First Time Page 3

  ****

  I stared at Stephen’s damn card on and off for over an hour while trying to get my head straight. To watch or not to watch? Tossing it onto my coffee table, I scowled and got off my ass, and headed to my office. I typed in the name Stephen used on the porn site he uploaded to and hit enter.

  Preview clips lined the screen, and my jaw started ticking again.

  I clicked on the first.

  Cuffed to a cross and ball-gagged, Becky blubbered and shook, cane welts covering her stomach and thighs. She wasn’t trembling from the need to come, and it sure as hell wasn’t subspace that hung her head.

  Stephen walked around her with a hand-held camera, calling her his precious little sub, sarcastic emphasis on little.

  Fucking bastard.

  I closed the browser window and stalked back out to my mini bar. Double Grey Goose in one shot … and I still saw red.

  The memory of the trust in Becky’s eyes slammed me in the chest again, and I rubbed a hand over my pecs.

  “I’m going to help you whether you want it or not,” I vowed to my living room. “And God help Stephen if he gets in my way.”

  Chapter Four

  Becky

  I had never known fear compared to the tremors and worry I experienced on the way home from Chantelle’s kink club. I sat naked in my long coat, hands clasped on my lap, staring out the passenger window while Stephen drove. Inky black shrouded the sky until we arrived forty-five minutes northwest of Boston and its nightlife.

  We had driven in near silence, and my mind gnawed on what went through Stephen’s head. Although somewhat sure he hadn’t been aware of my body’s response to Master Cooney, I couldn’t help but worry the inside of my lip. The coppery tang of blood tinged my saliva as I climbed from the car into the cold winter air, following Stephen up the stoop to his fixer-upper we had called home for five years. The place still resembled a ramshackled pile of old lumber, but we had a roof, heat, and electricity, so I didn’t complain about the lack of progress he had made fixing the house up like on the plans he had made after first purchasing the property.

  Stephen unlocked the door and went in, leaving me to close and lock us in for the night as always. He tossed the keys onto the small collect-all table I had placed in the entryway and strode toward the kitchen.

  I started up the stairs to change into my pjs.

  “I want you naked and bent over the spanking bench when I come up, precious Becky!” he hollered as the treads squeaked beneath my feet.

  Tears sprang to life, stinging my eyes.

  Stephen had made me pleasure him with my mouth and hands while he had watched another sub get her ass beat in Chantelle’s lounge, humiliating me beyond anything he’d ever done to me, including the cross scene with the ball gag he had taped and uploaded. He bragged it was his best work, gaining the most views and comments, but I never checked the websites he posted his videos to. Bad enough I had to live through the scenes once.

  Although numerous scenes had been acted out in Chantelle’s lounge, I couldn’t help but feel embarrassed taking him into my mouth and having him pull my hair while I worked and gagged to get him off.

  He hadn’t complained out loud like he usually did, but I felt his frustration and anger in the sting of my scalp and the thrust of his hips. Until he finally came in my mouth, my jaw had ached and eyes watered.

  We’d left not long afterward.

  I shrugged my coat off inside Stephen’s playroom, my gaze on the spanking bench. Homemade with no padding. I often plucked splinters from my knees and chest after Stephen finished with me. I had asked for something to kneel on and rest against after the first use but ended up with cane welts for complaining.

  He needs this, I reminded myself while kneeling and leaning forward. Head hanging, I brought to mind the carefree, somewhat attentive young man I had known in high school. It wasn’t until after graduation when life’s responsibilities and work’s stress began to affect Stephen. He had grown unstable, an emotional rollercoaster without an operator’s control.

  I offered him the outlet he needed to calm himself, and although he didn’t offer me aftercare in return anymore, I still held on to hope that he would heal.

  Prayed for it.

  My cousin was the only one who knew about Stephen’s problems, and I had only told her in hopes to get some advice on how to be a good submissive. She had called Stephen’s treatment of me abuse, but I knew the old Stephen and focused on helping him to heal.

  Footsteps squeaked on the stairs beyond the opened playroom door, and I clenched my eyes shut.

  “You were a good sub tonight, Becky.”

  His words warmed me, easing my anxiety. I listened as he pulled off the leather pants he’d bought with the money we’d been saving for a new range since two burners on the current one I used didn’t work.

  “I think the flogger tonight…”

  Relieved he hadn’t chosen his favored cane, I nodded. “Thank you, Sir.”

  A whoosh of air, and I jolted forward on the wooden bench, shrieking like he enjoyed. The sooner he got turned on again, the sooner he would take me from behind and be done for the night.

  I prayed for the arousal I’d felt at Master Cooney’s touch, but my body refused to respond. I lost count of the strikes and drained my tear reserves long before Stephen finally shoved into me with nothing more than his pre-cum to ease the way.

  ****

  No cane all week, and by the time Friday rolled around again, our last free night at Chantelle’s, I held hope that our experience at the club would help Stephen learn how to be a better Dom. He had hurled insults all week over my inability to perform for him while scening and videotaping us, but he’d had a tough week at work, spraining his ankle while slipping on ice along his mail route.

  As with our first visit, my cousin greeted us in the reception area, but I pretended not to know her.

  Stephen knew I had a cousin who lived in the area, but he knew her by her given name, Lena, rather than Chantelle. Had he known I’d gone to her for help after one brutal beating and ended up with a two-night ‘grand prize’ for a giveaway he’d never entered, he would have been pissed.

  I shed my coat in the ladies’ room, placing it one of the lockers. Butt-naked, I reentered the reception area and handed the key to Stephen. He didn’t spare me a second glance, but eyes alight with excitement and pink staining his cheeks, clasped my lead rope and led me into the lounge.

  I glanced over my shoulder, and Chantelle mouthed, “Good luck.”

  Gaze once more on the floor, I followed where Stephen led. That citrusy cologne wafted over me, and warmth tingled to life between my thighs. I kept my eyes downcast, refusing to give in to the temptation to look around for Master Cooney. I had dreamed about him—his gentle touch, kind eyes, and deep rumbly voice.

  Would he be teaching the class again? Would Stephen offer me up as the volunteer? Did I really even want him to—not that I had a say in the matter? I feared being turned on again by another man. I feared Stephen’s reaction if he found out. Such an event wouldn’t help Stephen overcome his problems one bit.

  I didn’t want to be on display, either. Chewing the inside of my lip, I fought to keep from wringing my hands.

  Stephen stopped for a time beside a sub on her knees pleasing her Sir, something he was quite fond of being on the receiving end.

  “See how deep she takes him?” Stephen said, tugging me forward. “She hollows her cheeks and sucks his cock with no gagging or tears.”

  I glanced up at the dark-haired woman beautiful enough to be a model. She gazed up at her Viking-like Dom, lust and love shining in her dark eyes. Her Sir gazed at her with the same emotion in his blue eyes.

  “That’s it, Bella,” he murmured. “Just like that…”

  I glanced away, tears thickening my throat. I’d never once been gazed upon with such adoration.

  But, Stephen loved me. He proclaimed it with tears every time he apologized for hurting me. Or, h
e used to, anyway.

  I swallowed against my tears and followed as he led me farther into the lounge. Swats sounded, followed by groans, and we stopped again.

  Stephen made himself comfortable on a chair and pointed at the floor.

  I kneeled and bent forward, placing my forearms on the floor so he could prop his feet upon my back, my large breasts squashed beneath me, one pointing out to the side, but I knew better than to tuck it back beneath me.

  In my periphery, a sub lay over her Sir’s lap, jolting and moaning with each smack to her ass and thighs.

  Bent over in the table position, I knew my backside was on full display with its dimples and cellulite. I closed my eyes and tried to go to that happy place Master Cooney had taken me to.

  A quiet mind.

  Peace like I’d never known.

  Minutes passed, and the woman’s moans and her Sir’s murmurings of what a good little sub she was fell on my ears. By the time they finished and Stephen pulled me to my feet, my knees and back ached.

  A ding rang twice atop the soft music from overhead, announcing the class was about to start.

  Butterflies erupted in my stomach as I shuffled along behind Stephen.

  Cooler than the lounge, the smaller room where we’d had the presentation the weekend before pebbled my skin. Purely from the temperature, I told myself. It had nothing to do with the citrus scent in the air or the bass voice welcoming us in.

  Stephen sat near the back, and I kneeled beside his chair.

  I peeked up through my lashes.

  Master Cooney filled out his black leathers ten times better than Stephen could dream of. Thick, muscular thighs, a bulge I actually wanted to explore with my mouth. Rippled abdominal muscles, prominent pectorals, wide shoulders … a mountain of a man.

  The dimpled chin, square jaw, and Grecian nose. Dark eyes staring into mine.

  Wetness rushed to my vaginal walls, and I felt need. To be touched. To be filled.

  Face hot, I lowered my head. I shouldn’t have such feelings, such desires for someone other than Stephen. My pulse thrummed in my ears, my hands trembled.

  “Stephen,” Master Cooney called out once the class quieted. “Would you be willing to offer Becky’s assistance again this evening?”

  My breath caught, and I bit my lip as Stephen stood and tugged on my lead rope.

  “Of course. Becky would love nothing more.”

  Face still hot, I followed him toward the dais where he unclasped my rope and handed me off to Master Cooney.

  I stood on the dais beside the man who had haunted my dreams, hands clasped in front of my pubic hair. Three other subs kneeled on the floor in front of me but I didn’t lift my gaze to their seated Sirs.

  “Tonight,” Master Cooney began in his low voice, “I’ll be showing some more complex knots. I’ve made handouts which you should have found on your chairs.”

  Papers rustled, and Master Cooney retrieved a coiled, red rope. “I’ll be using hemp this evening rather than the silk since I’ll be stringing up my lovely assistant.”

  I bit back my snort of laughter. String me up? Did he not see the size of my ass and thighs?

  He stood before me, back to the rest of the room. “Becky?”

  I lifted my head, and all-consuming desire for him rushed through me once more.

  “May I touch you?”

  Yes, please. I managed to nod.

  He smiled, the same kindness I’d seen the weekend before, easing my discomfort of being the center of attention.

  “Your hair looks lovely tonight,” he whispered, and I once more swallowed against tears.

  I had spent a half hour curling my shoulder-length hair, and Stephen hadn’t even noticed the soft waves caressing my cheeks and collar bones.

  Master Cooney’s gaze dropped to my lips, and mine parted as I quickly inhaled. His smile dissolved, and an emotion I didn’t recognize filled his eyes. It pulsed blood through my clit, and a low moan escaped me.

  His brow rose. “Are you ready, sweetness?”

  A pet name. Tears hazed my vision as I nodded.

  “Color?” he asked, peering into my eyes.

  “Green, Sir.” I swallowed. “Green.”

  “I’m going to wrap you in a chest harness first.”

  “O-okay.”

  “You know what to say if at any time you’re uncomfortable and want me to stop?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good.” Master Cooney turned me sideways. “Let’s begin…”

  Peace swept in with the first brush of the hemp rope over my breast. His low voice rumbled in my ears, and as with the first time he tied me in his ropes, I moved with his slightest touch, the gentlest pressure to aid in his harnessing me.

  The rope grazed over the hardened peaks of my heavy breasts, and I bit the inside of my lip, holding in my groan. His thumb brushed over my nipple, but rather than flinch or open my eyes, I leaned into his touch. He wrapped my breasts tightly without pain, my contracted nipples squeezed between the rope.

  The juncture between my thighs throbbed. Warm wetness seeped from me, coating my thighs. My ears rang. Every nerve ending in my body needing, yet resisting that happy place.

  Master Cooney laid me on a mat on the floor, his hands and rope wrapping one of my legs, knotting me tight.

  “So beautiful,” he murmured, his fingertips fluttering along my thigh as he tied another loop. “So soft.”

  I melted, a smile on my face.

  His fingertip brushed through the wetness near my swollen folds, and I lifted toward him, so, so needy…

  “You’re so wet,” he whispered, fluttering my eyelids open.

  He stared between my thighs and continued tying. A few more instructions in his bass voice to those I no longer cared about, and he turned his gaze to my face.

  Oh, sweet Lord…

  I had never been on the receiving end of such a lustful look. His thumb rubbed along the inside of my thigh. “Are you ready to fly, sweetness?”

  “Yes,” I whispered on the edge of some unnamable cliff.

  Master Cooney stood, connected a rope dangling from the ceiling to my harness, and I closed my eyes.

  Without a grunt of effort, he hoisted me into the air. Hanging only by the connection points in knots on my thighs and chest harness, I swung into space, the loops around my chest tightening on my breasts, pinching my nipples.

  I moaned while floating, the intense longing in my core consuming me.

  Sir’s hand slid over my leg, rubbing my skin plumped between his ropes, higher … higher…

  He spun me a half turn, his thumb rubbing over my pubic hair, gently flicking the bundle of throbbing nerves. A gale of exquisite torture slid up from my toes.

  He flicked again.

  My nerve endings shattered, and I cried out as my first-ever climax swept me into euphoria. Cocooned in Sir’s ropes—his hold—my tingling body floated into nothing.

  Chapter Five

  Daniel

  Becky’s beautiful cries of release echoed in my ears. I’d never heard—or seen—anything so beautiful.

  “The fuck?” Stephen cursed.

  From the corner of my eye, I made note of him rising to his feet, and the two bouncers Chantelle had standing just inside the door tensed, but I couldn’t tear my gaze off Becky as she swung in front of me, free and floating in subspace.

  “The fuck?” Stephen’s voice raised, and I finally turned toward him. Murder lit his gaze, his open guppy mouth sputtering and spitting, but no sound came out. He lunged forward, but the bouncers reacted faster than his skinny ass could move and grabbed hold of both of his arms.

  “The fuck!” he shrieked again, thrashing, but the bouncers dragged him away, the door closing and shutting off his rant.

  I glanced at Becky. She still swung, relaxed and quiet.

  “I apologize for the interruption,” I said, turning toward the other couples, most subs in various stages of the harnessing I’d tied onto Becky. “I believe that
does it for the evening. Thank you for attending.”

  Murmurs broke out as I returned my attention to Becky, soothing my hands over her straight leg, up along her stomach and over to her other leg I had tied ankle to thigh. Wetness coated her thick pussy lips and dripped into her ass crack.

  My mouth watered.

  Two steps brought me to her torso, and I gazed at her bound breasts, the crisscrossing harness squeezing both plump nipples. Her head hung back, dark hair falling away from her peaceful face.

  A half-smile curved her lips, pink stained her cheeks.

  Becky will be mine, I vowed to myself. Mine to defend. Mine to set free. Mine to own. Soon.

  I ran the back of my hand down her neck and she shuddered a sigh. “I’m going to lower you now,” I whispered.

  Taking my time, I released the knot holding her and lowered her gently to the mat. She rested as though sleeping and didn’t move as I unknotted and unwound her legs.

  The room slowly emptied, and until Becky lay naked, my rope indents marring her petal-soft skin, we were alone.

  I sat beside her and gathered her into my arms, smoothing her hair from her forehead. My cock throbbed inside of my leather pants, and I wanted nothing more than to slide between her thick-as-honey thighs and sink deep into her until her cream coated my drawn-up balls.

  “You were so beautiful, sweetness,” I murmured, the back of my fingers trailing over the tops of her breasts. Her nipples contracted, and she shifted in my arms with a sigh. “Becky?”

  “Hmm?” Her eyelids fluttered open, and I drowned in her sated, trusting gaze. Like the strongest coffee, dark-chocolate eyes framed by long, silky lashes.

  “Welcome back.” I smiled and continued running my hand over her body, the swells and dips of pure perfection, being careful to avoid erogenous zones.

  The corners of her lips rose again.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Amazing,” she whispered, turning her face into my chest. “You smell so good.”

  I chuckled and squeezed her tight with one arm while resting the other on her hip.