Mistress of Redemption (6 page)

protesting. While it was a relief to

feel the restraints loosen on his

ankles, it was a momentary respite,

for his calves were seized in the

women’s hands and he was lifted so

he floated horizontally on the water.

Now each woman had a portion of

him, holding him level. He wanted to

thrash as Olivia emerged between his

legs, but he believed Fiona’s

warning. He suspected they could

care less if his struggles left him

maimed.

Olivia slicked back her hair so it

clung to her skull as though she were

a silver seal touched with gold. She

had smaller breasts than Dona, but

they curved upward in a tempting

manner. A diamond and gold ring

glittered at her navel. Removing the

razor from her teeth, her gaze

lowered to his groin, her tongue

coming out to touch her upper lip in

anticipation. The cold and fear

should have made him as flaccid as a

floundering fish, but whether it was

the proximity of so many naked

women or perhaps his dick had

frozen, he was still thick and hard

under their greedy eyes.

There were murmurs of appreciation.

Giggling, they slapped at his cock as

if they were playing a game with the

damn snake again. When he tried to

duck his hips under the water, an

Asian girl with emerald green eyes

and hair straight as falling rain put

her hand under the water and thrust

two fingers up his ass, snapping his

spine straight and making him groan

with the burning sensation of the non-

lubricated entry.

“Be still for Mischa now, slave, or

Olivia will turn you into a eunuch,”

Fiona reproved him. As if he had any

control over his body with that

almond-eyed siren caressing him

deep inside. He managed to focus

enough to see Mariah remove the

cork from a crystal bottle filled with

a green liquid. Tipping the bottle, she

drizzled the contents over his navel.

As it pooled there and spread out on

his abdomen, demonstrating that it

was gelatinous and insoluble, the

other women used their free hands to

rub it across his chest, belly, thighs

and arms, making the sticky substance

glisten on his muscles. They pinched

his nipples, leaned down to nip at his

flesh with their mouths.

Olivia moved away and they flipped

him, holding him facedown in the

water as one of them, probably

Mischa, rimmed his ass and rubbed

the substance up and down the

crease. Even as his panic climbed

while they held him where he

couldn’t breathe, he was sure his

cock was leaking pre-cum into the

water. The deprivation of air, an

extreme BDSM tactic, was goading

him. He had to fight the desire to

release along with the panic. No way

was he giving in to them. Not with

his Mistress watching. Though he

couldn’t see Dona, he could feel her

regard, knew she was there.

23

Joey W. Hill

Just as the terror of being drowned

was about to overwhelm him, they

flipped him back over. He fought to

get air around the gag and not choke

on his own saliva, but they were

indifferent to his distress. Olivia

moved back between his legs to start

slicking the razor down his pubic

area. Mischa’s gel-free hand

disappeared back under the water

and he felt one long finger slide all

the way back into his now lubricated

ass, stroking inside in a way that

made his head drop lower in the

water. Sound was swallowed as it

closed over his ears, framing his

face. One of the women fisted her

fingers in his hair beneath the

waterline, keeping him aware of how

easily they could pull him under.

Their cruel laughter and comments

became gurgles of sound in an

echoing chamber where reality and

imagination were disturbingly

intertwined.

It was harrowing how quickly that

straight-edged razor was taking the

hair off his privates. Olivia worked

the blade with admirably deft skill

over him, scraping him clean. When

the women’s hands moved back over

him a few moments later, the hair on

his arms, chest, stomach and legs

gave way at their touch. The gel was

some type of depilatory and cleanser,

making him smooth and hairless all

over, and explained Mischa’s

intimate exploration of the area

between his buttocks. He had to be as

smooth as the proverbial baby’s

bottom, for Mischa was as thorough

as a prison guard doing a drug check.

From her smile and the fact he was

certain his cock was going to

explode, he had no doubt she was

enjoying her work.

A guttural sound between pain and

pleasure tore out of his throat when

Olivia’s fingers circled him. She

wrapped the straps of the cock

harness back around him, increasing

the intensity of the near-climactic

state he was in. Buckling it over the

bare tender skin, she pinched him

enough to rein back the response he

was sure he couldn’t hold back

another moment. When the women

brought him to his feet, he despised

the fact that he was forced to lean as

the blood pounded out of his head.

Worry and lust made him even more

unsteady.

How was he supposed to get a handle

on any of this, let alone the upper

hand?

Mouth stretched by the gag, arms

wrenched back to display his chest

and hold his muscles taut. Dona’s

collar on him. He was hard as a rock,

his body screaming for release, but

thankfully the harness would keep

him from losing control. He was

terrified to realize he felt like a true

slave. Completely out of control,

dependent on the whim and Will of

his Mistress. A state he’d rarely if

ever truly allowed a Mistress to

achieve with him.

There would be breathing time later.

Wouldn’t there? Time to get his

ducks in a row. Let them prepare him

for her pleasure now. He made

himself stand rigid, his jaw clenched

as Olivia brought that blade into play

on his face. When she made him lift

his chin, he could not help but glance

toward the banks, seeking Dona. She

sat now, her hands clasped around

her knees while she watched.

Carefully scrutinizing everything

being done to him.

Fiona looked toward the shore.

“What about his head? Take the hair

or wash it?”

She had the gel bottle in one hand and

another crystal bottle in the other,

perhaps shampoo.

24

Mistress of Redemption

Mistresses loved his hair, the thick

ash blond strands that they could coil

around their fingers, play with on his

nape. He’d never let it grow this

long, but these last few months he

hadn’t been interested in letting the

prison butchers who called

themselves barbers touch it. He’d

been looking forward to walking into

a men’s salon, having it artfully

styled the way he always liked it.

Short, layered on top, streaked with

some dark brown and cut close at his

nape, an expensive
GQ
-looking style.

Such a style was part of the whole

package that attracted the attention of

well-to-do Mistresses who liked a

man who knew how to put himself

together well. Who would look good

on their arm inside a club.

The idea of having another weapon

removed from his arsenal panicked

him. His ability to assert rights he

might not have anymore had been

taken from him with that gag. He

couldn’t employ his charm to coax

and cajole. Hell, Dona hadn’t even

given him a safe word, but he had the

distinct feeling they were in a

territory far beyond safe words. He

was a dumb bastard who had

allowed five years of self-denied

lust, his weak need to play at being a

submissive and the fact he somewhat

remembered this bitch to cloud his

judgment. He’d been so stupid,

giving in to something he felt when he

looked at her, some freaky emotional

reaction. A reaction that, damn him

three times over for an idiot, he still

felt every time he looked at her.

Like now, his panicked eyes locking

with hers for some type of

approbation as she sat on that bank.

Her expression said it clearly. He

was hers to do with as she wished

and it just made his cock get even

harder.

Maybe this was some weird

hallucination. While his mind howled

at the idea he might still be in the

prison, undergoing some bad trip on

something some bastard had slipped

in his slop that was called lunch, no

woman had ever had this kind of hold

on him.

Pulling away from Olivia, he tried to

get away from all of them. He

tripped, tumbled under the water. The

weeds reached for him, twining

around him from ankle to thigh. As he

twisted in mindless terror, he sunk

further. Tendrils soft as a woman’s

hair circled his throat under the

collar, holding him down below life,

air. He struggled, his lungs bursting.

A shadow brushed against him.

Feeling a clasp on his arm, he turned

his face in that direction, seeking

help. Instead, he saw a broad face,

the lips pulled back in what would

appear to most to be a maternal,

kindly look. Her gray and brown hair

waved around her face.

Would you like some candy,

sweetie? They’re going to let you

come home with me. Poor
little lost
soul…such a pretty child…

No… He screamed uselessly against

the gag as the face got closer, the

lips. He was dying and this was what

was waiting for him. A cosmic

psychotic joke, for it was what he’d

spent a lifetime outwitting,

escaping… Other shadows moved in

and his subconscious knew them all,

knew enough about them to make him

fight like a berserker against what

could not be fought against.

25

Joey W. Hill

The bindings released. He was

rising, hands drawing him up. When

his head broke the water’s surface,

since his arms were still bound

behind his back by the manacles, he

fought desperately to find and keep

his balance, anything to stay up above

the waterline, away from what lay

below it.

Dona was here. In front of him, with

her hands on either side of his neck.

They were alone together in the

water. The other women sat on the

bank, completely dry as if he’d been

below the surface for an hour. He

blinked through liquid, his gaze

coming back to cling to her face.

When she removed his gag and

stroked his lips, he found himself

sucking the water off her fingertips

fervently, as if she’d saved him from

those awful shadows. Her eyes held

mysteries he could not fathom, but

she was touching him. All he could

figure out in his disoriented state was

that his sanity at the moment

depended on her not going away.

“What the hell are you doing to me?”

He said it hoarsely, resting his head

against hers, pressing his cheek

against the soft raven strands of her

hair. It was so long the ends floated

in the water around her hips. Looking

down in this position, he saw she

wore a black swimsuit now, so sheer

that her curves would be starkly

defined by the shadowing. Lifting his

head to confirm it, he saw her

luscious breasts were just above the

waterline, the dark circle of her

nipples visible behind the transparent

netting.

Pointed and sharp, as they would be

if she were cold. Or aroused.

He pushed his cock against her belly,

bending his knees to find the seam of

her thighs. Fuck finesse or charm.

He’d reverted to pure male animal,

needing to reassert who he was. No

better way to do that than fucking the

woman he wanted.

A sharp yank on his cock snapped his

legs back straight like the stock of a

rifle. He stifled a yelp, barely. The

tether was reattached and back in her

hand, wrapped around her wet

knuckles.

“Behave, or I’ll put you under again.”

She spoke reprovingly, but when she

reached up and brushed her fingertips

against his ear she had a gentle touch,

mixing up that hard-as-nails way of

yanking him in line with a sister-of-

mercy touch. She grazed his skull.

His bare skull.

“Oh, Jesus.” He closed his eyes,

shuddering. “Dona. Why…”

“Because you don’t need defenses