Rough Ride (Let it Ride Book 1) Page 6

  Malcolm leaned back on the couch and spread his arms wide, as well as his legs, taking up as much room as possible. I loved the masculine gesture.

  I hadn’t changed out of my work clothes, so my wardrobe wasn’t really “come hither” or anything. While the rules at Ravage had been defined, I wasn’t sure how to dress for this occasion.

  As a laugh, I’d taken a strip aerobics class with Poppy. We’d giggled through most of it, but I’d learned a thing or two about the tease in the process.

  After slipping off my shoes and socks, I stood a few inches from his knees and undid the trousers, letting them drift down my thighs, leaving me in panties. They matched my bra—black and lacy—not fancy, but acceptable.

  I unbuttoned my blouse, then unhooked my bra and peeled it off slowly. My breasts were heavy, and the nipples had hardened.

  Malcolm held up a hand. “I’ll take off the rest.”

  First, he ran a big hand down the length of my body, neck to navel, tracing my collar bones, before stopping to caress my breasts then grasping my waist.

  “Which reminds me.” He hooked his fingers on either side of my panties. “No underwear when we’re out together—work is the only exception. When we’re at the office, it’s strictly professional.”

  “We’re going on dates?” I wasn’t sure which was weirder—going commando or having a rom-com night with him at the movie theater after we got our kink on.

  “Yeah, unless you’d prefer something more casual?” He rubbed circles on my hipbones with his thumbs.

  A wave of heat rolled through me.

  “No, it’s fine. I didn’t realize….”

  “Now you do.”

  Then he slid my panties down, leaving me bare. I was naked—completely at his mercy—while he was fully clothed, and I loved every second of it.

  I wasn’t worried about him seeing me naked this time either—even without the mask. At any rate, the gig was up, and he’d already seen the goods up close and personal.

  Or maybe it was his demanding but needful expression. Malcolm definitely liked what he saw, and I drank in the admiration.

  Malcolm’s fingers tangled in the dark hair between my thighs, and I sucked in a breath. He didn’t penetrate me, just rubbed the lips. When he glanced up at my face, his eyes were hooded, but he didn’t so much as blink.

  My stomach clenched, and my knees went all wobbly.

  “I want you shaved and ready for me at all times.”

  I’d done the Brazilian thing before, so it wasn’t a big deal.

  “Yes, sir.”

  His nostrils flared. “Good girl. On your knees, Kate.” His voice had lowered an octave.

  The next thing I knew, I was on the floor between his thighs. Almost like my body had a will of its own—his will.

  I thought back to the shattering orgasm I’d had with him the other night. Oh yeah, I was way out of my league here.

  “Are you on the pill?”

  “Yes, since my senior year of high school. Before you ask, I’m clean too. I’ve gotten tested at the campus clinic. What about your health?” I didn’t want Angela crotch cooties.

  “I got a clean test last month, so I’m ready to go. And I always use protection.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Malcolm pulled a metal butt plug from his pocket. It was slender like the one he’d used the night before. For all I knew, it was the same one.

  “This is for you. I want you to wear it for a bit every day so your body gets used to it. After you’re stretched and ready for me, I’m going to fuck your ass.” His cock strained against his trousers. I could make out the shape, pulsing against his thigh.

  I closed my eyes as a rush of heat flooded my body. Again, the strangest things were turn-ons with him.

  “And I’m going to make you come again tonight. Would you like that?”

  Thank God.

  “Yes, sir.”

  I was so wet I worried my thighs were dripping. It was embarrassing to be so turned on when the man had barely touched me.

  “Thought you might. I’m going to get my toys, and we’ll explore your submission further.”

  From a large medieval-looking wooden chest with a padlock, he pulled out lengths of rope, a brand new ball gag still in the package, and some lube.

  “You’ll find I’m a bondage fan. I love tying women up, posing them. Are you game?”

  I had no problem with his proposal.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. We’ll use those traffic lights. Unless you’d prefer a safe word?”

  “No, I like the lights.”

  He smirked. “Excellent. With your permission, I’d like to tie you up and have you at my mercy for the rest of the night.”

  Count me in.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Chapter Eight

  Kate

  Once more, I was helpless in Malcolm’s grasp, and I couldn’t be happier about it.

  He’d put me in a pair of thigh-highs, a garter belt, and red heels. He said he’d bought them as props for some fetish photography he’d done. I couldn’t wait to see some of his pictures. I had a feeling I’d enjoy them even more than his artsy work.

  Malcolm obviously had a thing for costumes, and I made a mental note to buy a few pieces.

  He’d thrown the rope over the exposed rebar on the ceiling and fastened it around my wrists, which he’d secured around my back. I was kneeling on an oversized black leather footstool. The position was awkward, because my arms were out straight behind me, and I was facing the floor.

  I was also hobbled by other ropes. Malcolm had tied my ankles together, as well as my knees.

  For the longest time, Malcolm leaned against the wall and looked at me, drank me in. Then he walked around me, his hands moving over my body now and then—a pat, a pinch. Malcolm massaged my breasts, spanked my ass, and then fastened his hand around my throat in a dominant rather than threatening manner. It was a move meant to demonstrate his control.

  And God, I felt it.

  He had a hold on me, like no other man. I seduced guys, screwed them, and moved on to the next. Afterward, I never gave it another thought—for me it was about the chase, making someone want me.

  I’m not sure why Malcolm was different. The exotic nature of bondage and discipline? The authority figure piece?

  Malcolm turned on all the lights—overhead as well as the lamps— flooding the room with a warm glow. As if he didn’t want to miss one single inch of me. I felt beautiful, as though he’d made me into a living work of art.

  Malcolm saw me—noticed me. He wanted me—obviously, but this sexual connection was stronger than all of those meaningless fumbling orgasms put together.

  “Since you enjoyed the kitty mask the other night, I’ve got a treat for you.” Malcolm grabbed a lace and satin black mask from his collection. It was in the shape of a butterfly, and it covered the entire upper portion of my face.

  “You look stunning.”

  Even though I was bound, I felt free. How odd.

  “With your permission, I’d like to take some pictures. They’d only be for my personal use, and I’ll protect your identity with the mask.”

  Taking spicy pictures was too wicked an opportunity to pass up. Once again, he called to my wild nature.

  “Kate, give me a light?”

  I realized I hadn’t answered him. “Green, sir.”

  “Excellent.”

  Malcolm had a professional camera with a large lens, and he shot me from every angle, the shutter clicking continually. I moved in the bonds, writhing—mugging for the camera and for him.

  It made me feel even sexier, if it were possible—like I was a model. Hmm, I’d inherited more than a pretty face from my mother.

  “I’m going to gag you now, okay?”

  I nodded.

  Malcolm slipped a ball gag into my mouth and strapped a leather harness around the back of my head. It was a snug fit, but not too tight.

  “Try pushing it ou
t with your tongue.”

  I did, and the ball dipped from my mouth. It was a struggle, but I could get rid of it if I needed to.

  “Use a light.”

  “Green.”

  “Good. If anything I do is too much, push the gag out and let me know.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Malcolm popped the ball back in, and I tried to let go and relax again. But it was difficult—I was keyed up with anticipation.

  He sank to his knees beside me, hand reaching between my thighs.

  I bit into the rubber.

  “Goddamn, you’re dripping wet for me.”

  A buzzing noise, and then he pressed a vibrator against my pussy, hitting all the right areas.

  I cried out, mewling as I teetered precariously on the stool.

  “If you break the pose, I’ll stop and punish you.”

  God damn him. I shut my eyes and focused on not moving.

  But Malcolm was relentless, varying the speed and rhythm. The stimulation was driving me crazy, and I couldn’t get away because of the restraints. There was nowhere to go.

  Any second now, I was going to lose it, tumble to the floor, and he’d stop touching me.

  “Please, sir!” I mumbled.

  “Do you need to come?” Malcolm grasped my jaw, turning my head to face him.

  I nodded.

  “Too bad.”

  Abruptly, he stopped, and I was left there wanting.

  “Bastard,” I muttered.

  “What was that?” Malcolm swatted my ass.

  “Nothing, sir.”

  I hoped I sounded meek.

  All I could think about was getting off. Ironic. All those times I’d played around with guys, I’d been the one driving the orgasm, in control of the situation. And now I was at Malcolm’s mercy.

  “That’s what I thought you said. You’re going to obey me, aren’t you? I’d hate to start off with punishment. Remember what I said? I own your orgasms. Good girls go home sleepy and sexually satisifed.”

  I moaned.

  “And bad ones go to bed wet between the legs.”

  Oh, fuck me.

  Malcolm untied my arms and grasped me around the waist to put me on all fours on the stool. I rolled my shoulders and stretched my arms, before planting my hands.

  “We’re going to play another game. Lay your head down and give me your arms again.”

  I leaned down and held my arms out behind me, swiveling to the right, so I could see him. Malcolm wrapped leather cuffs around each wrist and fastened them together with a steel cable, which he ran underneath the ropes around my knees, then snapped the cable into an O-ring on either cuff.

  Once more, I was bound and helpless. Only this time, my ass was in the air, like I was ready to be mounted.

  And yes, I was. I needed his cock inside me.

  Instead, Malcolm rubbed my pussy, wetting his fingers. He braced one hand against my hip, holding me still for his invasion.

  His movements were slow and deliberate, taking his time. Not enough pressure to get me off.

  Moaning, I pressed back against his fingers, wanting them deep inside of me, but he simply played with the lips, dipping inside now and then.

  It was only another tease.

  Then he pushed a wicked finger into my ass, using my wetness as lubrication.

  I gasped at the intrusion. A few weeks ago, I’d never dreamed it’d be an erogenous zone, but it was. After I got used to the first finger, he added another.

  “I’m going to put the plug in again.”

  “Yes, sir.” The words were distorted behind the gag.

  He squirted lube onto my hole—it was sticky and moist. Hissing a breath between my teeth, I braced myself.

  Malcolm edged it inside a bit.

  I groaned.

  He chuckled. “Like that, huh?

  Well, I didn’t change the traffic light.

  Malcolm was patient, dipping the rounded plug into my opening. He waited until I adjusted to the girth before pressing onward. The sensation was pleasurable—like being stretched and opened, just like the night before.

  Finally, it slipped into place—almost like a pop.

  I moaned.

  “There we go.” He smacked my ass. “You like being stuffed, don’t you?”

  I nodded.

  “I know you do. That’s why I’m having you wear this plug all the time. Now we’re ready to have some fun.”

  Once more, he pressed the vibrator against my lower lips, and I whimpered. Malcolm was on his knees behind me, a hand on the small of my back, as he worked me over.

  I whimpered, tilting my hips against him, arching my back like a cat in heat. I was shameless, sobbing and squealing. God, I wished the gag was off so I could beg.

  As he brought me to the edge, I pressed my rear closer, seeking more contact, but the bastard wouldn’t vibe my clit. Instead, he whacked my butt for the disobedience.

  “I had a feeling you’d be a brat. Heard the term before?”

  I shook my head.

  “A brat is a disobedient slut who needs to be kept in line by her dominant.”

  Slut was a charged term, but somehow from his lips, it sounded sexy.

  “Sometimes I like to call my sub a slut.” Malcolm stood and walked around me so I could see his face. “Do you mind the word?”

  Again, I sliced my head to the side. Like I said, I’m a feminist, but this was play time.

  “Good. But, unfortunately, you need to be taught some manners.”

  He left me there, naked and stuffed, with my hands bound behind my back—unable to move.

  Malcolm sauntered over to the chest, leaving me hovering in anticipation. He returned with two pairs of clamps, and they swung in his hand ominously.

  I quivered but didn’t spit the gag out.

  “Yellow?”

  I nodded.

  “Noted. We’ll take it easy.”

  First, he clipped either side of my lips—it was tight, a pinch, but no real pain. Probably because he massaged my pussy. I was so worked up, it didn’t hurt much.

  Then he fastened the other set to my nipples—again, it hurt, but only enhanced the pleasure.

  Malcolm tugged, and I squeaked.

  “Okay?” He tilted my chin up.

  I bobbed my head in agreement. All I could think about was having his cock inside me—at the moment, I didn’t really care where he put it.

  His grin was evil. “Good, because I’ve just begun.”

  This time, Malcolm returned from his box of badness with a wooden paddle the size of his palm.

  The memory of the hard spanking Malcolm gave me triggered another blast of moisture between my thighs.

  Until the other night, no one had ever used corporal punishment on me. Sure, my dad had yelled at me—often in fact, since I loved breaking rules. But I had no frame of reference for this.

  “I’m going to give you a few whacks just to keep you in line. What do you think? Five?”

  “No, sir.” The words were garbled.

  “You’re right, let’s make it ten.”

  I cursed under my breath.

  Malcolm warmed me up with a few swats from his hands at first. Every now and then, he’d stop to run his hand over my bottom to take the sting away.

  I was tense, anticipating the paddle, but he rubbed my backside, sliding it up and down my cheeks.

  Waiting for a smack was torture.

  And then it came.

  “One.” Malcolm belted me.

  I yelped.

  But he didn’t let up. Some of the swipes were light, others hard—each time, he counted it off. The paddle came down again—the whacks came in a flurry until he slid the wood and down my bare thigh, giving me respite.

  Like the night before, I was transported. Something about his mastery over me sent me into another state of consciousness.

  I was floating, hazy.

  The last one was probably hard, but I felt no pain, only longing.

  “Goo
d girl.” Malcolm removed the clamps and rubbed my pussy, easing it.

  I could feel his erection, pressed against my thigh. My ass was on fire, and my pussy was flooded with heat.

  “Please fuck me.”

  Somehow, Malcolm understood the muffled words. He circled me, then unbuttoned and unzipped his fly. Malcolm had a long, thick, uncircumcised cock. The tip had gone a dusky purple, cum pearled on the opening. He fisted a hand around it, pumping.

  God, I couldn’t decide. I wanted him in my pussy, but I also wanted to suck him.

  Malcolm decided for me. He undid the gag, and I stretched my jaw.

  First, he traced my lips with the head, not entering, just slickly gliding along. Then he pushed into my mouth..

  Malcolm cradled my head and took his pleasure—thrusting into my mouth, claiming it for his own. His movements were smooth and sure, aiming further and further into the back of my throat, giving me time to get used to him. I opened wide, letting him fuck my mouth.

  “Enough.” With a growl, he pulled out.

  Then he was behind me. “I’m going to fuck you.”

  Malcolm straddled my legs and used the garter belt for leverage, grasping it to yank my hips backward. Because my knees were tied together, it made the space between my thighs narrow.

  Malcolm charged inside.

  I didn’t see him put a condom on, but I assumed he did.

  Malcolm grunted as he slammed into me again and again. His movements grew harder, harsher, larger. He pushed his cock all the way into my pussy and out again. God knows, he didn’t need to go slow.

  He reached around and rubbed my clit. His hunger stoked mine, and I ramped up again—only a few thrusts and I was on edge.

  “Come for me.” Malcolm smacked my ass again.

  I howled my release.

  After a few more pumps, he came with a roar.

  And then it was over.

  Malcolm released me from my bonds, murmuring soft words, stroking me.

  I was a mess—exhausted, wet, and limp in his arms—like a puppet without strings. He carried me to the couch and held me.

  And I was sore, but just like the other night, I felt released. Malcolm rubbed my back and crooned to me, sweet endearments and encouraging words. He told me how lovely I was, how special, how much he enjoyed being with me tonight.

  It made my throat ache. No one spoke to me that way. Not in a sexual context and not in a loving way either.