Servicing the Target (Masters of the Shadowlands #10)(87)

Oh shit. He managed not to cover up his package. Barely. “You want to shave my dick?”

“Actually, yes.” Her smile widened. “You see, Benjamin”—she sat on the lounge beside him—“I object to having hair in my face, which means you lose out on nice long blowjobs, which I enjoy giving.”

She’d suck his dick? And like it? He inhaled slowly. “I thought Dominants weren’t into offering BJ’s.”

Puzzlement drew her brows together before she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Ben. You’ve been part of the Shadowlands so long, I sometimes forget you’ve been stuck out in the entry. You’re right to a degree. Some Doms believe going down on their submissive decreases their power.” She took his hand and sucked on one finger.

His cock did a victory dance.

“Some Dommes think that, done right, the person giving head is the one in control.”

His cock sure as hell agreed. “Is that why you grab my hair when I go down on you? To make sure I know who’s in charge?”

“You’ve very perceptive.”

And he sure wasn’t missing the point of the discussion. She’d give him a blowjob if he lost his curlies. He looked at her soft lips…imagined them elsewhere…and couldn’t come up with the hint of an argument. “I’m in, Ma’am. Whatever you want.”

“Very good. Thank you, Ben.” She slapped his leg lightly. “Open up, now.”

As he spread his legs, he frowned. “No razor?”

“I’m content with trimmed hair, and we won’t risk irritated skin.” After putting a towel between his thighs, she picked up the dauntingly pointed scissors. “I trust you can keep from moving?”

He could feel his balls shriveling. “Oh yeah, Ma’am.”

As Anne cut his curly hair to an even half-inch, her concentration—and competence—was damned reassuring.

After a minute, he relaxed, listened to the low, exotic Moroccan music and drew in the sandalwood-scented air. Z didn’t miss a trick, did he?

Each time Anne moved his cock and balls with her soft hands, Ben felt like a pampered sultan being tended by one of his harem girls.

Of course, if he shared that with the Mistress, he’d end up a eunuch.

“There. You look lovely. And even bigger,” she said.

He glanced down. The shortening of the forest made his dick appear another inch or two longer. “Want to…ah…check your work, Ma’am? Make sure it’s short enough.”

Yeah, her laugh went right to his cock.

“Sorry, Benjamin, but you have to earn a blowjob. Tonight, if you take everything I give you, I’ll suck you most of the way off—and let you finish by taking me as roughly as you want.”

Totally his fantasy. His breath wedged in his chest. “That’s a hell of an incentive.”

She pointed to the St. Andrew’s cross. “Then get over there, grab the pegs, and hang on.”

As he crossed the room, his dick registered the added wind factor, but then his brain got caught up in other thoughts. Like she planned to beat on him. Hard.

Anticipation made his blood churn…and his mouth dry. His hands closed around the pegs, and he braced.

The first blows of her flogger were nothing as she teased the falls over his skin, tickling and stroking. Mild hand swats were a pleasant punctuation.

Then the strands hit more forcefully. Not a problem. He liked her thumpy floggers. They reminded him of a light artillery barrage.

But when she upped the game and started to really nail him, his shoulders and back and ass began to sting. His skin tightened, the sensation changing from a light to a nasty sunburn.

Yet, his cock persistently pointed toward the ceiling.

The entire room began to feel like the Grand Bazaar under a hot noon sun, and he broke out in a sweat.

“That was the easy stuff, Benjamin,” she said quietly. “Now your test begins.”

Easy? Fuck. He’d thought she’d be about ready to finish. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Bend and spread your cheeks.”

“What?” His glutes tensed, and he turned. Anal? “I told you I wouldn’t—”

“Your restriction was because”—she tilted her head and quoted him—“‘I don’t know you well enough for whips or anal shit.’ I’d say that’s changed.”

Well, hell.

She smiled slightly, reading his acceptance. “Your ass is mine, my tiger. But—if it helps, I’m not going to don a fake cock and pound you with it.”

“There’s a relief.”

His sarcasm got him a swift slap of the flogger, far too close to his balls.

He barely bit back a bark of concern. After a second, he bowed his head; he’d been out of line. “Sorry, Ma’am.”

She stepped nearer and put her palm on his cheek. “I know this worries you. But I’m going to use a small anal plug. We’ll talk about it afterward. If it’s truly a problem after you try it, I’ll respect your wishes.”

He let out the lungful of air he’d held. Couldn’t get much fairer than that—aside from not doing it at all. But, she probably knew her way around a man’s body better than he did, even if he lived in one.

And hey, he had a blowjob waiting at the end of this. “Go for it, Ma’am.”