Cherise Sinclair - The Dom’s Dungeon

She glanced toward the clothing still piled on the floor, and he shook his head, amused at her look of outrage. His little cat recovered quickly.

The wind off the Sound moistened his face as he guided her down the beach to a spot where piles of driftwood on three sides gave an illusion of privacy, and the sand hid everything else. Not that restraints would be needed tonight.

After opening his blanket on the sand, he took a seat and used a weather-smoothed log for a backrest. Smiling at her wary expression, he drew MacKensie down to sit between his legs.

She gave a muffled yelp when her sore ass hit the rough blanket, then relaxed, resting her back against his chest, his arms around her waist. It was a rare evening with no rain, and there were few places as lovely as the beach. The waves washed onto shore in a soft rhythm as lighted freighters and ferries traversed the Sound with a slow dignity. Overhead, patchy clouds drifted in front of the waning moon, creating shadows that flowed across the white sand.

Gradually the tension eased from his little sub's body.

“I've canoed on a lake at night,” she said, her voice hushed. “This is like it but more…alive.”

“Yes.” He kissed her cheek. “I'll have to take you to the ocean. Our Sound is sweet and gentle; the Pacific has more moods.” In an unhurried move, he slid his hand under the blanket and cupped a pert breast. He could feel as well as hear her sharp inhalation. His arm tightened around her waist, a quiet warning about whose body he held.

He felt the tremor run through her and the stiffening of her muscles. Her discomfort at being touched intimately by a man, even him, hadn't diminished much. He had no intention of pursuing sex now, but he needed his hands on her to read her responses and show him the way.

Most people's beliefs and responses to spanking originated in childhood. He'd start there. “I've lived close to Puget Sound all my life,” he said easily. “Where did you grow up, MacKensie?”

“Iowa. You know that,” she said. Terse answer. Not a subject she wanted to pursue.

“Ah yes, that's right. Did you grow up in that town you came from? Oak Hollow?” He'd never have detected the quickly controlled jerk if his hand hadn't rested on her breast.

“That's right.” She tried to sit up, and he pulled her back.

“Are your parents still there?”

“They died. When I was four.”

He felt as if he were Butler, pursuing an elusive mouse through the grass. “Who raised you then?”

“I went into foster care.”

She strained against his grip. Foster care might hold the key. “How were you punished in foster care, little cat?”

“Frak, that's not… I'm not going to talk about… None of your business.”

Frazzled and a little lost, and the spanking still affected her emotions. He'd counted on that. “Answer me.”

“We had time-outs.”

Well, that sounded harmless enough, except the tension buzzed through her body so fiercely, it made his hands ache. What could go wrong in a time-out? Length or location? “Send her where you didn't have to look at her,” she'd said. “Where did you have your time-outs?”

Her whole body stiffened as if he'd hit her.

Right question. “MacKensie?”

“A closet. She'd lock us in a closet,” Mac said, her voice thin and high.

“So who got spanked?”

Mac could feel Alex's body surrounding her and his hand on her breast. Yet it was as if the real MacKensie had disappeared, and he held a doll rather than a person. “Her daughter got spanked. Arlene loved her daughter.”

“Oh hell,” Alex breathed. His words startled her, as did his kiss on her cheek. His scratchy chin nuzzled her neck before he said, “You know, little cat, I could tell you that the old bitch should be shot for abusing children in her care, and that you're a bit confused when it comes to being punished because of her, but my words wouldn't make much difference. Your thinking mind might take it in, but the subconscious resists any change.”

Confused? More like totally screwed up. Between her childhood and her whoring days, her internal map of the world looked more like a jigsaw puzzle dropped on the floor. This wasn't a big revelation. And the way her stomach clenched when his hand stroked her breast just emphasized that.

“Did anyone touch you sexually when you were little?” Alex asked. His other hand slid through a gap in the blanket. She gave up holding the edges closed and grabbed his hand. Warm fingers closed on her cold ones.

“MacKensie?”

“No.” Her voice came out slightly breathless. “No one.”

“Are you going to tell me what happened twelve years ago?”

“No.” She tried to pull away again, as useless an effort as a butterfly trying to escape a hungry bird.

“All right.” He didn't sound angry, but she knew him now. He didn't give. Persistence should be his middle name. But instead of talking more, he caressed her breast. His fingers circled her nipple, and she could actually feel the tiny muscles in the areola bunching in response to his knowledgeable touch. He moved to the other breast, and as if the two were joined by a wire, they both soon ached.

“Alex, I want to go now. I'm tired.”

He pinched her nipple hard enough to make her jerk, and yet the sizzle went straight to her clit. Her pussy started to burn. “Don't lie to me, pet. I prefer a refusal to a lie, but right now, I'll accept neither. I've had a long evening, and I intend to play with my sub a little.”

Play with me? A chill crawled up her spine, putting out the heat as if ice water had been dumped on it.

“Yes, play with you,” he said, startling her. She hadn't realized she'd spoken. “Don't worry, pet. My cock will stay where it is unless you jump on it. But that's the only concession you get tonight.” His fingers tightened on her nipple as if to prove his point. Pressing and then releasing in a slow rhythm until her blood and pussy pulsed in response.

He bit her neck lightly, and she jumped. How did he make all the sensations flow into her clit like water flowing into the ocean? Filling it until it throbbed.

As if he'd heard her, his other hand released her fingers and stroked down her body, ever so gently and yet inexorably. She set her hand over his, lacing her fingers between his and trying to stop him, a useless attempt. When his fingers stroked across her pussy, her fingers were still laced through his.

He chuckled. “I hadn't thought you the type for masturbation in public, but I enjoy watching a woman pleasure herself. You may continue if you want.”

She jerked her hand away with a growl, knowing she'd totally lost that round. Heck, she was losing everything, including her senses.

His hand pressed against her pussy, his skin cool against the heat. Then he stroked the wetness from his fingers onto her thigh. “You're wet,” he whispered. “I will continue.”

How did he do this to her? Men had touched her—many, many men—and rubbed her and—

“Stop thinking,” he growled and bit her neck again, totally derailing her thoughts, and then he slid a finger into her.

She jumped, then gasped when his fingers pinched her breast. Her clit felt as if it had been pumped up like a balloon, and a tremor raced through her. Her control eroding like the sand on the beach, she struggled against him. His forearms kept her in place even as his fingers moved over her breast. Her pussy. He swept her moisture through her folds and up over her clit.

And then one finger rubbed her, stroking gently but firmly in a merciless rhythm. He would stop to spread more wetness and then resume. She could actually feel her climax approach this time, feel her legs quivering and her insides winding up like a spring.

He stopped.

Why? She hadn't come.

He tossed the sides of her blanket back, and the cool air swept over her. Apparently he'd gotten bored, she decided, with relief—and disappointment as her clit pulsed with each beat of her heart. “Well, we should go in,” she said. She leaned forward, and he yanked her back against his chest so fast, her breath huffed out.

“Stay still, sub.”

At his growled command, her body froze, although her heart rate increased.

And then he used his fingers to do exactly the same thing all over again, bringing her right to the top. And stopping.

And again. The next time he stopped, she couldn't smother her moan. He was deliberately torturing her. “Why?”

His hands stroked over her, and everything he did seemed to make her need to come worse. Her clit felt as if it contained all the blood in her body, stabbing with need.

“There's only one way for you to get relief,” he murmured. “You're sitting on it.”

She realized her bottom pressed against a very erect cock, and she tried to edge away. “No,” she whispered. “I won't.”

“That's all right, pet,” he said. “I enjoy touching you so much that I can keep this up all night.” His fingers slid down to cup her pussy, grazing over her clit. Her hips surged up, trying for more, and his hand moved away.

Fine. Surely I can do this myself. She slid her hand down to her pussy.

A ruthless grip closed around her wrist, pulled her hand away. “My toy, not yours,” Alex growled.

A minute later he resumed tormenting her, and her arousal surged higher this time, the frustration increasing her need to painful levels.

When he stopped again, she couldn't stand it anymore. She needed…needed so badly to come. Could she actually have sex with him? Alex wasn't a john. Maybe she could let him take her. “All right. Just do it.”