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Of course, he’d have to properly prep Callie in advance. While she was a good girl now, bringing other people into the mix definitely amped up the game. She had to understand—to truly believe—that he would kill her if she tried anything stupid. And, he’d keep her mouth duct taped the whole time, as an added precaution.
The thrill of the added risk made him come alive. Yes! He would do it.
“Would you like to try it?” Master Wolf said, yanking Damon back to the moment.
Damon moved closer to the couple, excitement fizzing through him. “Sure.”
“It doesn’t take much,” Master Wolf said. “The scalpel is very sharp. You really just touch the skin with the blade—a whisper of a touch.”
Pushing up the sleeve of his black knit shirt, Master Wolf exposed his muscular forearm. “Try it on me, first, so I make sure you know what you’re doing. Just the lightest kiss of the blade.” He demonstrated, touching the scalpel to his own skin. A few droplets of blood appeared along an invisible cut.
Damon regarded the man’s hairy arm with distaste, but he managed to keep his expression neutral. “All right,” he agreed, flashing a smile to Greta as Master Wolf handed him the scalpel. “I think I’ve got it.” She smiled back.
He touched the sharp blade to the man’s skin. In spite of it being a guy, the sight of blood that he, Damon, had purposely drawn thrilled him.
Master Wolf winced slightly as he dabbed at the cut with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. “That was a little too hard. Try it again, with a lighter touch.”
Damon complied, barely touching the skin with the blade. This time the blood beaded as it had on Greta’s skin, just a few tantalizing droplets.
“Much better,” Master Wolf said with a condescending smile that infuriated Damon. The guy obviously had no idea who he was dealing with. “Now, you may try it on my darling Greta. If that works for you, Liebchen?” he added solicitously to his partner.
“Ja, bitte,” Greta replied eagerly. She said something else in German Damon didn’t catch.
Master Wolf smiled indulgently. “She says you look like Alexander Fehling, her favorite German actor, only better. That’s high praise indeed.”
This mollified Damon a bit. Though Greta was a little old for his taste, he still wouldn’t mind fucking the shit out of her, especially while her so-called Master stood by watching.
He made a mental note to look up Alexander What’s-his-name on Google. He liked being compared to a movie star, even one he’d never heard of.
He moved closer to the naked woman, his balls tightening with excitement. Heart beating fast, he grazed her breast with the scalpel’s edge, just to the left of a perfect nipple. More blood beaded along her skin, making Damon’s cock throb.
She moaned, fixing him with a sluttish gaze as she ran her tongue over her lower lip. Master Wolf didn’t seem to mind a bit that his slave was so openly flirting. Who knew, maybe they were into swinging. That could be interesting…
He handed the scalpel back to Master Wolf, his entire body thrumming with excitement. If only he’d brought Callie along. Then he could have shown these two how domination really worked.
Damn it, he was tired of being so careful. What was life without risk, after all? It seemed a terrible waste not to show off his toy, at least once, before he had to get rid of her.
Even as he continued his silent argument in his head, he already knew he was going to do it. This awareness sent a jolt of adrenaline through his system that was almost as good as a snort of fine cocaine. It was all he could do to keep his voice steady, his tone nonchalant.
“Say,” he said casually, as if the idea were just occurring to him. “How about you two come back to my place one evening soon? I’ve got a highly-trained slave girl at home I would love for you to meet.”Chapter 17Callie’s eyes flew open as the light was switched on overhead. A moment later, Damon sat heavily on the bed bedside her, still dressed in the white silk shirt and black leather pants he’d put on before leaving the house earlier that evening.
He’d allowed her the special treat of lying in his bed while he was gone, instead of forcing her into the cage. Even better, he hadn’t trussed her up at the foot of the mattress, swaddled by a sheet. Instead, she was resting in reasonable comfort on her back, her head cradled by a mound of soft pillows.
True, he’d forced her to spread her arms and legs wide so he could tie off her wrist and ankle cuffs with rope, which he’d secured to the bedframe. But it was way better than being confined in the cage, or worse—the dark, dank punishment closet.
