a restraint of a similar make at the base of his cock, the spikes pressing into his scrotum, a state that could get much worse if Marguerite chose to yank.
36
Natural Law
However, Violet knew Marguerite was rarely cruel, though she made her slaves submit to many things, like this, that made them vulnerable to the possibility of much greater pain. She could establish a level of trust with her one-night subs that many Mistresses could not achieve in months with a regular partner. Violet suspected it had to do with the absolute command that poured off of her, like the aura of an all-powerful Goddess. The long blond hair was almost pure white and tied back on her shoulders, the clear blue eyes as direct and penetrating as that of a Saxon deity.
Marguerite, while friendly with all of them, did not welcome camaraderie. She was soft-spoken and helpful, would welcome observers to her sessions with a sub, but there was much about her clearly posted with “do not trespass” signs. She came every Tuesday night. No more, no less, staying exactly two hours. Picked out a sub, a different one every time, and for those two hours used him in a way that apparently helped her deal with whatever darkness lay within her. Whoever or whatever she was outside The Zone walls, Violet expected it was a very different person than who she was within them.
“It would be fun for you to watch as well.” Kiera was still making sly suggestions.
Violet pulled her attention away from the attractive slave on the floor, with his stiff cock in its cruel restraint and his eyes directed toward the floor. Marguerite caressed his hair with tenderness, her expression quiet, tranquil.
In contrast, Violet wasn’t sure if ‘fun’ or ‘tranquil’ would describe the way the twins operated. While watching the two of them work was undeniably a visual orgasm, Violet preferred her mastery in the area of emotions, not the realm of pain. She had seen T & K
take a sub to the limit of both and beyond. It was disturbing, and yet so potent it felt like witnessing a sacred ceremony. Or a session in a Baghdad torture chamber.
She realized suddenly that, if they knew he was in the room, then he had left the ceiling screen open. He had not done anything to protect himself, a message that he was leaving himself open to her desires. She nodded to the others, closed her hand on the doorknob, took another steadying breath. She’d kept him, and herself, waiting long enough.
“Enjoy, flower girl,” Tamara’s chuckle caressed her spine as Violet turned the latch, stepped into the room.
* * * * *
Mac kept his head lowered as the door opened, but it was difficult, particularly when that lavender and vanilla scent wafted into the room, tightening his cock in the harness instantly, painfully, increasing it with every step she made across the wood floor. She was wearing a dress again, he could hear the rustle of the soft fabric, and he saw the shadow cast by the light, but she wasn’t close enough to show him what shoes were making that crisp tap against the slick finished wood.
37
Joey W. Hill
His back and legs ached from maintaining the straight-up kneeling position; her punishment, he was sure, for his behavior last night. He hadn’t moved an inch, had left the ceiling clear so anyone she asked could tell her, so she’d see he could take anything she’d dish out. His shoulders throbbed from keeping his hands laced behind his head for the entire time.
The whir of gears and a flicker of shadows told him she was closing the screen, making it just the two of them again, and he stifled the sense of relief.
“You’ve done well. I’m pleased. You may lower your hands to the floor, knuckles flat on the wood, please.”
Her voice, soft velvet, told him she was indeed pleased with him, and his heart tipped in his chest, ridiculously. She was coming back toward him. Tap. Tap. Pause.
“Keep your head down.”
He obeyed, but his muscles trembled with the effort as her
36
Natural Law
However, Violet knew Marguerite was rarely cruel, though she made her slaves submit to many things, like this, that made them vulnerable to the possibility of much greater pain. She could establish a level of trust with her one-night subs that many Mistresses could not achieve in months with a regular partner. Violet suspected it had to do with the absolute command that poured off of her, like the aura of an all-powerful Goddess. The long blond hair was almost pure white and tied back on her shoulders, the clear blue eyes as direct and penetrating as that of a Saxon deity.
Marguerite, while friendly with all of them, did not welcome camaraderie. She was soft-spoken and helpful, would welcome observers to her sessions with a sub, but there was much about her clearly posted with “do not trespass” signs. She came every Tuesday night. No more, no less, staying exactly two hours. Picked out a sub, a different one every time, and for those two hours used him in a way that apparently helped her deal with whatever darkness lay within her. Whoever or whatever she was outside The Zone walls, Violet expected it was a very different person than who she was within them.
“It would be fun for you to watch as well.” Kiera was still making sly suggestions.
Violet pulled her attention away from the attractive slave on the floor, with his stiff cock in its cruel restraint and his eyes directed toward the floor. Marguerite caressed his hair with tenderness, her expression quiet, tranquil.
In contrast, Violet wasn’t sure if ‘fun’ or ‘tranquil’ would describe the way the twins operated. While watching the two of them work was undeniably a visual orgasm, Violet preferred her mastery in the area of emotions, not the realm of pain. She had seen T & K
take a sub to the limit of both and beyond. It was disturbing, and yet so potent it felt like witnessing a sacred ceremony. Or a session in a Baghdad torture chamber.
She realized suddenly that, if they knew he was in the room, then he had left the ceiling screen open. He had not done anything to protect himself, a message that he was leaving himself open to her desires. She nodded to the others, closed her hand on the doorknob, took another steadying breath. She’d kept him, and herself, waiting long enough.
“Enjoy, flower girl,” Tamara’s chuckle caressed her spine as Violet turned the latch, stepped into the room.
* * * * *
Mac kept his head lowered as the door opened, but it was difficult, particularly when that lavender and vanilla scent wafted into the room, tightening his cock in the harness instantly, painfully, increasing it with every step she made across the wood floor. She was wearing a dress again, he could hear the rustle of the soft fabric, and he saw the shadow cast by the light, but she wasn’t close enough to show him what shoes were making that crisp tap against the slick finished wood.
37
Joey W. Hill
His back and legs ached from maintaining the straight-up kneeling position; her punishment, he was sure, for his behavior last night. He hadn’t moved an inch, had left the ceiling clear so anyone she asked could tell her, so she’d see he could take anything she’d dish out. His shoulders throbbed from keeping his hands laced behind his head for the entire time.
The whir of gears and a flicker of shadows told him she was closing the screen, making it just the two of them again, and he stifled the sense of relief.
“You’ve done well. I’m pleased. You may lower your hands to the floor, knuckles flat on the wood, please.”
Her voice, soft velvet, told him she was indeed pleased with him, and his heart tipped in his chest, ridiculously. She was coming back toward him. Tap. Tap. Pause.
“Keep your head down.”
He obeyed, but his muscles trembled with the effort as her
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