Mistress of Redemption
Page 24

“She endures this every day?”
“Yes.” Dona stepped over his legs, stood behind him. Daring a gaze into the mirror again, he was relieved to see them in present time. Leaning forward, she propped her elbows on the small of his back, those generous breasts shaped into tempting globes over the edge of the corset. Her pelvis brushed the base of his buttocks, her thighs teasing his testicles.
“I’m going to use your cock now. Because it’s my cock to do with as I please. You’ll move only at my direction, as if it’s attached to me in truth. You’re going to be my strap-on.”
She straightened, unclipped the belt triple-looped low on her hips, the one that was decorated gypsy fashion with tiny sun discs and moon crescents done in beaten metal that made a sultry chime sound as she moved. It did so now as she removed it, reached under him and double-looped it around his cock and balls. Bringing the remaining ends of the belt up past his hips and around hers, she re-latched it at the flare of her buttocks.
The rotating mirrors gave him the ability to see them at all angles. Now she was pressed to his ass, her thighs in tight and straight between his spread ones. Putting her hands on his hips, she lifted her own, drawing him back with her, moving up, then down, pressing him against the ass of the woman whose lips had tightened, in fear or anticipation he did not know. The blindfold slipped so he could see her eyes, wide and frightened, bright blue like Lauren’s, blonde hair spilling over her shoulders as the gargoyles pulled the blindfold completely away and re-secured his hand.
“No.”
“You have no right to say no. You’re my strap-on cock and you’ll do exactly as that mindless, hungering dick of yours would do.”
“She’s looking at me. She’s afraid.”
“You had no compunction about fucking Lauren over, figuratively. Now shut up.
You’re hard as a rock.”
He was. It seemed he had been erect nonstop since he got into Dona’s car. It made no sense, except that he’d been filled with an undeniable hunger since she came over that hill. As if sinking into her body might heal so many of the things inside him that were as raw and exposed as his back had been under her lash. What was beneath his cock was incidental. His arousal was centered on what was behind him. Dona’s thighs, her breath on his bare back, her fingers digging into his hips, moving him exactly as she wanted to move him, the way a man would fuck a woman. She even gave a guttural sound of satisfaction as she made the right adjustment and he sank deep into the woman’s accessible pussy. She writhed, whimpering around her gag, but he felt how wet she was. The fear in her eyes was mixed with self-loathing.
“She can’t help but enjoy your big cock. What woman wouldn’t?” The woman’s eyes changed, became trusting, too innocent, too blue, reminding him of other, even more painful memories. He tried to fight against Dona. He should have been strong enough to overpower her, but not with his arms and legs bound.
His cock wanted to thrust more eagerly, but he wanted to pull his body away from the woman he was being forced to rut upon. The jagged edges of the sunbursts and points of the crescent moon jabbed into him, goading his cock like spurs as Dona rocked him forward, thrust, withdrew. He tried a different strategy, deepening the power of his thrusts to increase the speed and get it done with, but she used the belt like reins, drawing them taut, embedding those points more deeply. Cursing, he was forced to stay at her pace while she laughed at him, a taunting, velvet caress in his ears, reminding him she had all the power, all the control.
She had to know it wasn’t this nameless woman’s cunt drawing him closer to orgasm. It was the way Dona was controlling him, teasing him, the images that rose in his own mind called by no one but himself. Of her sliding on an actual strap-on with a clitoral stimulator, fucking him the way a Mistress gave herself the privilege to do, driving herself to climax while her slave suffered jetting into a condom. But there had to be that blessed moment when she’d straddle him, sink down on his cock while he trembled, obeying her will for the better-than-dying pleasure of watching her rise and fall on him, letting him serve her.
“That’s it, baby.” He heard the lust and demand in her voice, rippling over him like the rake of her nails. “You’re such a good cock for your Mistress. Are you going to come for me?”
He groaned in answer, his head bending down. She yanked, drawing the chains cruelly into him, sending pain rocketing through his groin.
“As Mistress demands.”
“You’re just playing with me. Charming me, fucking with my mind like all those other women.” She drew harder on the belt and yet this time drove him forward so the decorative metal disks pierced his cock, the agony roaring through his mind so he could barely speak, only beg.
“No…Mistress Dona…please…”
“Feel this.” Her fingers came between them, penetrated his ass, burying deep.
He climaxed in an instant, a burning pleasure and pain like having his guts wrenched out by the denizens of Hell while being treated to the pure light of Heaven.
He screamed, jerking, pumping on his own, Dona’s hands allowing him to drive into the girl at his own pace now, as brutal and mindless as a stallion. She cried out around her gag, her cunt convulsing, a tight orgasm that spurred his, especially with Dona’s hand deep within him, fisting him now, driving up the pain quotient so that he knew this had to be an otherworldly realm. No man could climax while under such torture that broke down his mind. It was the true essence of Hell. Finding the heights of pleasure a man sought his whole life, but experiencing it only at the price of a pain that would turn his bowels to water.
He could bear no more. “Please, Mistress…mercy…” He didn’t know how his cock could be attached to his body still. More sweat or blood or both had to be running down his legs. As if she sensed his thoughts, his tormentor withdrew her hand, making him groan. She thrust her other hand between his legs, closed it around his wet, sticky member at the base, her fingers erotically caressing the joining point between his buried cock and the girl’s stretched pussy.
Dona straightened then, her hand pulling back. She released the belt from her waist, but looped it around and tightened it on him like the cinch strap on a bull’s testicles, only he didn’t have the ability to buck to try to relieve the torturous pain. When she came around the table, she let him see her hand, wet with blood and his cum. Turning away, she curved backward toward him in a lithe move worthy of a circus performer.
His cock suddenly was exposed to the air as his partner in torment vanished. He was bound alone on the altar and the gargoyles lifted their heads, drawing his upper torso a foot above the altar to allow Dona to arch along the table’s edge just below his mouth.
He could not imagine how tightly she was laced in that corset to prevent her breasts from coming out of the garment, but the nipples remained out of view. Just.
Taking her hand, she brushed the blood and semen across the tops of those straining breasts as if painting a canvas, her fingers artfully marking her skin.
“Your seed, your blood, your sweat.” Her dark eyes burned into his. “Lick it off me.
When every bit of it is gone, I’ll free your cock.” In the life that seemed a century ago, he would have turned on charm and his not inconsiderable sex appeal to get his way, but the Mistress who’d insinuated her upper torso under his mouth had outmaneuvered him at every turn. He was in too much pain now to take the risk. She was not a Mistress of Mercy, or one who let the needs of her cunt or heart drive her. For some reason, knowing the latter bothered him personally, not competitively.
It was his total submission she craved and demanded, no matter his pain. He understood that. The wonder of it was, though his cock screamed for release from its torture, saliva pooled in his mouth at the anticipated privilege of touching his mouth to her skin.
Loosening the top lacing of the corset, she arched her back further. Her breasts spilled completely free, nipples pink, that incredibly delicate female color. Earlier, when she first fucked him, he’d expected them to be rouged black or dark red, like her makeup. The feminine contrast fascinated him.
Catching his chin with one hand as the gargoyles started to bring him within touching distance, she dug in her nails to command his attention. “Don’t touch my nipples with your mouth. Not until I permit it. Now get busy. I want your filth off of me.”
She had said his mouth couldn’t touch her nipples, but she’d said nothing about how often his forehead or the coarse silk of his eyebrows could caress those beautiful plump tips. He strained forward, laid his open mouth over the top of one curve and began to lick. Suck, nip, taste her skin, tease her, reveling in the ability to at last touch her. For a few moments that was all that was in his mind. That, and the torture going on in his groin area. He followed her command to the letter so he could have this sensation, even while his genitals felt like they were in the clamp of a bear trap. He pleasured her, not for any calculated reason or to persuade her to release him sooner.
That was up to her. He just had to please her. She’d release him if he did a good job, obeyed her Will fully. That was all his lust let him think about.
God, he would have been willing to stay in the torture device in which she’d encased his cock another eternity for the right to suckle that sweet nipple that was hardening against his temple. Her lips pressed against the base of his neck and he wanted to dip his head, kiss her mouth. But the way she was arched up against his mouth now, he knew what she wanted most.
“Please, Mistress. Let me suck on you. Please.” He murmured it against her skin, felt her touch his bare scalp, stroking him. He saw a spot of blood on the side of her neck, just a fleck. She’d said every bit, hadn’t she?
Her breath drew in as he reached it. Her fingers tightened. The triumph he felt sent a surge of blood into his cock that nearly caused him to cry out in agony. For once the satisfaction he felt at a woman’s response was not the satisfaction of a predator, but of a man coaxing a reaction out of a woman he desired, a lover, a Mistress he wanted to please, to serve. He liked the feeling. Liked it enough to keep nibbling on her throat, despite the tearing fire in his groin and the bite of those metal discs.