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The snap of the whip’s impact came so fast I flinched in surprise. Lucas released a low groan, his hands flexing and clenching.
“Thank you, sir. Another, please.”
The crop snapped again, but the impact was different. A high-pitched gasp burst out of him as Manson laughed softly and said, “Aw, did I get your balls with that one? Sounds like it hurt.”
“Fucking hell...thank you, sir,” Lucas gasped like he was drowning. The tremor that went through him made the whole mattress shake.
A finger traced down my spine. “Your turn, angel.” The stiff leather tapped lightly against my ass. “Are you ready?”
Nodding, I tried to brace myself for the impact. But Manson didn’t strike right away; he waited, and paced some more. When my guard slipped for a moment and I readjusted myself, that was when he whipped the crop down.
It stung, a sharp biting impact across my back. Then it came again, on my thighs. Then again, across my butt.
My words of thanks were garbled by the gag. Manson kissed my shoulder, right where my skin stung from the lash. “You look beautiful when you suffer for me.” He pressed two fingers inside me, my arousal making his fingers slick. “That’s what I like to feel, angel. You’re so wet for me.”
Leaning heavily against the bed, I lost myself in that perfect feeling of his fingers plunging into me.
“If you want pleasure, then it’s going to hurt,” he said, his body warm and heavy as he pressed against my back.
When his fingers withdrew, I held my breath. The crop whipped down again, but the pain was pleasure and I shivered all over. Then came a familiar metallic sound, and Manson came close again. But it wasn’t his fingers that rubbed over my clit. The thing that touched me was hard metal, and slightly cold.
“Do you remember this feeling?” he said. I did. I could never forget the sensation of his knife handle touching me, rubbing me, probing me. When he’d fucked me with that knife at the Halloween party all those years ago, I’d been so shocked at myself for liking it.
Now? None of my desires shocked me anymore. I liked extreme pleasure, I liked pain, I liked every new and unusual sensation between.
Manson probed the handle into me. Leaning forward, I rested my head against the mattress as I zoned out, lost in a stupor of sensation. Lucas was watching me with a rapt, starving expression. His hands were clenched into fists, and I whimpered his name, but the gag made it impossible to understand.
He understood anyway, because he cursed under his breath and determinedly turned his face to stare dead ahead.
“Lucas doesn’t like watching as much as I do,” Manson said, so damn conversational while I was falling apart. “Drives him wild that he can’t touch. Can’t bite.” He shot a self-indulgent smile over at Lucas. “Self-control is hard, isn’t it?”
Withdrawing the knife and leaving me quivering, Manson held it up in front of Lucas’s muzzled face. “You see how wet she is? Her pussy feels so fucking good.”
Manson reached over, dipping his fingers into me again. Then, using my arousal like a lubricant, he slowly pressed a finger inside Lucas. “She’s so slick, isn’t she?” he said; his expression almost maniacally pleased as Lucas bent over the mattress. His jaw was clenched tightly within the muzzle, as if he was struggling to keep his noises inside.
Did having me there make it harder to submit? Did it tear him between wanting to maintain his vicious persona, and wanting to be a good boy for Manson?
“Do you want to fuck her?” Manson said.
Lucas nodded quickly, then winced in pain and said, “Yes, sir. I do.”
“You’re going to have to earn it.”
Manson braced his hand against the back of Lucas’s neck, pinning him bent over the bed. He fingered him until Lucas’s cock was twitching, pressed into the side of the mattress, dripping with need. It was so difficult to wait for my turn; it was sheer torture to listen to Lucas’s desperate sounds and not touch myself.
When Manson climbed up on the bed, he dragged Lucas with him. Manson straddled him on the mattress, his knife in one hand as he grasped Lucas’s cock with the other. He didn’t stroke him; he didn’t even squeeze hard. But Lucas’s entire body twitched, his eyes fluttered closed and hegroaned. The sound was fraught with desire and his hips bucked up, desperate little pleas dropping from his lips.
“Manson,please, fucking please, just —”
He went rigidly still when Manson tapped the cold, sharp tip of the blade against his cock.
“Jess.” Manson’s voice instantly commanded my attention. “You may remove your gag.” He tapped the blade again as I obeyed, his fingers squeezing and slowly stroking along Lucas’s shaft. Working the stiffness out of my jaw, I respectfully set the gag on the bedside table before I returned to my position. Manson was nodding in approval, his thumb rubbing a slow, teasing circle over Lucas’s head. “Who does this cock belong to?”
“To you, Master,” I said quickly.
Manson smiled. “That’s right. Good girl.” I got such a rush of endorphins at that simple declaration. “See, pup? She understands. She gets how it works, although it admittedly took a while to get it through her thick little head. You...belong...to me.” He tapped the blade to punctuate his words, and Lucas flinched with every touch.
Lucas’s breath was coming in quick, deep gasps. “I’m yours, sir,” he said, whispering it like a prayer. “Don’t let me forget...don’t...”
