Hot Ticket: Sinners on Tour (The Sinners on Tour) Page 4

  “You ready to start?”

  “Yes.”

  She stepped close to him, her nose inches from his. “Yes, Mistress V.” Her voice was hard.

  He shuddered, watching her through half-lowered lids. “Yes, Mistress V.”

  “Take your clothes off.”

  “All of them?”

  She gritted her teeth and poked him in the center of his chest with one finger. “Don’t question me. Never fucking question me. Understand?”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  He removed his leather coat, T-shirt, boots, and socks. Nice body. Lean with sculpted muscles. Decorated here and there with tattoos. She wished she had time to examine them more closely, but she had to pretend she held no regard for him. That he was insignificant. That he was privileged to get any attention from her. Even her abuse. Especially her abuse. It was one of the most important components of the game they played.

  Jace hesitated, clutching the waistband of his jeans. “I don’t wear underwear.”

  “What? You think I care about seeing your cock? Do you think it’s special? That it might hold my interest?”

  He trained his gaze on the floor. “No, Mistress.”

  “Then strip.”

  He took off his jeans. It turned out his cock was something special. Enormous. Beautiful. Thick. And hard as granite. Her pussy throbbed at the sight of it. Okay, so she was interested, but she couldn’t let him know that.

  “Do I excite you, Jace?” she asked with a sardonic grin. It had been a long time since she’d wanted to fuck a man. Any man. And she’d never wanted to fuck a client.

  Until now.

  “Yes, Mistress.” He gasped. “You make me hard. Punish me.”

  “Down on your knees.”

  He hesitated. He didn’t look at her when he said, “No.”

  “No?”

  So he wanted to play. She did like a challenge. She rarely got one.

  “I just want you to hurt me. I don’t want to grovel or be humiliated.” When he tilted his head to look at her, there was defiance in his eyes. Defiance? He wasn’t a submissive? Then why was he here? What in the hell did he need her for?

  She watched him struggle to repress his defiance and decided that he did want to submit. He just needed more encouragement than most. Her typical clients would already be crawling around on their hands and knees, begging for pain, and then crying for mercy.

  “If you want me to hurt you, you’ll do as I say,” she said in a dangerous growl. She slid her hand over his lower back, and he tensed. She tried to ignore the thrill of excitement that trembled in her belly when she touched him. “And if you think you can talk to me without addressing me properly, I’m going to fucking gag you. You will always address me with respect. As Mistress V.” She grabbed his nipple and twisted. What she really wanted to do was knock him off his feet and drive his massive cock into her pussy for about an hour. It was the look in his eye. The strength. So unlike what she was used to. It made it difficult for her to stay in her dominant character. Made her want to submit to him. And that was entirely unacceptable. Without even trying, he had managed to throw her off her game, and she didn’t appreciate it. It pissed her off.

  She gritted her teeth. “Don’t look at me like that, Jace.”

  The defiance never left his eyes, but he lowered his gaze. To hide it. When she released his nipple, he took several deep breaths. “I apologize, Mistress V.”

  His unusual mix of strength and weakness drove her crazy.

  “If you want to feel the bite of my whip, Jace, you’ll get down on your knees.”

  Struggling with his pride, he dropped to his knees at her feet. He didn’t look at her. Kept his eyes downcast. No doubt he was still hiding his defiance from her. She’d relieve him of it soon enough. She lifted her foot and pressed her spiked heel into his chest. “Kiss it.”

  Again he hesitated. This one would be so fun to break. She couldn’t wait to get started.

  She waited patiently. The minutes ticked by slowly. Her leg was getting tired by the time he pecked the sole of her boot. “Forgive me, Mistress V.”

  “Stand, Jace.”

  He stood. No hesitation there.

  She grabbed a thick, red rope that was hooked to a ring in the wall. She pulled it out straight and handed it to him. He wrapped it around his left wrist and gripped the taut rope with a bruised left hand. She handed him a second rope affixed to the opposite wall. He wrapped that one around the black leather cuff on his right wrist and gripped the rope with his right hand. With his arms extended to the sides, it left his back exposed for her work, and gave her a wonderful view of his hot body. He wasn’t tall, but had a perfect physique. Especially that tight little ass of his. Damn, her one major weakness when it came to men. A perfect ass. And it couldn’t get any better than his. A gentle curve. Tender cheek. Slight indentation on the lateral sides. She could write sonnets about that ass, but he hadn’t paid her to ogle his gorgeous naked body. She had work to do.

  Aggie would start light and increase the intensity until she found his happy place. She didn’t know his tolerance for pain and had to seek his threshold before she could do her real work. Finding his edge and driving him just beyond it. Not too far. Never too far. But taking him exactly where he wanted to be. Beyond pain. Where euphoria ruled.

  Selecting a smooth, round, wooden paddle from her table, she moved to stand beside him. Their eyes met in the mirror.

  “Have you been naughty, Jace? Do you need a spanking?” The musky scent of his excitement engulfed her, and her nipples tightened.

  “Yes, Mistress V,” he said breathlessly.

  She dropped the Mistress V act for a moment to whisper to him. “Yell all you want, Jace. The room is soundproof. No one will hear you. I will hit you until you say, ‘Mercy, Mistress V.’ Do you understand?” She slapped his ass with the paddle, careful to make it sting, but not leave a bruise.

  He didn’t even flinch, much less yell.

  “What do you say to get me to stop?” she prompted.

  When he didn’t respond, she rubbed her hand over his ass, his hip, his thigh. The firm muscle of his flank quivered beneath her touch. “Tell me, Jace, or I’m finished.”

  “I don’t need a safe word.”

  She dropped her hand and stepped away. “Then I’m done. Put your clothes on.”

  “Mercy, Mistress V,” he said.

  She smiled to herself. She was starting to understand how this one ticked. She touched her paddle to his ass. “That’s good. Say it again so you don’t forget.”

  “Mercy, Mistress V,” he whispered.

  “Now don’t say it unless you mean it. The second you say it, I promise to stop no matter how much I’m enjoying your agony.”

  He swallowed hard and nodded.

  She struck his ass with her paddle, watching his reaction to determine when he was near his limit. Harder. In the same place. Again. Again. She knew the sweet spot. That tender place on the buttocks that stung like the dickens when swatted. He glanced at her as if to ask her when she was going to start.

  “You’ve been very naughty, haven’t you?” she said, rubbing his ass with her bare hand. She usually did that to ease the sting so her client could take more pain, but in his case, she just really wanted to touch him.

  “Hurt me, Mistress V. Please, hurt me.”

  She moved to something more vicious. She skipped the riding crop and selected the three short whips attached to a handle. She struck his back with a loud crack. Most guys would have cried out. Jace didn’t even twitch. In the mirror, she saw his eyes were glazed with pain. Not physical pain. Emotional pain. Deep and scarring. Why did she have the sudden, ridiculous urge to hug him? She struck him harder. Harder. Harder than she normally would, watching the welts rise in threes on his skin. She didn’t usually take a man this close to bloodletting. Why did he refuse to cry out or beg for mercy? Could he even feel pain?

  Feeling twinges of frustration, she tossed the short whips aside an
d grabbed her bullwhip from the table. It cracked loudly as the tip snapped and left a red stripe along his side. A second strike wrapped around his body and left a welt on his belly. His thigh. His chest. His back again. He didn’t react. Not once. The only indication that he felt anything was the occasional twitch above his left eye. He wasn’t even gripping the ropes very tightly.

  Where the fuck was this guy’s threshold? She wasn’t sure how much harder she could hit him. And the usual signs she recognized to help her locate a man’s limit were all missing.

  “Am I hurting you at all?”

  “Not enough,” he whispered. “Make me bleed.”

  She refused to make him bleed, but there were other things she could do to break him. And that’s what he needed. He needed to be broken. She would drive him to his knees. Make him beg her to stop. He would submit to her, even if it took all night.

  Mistress V tossed her whip aside and returned to the table. She blew out a candle. Tested the melted wax with her fingertips and jerked them back. Hot! She stared him in the face and splashed the wax up his chest and neck. “How’s that?” she sputtered. “Did that hurt?”

  “Do I make you angry, Mistress V?”

  She’d never met a man she couldn’t break, and yes, his silent suffering—his stoicism—angered her. He had to be in a lot of pain, but for all he showed, she might as well be tickling him with a feather.

  “I’m not angry. I’m trying to figure out how to make you submit.”

  “No one ever has before,” he told her, “but you’re doing a fine job trying. Don’t stop now.”

  “Don’t patronize me.”

  “Do you have a flog? With knots?”

  She flogged him, first with her nylon flog with its three dozen, foot-long, stinging strings. And then with her knotted leather flog that left his skin a mess of crisscrossed welts. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t protest. She took up a thick wooden rod and caned him more than a dozen times against his already raw back. Careful to avoid vital organs, such as his kidneys, she grunted with exertion as each strike landed between his shoulders. Caned him. She never resorted to such vicious caning. Didn’t use the cane very often, as it wasn’t usually necessary. And still he made no protest. She wasn’t even enjoying this. The feeling of power that usually infused her when she served her slaves was nonexistent. Her temper flared.

  He glanced at her over his shoulder. “If you’re getting tired—”

  “Shut up.”

  She took up her bullwhip again and vented her increasing frustration on his back. She wasn’t even in her role as dominatrix as she cracked her whip. She just wanted him to cry out. Just once. Any indication that she was getting through to him would be appreciated. She needed that. To know she was in control. She didn’t want to admit that she wasn’t. Or that as long as she let him get to her, he was the one in control. She struck the backs of his thighs, realizing how much that fucking hurt, but he took it. He took it and calmly waited for her to continue.

  “Damn it, Jace! Work with me.” She struck him across the back again. An angry red stripe appeared. Not a welt. Blood.

  He gasped softly.

  Aggie dropped her whip. She prided herself as a professional in causing all the pain, but never drawing blood. What she’d done to him hadn’t been professional. She’d been frustrated. Angry. She’d never become angry during a session before. Of course, she’d never met a man she couldn’t break in ten minutes or whose threshold for pain was this far above normal. Maybe he was juiced-up on painkillers or something. He didn’t look stoned, but she couldn’t think of any other plausible reason for him to accept so much pain so easily. Aggie paused behind Jace, gently touching the raw skin above the bleeding gash that ran diagonally from shoulder to spine.

  “I’m so sorry, Jace. I didn’t mean…”

  “Thank you, Mistress V, may I have another?”

  “No.” She shook her head vigorously. “No! Your session’s over.”

  “I paid for two hours.”

  “Then I’ll give your money back.”

  “You said no refunds.”

  She circled his body to face him and stared into his eyes. Never had she seen so much pain in a man so young. He wasn’t using her for release. He was taking her abuse and internalizing it, adding it to what already existed and building upon the ache inside him. She knew he’d felt every lash of her whip. Knew she had hurt him far more than he’d been letting on. Why did he refuse to crumble? She didn’t get it.

  “Whatever it is that’s eating you alive, you have to let it go,” she murmured, stroking his brow, his stubble-rough cheek, and his angled jaw with tender fingertips. “Let it go, Jace.”

  His jaw set. He shook his head slightly. “I’d rather be gutted alive.”

  Her hand still cupping the side of his face, she tilted her head and eased closer until a fraction of an inch separated their lips. She shouldn’t kiss him. She wanted to, but… Leaning away slightly, her eyes searched his. As much as she wanted him physically, it was more important to help him. Take that anguished shadow from his gaze. Take it away.

  Take it.

  Her lips brushed his, light as a feather. He shuddered, emitting a huff of air, and his lips parted to coax her closer for a deeper kiss. She devoured his mouth, intoxicated by his taste, his scent. A deep longing hollowed her core, leaving her empty and wanting. She pressed her leather-clad bosom against his hard chest, her free hand circling his back to press him closer. The stickiness of his blood against her fingertips reminded her of what she’d done to him.

  She pulled away, knowing that kiss had been all her idea. She couldn’t lay any of the blame on him. He was still holding on to the ropes, his fists tight and knuckles white.

  “I want you, Mistress V,” he growled.

  Her lips parted, her nipples tightened, and her pussy swelled until it throbbed relentlessly. She wanted him too, but she never had sex with clients. She sighed with remorse. “The name’s Aggie.” She uncoiled the rope from his right wrist, and he released his grip. “Let’s go take care of that wound.”

  “It’s nothing,” he insisted. “Finish me.”

  “It is something, and I am finished with you. You paid for professional treatment, and I got carried away. I apologize for breaking your trust. I drew blood. That is unacceptable.”

  “I don’t think so, but fine. If you’re not into this, I’ll go.” He released the second rope and moved to the edge of the room to find his clothes.

  She didn’t want him to go. His cock still stood at full attention. She wanted him inside her. Inside Aggie, not Mistress V, but it was Mistress V he wanted. He’d said so himself.

  Before he could slide into his pants, she took his hand and yanked him toward the bolted door.

  “You’re not going anywhere until I dress that cut,” she said.

  He didn’t protest, allowing her to open the door and lead him through the foyer to a second part of her domicile—her private living quarters. She’d never brought a client into her personal home before, but now that their business transaction was over, she wasn’t thinking of him as a client. She tapped a code into the lock’s keypad and pushed open the reinforced door that separated her home from her dungeon.

  After securing the door behind them, she led Jace to her bedroom and urged him to sit on the edge of her bed while she went to the connecting bathroom for antibiotic ointment, bandages, and… a condom. She slid the condom into her bodice and found the cash he’d given her still there. She pulled the thousand dollars out, tossed it into the sink, and carried the first-aid supplies back to her bedroom. She found Jace where she’d left him, with his eyes closed, breathing deeply through his nose. His cock grew softer with each exhalation.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  He started and turned his head to look at her standing in the doorway. As his gaze drifted over her body, his cock grew stiff again. Good. She wanted it hard. Hard and uncomfortable, so she could soothe him with her flesh. And he could t
ake care of that deep ache between her thighs.

  “I’m trying to calm down.” Jace grabbed his cock in one hand and flinched, sucking a breath through clenched teeth. He was probably already too excited to be any good, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to take that huge cock of his deep. And hard.

  “You don’t want to fuck me?”

  “You don’t fuck clients,” he reminded her.

  “True. Mistress V never fucks her clients.” She climbed up onto the bed behind him. He watched her over his shoulder as she applied antibiotic ointment and a few bandages in places that were still seeping blood. She hoped it didn’t scar. He had such a beautiful body. She’d hate to think she’d caused it permanent damage. She pressed a kiss to his skin, just above the gash. “I told you, your session is over. If you want to fuck Mistress V, she’s off duty, but if you want to fuck Aggie, she’s willing.”

  She slid her arms around his body, loving the solid feel of his hard pecs and rippled abs beneath her palms. He had the sexiest strip of hair running down the center of his lower belly. She enjoyed the coarse texture against her fingertips while she sucked his earlobe and the silver earring that decorated it into her mouth. Ears. Another weakness of hers.

  “Aggie,” he whispered.

  The sound of her name on his lips wrapped around her heart and squeezed. She shouldn’t get tangled up with this one. She could already tell she’d be sad to see him go, whether he left in thirty minutes, thirty days, or thirty years. Damn it anyway. She had a soft spot for these tragic, quiet types. And a defiant submissive? Good lord, how was she supposed to resist that combination? She almost hoped he sucked in bed. That he was a minute man who climbed on top of her, thrust into her twice, and came with some stupid look on his face. It would make it easier to discard him. She had no use for a man. Any man. Not even this one, who seemed custom-made to her specifications.

  Aggie released his earlobe, and he turned, crawling up on the bed to face her. He tugged her against him and kissed her, sucking on her lips with tender abandon. If he fucked half as good as he kissed, she was done for. She clung to his ruined back, opening her mouth to accept his exploratory tongue. He didn’t probe and thrust like some uncouth animal. He stroked and caressed her lips and mouth so tenderly it made her heart swell. While he kissed her, his fingers methodically worked at the clasps on the back of her leather bustier. Unhurried, he released the fastenings one by one, his fingertips brushing every inch of her spine as they moved downward. He loosened the garment until nothing held it in place but the proximity of their intertwined bodies.