The King (The Original Sinners: White Years, #2)(111)

As Irina rotated through four different types of f loggers, he watched her work. She was sure-handed and dexterous. It was all too easy to aim wrong and hit a bound submissive in the back of the head. But Irina never missed her mark, and soon Blaise sagged in her bonds, panting from the pain and the arousal the pain inspired in her. Kingsley called a halt to it. He could see Blaise was nearing her limit.

“Did you enjoy your beating?” he whispered in her ear as he ran a hand over her burning skin.

“I did,” she said, smiling. Her face was f lushed with triumph. Blaise always looked her most beautiful after a beating.

“Do you think you earned an orgasm?” he asked her.

“Only if you think I did, monsieur.”

“That’s the right answer,” he said, and Blaise beamed. When she was in the mood to submit, nothing made her happier than serving at the feet of a dominant man. Out in the real world, she single-handedly ran a controversial nonprofit group, lobbied the state and federal government and made weekly appearances at important society events to raise awareness of her causes—sexual freedom and other women’s rights issues. But the powerful, competent, dominant Blaise disappeared the second she stepped into a playroom. It was all “yes, sir” and “no, sir” and “whatever pleases you, sir.” And now, what would please him would be to please her while Irina watched and helped.

“I think,” he said, “that you need more pain. A little more. What do you think?”

“I think you know best, monsieur.”

“But I also think you need some pleasure with your pain. What do you think, Mistress?” he asked.

“I’m happy to supply the pain,” Irina said, “if you’d like to supply the pleasure.”

“An excellent idea.” He unbound Blaise from the cross and led her by the wrists to the bed. He laid her on her back, and she winced as her skin touched the silk. “I’m thinking the rope? What do you think, Mistress?”

“Good choice,” she said. “I’m thinking this.”

She handed Kingsley a vibrator. He already knew what he’d do with it.

“She has been very good tonight,” Kingsley said. “Haven’t you?”

“If you say I’ve been good, then it must be true,” Blaise said.

“You’re so good at this, chouchou,” he said to her with a wink.

He crooked his finger, indicating that Blaise should stand up again. She obeyed and let him lead her to the center of the room. He positioned her under a large sturdy metal hook that hung from the ceiling. Irina brought over a step stool and a length of black silk rope. She looped the rope through the D-rings on the cuffs and hoisted Blaise’s arms over her head, tying her wrists to the hook.

Now Blaise stood tied in place, her arms above her head and no way to escape unless he or Irina untied her. And they would untie her. Eventually.

Irina stood in front of Blaise and, with deft hands, brought another length of rope around her back. For the next ten minutes, Irina looped and knotted, looped and knotted, until she’d made a corset of the rope, binding Blaise’s chest, torso and breasts tightly.

Kingsley wrapped his arm around Blaise’s hips and lightly pinched her clitoris between his thumb and forefinger.

“Do you have a preference?” he whispered in her ear. “Ass? *? Both?”

Blaise laughed. “All of the above.”

“Why did I know you were going to say that?”

“Because you know me so well, monsieur. Inside and out.”

Kingsley lubricated both her holes thoroughly, and Blaise moaned from the pleasure of his fingers on her and inside her. He rolled on a condom and entered her from behind. As she was standing it took a few minutes to work past the tight ring of muscle that wanted to keep him out. But he pushed in while Blaise pushed back, and soon he was deep inside her. Irina handed him the vibrator, which he slid slowly into her vagina.

“Oh, God…” Blaise gasped—the last two coherent words she spoke for a while. Irina played with Blaise’s bound breasts while Kingsley f*cked her standing up. Irina squeezed and pinched, slapped and teased—inf licting pain both sharp and subtle.

He focused his attention on Blaise’s body—the tightness of her around his cock, the smell of her long hair—jasmine— the scent of her skin—Chanel No. 5, Marilyn Monroe’s perfume—the softness of her hips that he grasped, the sounds of her voice as she gasped and groaned and came, not once but twice in a row. He increased the speed of his thrusts and came, too, the orgasm almost painful in its intensity.

With a final kiss on Blaise’s neck, he uncoupled their bodies. A few drops of her own wetness landed on the f loor between her feet when he pulled the vibrator from her. He went into the bathroom and cleaned off while Irina untied Blaise. Like a good and sadistic dominatrix, Irina made Blaise clean up her own mess off the f loor. He returned to find Blaise stretched out on the bed, f lushed and happy, as Irina knotted up her rope.

“A good day’s work,” Kingsley said to Irina. “What do you think?” He pinched Blaise’s toes.

“She’s hired,” Blaise said with a wide grin. Her eyes sparkled and her skin glowed. Was there anything more beautiful in the world than a sated woman? “That was glorious.”

“Did I pass?” Irina asked Kingsley. “Am I ready for the real thing?”