Mistress of Redemption (3 page)

hatred of another male submissive,

Mac Nighthorse, blind him to the

dangers of the Mistress who had

offered him the opportunity to even

the score. Too late he’d learned that

Nighthorse was a homicide detective

and Jonathan’s Mistress of the

moment had cleverly used him in a

plan of attempted murder. He

wouldn’t let his emotions make him

stupid again. If he could get some

cushy spa service and maybe a soft

hotel bed for playing slave boy for a

few hours, no skin off his back. His

lips twisted. Unless this Mistress

was into flogging.

It didn’t matter. His hard-on hadn’t

eased up one bit and he ached for

release. He hadn’t jacked himself off

in prison, not even once. Something

no other prisoner in that place could

claim, he was sure. Even most of the

guards. So there certainly wasn’t any

harm in letting his fingers drift across

the console onto her thigh. The

frustratingly snug, impenetrable latex

denied him the sense of the skin

beneath.

She caught two of his fingers and

wrenched them backward, sending

searing pain through his palm and

wrist. “Ow.
Jesus
…” The angle was

perfect. He couldn’t pull away,

couldn’t move in any direction

without causing himself more agony.

“Let go.”

“Did I give you permission to touch

me?”

Her voice was cool. She wasn’t even

taking her eyes off the road and damn

if that very aloofness wasn’t arousing

him further. When she tightened her

grip, he hissed.

“I don’t play cutesy with my slaves.

They give me absolute obedience or

they’re punished. Severely.”

“This isn’t a dungeon, sweetheart.

D/s is just a game. Can we get to

where we’re going before you slip

into playing—”

11

Joey W. Hill

His voice climbed two octaves as

she twisted her grip. He was sure he

felt his bones begin to crack. If he

brought his other hand across his

body, he wasn’t so certain she

wouldn’t snap one. “Jesus, let me

go.”

“This is not a game. It never has been

to you. It’s not to me. Ask for my

forgiveness or you’ll have two

fingers permanently curved backward

to hit my sweet spot when I give you

permission to put them into my pussy.

Say it.”

“My apologies, Mistress. I’m sorry.”

Though he spat it out, apparently it

was enough. She released him, as

unflappable as she’d been before

she’d tried to make his fingers bend a

hundred and eighty degrees in the

wrong direction. He rubbed his hand,

eyed her profile. The hourglass

design of her body in that corset, the

curve of her hips, the way her

buttocks pressed into the seat, even

how she pushed down on the gas with

the sole of the three-inch spike heel,

made him both resent her and want

her all the more. The dark waves of

her hair whispered around her face

as she drove, but now he could see

that the mass of it was pinned on her

head, making him wonder how long

and thick it was, what it would look

like spilled over her bare body.

Closing his eyes, he turned his face

away. It
had
been a mistake to get

into the car.

“Let me set out the rules for you up

front. You won’t charm me or play

with my emotions,” she said. “I’m not

interested in that. I want your pain,

your suffering. I want your fear.”

When he glanced back at her warily,

she was looking straight at him. “I’m

the Goddess of the Old Testament,

Jonathan. You’re not going to crawl

into a crack in my psyche. You serve

me, not the other way around.

Everything about you is dependent

upon your Mistress’s Will.”

Then he felt her hand on his thigh,

sliding over it to cup him. Without

any conscious thought or command

from his brain, his hips pushed up

eagerly into her touch, the stroke and

pinch of her fingertips.

“Nice,” she purred. “Take it out. I

want to play with it while I drive.”

Her lips moved into a pout that

caused his attention to fasten hungrily

on her mouth. “They didn’t have this

car in anything but automatic and I

like to move a stick when I drive.”

Her brown eyes were like that of a

she-wolf considering prey. “That

was a command.

Or have you forgotten your body is

your Mistress’s toy?”

He found his hands moving to the

button of his jeans, working it open

and jerking the zipper down in the

same motion.

“Take the jeans and underwear off. I

want that fine ass bare against the

seat.”

It wasn’t self-consciousness that gave

him a brief hesitation. There was no

one out here and he could always

snatch up his clothes if needed.

Having performed as a submissive

countless times before, Nathan didn’t

balk at modesty. He was concerned

about the fact that his cock was so

rigid with lust he might spew at the

touch of his own hand. Regardless,

he obeyed. The burn of the hot

upholstery on his ass helped distract

him. He took some small satisfaction

in the flare of appreciation in her

gaze as he revealed himself to her.

She did feel something, which meant

she could be made to feel 12

Mistress of Redemption

more. Tossing his boots in the back,

he left his clothes in a heap at his

feet. Strategy vanished as she closed

her hand over him, a firm,

commanding grip tugging on him.

“Over here.”

Her fingers caressed him in sensual

torture as he gingerly slid his leg

over the center console, avoiding the

gearshift. When he placed his now

bare foot in the narrow space beside

her heel where she pressed down on

the gas, his arm stretched around the

back of her seat. With his fingers

gripped in the cushioning, he could

feel her whipping hair caress his

fingertips, resting only an inch or so

away from her shoulder. It was an

awkward position for a tall man, but

he didn’t care as she laid her forearm

on his bare thigh and took hold of him

again as if his cock were a manual

stick in truth, fondling him as he

braced his other leg in the passenger

side. Keeping his ass firmly pressed

back against the opening between the

two seats, he hoped he wouldn’t lose

control and jerk forward, knocking

the car out of gear. They had climbed

to ninety-five, the landscape a blur,

the wind a roar she’d had to raise her

voice over to issue the command.

The whip of the wind on his bare

lower body intertwined with her

touch to twist the hard spear of want

piercing his lower belly. It gave him

a peculiar sense of sensual freedom,

the desire to lay his head back, close

his eyes and feel the wind rush over

him as her touch took him soaring.

However, because the position put

him above her, he had a throat-

clogging view of her breasts in the

corset, the full crescent shape of the

globes of flesh molded by the fabric.

The vibration of the Mercedes made

them quiver. If he strained his eyes,

the rise and fall of her breath almost

gave him the hint of her nipples. He

was straining, in more ways than one.

She took control of his reaction as if

his cock were in fact connected to the

transmission of the car, engine

revving for her, eager to be put into

drive. Her thumb caressed his broad

head, collecting his pre-cum on the

end of one of those glossy nails.

He had to look away or he’d

explode. In contrast, she drove with

the same calm demeanor, her hand

touching his dick as casually and

maddeningly as if she were merely

entertaining herself with the feel of

an inanimate gearshift beneath her

palm, something for her free hand to

do as she drove one-handed.

In that outfit, he couldn’t tell if her

nipples were getting hard or her

pussy wet, while his body was

reacting almost violently to her

indifferent use of him. He knew it

was a Mistress’s right to use a slave

in such a cavalier fashion, but it

infuriated him, her impassive

behavior.

Patience. He wanted to roar it to his

subconscious, but it was more like a

hoarse plea for attention. His fingers

dug into the side of the seat as that

thumb rocked back and forth over

him, tracing the helmet shape of the

head, curving under to follow the

flare at the base and then… Oh, God,

now she was on that vein on the

underside that was throbbing,

begging for some kind of consistent

stroke or rhythm. He wanted to pump

into her hand, jerk himself off

viciously, but he couldn’t move

without disrupting the vehicle. The

automatic gearshift was a mere inch

from his balls, almost pressing into

them. Her nails were touching the top

of it as she caressed him.

13

Joey W. Hill

Plus, she hadn’t given him

permission to move. Jonathan Powell

had always been the perfect sub,

everything a Mistress could ask him

to be. That was key. He had to

remember that now, be what she

expected him to be so he could get

the upper hand. It would have been

easier if he’d had time to fuck some

willing hooker, take that shower and

put his veneer into place, but he’d

learned to think on his feet in prison.

This was no different. He just needed

to get it together, get past his

hormones.

“Ah, here we are.” She slowed the

car, turned off the highway. Startled,

he realized he had zoned out on his

surroundings to the point that he had

missed the change in the landscape.

He’d found the empty terrain of

desert and scrub curious when he’d

come out of the prison, for he hadn’t

remembered it that way. Now his

confusion increased as it yielded to

an oasis. A mirage like something out

of
Arabian Nights
. As they wound

down the road, sand and desolation

became palm trees, lush green grass

and some kind of man-made lagoon,

so clear that it mirrored the blue sky

above.

There were women here. He blinked

as he saw a long-legged, tawny-

skinned

creature with hair past her buttocks

ambling with the sway of a pendulum

by the water’s edge. A leopard

twined around her calves, bumping

her hand to make her stroke the

spotted head.

Naked. The woman was completely

naked and… As she turned, he

thought the sun showed her dusky

skin marked with a faint pattern like

the leopard. Even more startling,

when her lips curved, tiny sharp

canines glittered just over her full

bottom lip.

Two other women lounged on the

green grass of the banks. One was

asleep. The other, a blonde, was

stroking the napping one’s red hair

and braiding it into tiny tails, just the

tip ends so the mass of it remained

loose and thick on her pale

shoulders.

Shoulders seemingly unaffected by

the bright sunlight. Another trio of

women played some type of game

under the palm trees. His eyes

widened. The game apparently

involved the playful teasing of a

cobra. The snake rose up to take a

scrap of meat from one woman’s

fingers as she crooned to it, while the

other women played with its coils.

It paid no attention to them in favor of

the treat.

“Did I… I’m dreaming.”

“You may have nodded off for a little

while,” Dona agreed. He realized

then his boots and jeans were back

on, though he wasn’t wearing the

scratchy prison underwear anymore.

He was back in his seat, though he

didn’t remember moving or arranging

his clothes. No more than he

remembered taking his shirt off,

though now her hand was on his

shoulder, caressing his bare skin.

She’d had hold of his cock, he’d been

on the edge of explosion and he’d

nodded off?
What the hell…

She parked the car on a patch of

green under one of the palms.

Reaching over again, she ran her

hand down his chest and caressed the

indentation of his navel, her other

fingers playing over his sectioned

stomach. “So how many times did

your fine ass and pretty face get you

raped before you learned how to use

these muscles?”

14

Mistress of Redemption

“It doesn’t matter. Once you teach