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His jaw relaxed, those fathomless eyes flickering. "All right then," he murmured. "What would you wear for me? For yourself, to make yourself feel beautiful, seductive, capable of bringing even a Master to his knees? Bringing this Master to his knees."
That did steal her breath. But she responded. "Nothing but a T-shirt like this and a thong. All cotton. I think you'd like that best."
When she saw the curve of Troy's lips, pleasure surged through her. She must have guessed correctly. She also learned that Logan's brown eyes transformed to a tawny hue, the more aroused he became. Obeying some instinct of her own--and the unspoken message of his intense regard--she swept her own gaze down.
"You're doing a hell of a job distracting me from training Troy."
"You were the one who asked the question," she pointed out.
He snorted. "Keep that up, and Troy won't be the only one who gets his ass blistered tonight."
He slid between them, giving her hair a tug. She imagined him bending her over one of his beautiful carved benches, blistering her ass with hand or paddle and then ramming into her, holding on to her hair as he thrusted.
It was a full-blown, no-holds-barred domination fantasy. She closed her eyes, scrambling for some type of sanity, some type of anchor. But her mind refused. It wanted her to stay right here, and it made her open her eyes.
He'd turned toward Troy. There was enough space for him between their bodies, but with one more step she'd be up against him. She wanted to put her cheek against his back, see if his heart was thundering the way hers was. Only his display of a Master's authority and her own fear kept her in place, though the former ironically made her long to do it even more. As if she was seeking that punishment.
He did the same upper-body harness on Troy, only he took it lower. When Logan moved behind Troy, no longer obscuring her view of his front, her eyes widened. The rope wrapped around the base of his cock and looped his testicles, the two ends passing between his thighs and disappearing around back, loose enough there was a small space between his balls and the slack. Troy adjusted at his Master's grunt, spreading his thighs wider. When that slack disappeared, Troy's jaw snapped closed and his cock jumped. Every muscle in his body stiffened, as if he battled an irresistible need to move.
"I'm putting knots in the rope and running the line of them along the crack of his ass," Logan explained to her absently, his head down as he focused on what he was doing. "One right up against the rim. Put the proper pressure there . . ." Troy grunted, body tautening further. "And the results make it impossible for him to think of anything but wanting to come. But you're not going to do that, or I'll ream your ass with a jackhammer. Got it?"
He gave the young man a slap on the buttock, hard enough Troy jumped. "Yes sir."
Constricted like her breasts, Troy's cock and testicles were an eye-catching display. His fingers flexed against the chains, the metal making tiny clinks. Semen dripped from his slit, creating a small pool on the floor. The fluid that clung to his cock head made it glisten.
"You'll be scrubbing that tarp with a toothbrush, boy."
She heard Troy's muttered oath, a groan as Logan did something else behind him. Though she couldn't see, she suspected Logan had pushed that knot deeper against his rim, was massaging it. He caught Troy's throat and shoulder in one big hand as he kept up the manipulation.
"You want to push it with me? I tie a sexy woman up in front of you and your dick gets hard, makes you think you can be a badass. I'll rip you a new one, you don't get in line right now."
Logan sounded as menacing as she'd ever heard a man be. And instead of being terrified, she was caught in that erotic stasis. His eyes were pinned on Troy and she had no doubt Troy could feel them like a blade at his throat.
"No sir. I'm sorry. Please . . ." Troy's lips stretched back, teeth baring as he fought the climax she could tell Logan was building. "I don't want to disappoint my Mistress. Or you."
"Yeah. That's better."
Logan stepped back, and Troy let out a relieved breath, swaying in his bonds. As Logan came back around Troy, she knew her pussy was as drenched as Troy's cock head. When he shifted to stand behind her, put his hands at her waist, she shivered. "You want to help me really torture him?" he said against her ear.
Pretending that she was still somehow his assistant instead of his willing victim, she nodded.
He eased her forward, as if knowing she might startle like a deer if he moved too fast. Her breasts mashed against Troy's chest. With her heeled boots giving her some extra height, that constrained cock pushed against her lower abdomen, above her mound. If she lifted onto her toes, she could rub the crotch of her jeans against it. Logan did say she could help, right?
When Logan was retrieving something else, probably more rope, she couldn't resist testing the theory. Leaning against Troy for balance, she rose on her toes to grind herself against him. Mischievous pleasure surged at the answering flash in Troy's gaze, the further constriction of his jaw. The quiver of a man's restrained lust--while his body was likewise restrained--was a heady combination. Add her own restraint to it, and it was indescribable.
Troy shifted enough to rub himself against her, a skillful stroke against her clit. She gasped as his lips firmed. Logan had warned her when he warned Troy, hadn't he? Tie a woman up in front of him, get his dick hard, and the need to re-assert himself was there. Being a submissive didn't obliterate Troy's innate male desire to conquer female flesh.
Then she gasped for another reason. The heavy leather slapper caught Troy squarely across his hindquarters. If the noise didn't tell her the impact it delivered, Troy's snarl, the flare of pain in his gaze, certainly did. Logan's hand holding the slapper clamped over Troy's shoulder, fingers digging in as he gripped Troy's hair with the other hand. He yanked his head back while the young man was still quivering from the strike. As scary as he'd been a moment ago, the words he spoke against Troy's ear were nothing less than a sure promise of violence. "She's mine, the way you're mine right now. So you don't have the fucking right to look at her, to touch her, to even have a wet dream about her, without my say-so. I'll come into your dreams and rip your dick right off, you so much as consider it. Got it?"
"Yes sir. I'm sorry, sir."
Logan kept his eyes on hers, an even more captivating lock than the chains holding Troy. "You're not sorry enough. But you will be."
"I'm sorry," Madison stammered. "Logan, it was me. I misunderstood what you told me. I--"
He moved behind her again, his hand on her shoulder. The grip was firm, but not punitive. "You've done nothing wrong, Madison. I didn't put any limits on your behavior. Only his. He's the one being trained to restrain himself at his Mistress's behest."
The easy shift to a calm tone, the squeeze of his hand, told her this was all part of it. The anger wasn't true anger, only a response calculated to have an impact on Troy. Even so, the way Logan had looked at her as he spoke to Troy, it was as if he meant every word. She's mine.
