Page 18 of From Russia With Blood

The water Jackson gave her earlier is empty, and she’ll be needing another one. I take a nearby bottle and uncap it, quickly dumping the liquid in. With this new batch of Rohypnol, she won’t feel loopy for at least an hour. That should be enough time for aftercare and snuggles before she’s out of it.

Before leaving the play space, I toss the bottle to Tasha, giving her clear instructions on when and how to deliver it. I need to get all my ducks in a row before seeing my little masochist tonight. Too bad she won’t remember most of it, but it will be enough for me until I can truly make her my queen.

Chapter 6

Katrina

The world spins as Master Jackson lays into me with his barbaric flogger. I’m practically soaked as each strike reverberates through my body and into my core. Crying out, I thrash against the restraints. I want so desperately to come, but he keeps me on that razor edge. The flogger slices through me again before his questing fingers pluck at my clit.

Mewls of pleasure and need pour out of me as I grind against his hand. Surely I haven’t been so disrespectful that he’ll keep teasing me and not get me off again. My brain clicks about as I try to remember each of our interactions. Yes, I was sassy, but nothing I wouldn’t get away with at another club.

Heat floods my system as he pulls his hand away so he can smack my inflamed lips. Groaning, I hear and feel how wet I am as he assaults my tender skin. The burning from the ginger has lessened considerably, but with each new smack, the heat flares back to life. Glancing up, I look for Master Luka, wondering what he thinks of all of this.

Again, the image of us three intertwined plays through my brain, nearly making me come on the spot. If only Master Jackson would stop teasing me and stroke me in earnest. I’m about to beg when I feel the scrape of his body against mine as he kneels down in between my splayed legs.

Hot air washes over my skin, and I whimper, moving my hips in a silent plea. Normally oral isn’t my thing, but what little he’s already done with his tongue is making me rethink that. Perhaps Chet just didn’t know what he was doing? It was wrong of me to judge all men based on his feeble attempts to pleasure me.

Anger flashes through me as all his actions go racing through my mind like a montage. Nothing he ever did was for my pleasure. Yeah, he helped me get off, but only when I begged him. Secretly, I used that as fuel for my other needs, letting my humiliation morph into something I could work with.

I’d played with other men but never let any of them pleasure me. I was saving myself, waiting for God knows what. But turned out to be such a disappointment. Until Jackson put his lips to mine, I didn’t know anything could feel so good. I want more. I want to experience what they talk about in romance novels. I want to explode on his tongue, but no such luck.

He just kneels there, breathing, teasing my frayed nerves. “Please-.”

His tongue spears into me, sending stars shooting across my eyes. My head flops back as he licks me inside and out. I grind against his face, using his mouth for my pleasure, and he not only seems content with that lot in life, but he also seems to actively enjoy it. I can’t hear the noises he’s making, but I feel his moans against my lips, the vibration dancing along my skin.

Chet rarely went down on me. The times he did, it felt clinical, perfunctory, ho-hum. He never ate me out with even an ounce of desire. I didn’t know. How could I have? But I do now, and I’ll be damned if I ever settled for half-hearted sex again.

For the second time tonight, I explode, the violent pleasure ripping through me until I can only gasp. Master Jackson pulls back long enough to insert his fingers into me and rams them to the hilt. A scream rips from my throat, and white-hot pleasure shoots through my body. God, I can never go back to vanilla men again. Sobs wrack my body as I come again and again, his fingers relentless as they pull every bit of rapture out of me.

After what feels like an eternity, Master Jackson pulls out of me, leaving me hanging there, limp, bereft. Master Luka is nowhere to be found, and a small piercing prick of agony settles deep into my heart. It’s insane. Even as deliriously happy as I am with Master Jackson, there’s still a part of me that wants more, craves more.

It’s like a dam burst inside me, letting all my wants and desires come flooding to the surface. Shame is quick on the heels of my longing. What type of woman is willing to give up a sure thing for a could be? Besides, after this trip, it’s not like we’re all going to be a throuple or even a couple.

Tears gather behind my eyelids as Master Jackson rises up behind me. The heat of his body washes over mine as he grinds up against my ass. What is even the point of being here? What’s the point of having all this pleasure only to have it go away?

His hands are gentle as he reaches up to unhook mine, catching me as I sway. “Lean against the cross as I get your feet.”

My head is in a daze, as if nothing else exists. I force myself back into that box of uncaring, needing my heart to get with the picture. The only point of this cruise is to fuck as many men as I can before going back to my boring existence. Feelings don’t matter one fucking bit. The world sways as Master Jackson turns me around in his arms, his lips finding mine.

I can taste my arousal on his tongue as his mouth moves over mine. The slight tang is heady, and I want nothing more than to let him devour me with the same ferocity as he did down there. But he’s gentle in the way he kisses me, methodical, thoughtful, and far too intimate. That dam holding back all my longing threatens to burst once more. I don’t need gentle. I don’t need sweet.

It’s too close to what I really want. Pain, I can handle. Cold and aloof are perfect for my needs. In fact, the more of a jackass a man is, the easier it is for me to fall for him, lose myself in the unspoken promise of only for tonight. Master Jackson holding me in his arms like I’m the yin to his yang is the absolute last thing I need.

I can’t. I can’t let myself get attached or involved. He’s a man to use for my pleasure and nothing more. Pulling back, I almost miss the small flash of hurt in his eyes. Maybe he’s struggling just as much as I am. God knows I wasn’t expecting to have feelings for the first man to take me in hand, but there’s something about him that calls to me.

There’s a dark longing slithering under his skin that pulsates with every touch between us. It’s electric. I run my palms against his arms, giving in for just a few moments. I can pretend that we’re together, even if it’s only for tonight, this week, or the next two weeks. If Cinderella can drag herself away from her Prince Charming, then so can I.

Shoving that thought to the very back, I fall to my knees, my fingers working at his belt. Whatever I saw disappears the moment my hands touch his cock. The moans he makes as I slide my fist up and down are decadent. I study his member in the soft light, and it pulses under my touch. Definitely bigger than Chet. With all his claims of prowess, our first time together barely hurt.

Back then, I thought it was because he knew what he was doing, but looking at this fine specimen before me, I know now it’s because I could barely feel Chet’s small dick. For those who say size doesn’t matter, they’ve never been pounded into oblivion by a cock of the gods.

There were times Chet would put me in a new position, and things felt exhilarating for the duration, but then it was like he knew how good it felt and wouldn’t go back there for weeks or months. Saliva pools in my mouth as I run my fingertip along his length, and I can’t wait to have him inside me, whichever way I can.

Opening wide, I bend at the waist and start to slide down. My jaw aches as I keep my teeth away from his sensitive skin, but I swallow any feelings or sounds of discomfort. I’ll never complain about oral when the cock in question is this magnificent. I swirl my tongue around his head, lapping up the bead of precum and groan.

Where Chet had more of a clinical smell and simply horrid taste, Master Jackson tastes bitter with an acrid hint of salty. Nothing at all alike. Sighing, I continue to work him over, listening for his moans to alert me to what he’s liking and not liking. His fingers fist in my hair, tugging at my scalp as he guides me into a faster rhythm.

Tears slide down my face as he shoves his way in, hitting my gag reflex. Unable to help myself, I convulse around his cock, but that doesn’t bother him at all. If anything, he renews his efforts and thrusts in even deeper until the crisp hairs of his abdomen tickle my nose. Glancing up, I see the raw need in his eyes as he grips my hair even tighter.