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Authors: Joey W. Hill
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movements.
“Wait,” he said, but Ella was already going up on her toes to kiss his mouth. It distracted him enough that she used that moment to take the ball gag from behind her back. In a deft movement, she slid it in, replacing her tongue. He thrashed, but it was already buckled around his head. Charlene, behind him, cinched it tight so it dug into the corners of his mouth, a relentless bit for a headstrong stallion.
“Taking care of that troublesome mouth of yours, Gideon,” Anwyn murmured.
“Didn’t seem to bother you much earlier,” Madelyn commented.
Anwyn had an amiable retort for that, but she saved it, because he’d reached the red zone. He hadn’t expected this degree of restraint, and now he knew just how caught he was. He snarled and jerked, flinched as he forgot his cock and balls were fastened to a ring in the floor. When Ella put the blindfold over his eyes, taking away sight as well as voice, his low-level growling turned into a desperate roar around the gag.
“He’s all yours,” Madelyn said. “Don’t know if you’re lucky or a fool, but watch your step either way. There’s such a thing as pushing a man too far.”
“Mmm.” They both turned as another staff member slipped in, bringing Anwyn the long-sleeved, formfitting stretch top Madelyn had requested over her headset as she administered the first aid. As Anwyn donned it, she knew Madelyn was right. She also knew the most delicious point of pleasure clung to the edge of going too far, that hovering line where pain and pleasure balanced, and the mind surrendered. She was better at finding it than anyone, maybe because she’d had to find it to save her own soul.
She wondered if she could help Gideon save his.
That bitch. Conniving, manipulative, let-me-the-fuck-go-now bitch.
His breathing was like a hurricane in his ears, blindfolded and gagged as he was. Everything told him to go postal, to rip the chains from the walls. The three rings on his cock were snug, disturbing and arousing at once, as if someone had metal fingers wrapped tight around it. But the collar, feeling that restraint as he tried to move his head, was the most disturbing thing of all. What the hell had he been thinking? He knew he couldn’t handle being trapped like this.
He’d been caught twice by vampires, and in both instances had had the good fortune—or misfortune—of them trying to torment him instead of killing him outright. So he’d had to learn to keep his wits about him when restrained, boxed in. But he was in a different mind-set tonight. This wasn’t about vampires. She’d raked those sharp, razor-laden nails over his defenses, shredded them so he wasn’t sure what to do or be in this situation.
Normally, he was fine with the fury that could erupt from him. It was a deadly tool he could use against his enemies. But Mistress Queen Bitch was a mortal woman, and he could hurt her. He reminded himself of that, but it was lost in the red haze. The restraints had become the suffocating walls of a coffin, his lack of ability to see or speak increasing the sense of claustrophobia. He’d shaken off the soft, female bodies pressing against him, snarling and spitting at them, letting them know he was no longer playing along, and they’d retreated. Were they still here? He needed to calm down, listen, try to get a grip, rather than turn into a berserker who would do something irreparably stupid.
“You aren’t in control right now.” Her voice, only a few feet away, had him stiffening. He hadn’t even heard her. Was she still wearing the heels? “You need to accept that. I have all the control. All the decisions to be made are mine.”
Yeah, she was still in the heels. That hollow tap , tap came across the tile, a rhythm that easily brought to mind how her hips swung with the help of those fuck-me-blind shoes. She was sauntering, the bitch. He couldn’t talk. He needed to talk.
When her palm slid over his slick shoulder, he jerked, but it was
“Wait,” he said, but Ella was already going up on her toes to kiss his mouth. It distracted him enough that she used that moment to take the ball gag from behind her back. In a deft movement, she slid it in, replacing her tongue. He thrashed, but it was already buckled around his head. Charlene, behind him, cinched it tight so it dug into the corners of his mouth, a relentless bit for a headstrong stallion.
“Taking care of that troublesome mouth of yours, Gideon,” Anwyn murmured.
“Didn’t seem to bother you much earlier,” Madelyn commented.
Anwyn had an amiable retort for that, but she saved it, because he’d reached the red zone. He hadn’t expected this degree of restraint, and now he knew just how caught he was. He snarled and jerked, flinched as he forgot his cock and balls were fastened to a ring in the floor. When Ella put the blindfold over his eyes, taking away sight as well as voice, his low-level growling turned into a desperate roar around the gag.
“He’s all yours,” Madelyn said. “Don’t know if you’re lucky or a fool, but watch your step either way. There’s such a thing as pushing a man too far.”
“Mmm.” They both turned as another staff member slipped in, bringing Anwyn the long-sleeved, formfitting stretch top Madelyn had requested over her headset as she administered the first aid. As Anwyn donned it, she knew Madelyn was right. She also knew the most delicious point of pleasure clung to the edge of going too far, that hovering line where pain and pleasure balanced, and the mind surrendered. She was better at finding it than anyone, maybe because she’d had to find it to save her own soul.
She wondered if she could help Gideon save his.
That bitch. Conniving, manipulative, let-me-the-fuck-go-now bitch.
His breathing was like a hurricane in his ears, blindfolded and gagged as he was. Everything told him to go postal, to rip the chains from the walls. The three rings on his cock were snug, disturbing and arousing at once, as if someone had metal fingers wrapped tight around it. But the collar, feeling that restraint as he tried to move his head, was the most disturbing thing of all. What the hell had he been thinking? He knew he couldn’t handle being trapped like this.
He’d been caught twice by vampires, and in both instances had had the good fortune—or misfortune—of them trying to torment him instead of killing him outright. So he’d had to learn to keep his wits about him when restrained, boxed in. But he was in a different mind-set tonight. This wasn’t about vampires. She’d raked those sharp, razor-laden nails over his defenses, shredded them so he wasn’t sure what to do or be in this situation.
Normally, he was fine with the fury that could erupt from him. It was a deadly tool he could use against his enemies. But Mistress Queen Bitch was a mortal woman, and he could hurt her. He reminded himself of that, but it was lost in the red haze. The restraints had become the suffocating walls of a coffin, his lack of ability to see or speak increasing the sense of claustrophobia. He’d shaken off the soft, female bodies pressing against him, snarling and spitting at them, letting them know he was no longer playing along, and they’d retreated. Were they still here? He needed to calm down, listen, try to get a grip, rather than turn into a berserker who would do something irreparably stupid.
“You aren’t in control right now.” Her voice, only a few feet away, had him stiffening. He hadn’t even heard her. Was she still wearing the heels? “You need to accept that. I have all the control. All the decisions to be made are mine.”
Yeah, she was still in the heels. That hollow tap , tap came across the tile, a rhythm that easily brought to mind how her hips swung with the help of those fuck-me-blind shoes. She was sauntering, the bitch. He couldn’t talk. He needed to talk.
When her palm slid over his slick shoulder, he jerked, but it was
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