Thursday, October 26, 2006


By Joey W. Hill

This was all tipping the bizarre meter, enough to make Nathan think he'd be better off heading back to the highway and hitching to the seedy hotel he'd intended for his first night. But maybe the heat had gotten to him. He'd stood out in front of the prison for a while, hadn't he? If this oasis was just a small part of her home as she said, Dona had to be loaded. Mega wealthy. Why should he be afraid of her? In prison, he'd gotten used to anticipating the less subtle reactions of men. It was time to sharpen the instincts that he'd once kept honed to surgical precision to pick up on a woman's deepest needs and fears. She'd just demonstrated that there was something that could get under her skin. He needed to push aside the lingering self-doubt caused by the nearly fatal mistake he'd made with his last Mistress. He'd learned since then. He wouldn't make the same mistakes, miss the cues he'd missed with her.

Sweeping his lashes down, he took the first true step away from his current existence and back toward Jonathan Powell, the polished blue-eyed, blond-haired Norse god that so many women had eyed with covetous appreciation at The Zone, True Blue and the other BDSM clubs he'd frequented. Only this version would be new and improved. Way smarter. "My apologies, Mistress," he murmured. "I don't feel well-groomed enough to serve your needs properly. You deserve a slave who has shaved and showered."

"Yes, I do. I'll attend to those things. Your only job is to obey me. Take off your clothes."

At the order, the three women playing with the cobra stopped. The napping woman woke up and the leopard woman turned to watch, her golden eyes narrowed in the exact same expression as the great cat who took a seat on the grass next to her while the water of the lagoon lapped at the woman's bare ankles. For some reason, it brought to mind the Waterhouse painting of the nymphs coming out of the water to drag Hylas to his death with the promise of pleasure. Anxiety settled low in his belly. This was a fear that could not be countered with violence. Somehow he'd felt less isolated among men who might kill or beat him unmercifully for the barest transgression than he felt among all these attentive women.

"Too long, Jonathan. You need a reminder."

Dona was upon him before he knew it. Even as he spun in surprised reaction, her arm swept forward. Suddenly there were. It must have been knives she pulled out from a hidden sheath in the back waistband of those painted-on pants, for it couldn't be what he thought he saw. Her fingernails elongating into talons, slicing the waistband of his jeans like silk before a sword blade. The garment fell from him, slit on both sides from the waist to just above the kneecaps. When she drew back to go lower, he hastily shucked them, taking them to his ankles and stumbling, falling onto his ass as he encountered the obstruction of his boots.

She stood over him, her hands on her hips. The weapon, for surely it was a weapon she'd used more quickly than his eyes could follow, was gone. Tucked back into her waistband, perhaps. Fear was ice in his belly when she smiled, her gaze traveling over his naked body.

"Much better. Get the rest off. Now."

He fumbled off the boots, managed to free himself of the pants around his ankles, as much to give himself mobility as to obey. Scrambling to his feet, he backed away from her several steps because she'd stayed right over him, that soft woman's scent at odds with the brutal force she'd just used. Looking down, he saw light scorings on his thighs that looked a lot like fingernails. He'd been marked by enough women's nails to know. But that was impossible.

"I think. Maybe I need some water."

"You need what I tell you to need."

"You're not." He didn't know why asking would make any difference, considering he was out in the middle of nowhere and she had the car keys. Maybe he shouldn't ask her the question, because if he did he'd reveal that he suspected something more than a little edge play.

"No, I'm not connected to any of the women whose lives you ruined. I'm not here to exercise revenge on you."

A relief to hear, but what the fuck? Ruined? *Who's the one that just got out of prison because I got fucked over by a woman, bitch?*

"Sshh. Be quiet. Look at me."

He hadn't spoken aloud. He was sure he hadn't. Taking a step closer, she put her hand to his jaw and tilted her face up so she was looking directly into his startled eyes.

"No, I can't read your mind. I just read faces very well. I've had more practice than you can imagine. I know a great deal about you, Jonathan."

Though he grudgingly admitted her act was as intimidating as hell, she really was a little thing, more noticeable when she stood this close. Even in the heels, the top of her head would only brush the bottom of his nose. Fear of her motives dropped back a little at her touch, letting him get lost in the liquid depths of those brown eyes, the ebony pupils. How could she be so frightening and yet make him think of a deer moving through the shadowed glades of a forest? An elusive and delicate creature, something worth holding himself still to see how long she'd linger and let him share in the magic of her presence.

"Deep breath. One. Two. Make everything silent, inside and out."

The look in those eyes pierced him like a needle. Though his erection was back up over his balls like an eager dog sitting on his haunches, her hypnotic words drew a thread through his heart and into an even deeper part of himself. A place a much less cynical mind would have called his soul. Dragged it toward her, made him want to do whatever she wanted.

Nathan jerked back from her touch. "What the hell are you doing?"

Moving right with him, she insinuated her thigh between his, against the bulge of his testicles. She put her palm close to his mouth. "Taste me and you won't fear me for the wrong reasons. Or are you too afraid already?"

He managed a sneer that he realized was not the type of expression that charmed a wealthy Mistress. So slowly, keeping his gaze on her face, he dipped his head, pressed his lips to her palm and tasted soft skin. The pads of her fingers brushed his brow. They were cool and he felt.peace. Closing his eyes, he leaned into her touch, his throat tight with a wealth of emotions, needs and desires so overwhelming that all he could do was be still and let them roll through him. He obeyed her, stilling all thought and motion, inhaling her scent with flared nostrils, willing away any other distraction.

"There you go. That's my good boy. My handsome slave."

Fingers brushed his cock and his breath shuddered out of him. When a strap tightened on the root, his eyes snapped open. Dona still stood before him, but the previously napping redhead knelt at her hip, buckling a cock strap on him. He tried to pull back but he was already caught, the stiff collar digging into the base of his cock and testicles. It was snug enough it didn't need a waist strap, especially now with his dick swelling up large, as it always had when a woman restrained him. He used to think it was a curse, until he learned how to twist it for his own purposes. It didn't escape his notice, however, that the only thing apparently being twisted at the moment was him.

The woman who'd been braiding the hair of the redhead, the blonde with the requisite cornflower blue eyes and pale pink lips that were curved in a pleased smile, handed Dona a metal collar with a padlock.


The blonde moved behind him and caught his arms, drawing the wrists back. When he began to struggle in earnest, the redhead neatly pulled his legs out from under him. He should have been able to easily overpower both, but the swift attack took him unawares. Rolling him over onto his stiff cock caused him to yelp, but they held him fast as Dona straddled his back, her ass on his neck, those slim ankles in spiked heels on either side of his head. Bending his arms, she manacled his wrists to his elbows so his arms were folded at a ninety-degree angle against his back.

Immobilized, he drew in a breath as the blonde caressed his throat and threaded the collar under him so she could snap it on. A chain attached to the manacles was drawn up and clipped to the back of the collar so that the weight of his arms pulled against it. When he heard the padlock click, felt the pressure of the metal against his throat, his balls drew up hard and tight, sending a spurt of his fluids into the grass, making him groan.

"You like that," his new Mistress observed. "You like the feeling of being owned, though you hate it in yourself as well. Always trying to pretend it's something else, something you can use to your advantage."

Dona bent forward, her breasts pressing against the small of his back, her abdomen in the stiff corset brushing against the upper curve of his spine between his shoulders. He pushed against the ground when she touched his buttock with the tip of her tongue, tasted him with sharp teeth, bit into the meat of his left cheek. His cock, uncomfortably mashed against the ground, hardened further. All he could think about was that tight ass and those thighs on either side of his head, wondering what it would be like to turn over on his back and take a taste between them.

Why not? He was stronger than three women, though of course they'd now stacked things in their favor by restraining him. He flipped over, using those muscles Dona had admired and caressed. While he jerked the other women loose with the motion, he made the turn without dislodging Dona. It seemed his Mistress was experienced at riding broncs. It put his face within access of that pussy, encased in impervious material though it was. Let's see if she's impervious to this. He reared up, only to snarl in frustration when he found there was no slack in the chain between the back of his collar and folded arms. He couldn't rise to the proper angle without strangling himself. For a moment it didn't matter. He was like a dog with the scent of a bitch in his nose, his desire desperate. He kept pulling until the lack of oxygen penetrated the haze of lust enough to make him notice that by tightening her thighs incremental amounts she was keeping just out of reach, taunting him.

"Beg for it, Jonathan." Her lips moved on his upper thigh, her tongue playing along the crease between it and his hip. The women had moved away as if Dona had waved them off, so she controlled him with nothing more than her seductive voice and the brush of her cheek along his ball sac and cock, a steel shuttle awaiting launch.

He'd lose nothing by begging. Mistresses got soft when you begged. So why was he finding it hard to obey, as if he was losing ground where he hadn't even gained any yet? It tore out of him roughly, like a scab pulled off an unhealed wound. "Please, Mistress. Let me taste you."

When she moved back into him, her ass pressed against his face, the curves of her buttocks against his nose. The lips of her cunt were frustratingly beyond his reach behind her latex, but they were there. So he closed his mouth over the stiff fabric, tracing her with his tongue, using his teeth for pressure, wishing she'd worn something more flimsy so he could rip it away, play his tongue over her. Feel her body draw tight along the length of his as he did it. He knew he could make her thighs clamp down harder on his head, her breath pant hot and fast on his cock as she came.

"Dona." A sultry voice broke through his wishful thinking and the rasp of his breath. When Dona shifted, he saw the leopard woman stood at his ankles. Her pubic hair was a smooth short pelt of gold, her breasts solid and tempting as grapefruit. Squatting, she ran a hand over Dona's hair, then reached down and snapped a tether on his cock harness, giving it a sharp yank so he jumped. "Let us prepare him for you. He's still coated in the filth of that place. I could smell his prison stench the moment you drove up." She wrinkled her nose.

"She's not complaining," he growled before he could stop himself. The woman's gaze rose to him and he saw she had diamond-shaped pupils in the bright light. Her lip curled up to show her canines, the overall impression so eerily like a cat it made his blood run a few degrees cooler, despite all the body modifications he logically knew were out there now. Sharpened teeth, split tongues.

Rising off him in one fluid movement, Dona stood over him, looking down the length of his body while he stared up at her. His cock throbbed, his mouth salivating for more, for anything she was willing to give him. His shoulders and arms ached from the discomfort of lying on them. At the moment all her expression was giving him was indifference, making him wonder if he'd imagined her thighs quiver as he tongued her, the wiggle of her ass against his face, the clutch of her fingers on his thighs.

"Thank you, Fiona. Take him."

Fiona nodded. Jerking her head at Nathan, she underscored Dona's desire with another sharp tug. He had a momentary thought to raise his foot and boot her back on her ass. Except the bitch likely would hang on to the harness and tear his dick off.

Fiona's lips curved as if she sensed his dour thoughts. "On your feet, slave. We're taking you down to the water."

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