, looked him up and down. She focused on his face, watched his breathing. Oh yeah. She owned him and cared for him like a cherished possession.

  “I’m good,” he said quietly. He licked his lips and felt one corner of his mouth quirk up. “Any better and that gorgeous dress of yours would be dripping with my cum.”

  Something that sounded vaguely like “Mine too” came from behind Malcolm’s mask. His head was bobbing in the universal sign of enthusiastic agreement.

  Brenna’s laughter was soft and musical. Moving away from them, she set down Rick’s paddle, retrieved Malcolm’s flogger and positioned herself behind him.

  Now it was Rick’s turn to be strong as he listened to the hard thrump of rubber hitting Malcolm’s back, his turn to again hold back his envy as his friend held himself still, grunted under the impact of each hit. His turn to envy the potent arousal Brenna gave the other sub.

  Malcolm’s cock looked painfully hard. Flushed a deep purple, it bobbed after each strike from the flogger, and drooled precum like a Pavlovian dog.

  Brenna paused regularly, caressed Malcolm’s belly, smoothed her hands across his hips and down his legs. She murmured sweet words of lusty praise, licked the sweat on Malcolm’s neck, then stepped back and started all over again.

  Groaning, arching into the strikes, Malcolm shook all over. His muffled cries echoed through the room. Gripping the chains above him, his knuckles were so pale they practically fluoresced in the dim lighting. Sweat poured down his chest as his cock swelled and curved back toward his belly.

  Rick didn’t need to be a doctor to recognize the signs of an impending climax, especially when Malcolm’s nuts drew up tight into his body.

  Grunting in time with the jerking of his cock, Malcolm shot streams of cum onto his chest and belly. He screamed behind his mask when Brenna reached around him, grabbed the first zip cord and ripped the pegs off one side of his body. Despite the noises he made and the flailing of his body, the intensity of Malcolm’s orgasm increased, witnessed by the jerking of his cock and the distance his splashes of ejaculate now reached.