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Strip him of all his clothes, oill him down. " Her gaze watched the muscles knot across his tanned shoulders, in response to her silky words.
"I really, really like her," Marcus sighed happily.
"Turn around on your knees, Josh. Raise your eyes, and look at me," she said.
He did, and he did not look as pleased as Marcus sounded. Lauren turned, walked toward the dressing room. She undid her swimsuit, letting it fall to the floor, and then turned, a Betty Gable pose, just giving him a hint of profile.
"Will you obey me, Josh?" she asked. "All you have to do. . . " she raised a hand, cupped her breast and stroked its curve idly. "Is say. . . no. "
His nostrils flared, as if he caught the scent of her from across the room. "I'll obey," he managed roughly.
"But I'd rather throw you to the floor, spread your legs wide and fuck you until you lose consciousness. "
She nodded, keeping her expression unruffled, though need tightened like a fist in her gut at the dark intent in those gray eyes. "Maybe you'll get that chance. . . if you're good. " She smiled. "Or maybe, if you're bad. "
She surprised a grin out of him. It eased the tension in his shoulders, and that reassured her. The stress would come back, she knew, as soon as Marcus started following her instructions. She sensed something dangerous down in this dungeon. The setting was almost too perfect; too open to pushing past hard limits, and she hardly knew his soft ones.
She put her hand on the dressing room door, then stopped, turned back. "Marcus?"
Josh had just shed the shorts, and he was naked, vulnerable and beautiful, his back to her. She wanted to go kiss the soft skin between his shoulder blades, run her hand over the small of his back, smack that taut buttock. All in good time. Down, girl.
"Yes, dear lady?" From Marcus's amused expression, Lauren decided he was repeating the question.
"I want him blindfolded. A full head mask, if they've got one. Ears, nose and mouth open. "
She closed the door again on his nod, ignoring the alarm in Josh's face.
Chapter 16
"Keep your eye on the ball, girl," she told herself, repeated it in her mind, tried not to let the pain and worry in those beautiful gray eyes unbalance her, deflect her from her intent.
Marcus had told her the purpose of the two rooms, how one was marked for Mrs. Salerno and one for Mr. Salerno, but she had not gone into either costume room when she first came into the dungeon. Now her jaw dropped in shock and sheer admiration for the quantity of choices. There was everything from queen to jungle girl, gun moll to waitress. She wondered if the Salernos ever left it to chance, each going into their respective costume room to choose, emerging to the fun of coming up with scenarios that meshed unlikely pairings such as Queen with rock star, or waitress with overseer.
She turned and surveyed with quiet delight a wall of toys, including a selection of whips, supple and gleaming with regular waxing. She wondered if that was one of Josh's jobs; he and Marcus had seemed to know where the room was well enough. The variety of mechanisms, from the carousel horse to the automated suspension system, would certainly require regular repair and maintenance to ensure the machinery ran smoothly.
She picked out a handmade braided whip, with an extended handle to increase control and accuracy.
Silver rings worked into the seven-foot length gave it a liquid movement when she rolled it out. The balance was near to perfect for her, suggesting the whip had been custom made for Mrs. Salerno. A popper of a half dozen thin strips had been tied into the eyeloop at the end, and though the strips were soft to the touch, they were thin and resilient enough to deliver quite a sting. She ran her hands over the instrument and imagined Josh's long fingered hands waxing the plaited surface, rubbing, his brow creased in concentration, his soft hair falling over his forehead and along the curve of his neck, the smooth muscle in his biceps rolling with his movements.
She was stroking the whip as if she was stroking him, and she stopped herself, surprised at the erratic tempo of her pulse, the pounding of her heart. How could he have affected her like this so quickly? But she knew. She knew when she saw his statue in the courtyard.
She experimented with a few flicks, getting used to the feel. She had told Marcus and Josh that once D/s was in the blood, it was hard to shake. When she had been recovering from Jonathan's cruelty, sure that she needed to break her unhealthy addiction to the lifestyle, she had decided to invest in a nicotine patch, so to speak. She had taken bullwhip lessons from an expert who worked at one of the clubs. Her grandmother had always said that to get out of funk, try something different. Lauren was sure her grandmother never imagined the advice applying to her daughter's colorful sex life.
Under John's tutelage, she had gotten quite skillful with the bullwhip. They practiced at his home; in a barn he had converted into a playroom, though it was not so elaborate as the Salerno's. One evening, a young man showed up, one of the subs who waited tables at the club. He was also a staff "Slave" that could be rented by the hour by Doms, if the staffperson felt comfortable with it. He made a good pretense of having just dropped by John's for a beer, but from the stillness in his eyes, and the shortness of her own breath when she looked at him, they had all known it was a lie. John talked her into taking a passing "test", practicing on a live subject. The boy had smiled at her as John spreadeagled and cuffed him.
She had the boy sweating and painfully aroused after ten minutes, with tiny red marks striping his raised arms, straining buttocks, and quivering inner thighs. She had celebrated her graduation with a cold shower, a long session with the detachable multi-setting head, and a hard cry.
The idea of Josh belonging to her, submitting to her so that she could bring him to peak after peak of pleasure, could hear him groan her name, beg for release and then come back for more. . . she trembled to think of it, and her palms were not the only part of her body with moist crevices at the thought. A man who would submit to her desires as willingly as Josh was a heady aphrodisiac.
That was just part of it, though. The emotions she felt for him were not just interwoven with her physical desires. The physical desire was like a clutched fist of need, trying to grasp something that would last beyond the last vibration of the orgasm. She not only wanted to play with the lion; she wanted to take him home and keep him.
Enough. She shook herself out of pointless reflection. There were other toys on the wall to examine, and she had to get dressed. There was a fine line between building his anticipation and making him wait so long he fell asleep.
Chuckling at herself, she turned to the racks of clothes.
* * * * *
Her heels were sharp on the ceramic mosaic tile as she opened the door of the costume room. She leaned in the doorway a moment, flicking the whip idly around her feet, letting it make mysterious whispering noises against the flagstones. She felt the Goddess take possession of her soul, equally capable of cruelty or mercy.
