Fearless (Elite Doms of Washington Book 5) Read online

  “Laurent, look at me.”

  He lifted his head.

  “Are you sure you wish to be here?” she asked.

  “Yes, Mistress Sarah. I asked to be here. I crave it, actually.” The beautiful man peered up at her with those dark gypsy eyes that could so easily undo her self-discipline. He was going to test her as much as she would him.

  “Very good,” Alexander said. “Consent granted.” He smiled at her warmly before heading out the door.

  “What was that about?” Steffan asked.

  “Anyone who plays for the first time at Accendos must have their consent witnessed by a third party, someone not connected to the scene directly.”

  “So many rules.”

  “You have no idea,” Carrie said. “Oh, sorry, Mistress Sarah. Master Steffan.”

  “That’ll be all, Carrie.” Sarah turned to Steffan. “Rules are what make us who we are.”

  “I rather believed our characters were made up of more than that.”

  She turned away from the man who looked entirely too self-satisfied for being shut out of a scene. He lowered himself to the large, dark green velvet chair usually reserved for Alexander. Steffan fit the large chair, and Carrie knelt near him. So she found him intriguing, as well? She couldn’t blame the girl. Steffan was a living, Better Business Bureau advertisement for Sweden—all Viking blond good looks and ice blue eyes, and Carrie was single.

  Sarah turned to what the girl had prepared for her. A large wooden chest on canisters sat a few feet away, and even before cracking it open, she was confident Carrie had filled it with every item she’d requested. She rolled the goodies to where Laurent knelt.

  She crouched down to him and cupped his chin. She scrutinized his eyes, now reflecting the red and orange colors of the recessed lighting in The Library.

  “Do you enjoy being watched, Laurent?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I won’t notice anyone but you.”

  “Such lovely words.”

  “Truth.”

  “Which are the only words I want to hear from you.” She released his chin and placed her palm against his heart, feeling the pulse of blood underneath that smooth skin. A slight dusting of hair was rough under her hand. She appreciated aesthetics more than most—made a career out of it—but nothing, nothing, compared to the natural beauty of his tan skin. She had a strong impulse to scrape her nails down his chest, and as she raked down his sternum to his belly, she left red welts on his skin. The marks faded in seconds.

  “I’ll stop if I think you’re not being honest,” she said.

  “Yes, Mistress.” His chest rose and fell in a deep breath, but his voice hadn’t wavered a bit.

  She stood and spent a long moment assessing the man kneeling at her feet.

  On the way to Accendos, she’d given some thought to how she’d like to approach Laurent this first time. Sensory deprivation with some CBT would be the obvious choice. According to his records, his favorite type of play was having his cock and balls tortured. He liked to watch his Dom or Domme handle him, too, which meant only one thing. She’d blindfold him.

  She cracked open the top of the chest, and two drawers lifted and separated to either side. She chose a black cotton blindfold along with a pair of thick leather cuffs. Laurent’s eyes glanced up and grew wide when she showed him what she held.

  “Something wrong, Laurent?”

  He shook his head and lowered his chin.

  “Take off your trousers and your briefs. Fold them. Let Steffan hold them.” She winked at Steffan who smirked at her words, not looking the least bit bothered by being reduced to the role of valet.

  Laurent complied, giving her a spectacular view of his backside when he strode over to Steffan. When he turned to her, she decided his front rivaled his back. Glossy, dark curls surrounded a long, thick cock that had already begun to harden. With the dusting of dark hair across his chest, visible ridges in his abdomen and a perfectly-defined Adonis belt, his masculine appeal grew tenfold. He could have modeled for the Greek masters, though they might be appalled at the size of his spectacular sexual anatomy.

  “So beautiful, Laurent,” she whispered.

  He flushed. Another honest moment that told her what she suspected—the man had no idea how beautiful he was.

  She led him to the exact spot where she’d literally dreamed of taking him—a large frame in the center of the room from which various hooks and chains hung. She encircled his neck with the blindfold and let the fabric hang and tease his mind with the promise of coming blindness. The cotton was light, but she sensed he’d feel it like a lead chain. She fastened a cuff around each of his thick wrists.

  “Lift your arms over your head.”

  She stepped up on one of the frame’s rungs and attached each cuffed wrist to a hook that hung from chains. She stepped down and took a long moment to run her hands down his forearms to his biceps, and then over his shoulders. She never trussed her submissives too tightly, preferring to see them move and sway as she worked them over—unless they required a more bound approach. She’d learn Laurent’s preferences and dole them out either as rewards or punishments over time.

  He sucked in a breath when she pinched a nipple. “Laurent. I’m glad you’re here.”

  He returned her stare with no hesitation. “Wherever, whenever you need me.”

  The pretty words tumbled from his mouth with such ease, her knees weakened. His eyes sparked with desire, his breath running a little faster across those full lips. A submissive’s reactions could be a performance, a make-believe arousal meant to incite a Dom or Domme’s courage. She knew his response was genuine, and her sense of obligation to him heightened because of it.

  She took more minutes to appreciate his flesh with her hands. God, she wanted to test every inch of that skin—feel, taste, and mark it. She’d wanted to play with Laurent the first day she’d laid eyes on him, which was dangerous. Her past led her to distrust desire, and that caution had paid dividends. Yet, there was much to explore with a man this transparent—the direct opposite of his current Dominant sitting in Alexander’s chair.

  “I loved your file, Laurent. Loved reading about you. What you enjoy, what you don’t. I can’t wait to test some of those limits.” She showed him the ball stretcher and cock ring apparatus. “I understand your cock requires a Mistress’s discipline.”

  One glance south and she realized she’d chosen well. He thickened further, which sent his cock dancing. That was the thing about male anatomy, unlike their mouths, their manhood never lied.

  She smiled up at him. “It pleases me to see your responses. Don’t hold anything back, Laurent. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  “Safeword?”

  “I won’t use it.”

  “Speak it out loud for me.”

  “Polyester.”

  She laughed. “Oh, you already please me, you wonderful man.”

  He gave her a flash of white teeth against that smooth tanned skin.

  She then gently curled her fingers around his cock and forgot everything else—even Steffan.

  11

  Steffan studied Sarah’s elegant hands as she affixed the ring around Laurent’s ample girth and pulled his balls through the stretcher. She stepped back to admire her work. She cocked her hip and the red fabric of her dress stretched tight across her behind. Was there anything so mesmerizing as a woman’s ass? A long line of muscle ran up her thigh. She carried the hint of a dimple in her butt cheek like a thoroughbred horse. He couldn’t take his eyes off her shape and her skin, especially that bare, smooth flesh of her leg. God, he wanted to force them open and direct her to wrap them around his waist while he buried himself in her.

  Sarah tsked and his attention moved to Laurent. Steffan had been so entranced by the woman, he’d missed what Laurent had done—or not done—to earn a strike across his backside. Laurent grunted and smiled as Sarah continued to appreciate him with her hands. She circled him, ran her fingers acros
s Laurent’s pecs, trailed light touches around his shoulders, and up and down his back.

  “You have no idea how magnificent you look like this, do you, my sweet man?” she whispered.

  No, Laurent didn’t comprehend his effect on others. His natural good looks were called up from another world. Instead, he was outwardly fixated. He never thought of himself, another reason Steffan feared leaving the man in anyone’s hands but his own—or Sarah’s whom he oddly trusted as he did no other. He didn’t trust Alexander Rockingham, whose rules and regulations meant to protect both submissive and Dominant alike were famous, as much as he trusted Sarah.

  Laurent shuddered under her light touch, and his chest began to rise and fall.

  She pressed her breasts into his back, her fingers finding their way around his abdomen to that cock cage. She seemed to be assuring herself it was staying on. Steffan knew better. She teased Laurent whose hardness now strained inside its cage, precum wetting the tip. The angle of Steffan’s chair gave him quite a view of it.

  “Hmm, next time I might have to get a larger ring,” she said into Laurent’s ear.

  “I’m fine, Mistress.”

  “Your cock needs something tight? It’s that undisciplined?” She slapped his ass cheek, and he pitched forward in his cuffs.

  “Perhaps a spiked ring,” she said into his shoulder blade and bit down. Laurent groaned. The man appreciated rough play, which she’d learn soon enough.

  She rubbed her breasts up and down his back, and Laurent’s mouth opened. Steffan felt his cock stiffen in response to her movements. He didn’t have a submissive inclination in his body, but he wouldn’t mind being on the receiving end of those undulations. He knew what she felt like as she arched her back—as she did now against Laurent.

  She slipped the blindfold over his eyes. Laurent did what he always did when a sense was taken away, he stiffened and strained, his fingers curling into fists. The loss of sight terrified him, which is why Steffan had been introducing it more and more. He didn’t want Laurent to be frightened of anything. Interesting, how Sarah chose to introduce that from the get-go.

  “I’m right here, Laurent,” she said.

  “Y-yes Mistress.”

  “You can do this for me, can’t you?”

  He nodded. She hadn’t done anything of note to him yet, but Steffan admired her ability to ratchet up Laurent’s imagination with what she might do in such few words—and her kindness to check in with him so soon into their play.

  “I’m going to warm you up a little.” She tweaked his nipple between her thumb and index finger.

  “Thank you, Mistress,” he grunted out.

  “Carrie, bring it to me.”

  Carrie jumped up and retrieved a riding crop from an umbrella stand he hadn’t noticed had been placed next to the wooden chest. Interesting that Sarah chose that instrument. He’d have gone with something stronger. Then again, she’d only begun, and she’d soon learn how much Laurent could take—how much he wanted to take.

  She ran the leather tongue of the crop over Laurent’s pecs. “Such splendid nipples, Laurent.”

  She opened her palm and Carrie placed two ordinary clothespins in her hand. Laurent cried out as Sarah snapped them on. He stomped a foot and breathed heavily through clenched teeth.

  “Those are ordinary wooden clothespins, Laurent. You’ll have to earn something nicer.”

  “Nice choice, Sarah,” Steffan muttered under his breath. Laurent loved clothes, preened in 18-carat gold cufflinks and often enjoyed sporting an old-fashioned pocket watch connected to a sterling silver chain in his vest pocket. Ordinary clothes pins would be somewhat humiliating, as Laurent would have expected something in pure silver given the opulence of this club. It was then Steffan realized she could be cruel as well as kind. Laurent was going to be in heaven.

  “I didn’t hear a thank you, Mistress,” she said.

  “Sorry, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress,” he panted.

  She tapped one of the clothespins, and he sucked in a breath between his teeth. She glanced at Carrie who knelt by the small chest and smiled as if they shared a secret. So, Sarah liked an audience. Steffan enjoyed being part of that, watching Sarah, admiring her. He would enjoy being part of her scene more, though she made herself clear by shutting him out. He’d allow her this moment of respite because seeing her like this again … He gripped the sides of the chair and made a decision. Tonight, she’d have Laurent to herself. Any other night? It would be both of them.

  12

  Some people believe a riding crop is child’s play. An instrument used in movies and in books whenever BDSM is portrayed. How wrong people can be. If used properly, over a long period of time, that tiny leather square, slapping flesh, could bring the most hardened submissive to heel.

  Sarah ran the leather tongue over his shoulders, down his spine to rest at the cleft of his ass. She pushed the long handle through his cheeks, and then up and under his testicles. She pressed against his back and held it there.

  “So hard for me.” She jerked the crop upward feeling it press into the separation of his two balls. He inhaled sharply.

  “What am I going to do with you?” she asked.

  She didn’t need to be in front of him to know he’d swallowed in honest anticipation.

  She then went to work on his back and thighs. Light slaps followed by harder ones, never letting a rhythm form to keep him on edge, keep him guessing. A harlequin pattern bloomed on his back and his thighs. She’d purposefully avoided slapping him on his ass, and he’d begun, either consciously or unconsciously, to pitch backward like he was seeking contact. So, she studiously avoided that area. Oh, yes, cruel and kind was such a dance.

  “Mistress? Please?” he asked.

  “Please what, my impatient boy?”

  Steffan said he’d enjoyed being taken to the edge. She could do that. She turned him to face the other way so quickly he stumbled on his feet, but he easily righted himself with her help.

  “Present that undisciplined cock to me, Laurent.”

  He rocked his torso up and forward with such eagerness, she could have grown enthralled by the sight of him. His abdomen muscles tensed, the ridges more pronounced, the dusting of hair trailing down in a V glistening under the lights. She ran a fingertip down each deep crevice of his Adonis belt.

  “My second favorite part of a man,” she whispered.

  “What’s your favorite?” Steffan’s voice cut through her appreciation. It was rude of him to interrupt this moment, so she ignored him.

  Her fingers made their way down to his captured cock and balls. She ran feather-light touches over its satin skin, knowing the sensation would be tripled given its captivity and engorgement. Time to show more gratitude for his gift to her.

  She stepped back, breaking all contact, and his body tried to follow. She tapped the underside of his scrotum with the crop, once, twice, three times and then fell into a rhythm, the first of the night, moving across every inch of his captured hardness.

  “Such a beautiful red, Laurent.” The skin stretched taut over his balls was tight and bright crimson. She popped the leather tongue on them once more. He cried out a little.

  “You can go five more minutes, can’t you?”

  “Y-yes, mistress.”

  She struck him on his cock, over and over, the slap-grunt-slap-grunt turning into its own rhythm. He strained in his bonds, and a tear dripped down his cheek on her last strike.

  She cupped his jaw and slipped the blindfold down. He wiped sweat from his forehead along his bicep and blinked at the sudden invasion of light. His eyelashes had grown spiky with wet, and his eyes shone a fierce longing. Desire thrummed through her body. She widened her stance as she fell into his brown eyes for a long moment. Was there anything so invigorating to one’s soul, to one’s sense of existence, than to be connected to another like this?

  It had been a long time since she’d played, and here she had one of the most beautiful males she’d ever laid eyes
on swaying in front of her. He’d come to her, asked for her, lured her to him, and then he’d laid himself before her to do as she wished. She sucked in a long breath to steady herself. One could grow too heady with such a thought. He’s a gift. Remember, a temporary gift.

  She moved to her next instrument, a flogger with long tails that had clusters of leather roses at the end. One could mistake them for being merely aesthetic given their elegance and soft elk’s hide material. They’d be wrong. The soft thumps they made belied the effect of their impact, and soon Laurent’s grunts, a deep baritone at first, moved to something more high-pitched, as she circled him, landing blows on shoulders, back, and thighs.

  She pointed to the evil stick, and Carrie retrieved it. She snapped it across Laurent’s ass, once, twice, three times. A stream of tears ran down his cheek at the last strike, his cry a vulgar curse. The cords in his neck were so pronounced she was worried they might snap, and the head of his cock had turned a vicious purple.

  “Laurent,” she asked in his ear. “Where are you? Number?”

  “Eight,” A wet hiss through clenched teeth that held anger and pain.

  “Ah.”

  “Just the way I like it,” he breathed. “More.”

  “No.”

  Her desire competed with her common sense, but the latter won. He wanted more play, but he was going to get something better from her tonight—her full responsibility.

  She focused on his pleading eyes. “Breathe,” she instructed and then walked behind him.

  He took in a stuttered breath.

  She pressed herself into Laurent’s back, sweat and musk seeping into her clothes, her skin. She ran her hands up his taut arm muscles but couldn’t reach the cuffs, and she didn’t want to break contact with him. “Steffan, will you?”

  Steffan rocketed out of his chair. She’d expected him to stand in from of Laurent and help her lower him, but instead, he pressed against her, his hard-on like a steel bar against her back, and flattened her into Laurent.