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Authors: Katelyn Skye
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Her uplifted breasts rubbed against the silk of his shirt, exciting her further. “You are going to learn to trust me tonight,” he whispered then captured her mouth with his in a blazing kiss. His hands pressed into her ramrod straight back and his leather pants rubbed against the thin strip of her pubic hair. That kiss of leather was just as erotic and sensual as she had imagined it would be, even more so.
His thigh came up, between her legs and she rubbed against it, grinding along the hard length of his muscle and that supple material but not for long.
Darien pulled away and helped her into her stockings then her shoes. Overcome with shyness she stood at the door as he walked out of it, her hands pressed together below her waist.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
“Why not?”
“I’m afraid that someone will…”
“Nobody will hurt you. They will have to go through me. They won’t touch you either, you belong to me and if they touch my most prized possession they will lose a hand.”
Her heart galloped in her chest and her face heated. The words caused a primal and visceral reaction in her that staggered her.
She thought she would be angry. She had never allowed any man to possess her, for any reason. She knew the cost of that far too well. The idea of being Darien’s however, made her feel whole and complete for the first time in her life. She wanted to belong to him, wanted it so badly.
To be his she would have to please him, she knew that instinctively, just as she knew that whatever was going to happen it would be a test, for both of them. She took a long breath to steady herself and moved to the doorway.
**
The blue room was a long low dungeon decorated in black and red velvets, silks, satins and leathers. The chandeliers glowed above them and Lolita, aware of the interested and approving stares directed at her nearly naked body clung to Darien. His hand swallowed hers and imparted warmth, and confidence but did little to allay her fear.
“Why do they call it the blue room?”
“Madame has a sense of humor.”
She got it then and a grin canted her lips upward but that smile died when he stopped in front of a large wooden St. Andrews cross with leather padding and manacles attached to its upper and lower points.
A woman in a black silk mask and nothing else appeared, holding out a long and terrifying coil of leather, a snake whip that danced sinuously in Darien’s hands when he took it from her.
He whispered, “Trust me,” into Lolita’s ears then placed her on the cross, snapping the manacles securely into place.
The cold steel closed around her wrists and ankles. She stared at the leather and the grain of the wood; dread and nervousness making her limbs tremble violently. There was a snick that made her go stiff; she knew the sound of a knife opening when she heard it.
The corset laces fell open below the sharp blade’s press and she stood there, in front of the crowd, wearing nothing but the stockings and the stilettos. He stepped back, and whispered, “Trust me sweetling” and then the whip cracked.
She screamed, fighting the bonds, realizing only after it was too late that the whip had never touched her. Feeling foolish she sagged against the cross and relaxed just slightly.
A light kiss brushed her shoulder, then the other. It startled her and she jerked but it came again, this time it brushed her hair back and forth and it dawned on her that it was the whip gently caressing her.
The proof of his skill made her relax even further, she stopped fighting the bondage and stopped thinking about the spectators, the pain that the whip could bring, everything. She simply let go and Darien began to vary his swings, landing mild strokes on her ass, the back of her thighs and calves and then traveling back up the entire length of his body. Some strikes were horizontal, other times he swung in a side-to-side motion that caught her left then right side in perfectly symmetrical hits.
The
His thigh came up, between her legs and she rubbed against it, grinding along the hard length of his muscle and that supple material but not for long.
Darien pulled away and helped her into her stockings then her shoes. Overcome with shyness she stood at the door as he walked out of it, her hands pressed together below her waist.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
“Why not?”
“I’m afraid that someone will…”
“Nobody will hurt you. They will have to go through me. They won’t touch you either, you belong to me and if they touch my most prized possession they will lose a hand.”
Her heart galloped in her chest and her face heated. The words caused a primal and visceral reaction in her that staggered her.
She thought she would be angry. She had never allowed any man to possess her, for any reason. She knew the cost of that far too well. The idea of being Darien’s however, made her feel whole and complete for the first time in her life. She wanted to belong to him, wanted it so badly.
To be his she would have to please him, she knew that instinctively, just as she knew that whatever was going to happen it would be a test, for both of them. She took a long breath to steady herself and moved to the doorway.
**
The blue room was a long low dungeon decorated in black and red velvets, silks, satins and leathers. The chandeliers glowed above them and Lolita, aware of the interested and approving stares directed at her nearly naked body clung to Darien. His hand swallowed hers and imparted warmth, and confidence but did little to allay her fear.
“Why do they call it the blue room?”
“Madame has a sense of humor.”
She got it then and a grin canted her lips upward but that smile died when he stopped in front of a large wooden St. Andrews cross with leather padding and manacles attached to its upper and lower points.
A woman in a black silk mask and nothing else appeared, holding out a long and terrifying coil of leather, a snake whip that danced sinuously in Darien’s hands when he took it from her.
He whispered, “Trust me,” into Lolita’s ears then placed her on the cross, snapping the manacles securely into place.
The cold steel closed around her wrists and ankles. She stared at the leather and the grain of the wood; dread and nervousness making her limbs tremble violently. There was a snick that made her go stiff; she knew the sound of a knife opening when she heard it.
The corset laces fell open below the sharp blade’s press and she stood there, in front of the crowd, wearing nothing but the stockings and the stilettos. He stepped back, and whispered, “Trust me sweetling” and then the whip cracked.
She screamed, fighting the bonds, realizing only after it was too late that the whip had never touched her. Feeling foolish she sagged against the cross and relaxed just slightly.
A light kiss brushed her shoulder, then the other. It startled her and she jerked but it came again, this time it brushed her hair back and forth and it dawned on her that it was the whip gently caressing her.
The proof of his skill made her relax even further, she stopped fighting the bondage and stopped thinking about the spectators, the pain that the whip could bring, everything. She simply let go and Darien began to vary his swings, landing mild strokes on her ass, the back of her thighs and calves and then traveling back up the entire length of his body. Some strikes were horizontal, other times he swung in a side-to-side motion that caught her left then right side in perfectly symmetrical hits.
The
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