ShotgunRelations, page 3
“Look at me.”
When she did, she saw white-hot lust in his eyes. His face glistened from her juices. She’d have said something but she remembered his warning.
“Go ahead. Speak to me. You’ve got permission.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Am I your master?”
“Oh yes. Yes, Master.” She wanted him. All of him. Every cell in her body screamed for satisfaction.
While she watched, he grasped his cock in one hand. “Do you want this?”
“Oh yes.” She thought she’d die if he didn’t fuck her now.
He shot her a supremely self-confident smile. “Where do you want it?”
“My pussy, Master.” Remembering the strangely pleasurable feel of his fingers fucking her ass, she decided it wouldn’t be long before she’d ask him to take her there. He’d already fucked her mouth and she’d loved that. “Please.”
He grabbed a condom and ripped the wrapper open with his teeth. His gaze never leaving her, he rolled it down his erection and went on his knees between her legs.
“Tell me your cunt is mine. Only mine. Tell me and I’ll give you my cock.”
“You want me for your slave, Master?”
“Oh yeah.” He rubbed his cock along her wet, tingling sheath. “Tell me.”
As much as her cunt ached for him to fill it, she wasn’t sure. “Explain what being your slave will mean, Master.”
His jaw clenched. “It will mean you hand over control of yourself to me, at least when we’re playing sex games. You’ll do as I say and I’ll do everything that doesn’t violate your limits to give you pleasure.”
She was afraid—afraid he’d steal her reason. Maybe he already had, because she wanted the exquisite pleasure nobody had come close to giving her before tonight. “My cunt belongs to you, Master. Only you. I want to be your sex slave for as long as you want me.”
“Good.” He found her pussy and slid inside. His rock-hard cock stretched her flesh as he sank deeper, deeper, until his balls lay heavily against her asshole and the thick, pulsating head of his cock pressed against the mouth of her womb. She’d never felt so full…so owned. “I like my tight little cunt,” he whispered against her lips before claiming her mouth in a deep, arousing kiss.
She liked his cock. And his mouth. He tasted like her juices and the chocolate wedding cake he’d chosen over a slice of the traditional cake at Bye’s wedding. Propped on his elbows, Jack massaged her breasts, paying special attention to her nipples. When he started to move, slow and deep, in her hot swollen cunt, she had to steel herself against coming.
He lifted himself up on his hands. The muscles in his arms bulged. He looked down at her as he fucked her harder and faster. “Come for me, sweet slave.”
“Oh yes, Master.” Freed from the rule he’d made earlier, she let herself go. She savored every sensation. His cock pounded her cunt and his balls tickled her rear end. She watched the contractions of his biceps as he strained above her. The pressure built inside her, and when she looked into his dark, mesmerizing eyes and heard him encouraging her to come, she found the deepest pleasure of her life.
She’d held back for too long. Now her Master had given her permission. As she looked down and watched his cock pound the pale, slick cunt he’d claimed as his own, she came in long, intense bursts. She was still coming when he stiffened above her.
“God yeah. Squeeze my cock. Yeah, that’s it.” He shuddered as he sank to the hilt inside her one more time. His cock jerked over and over until he finally lowered his body onto her and rolled them to their sides.
* * * * *
He hadn’t felt so fulfilled in ages—years if he only counted one-on-one fucks outside a club environment. He couldn’t honestly tell himself any part of his satisfaction came from having claimed the woman he’d originally hit on as possible comeuppance against the father who’d all but denied his existence.
Rolling off the bed, he removed the condom and worked the stainless-steel ring off his semi-soft cock and balls. Bending over Liz, he untied her wrists and ankles.
“Why do you wear that, Master?” she asked sleepily, her gaze fixed on the ring with its tribal engravings that he now held dangling from his index and middle fingers.
The way she said “Master”, all soft and sweet-sounding, had blood rushing back to his wrung-out dick. “This? It’s a cock ring.”
“You already told me that. But why do you wear it? It has to hurt your beautiful cock and balls.”
He straddled her face, thinking that she looked different—almost beautiful—now that she’d given herself to him. “I like the sensations I get from wearing it, and I’m used to experiencing them along with sex play. I want your mouth on me again. Lick off my cock and I’ll tell you.”
She smiled up at him. “Yes, Master.” Then, soul of obedience that she was, she came up on her knees and took his dick in her mouth. She licked and sucked him as though she did it every day. It felt so fucking good, he almost forgot he’d promised her an answer.
“Why do I wear it? Several reasons, my curious little slave. The most important ones are that it prolongs the pleasure, yours as well as mine, and it enhances the sensation of my climax when I come.”
Right now all he could concentrate on was the feeling of her tongue dipping into his sensitive slit. “Oh yeah, suck on the head, honey. That feels sensational. I ought to be asking you who taught you how to suck cock.”
As though she intended to answer his unasked question, she slid his dick out of her mouth and looked up at him.
“Go ahead, pretty slave, you can talk to me now.”
“You taste good. Slick and salty. What I wondered, though, was how you happened to start wearing the cock ring in the first place. You can’t say it’s as common a piece of jewelry as your watch.” She raised her hand and touched the Seiko dress watch he’d laid on the nightstand.
He laughed. “I guess it’s not. Lots of men wear them for BDSM play, and I’ve been into BDSM for years, so you might say I think of my cock ring as just another piece of jewelry. I think of it the same way I’m going to think about your collar—as just another necklace, only with a lock to which I hold the only key.” He wasn’t ready to tell her the significance of the ring he’d been wearing much of the time for the past thirteen years. He might never be.
“Collar?” She sounded confused.
“All slaves wear their masters’ collars. Of course I’m more civilized than to expect you to go around in public wearing a studded black leather collar with a padlock hanging from the clasp. Anybody who isn’t into the lifestyle will think the one I’m going to give you is just another necklace.” Jack considered how her slender neck would look in thick, black leather that proclaimed her his property to one and all—and knew a moment’s regret that his profession made a certain subtlety about his personal life desirable if not absolutely mandatory.
He shifted on the bed so he could look more closely at his new sex slave. In the aftermath of multiple climaxes, Liz was downright beautiful with her swollen lips and taut, reddened nipples. Bending to tongue her navel, he looked lower, to her smooth, pink mound and impudent clit poking from her glistening, pouting labia. She had long, gorgeous legs he intended to feel wrapped around his shoulders soon, while he tongue-fucked her to a frenzy of mutual lust.
Fuck. A strident triple-beep from his cell phone told him his mother was summoning him. “Sorry, honey, I’ve got to answer this,” he muttered as he got up and went to retrieve the phone from his pants pocket.
“No, Mother, I can’t fix it so you can get more than the monthly checks provided for in the trust. I’ve gone through this with you half a dozen times.” He paused and listened to Marianne Duval whine until he broke in, his temper tested beyond its limits. “It’s nearly midnight. It’s impolite for me to desert my company to listen to you repeat what you’ve already said a thousand times. I cannot force your ex-lover to give you any more than he voluntarily settled on you through the trust. I have no intention of trying.”
He paused again and let his mother vent her fury until he’d had more than he could take. “Goodbye, Mother. I’ll call you some day next week. If you have financial problems, I suggest you curb your shopping habits. I’m in no position to take over for a sugar daddy you drove away by your own stupid action. Even if I could, I doubt I would.” Ending the call, he went back to the bed and sat beside Liz.
“I’m sorry we got interrupted by that.” Tension had Jack’s muscles taut, his stomach cramping. “You might as well know, I’m the only child of an emotionally needy single mother who’s not particularly happy these days. I have to try to placate her every now and then.”
Sometime soon, if he was going to make a 24/7 commitment to Liz, he’d have to tell her about his personal history and reveal his connection with the powerful Caden family, even though that relationship was biological and nothing more. Right now she seemed to know what he needed, because the touch of her fingertips lightly massaging his back were doing a damn good job of working out the tension that always gripped him when he had to talk with Marianne Duval.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Liz sounded genuinely concerned.
She had a way of coaxing him out of not only the tension but also the protective reserve he’d built up over the years. “Not unless you have a magic potion to turn a witch into a fairy godmother.”
Jack sighed and leaned back into the warmth of Liz’s touch. “My mother recently ended a relationship that had lasted since before I was born. Her lover left her comfortably fixed financially, but she had expected much more from him. Since he won’t take her calls, she comes after me. I’m not used to it. As long as she was with him, she barely acknowledged my existence.”
“I’m sorry.”
Liz moved closer. The warmth from her body seeped into his pores and relaxed him further. There was something about her that put him at ease—something that had nothing to do with the reasons he’d singled her out in the first place. He’d never felt so attuned with a sub—and she definitely was a sub—once a scene was over. “It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault but Mother’s that she’s alone, lonely and growing old.”
He thought back to his early childhood, before he’d been sent away to boarding school at an age when most kids were sitting at the kitchen table learning their ABCs. Marianne had been pretty—his roommates at school had said so—but Jack couldn’t remember her ever taking him to the park or the store. She’d gone out a lot from the time of his earliest memories, leaving him with a sweet, middle-aged babysitter named Hortensia Martinez. She’d made the best flan de leche he’d ever tasted. He’d liked it best when he’d been left at Hortensia’s house for days at the time. It had been a bustling place filled with laughing people and a passel of friendly dogs and cats. He’d been happy there.
“Mother sent me away to boarding school when I was seven years old. I believe I missed my babysitter more than I missed her. After that, I rarely saw her until after I finished college and law school and bought the practice here—until, that is, she split up with her lover. Now she’s on my back two or three times a week, wanting me to drive over to Lubbock and take care of something for her.”
He liked the feel of Liz’s arms around him, her warm breath tickling the back of his head. He found himself wanting to pour out his doubts and troubles, sensing that she’d listen and absorb them without making judgments. She was curious about his lifestyle, at least the parts he’d silently revealed with his jewelry and tattoos.
I want to tell her everything. Well, almost. Eventually he’d have to tell her he was Byron Caden’s illegitimate son, but not until he had her so enslaved that she wouldn’t think he might initially have gone after her out of spite toward the father who’d never claimed him.
He leaned back against her. “You know, honey, you’ve got a way of making me want to talk to you and explain what makes me tick. I can think better, though, when you’ve got some clothes on. Put on the robe and let’s go out to the living room.”
Chapter Three
When Jack took a seat near the end of the large sofa, Liz sat beside him. He took her hand and laid it on his thigh. “It’s been a long while since I felt enough for another human being to want to share not just an occasional fuck but real, honest closeness. I want that with you.”
“You have it…Master.”
It would be so damn easy to take her at her word, but he didn’t kid himself. She could only become his 24/7 slave if he laid his cards on the table, because if he didn’t tell her his secrets, some member of the club surely would let things slip when he took her there. “Not so fast. You may not want me once you know who and what I really am.”
The motion of her warm, smooth hand on his inner thigh felt soothing yet arousing. “I know enough already to know I want to belong to you.”
He damn nearly lost his resolve but he managed to still her hand by taking it and moving it into her lap. “Be good or I’ll have to tie you up again.”
“Yes, Master.”
To get out of temptation’s way, he moved off the sofa, picked up the afghan Hortensia had made for him to take to boarding school and took a seat on a chair a good seven feet away from Liz. For a long, awkward moment he considered where to start. “As I told you, I’m a lifestyle Dom. Do you have any idea what that means?”
She shook her head, but from the hot look in her eyes he guessed she was anxious to learn. “Some folks play at domination and submission. I live it 24/7. From the time my roommate and I took jobs at a BDSM dungeon when we first started college, I fully embraced the lifestyle.”
Jack paused, but when she only glanced over at him and smiled, he continued. “The tattoos, cock ring and earring are souvenirs from the Domme who ran that club. My roommate’s markings are mirror images of mine. We started out as submissives, doing scenes with the Domme who managed the dungeon.”
“You, submissive? Master, I find that hard to imagine.”
“For a little while I was. While my roommate was a natural sub, I didn’t last in that role very long before my employer decided I should train as a Dom. She got off on watching me dominate my roommate while he serviced her.”
He watched her closely for any sign of revulsion, but the only emotion that registered on her flushed face was mild surprise. Feeling more exposed than when he played naked in the public room at the Neon Lasso, Jack draped the afghan over his lap before continuing. “At first I was humiliated, having to play onstage with Carl and our Domme in front of a bunch of voyeurs. I told myself I did it because I wanted the spending money my college fund didn’t stretch far enough to provide.” Jack took a deep breath and considered stopping now, but he couldn’t, not if he intended to take Liz as his 24/7 slave—let alone his wife. “That wasn’t the case for long though.”
Her eyes opened wide, and her mouth went slack. “You mean you got to enjoy playing sex games with…with Carl?”
“Yes.” He needed to connect with Liz, so he moved back to the sofa and stroked her hand. “I learned that I can enjoy sex with men as well as women. For a couple of years back then I even thought I might be gay.”
“You aren’t though—are you?” Liz looked confused, as though she was trying to reconcile what he’d just said with the mind-blowing sex they’d shared not half an hour ago.
“No. I’m not gay. But my first sex slave was a male. He taught me I need to have complete control over my partner, sexually speaking—and he was the first to give me that control.”
“Where is Carl now?” she asked, her tone brittle.
“He’s still living in Boston, clerking for a federal judge. And he’s still with the Domme we started out with, still her slave. He tells me she occasionally lends him out to Doms at the club.” Jack panicked when Liz didn’t say a word. “We talk to each other occasionally, but the last time I saw him was at our law school graduation. That was almost four years ago.”
“I never thought I might need to be jealous of a man.” Tears ran down Liz’s cheeks, spoiling the just-fucked beauty Jack had seen before he was stupid enough to think she’d understand. “But you lived with him for what? Seven years?”
“One. I changed roommates my sophomore year. It was too much, playing the master for him 24/7. We kept doing scenes at the club for another year or so, until I decided that poverty beat being on display for every BDSM player in Boston, risking discovery by somebody from back home who might recognize me in spite of my shaved head, tattoos and all.” Jack ran his thumb along the veins on the back of her hand, wishing to hell he knew what was going through her mind. “I’ve never had gay sex outside a club since then. You may hear that I’ve fucked men at the club, but only in threesomes and once in an onstage orgy. If you’re still willing to be my slave, I won’t do it again unless I believe you want to experience sex with two men at once and set up a ménage a trois scene at the club.”
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, but at least she turned and met his gaze. “I don’t know about that, Master. I think you’re plenty enough man for me.”
They’d been quiet for a few minutes while Liz tried to digest what Jack had told her. He’d held onto her hand like a lifeline. She wanted to say it was okay—that she appreciated his honesty about something in his past that he could as easily have left buried. But she couldn’t find the right words, so she just stroked his hand and waited for him to take the lead once more.
He cleared his throat. “If you want, I can have the tattoos removed. Or get other ones that have meaning to both of us.”
He’d do that for her? Liz shuddered when she thought how much pain would be involved in getting rid of those daggers, particularly the big one on his arm. “No. I like them, Master. They’re part of you.”
And Jack was part of her now. He made her feel wanted for herself, not for the land and wealth she might bring a lover. She liked the fact that he wasn’t a rancher eager to annex her daddy’s land, or a cowboy who saw her as a way to bolster his status on the ranch by hooking up with its heiress. Most of the time since she’d finished college, she’d had to come across as strong and invincible, a woman worthy of stepping into her dad’s footsteps and running his huge operation. She liked the fact that when she was with Jack he was the one in charge.
