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Becoming Theirs: Dominion Trust, Book I

By: Trent Evans
Published By: Shadow Moon Press
Copyright: Copyright © 2012 by Trent Evans All rights reserved.
Four Chapters / 22,000 Words
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What is a modern, independent woman to do when the only thing she truly wants is to surrender herself completely? Erica, a young, beautiful college student is looking for that something which speaks to what she truly is deep down inside. Is it possible to finally find peace, even happiness within the strict bonds of utter submission? 

When Blaine, a powerful, successful businessman realizes he and his wife are ready for something new, a deeper exploration of the love and lust they've shared as husband and wife, the naive, fetching Erica enters the picture. As a member of the Dominion Trust, Blaine has witnessed the fascinating dynamic of other couples who've taken a submissive into their beds, and into their lives. And now it's time to experience it for himself.

Blaine's wife Kathryn — a fiercely driven executive in her own right — submits to her husband in all things, but as the years have gone by, new needs, darker desires have stirred within her. Is she ready for a submissive of her own? Is their D/s marriage ready for a third, a woman who will submit to them both? 

In this story, three people come together to find out if happiness really can be found in the complicated dance of dominance and submission, pain and pleasure of a BDSM menage relationship. 

Publisher's Warning: Intended for mature readers. 18 and over only! 

This is a MFF BDSM menage erotic romance, with sexual contact among all three members of the menage.

Chapter One

E rica was one night away from fulfilling her lifelong dream — to experience true submission. Why does a modern, free woman seek to give away her liberty? To fritter it away in pursuit of that one state of being, that singular experience of being subject to another’s will.

Standing at the floor-to-ceiling window, she felt lost in the immense room, lost within herself. There were people outside, far below on the beach, walking along the car-choked road crowded on both sides with businesses all jockeying for the same tourist dollar. Atop the hill, nestled among Douglas fir and towering Western Hemlock, the sprawling house — her temporary prison — surveyed all.

The late afternoon sun hit the water at just the right angle, the light captured, reflected, transforming the blue green, foam-flecked ocean into the mottled iridescence of flowing, molten metal. Erica had always loved the sea, and though she’d lived most of her life within ninety miles of it, she could count on one hand the number of times she’d actually  seen it. Every time, it took her breath away; the enormity of it; that confirmation, at once humbling and freeing, of just how small and insignificant a human being really was.

“Come to the ocean to be… not free,” she whispered. “You should have listened to your Mom.”

A mother’s job is to protect her young, and Erica remembered that night she’d told her mother she’d be taking a break from school. There were the questions, the suspicions, all of it overlaid with the unspoken fear a good mother feels when her young, naive children stray from carefully laid parental plans.

Erica found those plans nothing less than a numbing path to invisibility, the captivity of normal expectations; she sought captivity of quite another sort.

No, mom, it’s not because of a boy.

Erica couldn’t really tell her could she? Some things just can’t be processed.

No mom, it’s not because of a boy. It’s because of a boy… and a girl.

When your life has been meticulously planned, managed by your parents all the way up to college, you’re going to be taking some flack when you decide to quit said college — and Erica took a lot of it.

Worse than her worried mother though, had been the stone-cold silence from her father. He wouldn’t even talk to her. It was like something you’d watch in a Lifetime™ movie: daughter delivers Big Reveal; seething Father, brow properly furrowed, stalks off accompanied by mournful piano score. End scene.

Erica didn’t blame him, of course — not one bit. She’d have been  livid if she’d been in their shoes. But they didn’t really know, couldn’t really understand. How do you explain the appeal of subjugation, the frisson of lust a girl experiences amidst diabolically cruel humiliation, the soaring, otherworldly high following the searing pain of a caning? Trying to explain that to her loving parents would be about as successful as attempting to teach algebra to a toddler.

So, she ran. It had been six months since that night.

The door opened behind her, but she stayed rooted to her spot, gazing out at the freedom just beyond the glass. The elegant maid Ana had said she’d be up soon to deliver Erica’s “meal,” How bread and water were regarded as a meal, Erica would never understand. She’d been warned though. Sir had outlined to her over the phone what accommodations she could expect at the beach house, and part of her at least (that unthinking part south of her waist), really didn’t mind the idea of mealtime as penance. As long as it was by his direction, by their direction, she would obey… and want even more.

Down there, a lazy summer evening unfolded, the crisp, salt-scented wind banishing any trace of the afternoon’s summer heat while atop the hill, Erica, the tall, lonely bird, caught in her gilded cage looked on, at once wistful and grateful. Her keen vision could pick out the red flash of color as someone slid across a sheen of waterlogged sand on a boogie board. Much further out she could see the white smudge of a low-slung cabin cruiser, bobbing as it drew too near to the surf zone.

Then a moment before she felt it, she saw the slight movement, the black color out of the corner of her eye, reflected in the thick double pane of the huge plate glass window. She moved to turn, but a hand pressed to her upper back, pushing her against the cold plane of the window. Nipples stiffened under the thin blouse, her chest against the hard glass. “Stay right there. Hands on the window.”

It was him! Her heart hammered in her chest, her hands shaking. She put her heated palms against the cool glass.


She ran them along the smooth surface, grateful for something to mask her shakes.

“Mm, so tall,” he murmured, standing close behind her. His cologne wafted over her, along with something else.


“You stay right where you are. I’m taking a shower. Need to get this fucking cigarette smell off of me.” He pressed the solid length of his body to her back, the bulge at his crotch against her buttocks. “If I come back to find you’ve moved one inch, I’ll be giving that cute ass of yours a beating earlier than I’d planned.”

His lips nuzzled her earlobe, his stubble rough against her skin. Then he was gone, leaving her trembling against the glass, held as fast as if he’d bound her in truth. She wondered what one of those summer tourists would see if they but turned to look up the wooded hill? Could they spot the slim woman spreading herself against the window as if she were being frisked? The sudden mental image of Sir’s big hands roughly manhandling her vulnerable flesh sent her clit humming. She knew the locals would smile knowingly, moving on with the remainder of their day.

Blaine Forster meant as much to the town as ten thousand tourists did, and the long-time residents knew it. So what if the rumors of what went on at his stunning vacation home occasionally drew raised eyebrows and clucking tongues? Those who knew him knew what he represented, understood when it was wise to make an issue, and when it was prudent to simply move on with life.

“I’ll just leave your lunch for you here.” Erica nearly jumped out of her shoes. The maid. How had she missed the woman’s entry?

Erica heard a tray laid down on the wood of the bar. She smiled. Only someone as loaded as Blaine would feel the need to have a goddamn  bar in his bedroom. “Ah, thank you. I—”

“No need to explain, Erica.” The satisfaction in the woman’s soft voice made Erica want to crawl under the bed as her face burned. She heard the door close behind her, grateful that the maid had not shown up later — though she had no real idea what was coming later.

Fighting the absurdly strong urge to turn to look at her meager repast, she kept herself plastered to the glass like a perp thrown against a convenient wall by a cop to search and cuff.

She assumed the cuffs would be coming a little later.

The sun had lowered considerably, its waning, filtered light shining directly into the room. Erica wondered at the shadow her body must have cast on the wall behind her. Alas, she didn’t dare turn to look at it. Yes, the idea of Blaine whipping her ass didn’t exactly sound all bad, but she hadn’t yet summoned up enough courage to defy one of his orders outright. Besides, she knew she wasn’t a brat; she found it a richer, far more exciting experience to obey him… in everything.

So, there she stood, watching the daytime world slowly give way to that of the night. She grew up in Portland, OR, and she remembered the remarkable transformation that occurred in downtown on the weekends. Where during the daylight hours there were the business suits, the tasteful, stylish skirts, the occasional garishly dressed hippie bucking the conformity of the business day, those gave way to the night — and an entirely different city seemingly grew right out of the ground. There were the street kids, the slumming, BMW-driving teenagers, the punks, wannabe gangbangers, the hookers — she had even seen a man walking across Ankeny wearing nothing but a pair of assless chaps.

That concept of two beings in one had stayed with her, for it was something she felt particularly keenly. She’d given up trying to relate to friends swooning over the romantic dinner their boyfriends had taken them on, when her idea of “romance” was to be bent naked over the back of her couch and spanked. She’d ceased arguing with friends who’d used sex as a tool, leverage to be used against boyfriends that she generally found rather nice (though there were one or two douche bags as well, truth be told).

The very idea of withholding sex seemed… alien to her. Erica couldn’t really get enough of it, as long as it was kinky — preferably depraved. She  liked giving pleasure, and her drive, her urge to serve had always unnerved her. Her mother tutted at Erica when she deferred to others, strived, often at her expense, to make others feel better. She loved taking care of people — and that drive naturally extended into her sexuality.

The blue white of arc-sodium streetlights randomly flickered on below. A single, poor police car, strobes and blues flashing, crawled along the nearly gridlocked coastal road. It surprised her to see only one cop on the night of the Fourth of July, but then again, the night had barely begun. People from the valley would be flooding in, and the cops would have more pressing matters to attend to than directing traffic. Up in her world though, none of that mattered, really, for her concern was only for him — and for her. It was a big night; Sir had told her that he and Kathryn had been discussing things, their arrangement. He had hinted that it might be time to take things to the next level. They would need to test her though, to see if she was capable of meeting all of their… needs.

Erica just hoped she didn’t fuck it all up.

“You’re a good girl.”

Erica had been leaning against the window, her shoulders burning, and she straightened at his voice.

Glass clinked together somewhere behind her as a mass of humanity gathered down below her, preparing to celebrate.

“Do you remember our first meeting, Erica?” She felt him moving close behind her. Her arms trembled with the fatigue of holding them up for so long.

“Of course.”

A finger tapped her shoulder. “Don’t ‘of course’ me, girl.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

“I’ll let it slide, but only because my fearsome wife hasn’t arrived yet.”

“She’s coming… here?” Erica gulped, thinking “fearsome” to be a particularly apt description for her strict Mistress.

“Mm hmm,” Blaine said sipping from his drink, and leaning his back against the window, letting her see him. His close-cropped hair, white t-shirt and muscular arms made him look more like a mixed martial arts fighter than an executive, but she knew he purposely eschewed the look of a “suit.” The fact that he owned this house and close to a dozen other properties in this town alone confirmed he was every bit as successful in business as she had no doubt he’d be in a fighting ring.

He cocked his head. “Why the face? I thought you’d be happy.”

“I-I just didn’t know, Sir.”

His eyes glinted, and he smiled over the rim of his glass. Though he looked like he could tear phone books in half with his hands, his eyes gave the whole game away. It was what struck her that first night, and it still struck her now. Despite the fact that he was her Sir, commanded her obedience, those eyes of his held such warmth, such kindness. She’d not realized how much her life needed those two things until the night she’d agreed to let her friend Cam set her up to meet a friend. Cam knew what kind of man Erica was after, and when she’d first laid eyes on those deep browns, saw the playfulness, the caring, she thought maybe Cam had known more than she’d let on.

“You’ll have to get used to that.” He winked at her. “I don’t know where she is half the time, either.”

Erica smiled. “Yes, Sir.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see Kathryn — quite the opposite, really. Nevertheless, she was a lot to take in, a trial to be sure — and Erica wanted to be ready for her. She was attracted to the cold beauty of her Mistress, like a supplicant to a cruel Goddess. She craved kneeling at her feet, wringing whatever kindness she could from the smallest of gestures from the aloof woman. Those kindnesses gave Erica pure joy — perhaps because such things from her Mistress were so very rare.

Truth was sometimes hard for Erica to come to grips with, and in this case, she knew she craved more than those fleeting kindnesses from her Mistress. No, she needed the other part of her too, needed that darkness, that willingness to revel in Erica’s pain, her humiliation. It was only with Kathryn, did Erica realize fully what she was, what she’d been all along but hadn’t the words to describe it.

Blaine’s hand reached out, molding itself around her ribcage, stroking the fabric of her blouse. His touch sent ticklish electricity through her skin. “You do remember that night don’t you?”

“Every second, Sir.”

“Then you know what I want you to do, don’t you?”

She shot a glance at Blaine. “Now?”

Lips tight and jaw firm, he nodded slowly, light dancing in his eyes.

She unbuttoned the blouse quickly, keeping her eyes on the task, not trusting her trembling fingers to complete the job without direct supervision.

His hand patted her ass, and he walked away. She turned toward him, slipping the last button and pulling the blouse from her slacks.

“No, turn back around.”


He glared at her, his jaw clenched.

“Sorry. It’s just that… they’ll see.

“And what if they do?”

She inhaled, her breath shaky. “I don’t… know.”

“That’s something else you’d better get used to, girl. If you really want to do this, be mine, this body is going to be on display. A lot.”

He was at her back once more, his lips touching her cheek, kissing the smooth flesh at the join of shoulder and neck. “Yes, I think you’ll have some adjusting to do won’t you?

“Yes, Sir.” Her hands clutched both sides of the blouse. She was grateful for something to hold on to her fingers trembled so much.

His arm reached around her, the warm hand sliding up her belly. Fingers worked at her bra, releasing the front clasp in moments, the lace falling away to let cool air caress her breasts. “How will you react when we make you walk down a city street in a skin tight shirt but no bra? Your hard nipples on display for all to see?”

Clutching them both in his big hands, he squeezed her breasts firmly. “I think we’ll make you wear some nice tall heels too. Get those hips rolling and these tits bouncing.”

She dropped her eyes as her deep blush traveled down her neck, the flushing evident even on the slopes of the breasts still clutched in his big hands.

“I love your reactions,” he murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth. “You can’t hide anything from me, you know.”

“Yes, Sir.” She didn’t want to hide anything from him — ever. She only hoped it would be enough, her submission the key that would unlock his heart to her.

He spun her around, forcing her chest against the window. His hands pulled the blouse and loose bra out to the sides and she gasped as her breasts made contact with the cold glass.

“Don’t you dare move,” he growled. He clawed at her slacks, yanking them down along with the black thong.

“Sir, wait I—”

“Shh, just be a good girl. Obey me.”

Breathing labored, heart racing, she closed her eyes against the embarrassment of it. She felt as if every eye down below was trained upon her now, watching the girl with her naked boobs squashed against the window.

Urging her to lift each foot in turn, he slipped off her heels. His hands massaged the grooves the straps left in her flesh, then pulled her slacks completely off. Naked from the waist down, she fought the insanely powerful urge to bring her hands down to cover her pussy. They could see all of it!

“Spread your legs.”

His hard hand stung her ass, and she tried to ignore the embarrassing jiggle of her flesh. “Wider.”

She moved her feet shoulder width apart, trying to ignore the image of what she must look like; the dark patch of pubic hair drawing the eye like a beacon to the sex nestled between pale thighs.

Strong hands gripped her buttocks, kneading the flesh. “God, I thought about this ass all day long.”

Erica’s breath hitched as his fingers dipped into the valley between the cheeks, stroking the velvet flesh of her bottom hole.

“I had Jack Weber giving me construction estimates for the new server farm, and all I could think about was being inside you, fucking this wet cunt.”

A hand smacked against her soft labia, and she yelped. Despite the sting, she could feel the slickness of her sex increase by the second. He always knew how to touch her — just that right mix of roughness, possessiveness. His fingers spread her labia apart, the air cool on her heated inner flesh. Two thick fingers slid in, sinking deep into her wetness, and a low moan escaped her lips.

“All ready I see,” he chuckled, planting a light kiss behind her ear. “Soon enough, bad girl. Soon enough.”

There was a sound of a zipper lowering.

Oh, God! Please don’t make me do this here.

Erica turned, dropping her hands from the glass, moving to step around him. “Wait, not—”

His hand clasped her upper arm in a bruising grip, his other hand grabbing her by the hair, pulling her up short. “What are you doing?” His voice was so quiet she had to strain to hear it.

“I can’t do that… there.”

Blaine’s hazel eyes locked with hers, boring into her, searching. She saw the warmth there, warring with the lust, the need to control, to own her. He kissed her, hard, his tongue plundering her mouth even as his fist twisted further in her hair, holding her fast. He bit her lip, sucked on her tongue, the almost imperceptible growling from deep in his chest making her pussy spasm.

“You’ll do what I tell you, girl. No questions.”

“Sir, I’m sorry, it’s just—”

A finger, scented with her juices, pressed its wet length across her mouth, silencing her.

“What happens to girls who disobey? Slaves who disobey?”

Erica knew this was right, had fantasized about this as long as she could remember. It had felt like a dream come true meeting a man like Blaine. However, sometimes it unnerved her, the reality of her submission more raw, more intense than even the darkest of her fantasies. She reveled in it even as she tried to flee from it. Flee from the woman she was deep inside… the slave who craved this.

She whimpered as he jerked her head, the sensitive roots of her hair protesting.

“I’m waiting.”

“Slaves are — punished, Sir.”

“That’s correct.” His voice lowered, the sound vibrating in her chest, through her pussy. “And do you deserve to be punished?”

No! Yes! I don’t know!

“Yes… Sir.”

“Good. You will be.” He released her hair, and pointed at the bed. “Bend over the side of the mattress and wait for me.”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered. Blaine left the room, the door closing with a quiet snick, the lock thrown with authority.

Get it together, Erica.

She splayed a hand over her ass as she walked away from the window. She knew she was being ridiculous; it was unlikely anyone on the road below could see much in the waning light of the evening. The sun was nearly set, the clouds on the horizon awash in pinks, lavenders, and deep blues.

Folding herself over the edge of the high mattress, she felt the heat of her blush as a bead of moisture escaped from between her labia, wetting the curls of her sex. Punishment always did that to her, the anticipation and dread becoming all mixed up, confusing her. Soon the pain would clear her mind, simplify everything into nothing but sensation and reaction.

The waiting was as bad as the punishment (okay, maybe it wasn’t  quite as bad), and she knew Blaine took great joy in making her wait. He never told her how long she’d have to stew until he’d carry out the sentence. He’d make her lie there for two minutes, or twenty. She never knew, and that uncertainty was itself a cruel certainty of any punishment. Blaine believed that punishment needn’t just be physical — it could be psychological as well. Getting into, and messing with, a sub’s head was a favorite technique of his… and in that, he wasn’t alone.

Shivers coursed through her body at the thought of what Kathryn would do were she to walk into the room and see a bare-bottomed Erica laid out like this for punishment. Though Blaine could be scary when he wanted to be, it was her Mistress who truly terrified Erica.

The fact that such terror held more than a slight undercurrent of excitement to it disturbed Erica. Was it normal to be turned on by fear? She knew the answer to that — and it didn’t lend her any comfort. She wasn’t sure she knew how it was possible to be both scared to death of the woman, and yet have her pussy be soaked at the thought of being under her thumb.

It made no sense, but Erica had long since passed trying to sort out her desires. Things were just too tangled up, her sexual motivations so convoluted as to make any determination of the whys of whom and what she was, impossible. She’d just learned to accept it — mostly. Someday she would examine those motivations more closely, but right now, all she cared to do was surrender to sensation, surrender to her Sir, to her Mistress. Nothing else mattered.

The door opened again, and she heard his heavy footfalls draw near. Something solid hit the mattress near her head, the air current disturbing a strand of her hair.

“No, not there. Other side, Erica. I want that ass facing the windows. Better light.”

She gulped, nodding. Erica had hoped he’d let it go, but as usual he didn’t. Why did she hope for something she didn’t really want? Leniency wasn’t what she wanted. Quite the opposite, actually.

As she moved around to the other side of the bed, her eyes alighted on what he’d dropped on the mattress.

The paddle.

It was a broad rectangular piece of dark leather; flexible enough not to cut her with harsh edges, but with enough stiffness to give her what she knew he intended — a roasted ass.

He took up the paddle, swinging it a few times through the air, practicing his form. He brought the leather to her face, the smell of it strong and clean. “Kiss it.”

She pressed her lips to the cold leather, her face burning with a deep blush. He took away the leather and presented his fingers to her lips. She gently kissed those too, his hand leaving her with a caress of her blushing cheek.

It was a well-practiced ritual, but it didn’t make it any easier. Her Sir liked to draw out a punishment, luxuriate in her embarrassment, strip away any last vestiges of her dignity, and finally, enjoy her pain. it sounded crueler than she really thought it was; he was quite open about enjoying inflicting pain — but only if the person receiving it wanted it too. She was ashamed to admit she was very much that person, disturbing to her though it had been when she’d finally come to grips with that fact.

His hand stroked her hip. “Legs together.”

She complied, squeezing her thighs in a vain effort to hide her sex from his gaze. She knew that with her height, bending over the bed would blatantly display the swollen folds of her pussy.

As if to confirm this, his palm patted her labia. “I love the way your pussy peeks back at me this way.” Hands smoothed over her buttocks. “But I’m afraid this won’t do. Move your feet back.”


“Come on, girl. Move them back,” he said, landing a slap to her bottom. “Your ass is too tight bent this way. I want those cheeks loose for your punishment. As much as I enjoy watching your cunt weep for me as I discipline you, I don’t want you clenching.”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, pressing her burning face to the thousand thread count sheets. She shuffled them backward until her heels came off the carpet, the weight of her legs on the balls of her feet.

“That’s better; keep those thighs nice and tight now.” His hands roamed over the taught hamstrings. “God I love these legs. These were what I most wanted to get my hands on when I first saw you, Erica. These long legs of yours. So powerful, so graceful.”

All she could think about was wrapping those legs around his waist as he pounded into her needy cunt. But first, she would receive her punishment… eventually.

She hissed in pain at the harsh pinch to her inner thigh. “I’ve got plans for these legs, girl.”

Those little comments made her wonder. Erica had agreed to see both Blaine and Kathryn on a regular basis. In truth, it had quickly evolved into a one-sided arrangement: one of them would call her, and she would arrive at the predetermined destination, aroused, fearful — and hopeful. She considered if perhaps their arrangement was about to change. How would it? Was she ready for it if it did?

Hands smoothed over the curves of her bottom once more. “Kathryn didn’t believe me when I told her about this ass,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent. He grasped a cheek between finger and thumb, shaking it back and forth like a dog chewing on a toy. “But when she finally got a look at it, she marveled at it.”

She did?

Erica, like many women had a love/hate relationship with her ass. It gave her great, forbidden pleasure when her Sir caressed it, spanked it — even fucked it. But she thought it was much too big. Cursed, when other tall woman typically had slender hips and asses, she bucked the trend with what was (to her mind anyway) her too plump bottom.

“You still with us, Erica?”

“Oh — sorry. Yes, Sir.” The feel of his hands on her drove her to distraction, the thought of his thick cock pushing between her cheeks sending her mind spinning, even as her pussy clenched with need.

He continued. “Yes, well. Like I said, she couldn’t believe it. I think I remember hearing her use the words ‘dream girl’.”

Erica was stunned. She felt so inadequate when in the presence of the icy, steel-willed Kathryn. Half the time, she wanted to either kneel at her Mistress’ feet, or raise her ass for her whip. It was ridiculous of course; why would she respond in such a way to that callousness, the sometimes arrogant indifference? Could a woman even be described as arrogant? If so, Kathryn could occasionally resemble the remark. Something about the woman spoke to Erica though, spoke to her on a level that simply compelled her to want to do one thing.


Kathryn was so different from Sir, though not in a way that left him wanting in Erica’s eyes. No, to Erica, nothing about him would  ever be found wanting. Nevertheless, the two certainly differed dramatically in how they treated her, their styles of dominance. To Erica though, they were just two halves of the whole — she responded (  God did she) to both of them, regardless of their differences in technique. Her pussy knew what she wanted.

“That first night we all got together,” he said, his fingers stroking up and down the crevice of her buttocks. “She was almost uncontrollable.”

It was at an outdoor light festival, one of several put on display around the city during the winter holiday season, where Erica had agreed to first meet them together (she’d seen Blaine alone before). Nervous as hell, Erica had perched herself on one of the wrought iron chairs, her breath fogging in the chill night air. There were people all around her of course, everyone bathed in the dazzling white light of the displays, but the only two she registered were Blaine and Kathryn. Two beautiful, powerful, unattainable people — both there for her.

God, she was so beautiful, so far out of Erica’s league! She’d thought for a moment about just slinking away, wanting to avoid the humiliation of those strangers’ eyes comparing her gawky frame to the classical beauty of the willowy, elegant Kathryn.

They’d stood and moved away, just out of earshot of her (she’d tried to listen though, oh yes, she’d tried). Erica had watched them talk, watched them stare at her, the cold possessive calculation in their eyes sending chills down her spine, yet moistening her pussy.

“She wanted me to bundle you up and take you home that very night. No taking ‘no’ for an answer, either. Ours — whether you liked it or not. She told me she wanted me to hold you down while she caned your ass until it turned purple.”

Erica’s mouth went dry at the thought. Her pussy, however, had an entirely different reaction to the frightening imagery.

Jesus Christ, Erica. You slut.

Cold leather covered her ass, tapping gently, and she froze. “Do I have your attention?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Oh God, here it comes!

But there was no burst of pain, no loud crack of leather on flesh. Nothing.

The tension in her calves and hamstrings was already building, and waiting for her agony to begin only made it worse.

“I’m waiting.” The leather tapped her bottom.

“Sir, I don’t…”

“You’re clenching. Relax them.”

“Sorry, Sir.” Consciously willing your tense buttocks to relax in the face of an imminent paddling was not a natural act, and despite the fact that this wasn’t the first time he’d admonished her for clenching, she still had a difficult time complying with his order. Her cheeks just wanted to huddle together fearfully, as if they could better weather the coming storm. She couldn’t blame them.

“Now, girl.” The leather snapped down, heat blooming across her skin.

Come on, loosen. Relax! Get it over with, Erica.

“There, much better.” He pulled the leather away, and his hand lightly smacked each cheek a few times. “I like to see them shudder and wobble as I punish you. That doesn’t work when you’re clenching, and keeping those cheeks tight just makes the strokes hurt worse. Unless, that’s what you really want. I can oblige your needs by hitting harder if that’s the case.”

“NO! No, please, Sir!”

Her face heated at his low chuckle. “Okay, girl. Maybe another time we can explore just how much you need that pain, hmm?”

She didn’t answer, afraid one day he’d go through with it; afraid one day that he wouldn’t go through with it.

He laid the paddle across her ass once more, the leather still, menacing. “Why are you being punished?”

“Because I disobeyed you, Sir.”

“You did, though admittedly it wasn’t too serious an offense. You’re mostly a good girl.”

“Thank you, Sir.” She wanted to turn around and kiss him. Praise helped her, gave her strength for the ordeal to come. The pain was bad enough; his disapproval with her was worse.

“You just… lost your head for a moment,” he said. “Still, punishment is called for here. How many do you think you deserve?”

None! A hundred! Shit.

“As many as you think I deserve, Sir.” Her voice broke ever so slightly on the last word.

She tried to marshal her courage, to be strong. It was this way every time, a warring within her between the urge to flee — fight or flight — and the urge to tell him to hurt her, that there wasn’t enough pain for her.

“Good answer,” he said. “I think ten will do — a minor offense after all.”

The first stroke landed with a loud pop in the quiet room. The tip of the paddle wrapped around her bottom and bit into her flesh. She knew if he gave her a few more like that, she’d wake up tomorrow morning with nice, deep bruising on that far hip.

The next blow was harder, and seemed to cover the whole of her cringing bottom, sending the cheeks bounding.

Relax, relax.

His hand stroked gently over the marks. “Good start here.”

The next blow was much harder, and she yelled at the smart, the sting digging deep into her buttocks. “Felt that one?”

“Yes, Sir.” She drew still once more, urging, begging her body to cooperate.

The leather whipped down four more times in quick succession, and though they were just as hard as the previous strikes, she just managed to keep still for them, her cries muffled by the sheets she clutched to her face in desperate, white-knuckled hands. His growled voice admonished her to loosen her cheeks again before the last blow.

He stroked the body-warmed leather over the curves of her bottom, his hand caressing her lower back. She could feel the fine sheen of sweat on her skin already.

“These last three will be the worst, Erica. I’m going to make these hurt, because you need them. Are you ready?”

Oh God, Oh God, Oh God!

Her ass burned, the skin feeling abraded the way it always did after a solid leathering. It wasn’t nearly as bad as a caning, but she knew she’d be a sore girl in the morning, even without the last three strokes still to come.

“Yes… Sir.”

He bent over her, his lips whispering at her temple. “Be strong, beautiful.”

Quick, crisp smacks rained down upon her ass. Each blow was harder than the last, the pain searing, and she cried out at each one. He knew how to make a paddling hurt when he wanted to — and this time it seemed he  definitely wanted to.

Erica sucked in a great lungful of air, exhaling it in a soft whine. The throbbing made her move her hips, trying to shake off the pain.

“Punishment over,” he whispered, making her kiss the paddle once more. He grasped her arm, and helped her to her feet. Her head swam a little and her bottom was definitely warm. Overall, though, ten strokes was a very light paddling, and she was grateful that’s all she’d suffered for her transgression. She knew it could have been a lotworse.

Blaine sat on the edge of the bed, tugging on her arm.

“W-what are you… ?”

The fire in the hazel depths of his gaze was unmistakable. “The paddling was for your punishment. This is for me. Over my lap.”

Oh no.

She swiftly found herself in that familiar, humiliating position, blood pounding at her temples, the unruly dark curls of her hair all around her. She felt heat against the side of her hip and looked back. His cock stood up from the open fly of his slacks, its heavy length laid along her flesh. The urge to turn and take him between her lips was so strong; she almost risked further disobedience to do it.

Blaine looked down at her, his jaw clenched. “Get your head down.”

She obeyed, shivering, hiding her face back under her curls once more.

The loose blouse partially covered her bottom, so he rucked the fabric higher, fully exposing her, the air cool on her sweaty lower back. His hands eased over her ass, the calloused fingers rough against her soft skin. Her thighs shook, fatigued from holding them steady during the paddling. His hands squeezed the lush flesh.

“Tired, little girl? We’re not done yet — not by a long shot.”

Blaine massaged each cheek in turn, both hands stroking, kneading, working the tension from her muscles. He traced each stinging, abraded mark with gentle fingertips, even bending to blow on them once, making her shiver. “Scorched here I see. Might be pretty sore after your spanking.”

“Um, maybe you could skip the spanking?”

His hands stopped moving, his body tense, still. She swallowed. Maybe talking back hadn’t been the most brilliant of moves.

Fingers dove into the tangle of her locks, twisting as he pulled her head up sharply. “Do you get to dictate what happens in this relationship?”

Wait — relationship?

He’d never called it that before. ‘Play’ or ‘arrangement’ were the terms she’d most often heard him use.

“N-no, Sir.”

“And why is that?” The cadence of his speech slowed, his voice soft. But she wasn’t fooled — when he got this way, she knew she was in trouble.

There were few right answers to these questions, and many wrong ones. “Because my only duty is to obey, do as I’m told?”

“That’s correct. So, does that mean you get to suggest I let you off of your spanking?”

Were it possible to unspeak words, she knew she’d be doing it now.

“Ahh!” Her scalp burned as his hand tightened in her locks. “No, Sir! I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry.”

“Good, then we understand each other, don’t we?”

She nodded as best she could against his steely grip.

Blaine let go of her hair, his hand stroking from her nape down the length of her spine, fingers tangling in the blouse bunched at the small of her back.

He squeezed her buttocks harshly, making her wince. “Ready for your spanking?”

I thought this was for you?

She was eternally grateful her snark did not make it past her lips.

“Yes, Sir. Please, not too hard.”

Hands stroked circles over each cheek, adding to the heat of her paddling. “That’s up to you. Be a good girl, and this shouldn’t take long.”

The spanking began immediately, heavy smacks swiftly building heat to scorching levels. His palm slapped down onto the middle of one of her cheeks, the sound like a pistol shot. Soon, she was wagging her hips side-to-side, unable to help herself, even though she knew it would only encourage him to be even harsher with her.

“Keep still. I’m not hitting you that hard. A good girl takes her spankings quietly.”

What the hell was he talking about? Her ass was on fire, the pain much more intense than that from the paddling. She breathed in through her nose, and out through her mouth, trying anything she could to cope with the burning heat. All the while her body betrayed her, the deep uncoiling in her belly as she thought of what he must be seeing, her naked ass laid out for him to punish. She wished he’d give her a breather, to let the heat in her ass cool off, but his steady, hard blows continued.

“Please, Sir! Too hard!”

Blaine laughed, landing a smack along the top of her thigh, making her yelp. “We’re just getting started, girl. You aren’t fooling anybody.”

His hand spanked over every inch of her ass, raising a throbbing burn everywhere. He paused after a harsh blow to the bottom of one cheek, sending her flesh bounding. She was grateful her hair shrouded her blushing face, for she hated the mortifying feel of her cheeks bouncing and wobbling under his smacks.

“I love seeing your little bottom move, girl. We’ve got some good color now too. Need some more here though.” His fingers pulled up on one cheek, and she felt the stretch at the junction of thigh and buttock before he cracked a palm down onto that sensitive spot. An identical blow smacked down on the other cheek, shaking her whole body, the sting dragging a small sob from her.

Blaine moved his hips against her. “God, you’re fucking killing me.”

I’m killing you?

She wanted nothing more than to take care of his problem for him, but she knew there was no way it was happening until he’d roasted her cheeks to his exacting specifications; likely until they were hot to the touch, and tears streamed down her face. She had no doubt he’d then pronounce them “just right.”

“Spread your thighs, Erica.”

Thankful for a reprieve from the punishing blows, she gladly complied, widening her legs until she could feel her wet slit open, exposed to him. The first few times Blaine had spanked her, the humiliation of the exposure of her pussy (and often her bottom hole) to his gaze proved more of a trial to her than the actual pain of the spankings. She always felt so…  vulnerable. Erica well knew that that was precisely the point, but knowing that didn’t make submitting to it any easier for her.

Thick fingers traced the sensitive folds of her labia, smoothing the delicate flesh out with gentle fingertips, then splaying her lips firmly, making her gasp.

Yes, finally.

She never ceased to marvel that two hands that could deal out such pain, be so rough, cruel, yet in the next breath, become so very gentle, attentive, even loving. It was just one of the many remarkable things about the man she called Sir. The man she hoped someday might truly claim her for his own.

A long finger slid into her, curling in the way he knew drove her insane with pleasure.

Oh God, yes!

His finger squelched within her soaked flesh as he stimulated just the right spot within her, the exquisite sensation curling her toes, the tension bunching the strong muscles of her thighs, her abdominals clenching. “Oh, that’s good,” she breathed, her hips rolling, wanting more, needing more. “Oh Jesus, that’s so good!”

Then he stopped, his finger held still inside her. She tried to keep it going with her hips, clenching down, twisting upon him, but his hand smacked her sore buttocks. “Stop that. You come when I say you can — if I let you come at all.”

She stilled her hips, but it took every ounce of willpower she possessed to do so. Erica thought about begging him (it wouldn’t be the first time), or telling him she’d let him do anything to her (which she knew he’d do anyway) as long as he let her come. The tension thrummed through her body as she kept herself motionless, hoping, praying he would continue.

When he did, a tear slipped down her cheek, her sigh of relief coming from the very depths of her soul. The man knew how to work a pussy, and he literally (and figuratively) had hers wrapped around his finger.

She sighed as he eased a second finger deep within her, but her sighs quickly turned anguished as he began spanking her once more with his off hand. The explosion of fresh pain had her crying out within seconds. The blows were different though, the stinging, jarring smacks somehow imparting a vibration through her flesh straight to her throbbing, erect clit, her tight nipples aching sympathetically.

Relentless, he did it twice more, working her to the brink, then stopping. Her agonized protests, her desperate pleadings rose again as he smacked her now blazing buttocks some more. The second time he stopped, he added the calloused fingertips to her clit, working the hard nodule back and forth along with the clever, devastating fingers stroking inside her pussy. She grunted as he left off for a third time, clutching herself to his legs, waiting for the harsh pain to begin again, accepting it as her lot. Her face was awash in tears, her hair wet with it.

“Good girl,” he crooned, thrusting his fingers as deep as they’d go, earning a groan from her. “That’s it girl, surrender to it. That’s what a slave does. There’s no choice in this, only acceptance. Give yourself to it, to me.”

Erica sniffled as he spoke to her. All she knew was that he had her; he controlled her, her everything. There was no longer any shame, nor any fear. There was just Sir and his slave. All she wanted was for him to make her come, to let her come for him. God, she wanted it so much.

Fresh tears came to her eyes as he spread her buttocks well apart, his soft lips upon the inner slopes, planting a tender kiss directly upon the delicate, sensitive flesh of her bottom hole. He worked a broad hand over the whole of her sex, cupping her throbbing labia, coating his palm in her juices, the wet sounds of her soaked pussy making her whimper in embarrassment.

His fingers left off one last time, peppering hard smacks all over her bottom. He finished her off with a flurry of smacks marching down the vulnerable flesh of her thighs, the harsh pain of the blows drawing a strangled scream from her.

As she wept, the pain finally overwhelming her, his thick fingers slid between her labia once more. “There we go, girl. No more spanking now.” His fingers thrust in hard, and she moaned through her tears. It felt  so good to be penetrated deeply, the primal, animal pleasure astonishing her with its power. His fingers were back at her clit, pushing the hood back, fully exposing the aching flesh to the pain and pleasure of his rough fingertips.

“Oh God, oh God! Please, Sir!”

“What do you want, girl?” He added a third finger to her cunt, stretching her further as he plunged within her once more, the thrusts rougher by the second.

“Please, I need to come! Let me come. Oh God, please!”

Rough, cruel fingertips swirled over her throbbing, aching clit, and he pushed three fingers deep, the tips hard against her cervix. She went over then, screaming out her ecstasy, the light in the room exploding into a brilliant white, blotting out everything in her world but the mind-bending bliss of her orgasm. She could feel her pussy flood over his fingers, her hips jerking as he wrung more impossibly pleasurable spasms from her. Erica knew she could happily die from orgasms this good. Her body finally hung, spent, her lungs working like a great bellows, her breathing labored. Beads of sweat ran down her inner arms, tickling her sensitive flesh.

“That’s my good girl. My lovely girl,” Blaine whispered as she came down from it, his fingers gently stroking within her. He swiped a fingertip across her over-stimulated clit, and she cried out in both pleasure and anguish. Chuckling at her reaction, he did it again.

“Ahh, Sir, too much! Please, I can’t take it!”

Cruel man. Lovely man.

He bent over and laid a soft kiss on her wet cheek. “Luckily, your Sir is merciful.”

Erica craned her head up at him, flashing a wry smile. “Is that what you call it?”

“Watch yourself, Erica” But she could see the warmth in his gaze. He was pleased with her.

“Come here now.” His strong arms enfolded her, bringing her up to sit on his lap, her long legs curled over his thighs. She rested her head on his chest, the beat of his heart a steady thump under her ear. The tip of his hard cock was wet, and she felt the moisture against her thigh as she hugged herself to him.

“That was… amazing,” she whispered, closing her eyes. Her ass and her clit seemed to throb as one now, the afterglow of her orgasm merging with, becoming indistinguishable from, the warm aching of her ass.

“It’s been too long.” His lips brushed her cheek, nuzzled the frazzled locks at her temple.

She turned her head up to him, to his intense hazel eyes. Such a beautiful man. How in God’s name had he ended up with someone like her in his life? A man, filthy rich, who happened to have the body of a god, holding this gawky, too-tall girl in his arms, cradling her as if she weighed nothing. Sometimes things just made no sense, and even in her short life she’d learned enough not to question too much. Not to question the good things.

“I want you, Erica,” he said, his kiss hard, possessive. His hand held her face while his tongue explored her soft mouth, her swollen lips. Enjoying, claiming.


He pulled back, gazing at her a moment, searching for something, the last light of the setting sun sparkling within the depths of his eyes.

Then she saw it, that darkness descending on his gaze like a cloud passing over a sunny prairie, just a hint of what lay beneath.

“Get up,” he said, a new edge to his voice.

Erica slid off his lap, drawing herself to her full height before him. She barely suppressed the urge to cover her sex, displayed as she was before him. It made her feel like a shamefaced little girl. The thought sent another little surge of moisture between the slick lips of her pussy.

“Take the rest of it off.”

She pulled reluctantly at one arm of the blouse. It was absurd to think so, standing there in front of him with her naked cunt bared to his gaze, but even the open blouse provided something. A symbolic protection, a weird sort of comfort.

“Now,” he barked. “I won’t have you hiding from me, not ever. Get it off.”

Swallowing, looking over the top of his head, she slipped the fabric off her shoulders, the blouse whispering to the floor, the lace bra following suit. Blaine’s eyes roved over her body, his jaw clenching, his unhurried, assessing gaze making her flush anew.

Erica watched his hand wrap around his cock, stroke slowly up and down the long, veined shaft. She licked her lips, and tried to kneel, but he was up and on her in a flash, a hand entwined in her unruly curls. She stumbled as he dragged her over toward the window once more. Back to all those watching eyes.

“No, wait —”

“I don’t want to hear you speak that word again, Erica,” he whispered into her ear. “We need to talk about that again, I see.” He used his grip on her hair to turn and push her against the window, her cheek laid along the glass. “But first, I want you.”

Oh God, yes.

She fluttered her hands at her sides, unsure what to do with them.

“On the window, over your head.”

Absurdly, she felt relieved he’d told her what to do. Despite that, the position made her feel even more helpless, further exposed. She had no doubt that was his intent. Even as she felt something hard and hot touch her ass, she found herself gazing at the brilliant red gold of the waning sunset, the beauty of it so unlike anything seen in the valley.

Blaine was a big man, and as his cock slid into her, she panted, the very tight fit just this side of uncomfortable. It was the same every time of course, no matter how often he’d taken her. She knew he liked that she had to work to take him, that it was never easy. Erica never wanted easy, she just wanted him — and stretched pussy or not, she’d have him.

The fabric of his slacks pressed to the backs of her thighs as he seated himself fully within her, the head of his big penis seemingly at the core of her. Her body shuddered at the deep penetration, the feel of his hard thighs against her making her grind her ass slowly against him.

“Shh, don’t move. I just want to feel you, feel you tight around me. Be still now.”

She moaned, fighting the urge to roll her hips. How could she? With her Sir’s cock deep within her, the need to work him, to thrust down upon him was visceral, primal.

He drew a whispered sigh from her lips as he began to thrust, just slow, deliberate movements at first, the slide of every hot, hard inch of him exquisite and maddening all at once. He kept at her like that, the room silent but for her labored breathing and the wet sounds of her pussy surrendering to the solid strokes of his cock.

“That’s it, girl.” The hand in her hair pushed her face harder against the window. “You just stay nice and quiet, and let me fuck this cunt.”

He let go of her hair, relaxing the tension in her neck. The light had lowered further outside, some of the creeping cars’ headlights now visible on the road below. Erica squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t look out the window like that.

Could. Not. Look.

A hard thrust shook her body against the glass, as he took up deeper, faster movements. She moaned again as his hips slammed into her ass, her bare breasts squeaking against the window. Her nipples had grown so hard, she was sure they would etch the glass as her body jostled under the assault of his thrusting.

Hands grasped her waist, squeezing. She responded by clenching her pussy upon him, earning a deep groan from Blaine. “Good girl! Such a good girl.”

Blaine pulled on her hips, roughly moving her back from the window. She took one hand from the glass, trying to balance herself.

“No. Keep them up there unless I tell you otherwise.”

Soon he had her bent almost double, her head hanging down between her arms, his big hands clasped tightly, possessively around her waist. Her hair swayed below her as he took up a swift rhythm, pounding into her repeatedly.

“Oh, fuck,” she moaned as he pushed close, filling her to bursting, the awkward, but pleasurable sensation of the big head forced against her cervix.

She felt his hands reach under her, clutching her swinging breasts, squeezing them until she whimpered. He caught her hard nipples between cruel fingers, pinching and twisting her sensitive flesh, making her cry out. The pain arrowed straight to her womb, transforming itself as she clenched down upon him once more.

He leaned over her, still stroking his big cock within her. “Just wait, girl. I can’t wait until these are mine.”

His? What…?

“I’m going to have your nipples pierced.”

Erica gasped as he squeezed again, his fingers pinching them at the base where they met the smooth, dark surrounds.

“Kathryn and I talked about it. She wanted to have you tattooed. But I wanted to have you pierced. Nice, thick gold rings right at the base. Soon, bad girl.”

The idea terrified her. It wasn’t that she was afraid of needles at all. Rather, it was the dark fascination with it, with the pain of it. In her freshman year in college, her dorm mate Shauna had decided to have her nipples pierced for her boyfriend’s birthday. She’d dragged Erica down with her as moral support to have it done. Even though the man in the shop had numbed the nipples, then clamped them, Shauna had still cried through the whole procedure. Her high-pitched keening was chilling, but it had also stoked an illicit heat between Erica’s thighs. As she’d watched the man dab the drops of blood from Shauna’s impossibly red, inflamed nipples, Erica had been shocked at her body’s physical, lustful reaction to the undercurrent of subjugation, even degradation, in the act.

Ever since that day she’d wondered how bad it really did hurt, if it was the kind of pain that would morph into the forbidden desire she felt after having her ass blistered by paddle or hand. The kind of pain that made her nipples stand up, her pussy gush.

She grunted once, twice, three times as Blaine straightened, thrusting hard, shaking her entire body. Fingers reached down to stroke over her clit, and she moaned, twisting her ass against him. It hurt to have him stimulating her again, but the hurt just magnified, crystallized her lust for him. She wanted the pain, needed that edge to the pleasure.

“This… is… how… I… want… you,” he ground out, each word punctuated by a brutal thrust that drew panicky breaths from Erica. He leaned over her, still driving into her, one heavy hand clasping her shoulder in a painful grip, as he whispered in her ear. “If you were mine, I’d keep you naked, dependent on me for everything. I’d have you chained to the foot of my bed. I’d wake you in the night and fold you over the foot board. Take you whenever I felt the urge. No words, no seeking your permission.  Mine.”

“Yes! Oh, god. Harder, Sir!” Erica could feel her climax gathering, spiraling higher. Both his words and his thick cock worked her, broke her down, made her a slave to him. Nothing else mattered in this moment, just the feel of him, his strength controlling her, enveloping her, binding her body and soul to him.


“Close, so close,” he grunted. His big hand laid down a punishing slap to Erica’s ass, making her yell, the blow reawakening the throbbing, punished flesh. A fist yanked hard on her locks, pulling her head back, the pain blooming in her scalp and driving her lust higher, that agony earthing in her womb, intensifying the pulsing ache of her clit.

His hips pounded against her in sharp, staccato thrusts, his tortured groan punctuated by the harsh pull on her hair like the reins of a thoroughbred. The pain kept her on the knife-edge of orgasm; the feeling of him riding her like an animal lending a taboo energy to their fucking that was at once degrading and exhilarating. Then she felt wetness flood within her as he came, the heat of it a delicious surprise. He slumped over her, catching his breath. Warm drops of sweat dripped onto her back, his labored breath whispering through her hair.

She smiled. He’d been saving up on his trip, evidently. Saving up for her.

They both liked to make her worship his cock with her mouth, revere the gift of his semen. Often, on the days he’d arranged to have her visit him, he’d take great joy (and if she were honest, she did too) in making her kneel naked before him while he brought himself off, thick dollops of hot come spraying over the slopes of her breasts, her exposed neck. Sometimes he’d make her hold her mouth open for him, the strangled purplish head depositing a thick offering on her outstretched tongue. He’d hold her chin gently in his hand raising her gaze to his, his thumb spreading a drop of his come across her swollen lower lip, the warm fondness in his eyes melting her, leaving her defenseless against him. He’d coo to her as he softly told her to swallow, to take all of it like a good girl. Then she’d lower her gaze, shivering as the warmth suffused her cheeks, the pleasure and the shame of it melding within her into a seething mass of lust.

His spent cock slipped from her sex, drawing a ragged sigh from her. His hands helped her to stand again, easing her back against the hard planes of his chest. Somewhere he’d shed the t-shirt, and she longed to see the sectioned abdominals, the powerful pectorals, worship all of it with her lips and tongue. But he just held her, one muscled arm over her chest, his gentle palm cupping the weight of one of her breasts.

They just stood there, both of them listening to the other breathe, reveling in the feel of flesh on flesh. The warm metallic scent of her Sir’s semen was strong as it leaked sullenly from her hard-used pussy. She had the urge to run her fingers through it, to taste it, but knew she wasn’t to move unless he ordered it.

The light of the sun had bled almost totally from the sky, a smudge of magenta and deep blue at the horizon, the night ushering in the dazzling star field above.

“I never get tired of seeing it,” Blaine murmured. “That incredible sunset.”

Erica smiled back at him. “I’ve never seen it before, like this. At the ocean.”

It filled her with such calm, the pure simplicity of it. She thought she knew a little now of why long-time sailors might grow melancholy when away from the sea for too long.

“When your Mistress and I were first married, we spent time here every chance we got, enjoying this beauty, enjoying each other.”

The pang of longing gnawed at her. She searched her feelings to make sure it wasn’t jealousy or possessiveness. Such things were corrosive, insidious, and she was determined never to let herself succumb to them.

No, what she felt was… regret. It wasn’t because he’d had that time with Kathryn, but regret that Erica couldn’t have shared it with them. She pictured them standing at this very window, arms wrapped around one another, two beautiful immortals enraptured by their new love. Erica would be there with them, naked, on her knees, the chain to her collar tucked in the crook of Blaine’s muscled arm. She’d press kisses to their thighs, to the fingers offered to her fervent lips. A silent, loving tableau.

It hadn’t happened of course, but who knew what the future held? It was a future she told herself not to hope for, her naive attempt to stave off the disappointment of reality. She knew she was young, a little rash at times (Mom and Dad would say a lot rash), so she tried not to get too far ahead of things. Blaine, wiser than his years might indicate, had helped her to let events happen on their own, to surrender to them — and to him. He’d tried to show her the peace found in the accepting of the vagaries of chance… and maybe even a little good fortune.

Erica’s stomach growled loudly, both of them laughing at her startled jump. She turned in his arms, looking at him, then pointedly moving her gaze beyond him to the bar.

“Guess we’d better feed you, bad girl,” he said, winking at her. “All this fucking is sapping your strength. What kind of a vampire would I be to allow my victim to wilt so soon?”

She giggled at him, kissing his soft, sensual mouth.

Blaine nipped at her lip. “Insatiable.”

What more gorgeous specimen of a vampire than her Sir could there possibly be? She his source of sustenance, his blood slave, bound to him in more ways than her chains. The thought made her shiver, her pussy awakening yet again.

“Go get your bread, and bring it to me.” He nodded his head back toward the bar.

Erica was starving, and just the thought of even that plain bread made her mouth water. She brought the plate to him, and he took it, dipping his chin toward the floor.

Sighing, she sunk to her knees. She spread her ass properly on her heels, her cheeks heating at the bounce and wobble of her breasts. He stood over her, bright eyes drinking in her nudity. Her gaze took in the broad, muscular chest, the brown, flat nipples beckoning to her lips and tongue, down the lean, sectioned abdominals with the light dusting of dark hair that dove down to his crotch. He’d tucked himself back in, only a tuft of wiry pubic hair visible in the casually open fly of his black slacks.

He bade her kneel closer, and she obeyed, not able to divine a way to do it without sending her breasts bouncing once more. Blaine pulled her head to his muscled thigh, fingers stroking though her hair. She kept her hands in her lap as he’d taught her long ago, though she itched to run them up the heavy muscles of those thighs, to feel the barely harnessed power of those legs hum beneath her touch.

They stood that way for some minutes, his fingers feeling positively divine in her hair, stroking the tension from her scalp. Then he stirred, tapping her cheek. “Raise your eyes, Erica.”

Clutched in his hand, the piece of bread floated just above her. She tilted her head, questioning, and he nodded at her.

Then she realized what he intended, and her blush burned to the roots of her hair, his broad grin registering the gleeful pleasure he took in her embarrassment. Plucking up her courage, she knelt up, taking the bread from his fingers with her lips.

She’d feared it would be bland, tasteless, but instead it was delicious, obviously fresh baked, and fair melted on her tongue. He tore off another piece, holding it above her once more. She moved to kneel up again, but a sharp shake of his head stopped her.

“Present your breasts.”

“What? I don’t…”

“Use your hands, Erica.”

Cupping her breasts, she held them up to him, the globes quivering in her unsteady hands.

“That’s it. Very good.” He placed the piece in her mouth, the back of his hand caressing the warmth of her cheek.

There was a soft knock and Ana stepped in, a hand wrapped around the door. Erica tried to stand, but Blaine’s hand clamped her head to his thigh. She thought better of struggling against him, and instead hid her face against his slacks, her arms wrapped around him.

Ana cleared her throat. “Sorry to disturb you, Sir. Mrs. Forster called to say she’d be late.”

“Thank you, Ana. You can go to bed now, if you want. I’ll lock up.” Erica could feel the smug maid’s gaze on the round, bare ass pressed to her naked feet. “Is there anything I can… get for you, while I’m here, Sir?”

The bitch. No!

“No, I think we’re good,” Blaine said, mirth in his voice. “Thank you, Ana.”

“Good night, Sir.” A pause, her voice raised for effect. “Good night, Erica.”

Erica wanted to crawl into the floor, through to the center of the earth. But first, she wanted to murder Ana.

Blaine growled, his hand tightening on her hair.

“Good night, Ana,” she mumbled, as if chewing on broken glass.

“Oh wait, Ana?” His palm caressed the crown of Erica’s head. “There is something.”


Erica could claw the woman’s eyes out at the blatant eagerness in her tone. The slut.

He’s mine.

It was insane for her to feel jealous about a man who — essentially — owned Erica, and who was himself married to another woman. However, love — and lust — rarely made sense. She could accept it though, and she knew she’d do everything and anything to make Ana accept it too if the tarted-up maid touched one hair on her Sir.

Erica knew he’d probably punish her for such thoughts, but luckily, he wasn’t able to get inside her head — yet.

“Do you know where the arm binder is? The leather one?”

“I think so,” Ana said, hesitation plain in the maid’s voice. “In the… room, Sir.”

No, no.

“Okay, good. Bring it to me along with that black cloth I left draped over the end of the horse.” Blaine used his grip to turn Erica’s face up, her eyes reluctantly meeting his. Something danced in the depths of his gaze, and a shiver shook her body. He grinned down at her.

“Might as well bring the hobble too, Ana. This girl needs it.”

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