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HOT LESSONS

An Ellora’s Cave Publication, June 2005

Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

1337 Commerce Drive, #13

Stow,OH 44224

ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-4199-0278-4

Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):

Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML

HOT LESSONS Copyright © 2005 ANNIE WINDSOR

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or
locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

Edited byHeather Osborn.

Cover art bySyneca .

Warning:

The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers.Hot Lessons has been
rated E–rotic by a minimum of three independent reviewers.

Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E
(E-rotic), and X (X-treme).

S-ensuouslove scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination.

E-roticlove scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall
word count. In addition, some E-rated titles might contain fantasy material that some readers find
objectionable, such as bondage, submission, same sex encounters, forced seductions, and so forth.
E-ratedtitles are the most graphic titles we carry; it is common, for instance, for an author to use words
such as “fucking”, “cock”, “pussy”, and such within their work of literature.

X-tremetitles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storylineexecution. Unlike E-rated titles,
stories designated with the letter X tend to contain controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

Dungeon Heat:

Hot Lessons

Annie Windsor

Author’s Note

Dungeon Heat: Hot Lessonshas a contemporary setting, but the story is just that—a story, a tale, an
erotic fantasy.

Relationships in this book have a strong BDSM flavor, and show Master/slave relationships. However,
none of the books in the Dungeon Heat series are intended to portray true BDSM or Dom/sub
relationships as they actually occur.

In the spirit of erotic fantasy, theDungeon Heat books are also total fantasy when it comes to
responsible sex. In that complicated real world we all so love to escape with books like these, keep it
safe, sane, and consensual, and always practice safe sex.

Yours in delicious naughtiness,

Annie Windsor

Dedication

This book owes debts of gratitude to Patti Duplantis, Crystal Scott and Master Nage. Huge debts of
gratitude are owed to Violet Wanda of Eclectic Electric atwww.violetwands.net and Sire Don
ofwww.sdleather-lace.com , who helped make sure I didn’t do anything too—er—shocking. After
Violet Wanda’s wonderful literature and Sire Don’s brilliant and intriguing description, I truly believe
several hundred dollars might be cheap for the glowing toy depicted in this book!

Chapter One

Blackmoor Downs.

Just the name of the castle gave her delicious shivers, even though she was sitting in an office miles away,
at quiet little John’s River College.

Celia Lambert wanted to see the fancy manor, not just visit it—she wanted to explore the mystery, dig
around every stone until she uncovered its hidden rooms. Well, one hidden room in particular.

If the whispered stories were true, Blackmoor Downs, an actual English castle transplanted to John’s
River,Tennessee, had one hell of a secret.

A dungeon. A very special kind of modern, kinky dungeon, if the rumors could be believed.

Reginald Blackmoor was the most eccentric man Celia Lambert had ever met. He was older, very
British and incredibly sophisticated. He also happened to be her boss in the history department at
John’sRiverCollege, which made Celia wonder if she had absolutely lost her mind.

All of a sudden, Reggie’s academic office felt too small. The shelves of books seemed to close in around
her, and the remnant scent of cherry pipe tobacco overwhelmed her.

“Steady.” Alan Sparks shifted in the chair beside her and took her hand. The feel of his powerful grip,
the smoldering look in his bright blue eyes and the thought of what they might accomplish today helped
Celia buck up enough to stay in her seat. For the moment.

“What if it’s all speculation?” she murmured. “What if he just throws us out and tries to get me fired?”

“You know him better than that.” Alan let go of her fingers and put his hand on her leg, just below her
tight power skirt. The black fabric slid up as he pushed, revealing her bare thigh.

“Stop. What if he comes in?” Celia tried to nudge Alan, but he only grinned and slid his hand under the
skirt’s firm hem.

Always pushing limits. Always taking it to the edge. That was Alan. She had sensed that about him the
day he took his position at John’s River. They had been dating for a few months now, and there was a lot
more to the big blond hunk of mathematician than quadratic equations and matrices, thank God. Still, he
made her a little nervous. That’s why she hadn’t let him take her too far with their bondage play. She
trusted him in so many ways, but…

But total trust wasn’t Celia’s strong suit. Neither was throwing caution out the window, even when she
was fairly sure she was safe. Just once, she wanted to turn loose sexually, to really let go and experience
total submission, total pleasure, freedom from all her worries—from every last thing that held her back.
She’d let Alan push her further than any lover, and she knew he wanted take the next step. Hell, she
wanted to take the next step, too, whatever it was, but in the end she always panicked.

She felt like they needed help. Maybe some training.

They had looked through internet ads, checked out some clubs inNashville, even read books. Each
experience taught them something, but Celia just couldn’t bring herself to plunge ahead under the
direction of strangers or printed words. She knew Alan was frustrated with her hesitance, but she still felt
like they—he—needed a little guidance.

His hand, however, needed no guidance at all as it slid higher, higher, inching toward her

already-drenched bikini underwear. Her nipples hardened and she gripped the arms of one of Reggie’s
heavy oak office chairs.

“Alan, cut it out. I’m serious.”

“No, you’re not serious. You’re wet.” He flashed her one of his devastating grins. “You should be more
honest about what you want. Less reserved.”

Almost casually, without shifting in his chair or looking at her, he pulled the soaked strip of silk and
cotton to the side, baring her pussy. Celia gasped. She knew her face had to be turning redder than her
hair. Damn, she needed to smack him, make him stop before Reggie caught them fondling each other in
his office—but it felt so naughty.

So good.

“I bet I could surprise you, Celia. I could teach you a few things.” Still casual, without changing his
position, Alan thrust two fingers down, parting her swollen lips and trapping her clit.

Celia rocked backward from the shock. Her nipples pressed harder against the white silk of her bra and
blouse and she shoved herself up into the pain of his tight squeeze on her clit before she could think.

Grinning wider, Alan rolled her clit between his fingers, half-pinching, half-stroking. “I could lock the
door and fuck you on his desk.”

“Stop it. We’re at work, for God’s sake!”

“Or bend you over that leather couch and ram my cock as deep as you can take it.”

“Alan—” Her eyes were closed, seeing the fantasies. This man, what he did to her. What he wasdoing
to her! Shit, that office doorwasn’t locked and Alan had her skirt up, had the red curls of her pussy
exposed, and he was rubbing her clit hard. And fast. And faster. Making her moan. Making her need
more.

She realized she was bucking against his strokes.

Sweat beaded across her forehead.

Each noise in the hallway outside made her jump, doubling the sensation. Fear. Need. Shame.
Excitement. The tides broke across her all at once, making her squirm even more forcefully.

Alan was looking straight ahead, that little grin plastered on his face. From behind, it would look like he
was holding her hand—if she weren’t hunching and groaning so obviously.

God, she was hot. The room was a friggin’ inferno.

“You like this, don’t you?” Alan whispered. At least the bastard’s voice was hoarse. “You like being a
slut in your boss’s office.”

Celia’s mind started to turn loose. She tried to keep hold of herself, but Alan’s dirty talk made her twice
as crazy.

“Should I let you come, naughty girl?”

“Please,” she whispered, shoving her pussy into his hand, forcing her clit against his moving fingers.

He teased, slowing down and speeding up until she wanted to scream.

Were those footsteps in the hallway? Were they getting closer?

Help me…

“I should stop and make you wait.” Alan slowed his strokes to nothing, making her grind her teeth so
hard her jaws ached.

“Don’t you dare,” she snarled.

“Feisty today. Hmm.” He faked a yawn and she wanted to hit him.

“Damn it, you’d better finish what you started.”

“Whatever you say.” He stroked her fast again, pitching her off the cliff without any warning.

Celia had to bite her lip to keep from screaming as the orgasm hit. Her body twisted under Alan’s
fingers. Electric heat flowed up, up, through her aching nipples, down her arms, making her shake,
bending her forward, making her moan low and long.

He kept rubbing, kept rubbing, drawing it out, letting her twitch, knowing she needed to blow the roof
off with a good, gut-level screech. But she couldn’t. Dear God. She was in her boss’s office.

She’d let Alan make her come in Reggie’s office chair.

Son of a bitch. She needed medication. Or counseling. Or something.

“We need to leave,” she gasped, forcing Alan’s hand away, standing up so fast she almost overbalanced
on her high heels. As she yanked down her business skirt, she realized Alan was laughing.

Oooooh. No.

Not Alan.

Someone else. Someonebehind her. As in, where the door was.

Please, tell me no. Tell me that’s not—

“I don’t think you need to leave,” Reggie’s proper British response cut off all hope of salvaging her
dignity. “In fact, I think you very much need to stay, Celia.”

In a totally new tone, a forceful, powerful bass she had never heard from the gentleman historian, Reggie
added, “Sit.”

Celia’s knees gave like he’d struck them from behind. It was reflex. Her damp ass hit the office chair so
fast her breath left in a rush. Chills rippled all across the back of her neck.

And her damned wet panties were giving her a wedgie.

I think I want to die.

Reggie came around the chairs and stood in front of them, arms folded.

“It’s all in the tone,” he said to Alan. “If a woman wants to be mastered, if she truly trusts you and wants
to submit, she’ll appreciate a confident command. Otherwise, not bad. Although you do let her talk back
far too much for my tastes.”

Celia’s breath once more left her body. Her flaming blush eased—but only a little—and nothing lessened
her desire to beat Alan with the nearest heavy volume of British history.

“You talked to him already,” she muttered through clenched teeth. “That’s why you weren’t nervous.”

“Don’t be angry with him, my dear.” Reggie’s voice was back to its normal, kind timbre. Easygoing.
Utterly without judgment. “It’s the mark of a true Dominant, his wish to protect you from rejection and
the wrong sort of embarrassment. I would have thought less of him if he hadn’t approached me first.”

Alan finally looked at her. His gorgeous eyes danced with excitement. “He agreed, Celia. Thereis a
dungeon at Blackmoor Downs—and Reggie will give us a few lessons there.”

Celia’s throat tightened.

Her gaze turned back to Reggie. He nodded, then addressed her unspoken concerns. “It’s a risk. We
could get angry, take each other to task at some later date. But I’d like to think we’re both above such
childish behavior.”

“This is between us,” she agreed. “Personal, not professional.”

“In the spirit of that boundary, I’d like to ask you never to have an orgasm in my office again.” Reggie’s
smile was gentle. His sharp features made him look so much younger, yet wise beyond all age. “Actually,
anywhere in this building, save for your own office, with the door locked.”

Celia coughed. Alan laughed. Reggie kept up his smile until they muttered agreements.

“Good, good. Boundaries and limits form the foundation of any healthy sexual relationship, with or
without bondage and domination.” He edged backward, until he was sitting on the edge of his big desk.

With a start, Celia realized she wasn’t embarrassed anymore. Something about Reggie’s manner was so
clinical, so professional. It was like going to a doctor—a moment’s discomfort, then no problem.

“Have you—ah—done this before?” The words caught in her throat, but she relaxed, tried to let them
flow. “Trained people?”

This earned her a chuckle from Reggie. “More times than I can count, Celia.”

“I’m convinced he knows what he’s doing,” Alan added. “What do you think?”

Celia was about to answer, but Reggie held up his hand. His familiar countenance shifted into one much

harder, more stern.

The sex doctor,Celia thought.The professional Master.

“Don’t answer until you’ve heard my rules and plans, Celia. How can you give informed consent if you
don’t know what I’m proposing?”

Fishing for the right response, Celia settled on silence. She hadn’t thought about it from that perspective.

Safe, sane, consensual.

How many times had she read those words? Yet, as Reggie had just pointed out so sharply, she hadn’t
really put them into practice.

“You’re training me, too,” she said at last, when she felt more sure of herself.

“Of course I am. The ultimate responsibility for protecting yourself, that rests with you.” Reggie relaxed
his arms, looking casual despite the content of their conversation. “Safety lies in the choice of your
partners, in the choice of situations, in the safeguards you establish. Never agree to the unlimited
unknown. Find out the parameters first.”

Celia swallowed, then considered her next words before speaking. “Okay. Reggie, if you train us, what
will you do?”

“Better.” He smiled again. “If we make this agreement, I’ll work some with Alan alone. Then I’ll require
a full day as a beginning, with both of you in my dungeon. There, I’ll show you some of the many
pleasures of bondage and domination.”

Alan fidgeted in his chair. Celia saw his hungry expression. The man couldn’t wait to get started, that
much was obvious. His eagerness flattered her, excited her, but it also gave her pause.

I’m glad we came to the doctor.

Reggie leaned back, grew stern again. “I won’t touch you, and you won’t touch me. I’m an observer, a
teacher, not a participant. Any breach of that protocol and the lessons end. Permanently.”

Celia agreed readily, in chorus with Alan.

They spoke for another half-hour, going over details, from Celia’s safe word—Agamemnon—to some
of her basic preferences and desires. She even managed to stammer out her longest-running, most
devastatingly hot fantasy—being kidnapped by a dark, powerful bad boy and kept at his mercy for a full
day of unbelievably hot sex. Trying things she didn’t even know about, things she would never have the
guts to try in her regular life. Hell, if he was really a hot, energetic dark stranger—a week!

“I want—” her voice caught as she tried to finish. It was hard to bring her mind back to reality long
enough to be coherent. To her great surprise, tears welled behind her eyes, threatening to humiliate her.
What the hell?

Breathing, breathing, she relaxed herself and let the urge to cry ease out of her body.

“I want to learn new things,” she finally managed. “I want to be surprised, shocked—I don’t know.

Completely transported.”

Reggie’s smile was indulgent and once more, oddly comforting. “You want the night of your life, my
dear.”

“The night of my life,” she echoed, catching Alan’s bright blue eyes, letting him hold her gaze. “Yes. I
want the night of my life. Maybe the weekend of my life.”

The affair of my life? Oh, God, Celia. Get a grip.

Alan broke the stare and turned his attention back to Reggie. He outlined his own desires as Celia tried
to listen and absorb, but it was hard. Her body was on high alert. Her heart also seemed tuned to its
highest frequency. She felt overly sensitive, terrified and very, very warm.

What was happening here?

What was she really agreeing to accept? Or more importantly, to surrender?

The questions had no ready answers.

This teacher has a few lessons to learn, it seems.

She sighed and discreetly pinched her own hand to make herself focus. It was a trick she had learned
during boring student readings and projects, and as usual, it worked.

Reggie was careful to draw out their absolutes, to make them list what they dreamed of and what they
absolutely would not tolerate.

The doctor liked being prepared. Good. With each layer of conversation, Celia grew more comfortable,
more relaxed.

And more thrilled with the prospects.

This time, when she gave her consent to submit to Alan under Reggie’s tutoring, she did so with
confidence.

Alan finally put a voice to her biggest question. “When can we start?”

At this, Reggie grinned. His wise eyes crinkled, and Celia wasn’t at all sure she liked the gleam she
caught.

“That will be our secret, yours and mine, Alan.”

Celia started to protest, but Reggie cut her off with one of his hard looks.

“I’m not open to persuasion, my dear. Do you trust this arrangement we’ve made?”

She shifted in her chair, half-nervous, half-excited. “Yes.”

“Do you trust me to respect our mutual boundaries and to help Alan see to your pleasure?”

Definitely more excitement than nerves. “Yes.”

Reggie stood up from his repose against the desk. He seemed to tower over both of them.

“Do you understand that at any time, your safe word is the key to bringing everything to a total halt,
Celia?”

“Of course.”

“Then we’ve already begun.”

Reggie’s confident tone gave her a pleasant shiver. The doctor looked at Alan, then turned his gaze back
to Celia.

“I will tell you only this before I give Alan the reins. Be ready at any time—for anything.”

Celia almost asked him for more, but realized before she spoke—this was a Master’s Master. She
wouldn’t be getting any more out of Reggie, not until he damn well chose to give it. Whatever he
dreamed up with Alan, she’d find out when they told her.

Why is the room so hot?

She fanned herself with her hand.

Alan laughed, but Reggie only gave her that distant, mysterious doctor’s smile.

Damn, damn, damn. What have I gotten myself into?

Chapter Two

The change in Alan was immediate. The boisterous mathematician became quiet, mysterious and more
reserved than Celia ever thought he could be. And he started laying down rules. No contact at the
college. No asking questions. No sex until he said so. The bastard even asked her not to masturbate.

“It’s about patience,” he told her over a fancy dinner two weeks later. “Patience and compliance.”

Celia stabbed at a shrimp, frowning. “I’m not much on complying outside of the bedroom. That wasn’t
part of the deal.”

They were dining at Oliver’s, the only restaurant in John’s River with any class. Alan had chosen a table
near the back and he kept his voice quiet, private, as he answered.

“Everything I’m asking you to do is about sex, Celia.” His blue eyes flashed in the candlelight, melting
some of her resistance. “Power, control—the things you want to explore. Ican teach you. And you’ll
enjoy the lessons.”

She sighed. Alan was so damned handsome with his Nordic features, his chiseled chest, the way his lean
waist gave way to muscled thighs. In jeans or a dark suit like the one he was wearing now, the man was
one delectable morsel. It was especially hard to tell him to blow off when he was being so sincere. This
side of him—the more controlled, more dominant side—intrigued her.

“I’d never ask you to give up your independence outside the bedroom unless you wanted to.”

“I don’t,” she said immediately, skewering another shrimp. “You can call all the shots between the
sheets, but I’m still my own woman. Are we clear?”

Alan took her free hand across the table and stroked it gently. “Absolutely.”

Celia tried to chew without choking as he ran his fingers from her wrist to her elbow and back down
again. The barely restrained way he was looking at her, like she was the only woman on the planet, like
he planned to cart her off and fuck her until she couldn’t move, made her heart beat faster.

Once more, he traced a line from her wrist to her elbow, then back down the sensitive side of her arm.
The side that made her shiver.

“Good things are worth waiting for, don’t you think?” he murmured.

It was all Celia could do to gulp down the bite she had taken.

Damn him.

Okay, fine. So, she wouldn’t masturbate. But that didn’t mean she was ready to declare him the sex god
of John’s River.

Not yet, anyway.

* * * * *

A week later, on the Friday afternoon of Reggie’s annual soiree, Celia stepped out of her shower after a
frustrating twenty minutes of torturing herself. The warm water’s gentle kiss had turned her on so much
she’d almost exploded with the need to touch herself, but she’d made a deal.

No self-relieving.

I’m such an idiot.

She toweled off her hair first, then moved down, doing her best not to linger on her breasts—or
anywhere else. The image of Alan’s bluer-than-blue eyes flashed through her mind, along with his
promise.

I want to make your fantasies come true. Slowly. Fully. Each dream, each impulse. One at a time…

Celia smiled to herself.

That would be one tall order.

She had always been a thrill seeker at heart, even if she hadn’t had the courage to act on half of what
she wanted in life. A few good lovers, more than a few bad lovers, the doctorate degree, a decent
job—that was about as adventurous as she had dared to be before Alan.

Who would have thought a mathematics professor could be so dangerous?

She draped the towel over a nearby rack and ran her fingers through the damp red strands of her hair.
Her thoughts drifted to what she should wear to Reggie’s party, perhaps the only mandatory social event
John’sRiverCollegecould boast. She had agreed to meet Alan there, which meant whatever fun he was
planning would probably wait until Saturday. Or next week.

Celia groaned. “Forever, damn it.”

That’s when her lights went out.

No flicker. No warning. Just absolute darkness, absolute silence, except for the jump and hammer of her
heart, the ragged catch of her breath.

She hadn’t heard any thunder. She didn’t think it was raining or windy.

What the hell?

She’d have to find a flashlight, get dressed in the dark—and what about her hair and makeup? Crap.
Thiswould have to happen when she was naked and wet. At least she started plenty early, so maybe she
wouldn’t be too late.

She felt her way out of the bathroom, hoping for a little moonlight or city glow through her bedroom
windows.

As she opened the bathroom door and edged into the bedroom, she still couldn’t see a thing.

Odd.

Were her shades closed?

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. So did every small hair on her entire damp, shivering body.

She hadn’t closed the shades, had she?

Firm hands grabbed her from behind. Celia tried to scream, but her mouth was covered, her wrists
trapped against her sides and a hard, muscular body pinned her face-first against the wall. He pressed
against her, head to ass to heel.

Pinning her…gently.

Not roughly.

Not even when she struggled.

Celia’s mind whirled faster than the speed of light. Shouts rose and fell in her chest, spent against the
fingers pressed into her lips. Her heart felt near to splitting in two, beating, beating, cutting her breath into
shocked fragments.

“I won’t hurt you,” said a familiar low voice. “Not unless you want me to.”

Alan?

Alan?!?!

I’ll kill him! I’ll—

“That’s it. Fight me.” His breath was hot against her ear as she battled to free herself. Damn, he was
strong. His grip tightened to iron. He pressed her harder into the wall. His pants rubbed against her ass as
he pumped his contained erection up and down, up and down her bare skin, tracing the fissure between
her cheeks just perfectly.

What was he wearing? Leather?

Shit.

She was getting wet in a big hurry.

“I’d be disappointed if I came to kidnap you and you didn’t struggle at least a little bit,” Alan murmured.
Then he bit her ear softly. Just enough to send a hot rush straight to her pussy.

Thoughts of killing him faded into fantasies of beating him up maybe a little, then fucking his brains out.
After almost a month of complete celibacy, her arousal was so instant, so intense she could barely keep
from moaning.

I told them I wanted to be kidnapped, didn’t I? What kind of idiot tells two men with access to a castle
dungeon that she wants to be kidnapped?

Agamemnon. That’s the safe word. How am I supposed to say it if he has my mouth covered?

As if reading her mind, Alan nibbled her ear again. “If you want me to stop and you can’t speak, make
four fast, high-pitched sounds.”

Celia nodded, obsessed by the feeling of his leather-clad cock stroking her ass, still moving up and
down, like he was already fucking her. Her clit swelled seemingly with each almost-thrust.

“Make one sound for yes, so I know you understand, and so I know what to listen for.”

Imagining an opera singer at full-blast, Celia made a squeak against Alan’s fingers.

“Good.”

He let go of her mouth and wrists long enough to spin her around. In seconds, she was pinned again, this
time ass against the wall, arms over her head and her mouth pressed against his. His erection swelled
against her belly, and she caught his delicious scent of leather, very light spice cologne and pure muscled
man. His lips felt so full, so firm as he kissed her, nipped her mouth, probed her with his hot tongue. She
had kissed him before, many times, but never like this. Never helpless, naked against a wall, so totally at
his mercy.

Never when he seemed so in command.

Even in the pitch darkness, she was starting to see Alan in a whole new light.

He released her mouth. She could just make out his outline in the abiding darkness, hear the heavy
cadence of his breathing.

“If you agree, you’ll be my prisoner for twenty-four hours, Celia. You won’t speak without permission,
you won’t come without permission, you won’t even move without permission.” He brushed his lips
against hers, at the same time scrubbing her nipples and mound with his leather pants and rough cotton
tunic. “I’ll take you to Reggie’s party, and then I’ll take you to the dungeon. At exactly7:00
p.m.tomorrow night, I’ll ask if you want to go home, or if I’ve earned another day of your submission.”

Celia opened her mouth to answer, but closed it when Alan brought a single finger to her lips.

The night of my life…

The affair of my life…

“Consider this carefully,” he rumbled, letting his voice caress her, neck to nipple to clit. So low. So
powerful. “If you say yes, I’ll be the teacher—and the lessons will be hot enough to burn. I’ll take you to
places you never thought you’d go.”

More chills coursed over Celia’s skin.

Her heart was still beating so hard, so fast from the scare he had given her. Now she was scared all over
again in a more delicious, dangerous way.

This is a fantasy, right?

But Alan sounded so serious.

And he had surprised and captured her so totally, so easily.

Celia’s clit throbbed in time with her pulse. Her nipples ached from the coarse pressure of Alan’s tunic.

She wanted him to touch her, fuck her, kiss her, relieve the ache between her legs, lessen the ache down
inside her, in that empty place where she never felt completely sated.

Could he do that?

Trust him… Can I really trust him?

Imagining the blaze of his eyes, the set of his handsome face, the way he had looked at her across the
past few weeks, she whispered her response.

“Yes.”

Alan’s intake of breath was audible, as was the tightening of his grip. In a swift, unstoppable movement,
he ravaged her mouth. The force of his kiss took her breath, made her heart flutter. She strained forward
against the restraint of his body, wanting to feel more of him and wishing, wishing, wishing he would take
her now. By the time he eased back, her knees were weak.

“You’re mine now, Celia Lambert. For tonight, I’m the Master.”

Alan released her and stepped back.

“On your knees,” he commanded. “Hands to your sides.”

There in the dark, still naked and shivering from her bath, excited beyond all reason, Celia knelt on her
bedroom floor, keeping her back straight and her hands by her sides. Her muscles tightened with
anticipation, and her pussy felt so hot she wondered if it could burn.

What is he going to do?

She heard rustles, the whispering of fabric. Alan’s hands touched the sides of her head. He pressed
something against her lips.

“Open your mouth,” came the hoarse instruction.

Celia obeyed.

Something rubbery pushed against her lips and entered her mouth. It felt like the tip of a cock, but tasted
like light mint. The rubber part filled the space between her tongue and the top of her mouth. As Alan
worked, Celia realized he was fastening the object into place. The well-worked leather straps felt soft
against her lips, her cheeks and behind her ears.

“This is a penis gag,” Alan said in that clit-teasing low voice. “You can bite on it if you need to, and you
should be able to breathe easily. Try it.”

More compliant than she had ever been, Celia drew a slow breath through her mouth and nose. Air
moved easily through a hole in the gag, feeling cool against the back of her throat.

“While you’re gagged, you can make whatever noises please you. If you need me to remove the gag,
give me three of your special sounds. Do you understand?”

Celia squeaked once to acknowledge his instruction.

Once more, she heard Alan move, heard a few rustles, followed by the creak of leather. When Alan ran
a finger down her rigid back, she realized he had knelt behind her. She tensed all over again, alternating
between heat and chills, wondering what was coming next.

Tenderly, he took her arms in his hands and pulled them behind her back. Celia felt something furry
touch her wrists, then heard a clink. When Alan took his hands away, she knew she had been
handcuffed.

“Stand,” he instructed, and assisted her to her feet.

She realized she was trembling now. Even though she was still in total darkness, she had never felt so
naughty, not even when Alan was rubbing her clit in Reggie’s office. Damn, but she wished he would
touch her pussy now. The throbbing between her legs was reaching monumental proportions.

Alan’s next move, however, was not on her list of expectations. After a few more rustling sounds, he
touched her breasts with his wrists, then slid them down toward her nipples, slowly, slowly, as if feeling
his way, until he brushed across the pebbled tips. Too quick for thought, he pinched her nipples hard
enough to make her cry out against the gag. Just one sharp pinch…but he seemed to have left something

behind. Something wet.

Somethingwarm.

And now he was sliding one wrist down her belly.

Damn, her nipples were heating up. She felt like Alan had them both in his warm mouth. What in the
name of…?

His wrist reached her mound, then his fingers were slipping between the swollen lips of her pussy,
stroking, rubbing and—oh, God—coating her with something there, too. Something that mingled with her
juices, getting warmer, warmer.

Celia moaned into the gag, biting the rubber cock between her teeth.

What was he doing to her?

Could she even make her safe noises if she wanted to?

Party…castle…dungeon…

She was beginning to doubt she would live that long. The sheer need for satisfaction might kill her first. If
she did live, she wondered if she’d kill Alan for this torture before tomorrow night.

A definite possibility.

Her nipples and her entire slit tingled, staying hot, staying so engorged she felt actual pain. The
perfect-pleasure kind of pain that made her head spin.

A part of her mind was aware of Alan wrapping her in a cloak, pulling a hood over her head—not to
cover her face, no, but to shield the presence of the gag from prying eyes.

Without comment, he walked her forward, barefoot, still damp and naked and burning under that cloak,
gagged and handcuffed under that cloak, out of the bedroom. Down the steps. Across the living room
through the entryway to the front door.

Celia started to protest as he opened the door, but the gag left her with nothing but incoherent
noisemaking. Which competed with Alan’s chuckling. Which solidified her resolve to kill him before
tomorrow night.

After he satisfied her a few times.

After he fucks me until I scream—withoutthe gag in my mouth.

Out they went into the night. Celia kept her head lowered in case any neighbors happened to be looking.
They would see nothing amiss, except her dark house—and maybe the fact she was barefoot.

Almost on cue, the lights came back on. Celia blinked against the sudden glare flooding her front yard.
As her eyes adjusted to the illuminated sidewalk, she saw Alan walking a step in front of her, his blond
hair feathering in the slight breeze. He was dressed in tight black breeches, definitely leather, but
well-done and not at all chintzy. He also wore a tight black tunic made of a rough, braided material. The

outfit made him look like a cross between barbarian and gentleman, and definitely showed off his cut
muscles.

The next thing she noticed was the huge limousine waiting by the curb.

Alan opened the back door of the gargantuan black luxury auto. His hands were gentle but firm as he
carefully helped Celia inside, held her still, and closed the door behind them.

If she hadn’t been gagged, she would have gasped at the inside of the car. The interior glowed a soft
white-yellow. Several control switches glowed an equally soft red. The black seats made a square
around a carpeted area that seemed almost as large as the floor space in one of her smaller rooms. She
saw a minibar, something that looked like a stereo, several wooden cases, thick black glass obviously
tinted for privacy—all in all, a very impressive ride. One day, when she didn’t have a plastic dick
between her teeth and body parts on fire from some mysterious lubricant, she’d ask Alan who it
belonged to.

For now, she’d be content to dig her toes into the thick, soft carpet, perch on the edge of one of the
leather seats and hope her clit didn’t melt.

Alan secured the door with automatic locks, then moved around to Celia. Without comment, he took off
her cape, leaving her naked except for the gag and handcuffs. When he took the handcuffs off, too, she
felt almost disappointed—yet relieved at the same time. Would he fuck her now?

Please let that answer be yes.

Instead, he massaged her wrists, her arms, all the while gazing at her in that all-consuming, possessive
way. In the soft light of the interior, she could see the diamond shine of his blue eyes. He was studying
her, from her still-damp hair, down to her jutting, aching nipples and lower, to her soft red curls.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. One of his hands strayed to the smattering of freckles on her chest. He trailed
his fingers from one shoulder to the other, following the pattern.

“You remind me of an exotic djinni, some sort of magical royalty.” He stroked the freckles again,
shoulder to shoulder, then back to her chest. “These marks are proof of your birthright. A sign of your
power over foolish mortals like me. Only I’ve turned the tables on you. I’ve captured the djinni. And I
may never let you escape.”

His massage moved to her breasts.

Celia groaned as he palmed the pale globes and squeezed.

“Your nipples are the same color as your freckles. When I suck them, they get dark, like the best red
wine. Would you like me to suck your nipples, my djinni?”

The gag came in handy as she moaned her assent, then growled when he didn’t do it.

“In time,” he promised. “You need to learn patience.”

I’ll patienceyouwhen I get the chance.Her hands clenched into fists. She wanted to shove her fingers
between her legs so badly she couldn’t stand it. She needed some respite from the pounding desire, the
hot ache of the oil.

Alan seemed impervious to her growing need and her homicidal thoughts. He calmly pointed to the
carpeted floor. “Lie down in the center and spread your arms and legs.”

The gag muffled her pointed response.

Damn him.

No wonder he made her wear it.

“You’re hesitating,” he commented softly, with the slightest edge to his voice. When she looked at his
face, she saw that his expression had hardened. “Is that true?”

She nodded vigorously, wishing she could call him a bastard more clearly.

Alan sighed. “That’s a punishment. If I were you, I wouldn’t earn another.”

Punishment? Okay, if being naked in a limo with a dick gag in my mouth isn’t punishment, what is?

Alan eased off his seat, rapped the glass separating the back of the limo from the driver, and came to
rest cross-legged on the big car’s carpeted floor. The engine turned over. When the car moved, he
grabbed her wrist and yanked her off the seat, straight into his lap.

Startled, she cried out as he turned her over and positioned her with her ass across his lap. Celia thought
about fighting him, then thought about the handcuffs.

“Be still,” he ordered. “Stretch your arms over your head.”

She stopped wriggling and did as he commanded. Her fingers rested on the soft carpet. Her breasts
hung beside Alan’s leather-clad leg, her heat-tortured nipples dangling into the carpet’s soft pile. The
gentle vibration of the car’s movement doubled the erotic sensations.

“When I tell you to do something, I expect you to obey immediately.”

Alan spanked her ass so suddenly and so hard that Celia yelped against the gag. Damn, that stung! She
imagined her cheek lighting up with the five fingers of his handprint—and he spanked her again!

She bucked in his lap, biting the gag as her nipples crushed harder into the carpet.

The sting from the first slap seemed to be fading, or more accurately, moving—down inside her, heating
her even more than the oil he had applied, increasing the ache in her pussy. Alan spanked her again…and
again, each time pausing to let the burn mingle with her growing pleasure.

Another slap to the ass, and another.

Tears leaked out of Celia’s eyes, but not from the pain. From the need swelling inside her, from the raw
want he was making her feel.

Alan paused.

Celia ground her teeth on the gag. She wanted him to keep it up. A few more hard smacks and she

would come. She just knew it.

He’d punish me for that, too. Let’s see. Do I care?

He cupped her stinging ass, squeezing, murmuring about her shape, the firmness. “You’re a pleasure to
touch, sweet djinni. A pleasure to spank. Your ass turns a wonderful shade of pink.”

Damn you. Couldn’t you do it for two more minutes?

She sucked in a breath as his fingers moved down to tease the swollen lips of her pussy. He slipped
inside the wetness, straight into her waiting core.

Yes, yes! Please!

Her muscles clenched around his thrust. Ripples of pleasure spread upward, raising chills over every inch
of her skin. A ragged moan broke around the penis-gag. Celia moved her hips, trying to take him deeper,
but he only laughed quietly and withdrew, leaving her empty and hornier than ever.

“I thought I told you to be still.” He clucked, resting his hand on her ass. “It’s obvious you need another
lesson in obedience—and, as I expected, patience.”

Careful to keep her curses sounding like moans, Celia expressed her opinion aboutthat comment.

“Now, I want you on your back in the center of the floor with your legs and arms spread. This time,
don’t hesitate.”

Moan-swearing to beat the band, Celia complied.

She crawled out of Alan’s lap, letting her nipples rake across his leather pants and his massive erection.
His surprised grunt made her grin, as did his masculine purr when she arranged herself spread-eagle on
the limo floor.

When he shifted to a kneeling position beside her, Celia was gratified to see the appreciation on his
face—and the undisguised arousal.

“Incredible,” he whispered, touching her with both hands, massaging her breasts, moving outward
toward her arms, her wrists. He gave one of her wrists a gentle tug onto a rougher spot on the
carpet—and locked it to the floor with some sort of rubbery cuff!

Her eyes widened as he cuffed the other wrist, then both of her ankles.

Then, oh-so casually, he reached up and hit a switch on the limousine’s wall.

As Celia watched, disbelieving, the ceiling panels of the limo’s roof parted, leaving only a long sheet of
clear glass between her and the night sky.

“That’s better,” Alan murmured, returning to his maddeningly gentle stroking of her breasts, approaching
the nipples and backing off as she stared upward. “I like the stars, don’t you?”

Celia wondered desperately where they were driving, dying to know what, if anything could be seen
from taller buildings—hell, even cars with higher seats!

Alan pinched her nipples firmly, making her bite the gag, dragging her attention straight back to him.

“I could do this all night if I want,” he commented in that offhanded fashion. “What would you think if I
pinched your nipples for a few hours, my sweet djinni?”

Always accommodating, Celia’s pussy answered his question with a fierce, wet ache.

Alan tweaked the buds without stopping, gentle touches alternating with sharp, until Celia’s brain
expanded along with her clit. Her entire focus became the crazy-making sensations. Pain, but not pain.
Pleasure, but not pleasure. She found herself forcing her muscles upward, trying to push into him, trying
to tempt him to use his mouth, or better yet, touch her pussy. Just a little bit. Just for a second.

But she could hardly move at all. She was helpless. Unable to scream. Locked to the floor of a moving
car, exposed—and at the mercy of a maddeningly handsome kidnapper.

I’ll take you places you never thought you’d go…

She had said yes even after his warning, hadn’t she?

Abruptly, he released her nipples.

Wanting to roar with frustration, Celia turned her head to track his movements as best she could.
Naturally, and likely by his design, she couldn’t see much.

Music switched on, soft and low, with a steady beat.

He opened one of the cases and moved a few things around. Then he adjusted the lighting in the back of
the limo.

The glass above her became more and more a mirror instead of a window. At first she saw an outline of
herself, a ghostly image that formed more and more, finally so clear she could discern each curve, hair
and freckle.

And she could discern Alan moving a wooden case off the seat, near to where she lay so stretched and
vulnerable.

“I thought you might wonder why I gagged you,” he said as he opened the case and took out a metal
cylinder. “Sorry I waited to explain. I needed to make sure your skin was dry enough to use this first.”

A cord ran from the bottom of the cylinder. Alan attached the cord to a port in the limo’s side wall.

Anelectrical outlet?Oh, god.

She bit the gag. Tried to make her throat work to be sure she could squeak loud enough if necessary.
Her fingers and toes flexed.

“I chose that gag to give you something to bite and to keep you quiet.” He smiled, looking more
dangerous than ever in the limo’s low light. “Wouldn’t want the driver or people on the street to think I’m
killing you.”

OhGodohGodwhatisthatthing?!?!

He worked carefully, deftly, as he attached a wand to the end of the ominous-looking cylinder. It was
long and slender, looked to be glass, with a wide round bulb on the end.

The limo made a smooth left turn. Alan turned the music up louder.

He pushed a switch on the cylinder, and the long tip slowly, slowly kindled into an electric violet light.

Celia’s eyes stretched wider. Her breathing turned to gasps again. The combination of fear and
helplessness added to the mystery, to the excitement. Her pussy ached to be touched. She wanted to
squeeze her legs together now, now, now!

Alan brought the violet wand closer, then held it above her belly.

“Do you trust me?” he asked quietly. “Do you believe I can show you pleasures you’ve never
imagined?”

Eyes fixed on the scary, intriguing instrument in his hand, Celia felt herself nod once, then twice.

What the hell am I doing?

Chapter Three

“Remember. Don’t come without my permission.” Alan moved downward and pressed the glowing
glass bulb against her leg. Celia felt an immediate rush of tingling, a bubbling sensation that hummed
through her body seemingly all the way to her hair. The wand gave off a soft, steady buzz. “Coming
without permission would earn a serious punishment, indeed.”

The music took on a slow, ominous, gripping beat. No tune she recognized, yet every song she had ever
heard. Just a background beat, keeping time, matching the subtle sway of the limousine.

Celia tensed, but felt only that wonderful, charging hum across her skin—inside her skin—and the slick,
slightly warm surface of the wand traveling from her calf to the top of her foot and back up again.
Wherever the wand touched, the hum doubled.

Alan moved his hand, adjusted a control on the wand. Suddenly, the pressure of the wand vanished.
Something bit her leg—well, almost like a playful bite. She heard a soft pop and crackle, smelled a touch
of lightning in the air. The purple glow in the limo doubled, and Celia sucked air through
the—thankfully—wide hole in her penis gag.

Then, on her leg again—she felt like Alan was slowly pouring warm champagne on her ankle, then higher
on her calf, her knee…

Hot, tingling, almost painfully warm but not quite, relaxing and arousing all at once. Higher, above her
knee, to her thigh. She could feel the buzz everywhere, in her hair, her lips, her teeth, everywhere,
everywhere…

Real sparks jumped and bit, just a few, but enough to widen her eyes, amaze her—what was he doing?

The pace of the music increased ever so slightly. A little edgier. More mysterious.

That hint of lightning and the unusual smell of electric energy filled her nose.

She was already so wet. How could she get wetter? But she did. Trembling and shivering, wondering
how that fizzling-warming-biting-buzzing would feel on her inner thighs, on her pussy.

“Do you like the wand?” Alan murmured through the hypnotic pound of the music. “I can increase or
decrease the power. Keep it at this mildly stimulating level, or turn it up higher. Can you imagine the
shock at the highest point?”

OhGodohGodohGod…

“In the old days, technology wasn’t so advanced. Wand cores got hot and melted, so this might only last
a few minutes—twenty tops. Now I can tease you for hours.”

OhGodohGodOhGod…

The purple wand eased toward her hip, then circled the joint. Moved away. Sparks made sudden bursts
and halos. The sound alone was enough to make her clit ache. The wand returned. Celia felt like warm
fingers were massaging the bone, pulling the bass beat of the music into her flesh, into her body.

Alan traced an arc from her hip to her belly button and back again, making her stomach quiver. More
sparks, so softly purple, yet so bright. Perfect bites, like he was nibbling at her skin. Waves of pleasant
chills covered her from toe to forehead. She felt that crazy distant hum everywhere inside, almost a
rumble, blending with the limo’s smooth engine and the ever-present beat, beat, beat of that background
song.

“It has more than one attachment, too, the wand. There’s a rake, for example. Three or four prongs—it
can be quite electrifying.”

The purple cylinder shimmered and sparked as he covered her belly and chest with slow, deliberate
patterns of stings and sudden heat. That almost-acrid scent of storms and lightning was everywhere now,
coming from the wand, coming fromher .Her nipples jutted out as the champagne-tingles coursed up the
sides of her breasts, just missing where she wanted them to go.

The music grew faster.

A warning. A hint.

Tension coiled in Celia’s belly.

Back down went the wand, across her stomach. One hip, then the other. Purple patterns flared in the
air. She squirmed against her bonds, scared, excited, wanting more, needing to know where he was
headed.

“Of all the toys I’ve learned about, this one is my favorite.” Alan’s grin shimmered, surreal in the wand’s
light. He was more than handsome. He was almost godlike sitting over her like he was, showering her
with such powerful sensations.

He could do anything to me. Anything at all.Celia’s teeth closed on the penis gag.And the scary thing

is, I’d probably like it.

The music quickened yet again.

She almost screamed from the sound.

Then Alan casually flicked the wand over one of her swollen nipples, and she did scream against the gag.
She damned near came on the spot from the shock and intense, total pleasure. Her body bucked against
her will. She found herself shoving her chest up, up, into the lavender arc, into the sparks and that hot,
tickle-burning light.

Alan worked her like a surgeon, stinging one nipple, tweaking the other, back and forth, back and forth,
working in time to the song. The wand felt like an unforgiving mouth, like teeth, like the softest, thinnest
lash imaginable.

Celia’s world narrowed to that impossibly erotic torture. The limo, the mirroring glass above her, the
music, the reality of movement—everything melted into the sweet purple fire, the heady lightning scent,
the arch of her back, the pump of her hips, the grip of the restraints on her wrists and ankles. Her clit
ached in time with the rhythm of Alan’s wand strokes on her nipples, with that intoxicating music and the
fascinating, leaping sparks.

Every inch of her wanted his touch. Wanted his fingers, his hands, his mouth, the wand, whatever he
would give her, however he wanted to give it.

He moved it down, down, across her belly, ringing her belly button and down to the triangle of red curls
so damp and ready.

She sucked in more air as he fingered her swollen lips, pulled them apart, exposed her throbbing clit to
the air, to his scrutiny.

“So beautiful.” His low, enticing voice seemed to come from somewhere else, somewhere unearthly. Did
he say that? Did the words come from the music?

Her senses spun.

The heat of the wand, the tingling pulse, struck the apex of her parted lower lips, and Celia screamed
into the gag again. Reflex made her bite down as he traced her once around, outside the lips to her tight
lower hole, then back up the other side.

Like hot wax bubbling against her most private, most responsive places, stopping just short of burning
her pussy, melting her inside and out.

The music reached its summit, thumping along, sending ripples of sound through the limo.

Celia squeezed her eyes shut. Sweat coated her body. She was straining, shoving her hips as high as she
could, utterly unable to stop, to control her movement or the ragged heave of her breath, or the moans
and shouts spent against the well-bitten penis gag.

Alan eased the wand across her clit.

Sparks fired against Celia’s eyelids. Her whole being shook as the moving, undulating heat bit that

sensitive bud, pitching her high, higher, too high, into space.

“Don’t stop,” she was shouting into the penis gag. “Please God, don’t stop, don’t stop, no, no, no,
damn you—”

But he was stopping, pressing the wand against the flesh of her thighs, turning it off, moving it away,
leaving her unfulfilled.

The music lessened to nothing, then went quiet.

Bastard, bastard, bastard!

Her body was nothing but a tingling, burning, pool of need. She wasn’t even sure her skin still existed.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” asked the mathematician who suddenly seemed able to read her mind.
“You love being teased.”

Celia opened her eyes just in time to see him fasten a metal tube onto the wand. He tucked the wand
under her left wrist, letting the cool metal rest against her skin. He used a strand of the rubber restraint to
fix it into place, then left it there, off and quiet.

He leaned down, and his face hovered above Celia’s, with those handsome, high cheekbones and that
rogue’s grin. She loved the way he caressed her with his eyes, like she was a warrior’s prize, like she
might be the only female he had ever truly wanted. His blond hair looked so soft. Her fingers curled
against the limo floor. If it weren’t for the restraints, she would have fisted his hair, pulled it, forced him to
take off her gag and kiss her.

“So controlled by day. Such a tight-ass.” His grin widened. “But I know how to light your fires. I know
how to teach the teacher—and you’re about to learn the joys of indirect application.”

What? Is that some kind of math term? Jerk. You know I stink at numbers.

His lips found her chin, pressing hard, forcing her head back against the limo as he trailed down across
her throat, then into the hollow between her breasts.

The hell with numbers. With math, history, everything! Please. Suck my nipples, please!

Her pleas were wild and senseless against the gag. Alan kept up his tasting, forcing his tongue between
his lips, leaving wet trails over the still-warm, still-tingling path of the wand.

I can’t take it. Please, please, please. Suck my nipples. Bite them. Give me some relief!

The bastard was chuckling. He settled closer to her, then stretched out, rolled toward her, and used his
body weight to hold her down. Celia sighed from the grounding comfort of his weight. Those leather
breeches. That rough cotton tunic.

Barbarian…

Without warning, the barbarian took a nipple into his mouth and sucked hard, pulling the beaded nub
between his teeth, flicking it with his tongue.

Celia thrashed. Only Alan’s weight held her in place. God, she jerked so hard she might have ripped the
restraint cuffs right off the limo floor. Her clit was pulsing again, her juices flowing. She needed him to
fuck her. She needed to come. She was sweating so hard she needed another damned bath.

Alan stopped moving.

For a few endless heartbeats, he didn’t so much as twitch.

Then his hand moved toward the wand, which was still fixed against her wrist. He switched it on.

The humming sensation started in Celia’s body just like before, but spread wildly along the places Alan
was touching her.

He started to release her nipple, let it scrape back between his teeth, then out of his lips just a fraction
and—

“Oh, my God!” she shrieked against the gag before she bit it nearly in two.

That hot tingle surged back, passing from his mouth, his lips, to her nipple. His kiss was electric!

Indirect application. Shit! I’m the wand now.I’melectric.

He was after her other nipple now, letting the charge flow through the wand into her, heating her from
the inside out, humming, buzzing, sparking as he touched her, everywhere he touched her.

The sweet fire was indescribable.

Celia couldn’t stop moaning and biting the penis gag, couldn’t stop shoving herself against his weight,
arching her back higher, higher. He was driving her insane. He was killing her. His lips, his fingertips
literally snapped and crackled on her body.

He shifted. Eased off her. And his electric mouth was moving again, down, away from her breasts,
toward her drenched, vulnerable pussy. There was nothing she could do to stop his tender assault. The
hairs on her body stood at attention. Her eyes clamped shut again. The stars danced—and he was only
at her belly button, at the curve of her hip, and over, closer to her most sensitive spot.

She wanted to scream for him to stop, dare him to stop. She couldn’t catch her thoughts. They were
moving too fast. She was so hot. The limo had become a sex-drenched oven, and she was boiling over.

Storms. It smells like storms. I’m a storm…

Alan’s lips and tongue made contact with her pussy, with her clit. Fast and sharp.

The shock was completely out of this world. Just a split second. Total fire.

Celia’s body spasmed as an orgasm raged through her. She knew she was screaming her throat raw,
gag or no gag. Unbearable warmth. The bubbling, tingling, stinging perfection of his teeth, his mouth, his
tongue. He was sucking her clit, shocking her clit with his mouth. The walls of her pussy clenched against
nothing, then his fingers thrust inside, shocking her again, humming and vibrating and turning her insides
into a molten flow.

Her brain seemed to fire and flame with every quake and tremor. She couldn’t keep up, couldn’t stop
the rush of blood in her ears, couldn’t stand to keep coming so hard, so fast, couldn’t stand for the
body-jarring climaxes to stop, but she had to, she had to, it was so perfect, so good, so deep. So, so
deep…

Celia’s mind swam away from her. She felt like she was high above some secret black mountain, just a
bird wheeling on the wind, free of her body. No concerns, no cares, no worries. Her world was only
sensation, only satisfaction.

Until the wand was switched off and a sexy, sexy voice rumbled, “Did you just have an orgasm—or
several—without my permission, you naughty djinni? Well. I’lldefinitely have to punish you for that.”

Chapter Four

An hour later, Celia sat in a leather-bottomed chair in the sumptuous library at Blackmoor Downs. She
was right next to an old oak table, which was weighted with sweets, fine cuts of meat, rolls, crackers,
nuts and delicacies she couldn’t even identify. Dozens of people milled around the table chatting and
eating. Reggie’s butler moved in graceful arcs, offering silver trays of canapés and other delights, while his
maid refilled drinks from a strategically placed moveable wet bar. Gillian Markham, a young woman
Reggie had raised after her parents were killed, also played hostess, slipping in and out of the library,
chatting graciously with guest after guest.

Classical music laced softly through the conversations like a soundtrack, filling the gaps and spaces
perfectly. In the castle’s other main rooms, no doubt the same scene was playing out. Reggie’s yearly
soiree was in full swing.

Celia, however, could barely move.

When the limo had stopped, Alan had left her bound while he got undressed, then put on a dashing tux
complete with tailcoat. After he finished straightening his clothes, he removed her gag, released her from
her bonds and spanked her naked ass firmly for moving when he told her to be still.

Next, he had rubbed her head-to-toe with a sweet-scented lotion, coated her nipples and pussy with
more of that heat-inducing cream, then instructed her to dress in a beautiful green silk gown he had
brought for her.

The bodice held her breasts high without being immodest, and pulled her in sharply at the waist. Its long,
silky folds tumbled all the way to her ankles, covering the delicate matching heels he provided.

We can’t give the appearance of impropriety at professional events, now can we?

Yep. That’s what he said, right before he handed her the underwear.

If it could be called underwear.

It was more like a leather strap around her belly with a single slick rope that ran between the lips of her
pussy, right across her clit. And whatever he put on that damned rope—she thought it might burn her
alive.

I was thinking about nipple clamps,he had told her casually, seemingly unaware of how the thought

thrilled and terrified her.But I wouldn’t want those on you too long. We have to make a reasonable
visit to the party.

A reasonable visit.

Bastard.

There she sat amongst all her peers, her hair wild and natural, no makeup and the skin over her raised
breasts still faintly pink from her time under the wand. Her nipples were heated and hard from the cream,
Alan’s handprints still stung her naked ass cheeks under that formal gown…and a rope that seemed to be
made out of mild, mind-blowing, liquid fire stretched from the top of her crack, down across her asshole
and the wetter hole in her pussy, and up again, hard against her clit. Every time she shifted it bridled her,
rubbed her, drove her halfway to a screaming orgasm.

Who knew a thong could be so unbelievably exciting?

I’m the one who said I wanted to learn new things, try stuff I’d never have the guts to try…

A rope thong was definitely in that category.

At least she could talk now, and Alan wasn’t in the room, so she was free to mutter to herself about
squeezing his balls in a vise as she sipped cold, spiked punch and tried to stay sane.

When are we going to the dungeon? Damn.Her juices flowed over the slick, coated rope, and the heat
between her legs increased. If she rocked just a little, brought that rough-warm sensation across her
swollen clit just a few times, she’d come. Hell, she’d explode.

But she couldn’t!

Not in front of everybody.

“The appearance of impropriety.” She snagged a small chocolate cookie off the nearby table, stuffed it in
her mouth, and chewed with vigor. Another chase with the delicious punch. Her head was spinning from
the light dose of alcohol and the heavy dose of raw sex. Could she smell herself over the odors of the
food?

Could anyone else?

If she could make it to the bathroom without fainting or falling and flashing her rope thong to everyone in
the castle, she could have an illicit orgasm or two. How would Alan know?

He wouldn’t, of course.

But she would know.

“I wanted this,” she told her punch cup in low, conspiratorial tones. “Maybe waiting will make it better.”

That odd urge to cry rose inside her again. What was it she was needing so badly—other than the
obvious? She could at least cry if she couldn’t come. But that wouldn’t be proper either, to sit there
sobbing in her pretty green gown just because she wouldn’t let herself have an orgasm.

“Impropriety.” She sighed. “Maybe I’ll stretch him naked and cover him with onion dip. Would that
keep up appearances?”

Celia reached toward the punch dipper again, but Reggie got there first. He moved the bowl away, just
far enough that she couldn’t reach it without moving too much.

Okay, him I’ll just throw out a second-story window. But damn it, I’d come ten times just climbing the
stairs!

“Our souls are captive in so many ways,” Reggie said quietly, his voice sliding beneath the room’s
bubbly chatter. “It’s amazing how restraint sets us free, yes?”

For five or ten seconds, Celia gave serious thought to telling him her exact opinion on restraints of any
sort. Then the relaxed, clinical look on his face calmed her.

Reggie came around the table and took her hand. He looked to be greeting her, but Celia felt cool metal
press into her palm.

“Second floor,” he instructed. “The long hallway. Follow the candles. I can trust your continued restraint,
can’t I?”

She swallowed hard as he let her go and turned away. Before she could say anything, he faded into the
crowd and seemed to vanish like a wily magician.

When she turned her hand over, she found a golden skeleton key.

Okay.

No big deal.

She just had to stand up without rubbing her clit off, walk through a crowd of people without falling to
her knees in the throes of a wild orgasm,somehow get up the steps, down a long hall—and figure out
what to do with the key.

If the wide end of the damned thing had been a little bigger, she might have used it as a dildo, restraint
warnings or not. God, she was too excited for words.

Doing her best to maintain her composure, Celia eased into a standing position.

The oil-treated rope immediately slid back and forth through her pussy, stroking her clit like a firm,
merciless finger.

Her cheeks flamed.

Her head swam.

That punch. Maybe she’d had a few too many sips.

Great.

Teetering precariously on the delicate heels, she started through the library.

“Please don’t let me fall down,” she muttered, clenching her fists against her sides.

If her steps were just careful enough, just the right length, she might make it out of the room without
stroking herself to oblivion.

Three people to go. Then two, then one. The door—and she was out, in the main stone hallway, with
even more people. Even the stairs were crowded on the lower section.

“I’ll never make it.”

But she did. At least to the bottom step. That’s where the Dean of Students caught her by the elbow.
The contact brought her up short, and the rope thong gave her clit a tight, heavenly hellish pinch. It was
too much. The orgasm was small, but it made her shake and sweat. Her teeth clamped together as she
worked not to fall.

The Dean of Students turned her around and gave her elbow an apologetic squeeze. “I didn’t mean to
scare you. Good heavens. You’re as red as a spring sunset.”

Celia cleared her throat. The naughty feel of her juices flowing down her thighs made her cheeks flush
even more. “Too much punch,” she croaked. The words felt like crumbs sticking in her unwilling throat.

“It is good, isn’t it?” Dean Rohan leaned forward and said quietly, “I’d give my teeth to have a look in
the man’s bar. I can’t imagine what I’d find there, or down in the wine cellars.”

He winked.

Celia felt like all the adjectives to describe red were insufficient to categorize her face. Her chest, her
arms, her entire body strove to achieve new shades of blush.

At least Dean Rohan let go of her arm before he could jerk her into new states of arousal. “Listen, have
you seen Reggie? I need to talk to him.”

“I—well—” Celia squeezed the key. “Not in the last few minutes. But if I do, I’ll tell him you want to see
him.”

“Good, good. Thanks.” He moved away, but not before giving her a clap on the back that made her
take three fast strides up the steps.

OhGodohGod…

The thong. Her pussy. She really was going to die. The urge to fall to her knees and hunch back and
forth almost overpowered her. For a few long moments, the world felt unreal, and she could almost see
herself doing something so outlandish, even in front so many onlookers.

Becausethere were so many onlookers.

“Get a grip,” she admonished.

The two men nearest her glanced up.

Shit.

Beck and Baumeister. The two assholes in the history department who would have blocked her tenure if
Reggie hadn’t stopped them.

Throat absolutely dry, Celia forced a nod, gathered herself, and quietly mounted the castle steps.

Shoulders squared, she tried to imagine that she cut quite a figure in the sumptuous dress Alan had
chosen for her. Let them wonder where she was going and what she was doing.

She reached the top landing without any disasters, turned down what looked to be the longest hallway.

Candles flickered in sconces. Shadows danced through the entire arched passageway, giving life to
otherwise serene suits of armor spaced along the corridor. Coats of arms decorated the walls, mingled
with oil portraits of people who might have been Reggie’s distant relatives.

Following the candles as instructed, Celia headed toward a heavy door at the end of the hallway. Slow
steps. Measured steps. She had to keep everything just so, or she’d start screaming before she got there.

Do I want to do this?

Each foot, each yard made her heart beat faster.

Do I really want to go down to a dungeon and submit to Alan—with Reggie watching?

But she trusted the doctor, no question.

And Alan…yes…she trusted him, too. As much as she trusted anyone.

Sudden tears ambushed her again. She slowed down a little, wondering what to do with herself. Was
she excited? Afraid? Both?

Slowly, Celia realized that with each step she took, she was consenting to whatever Alan had planned.
The erotic torture, now that was exquisite. The absolute surrender of control, though…that was harder.
Still, she was looking for something, a sensation she couldn’t identify. That elusive…thing…that would
sate her, fill that empty place way down deep.

Celia stopped walking.

All she had to do was turn around, duck behind a curtain to pull off the rope thong, and leave.

Or start walking again and face the nervous fears building in her chest.

Unimaginable pleasure.

The night of my life…

Could she stand it?

As if in a dream, Celia started walking again, this time distancing herself from the maddening sensation of
the slick rope teasing her clit. She felt a little outside her own body as the candles led her to that heavy

wooden door at the hall’s end. The door was ajar.

She pushed it open to find herself in what looked to be a private apartment. Candles flickered from
sconces along the right wall. As instructed, Celia followed the trail around the room—to an elevator.

She found herself breathing through her mouth, like she was still gagged and helpless in the limo. A call
button beside the elevator glowed softly, tempting her, daring her until she pushed it.

The door whispered open immediately.

Biting her lip, Celia stepped inside.

The door closed, but nothing happened.

Frustrated, Celia pressed the single glowing button on the burnished silver panel.

Still, nothing happened.

Think, woman.

Great. Like that’s easy with a rope up my ass.

Her jaw tightened. She clenched her hand—and felt the key Reggie had given her.

Of course.

He wouldn’t just leave the entrance to the dungeon open for anyone to find it, would he?

When she finally managed to calm herself, she looked at the burnished panel again. There, above the
glowing button, was a keyhole.

Hand shaking, Celia inserted the key, turned it, and once more pressed the button.

The elevator whisked down so suddenly her heart dropped with it. Soundless. Seemingly faster than
light. Before she could steady herself, the door opened, showing a long, dark hallway with a bright
archway about thirty feet away.

Trembling, but still strangely separated from her body, Celia left the key in the elevator and made herself
step into the cool passage. The click of her heels sounded like whip-cracks on the stone.

The rope thong stroked her relentlessly with each step as she grew closer and closer to what she knew
in her heart was Blackmoor Castle’s secret dungeon.

By the time she reached the arched doorway, her breathing had grown ragged. It couldn’t be that
impressive, right? Just a few toys in a stone room, Alan and somewhere, looking on, Reggie.

She could do this.

But she really needed to open her eyes, didn’t she?

When had she closed them?

Her hands groped for and found the sides of the stone archway.

Light pierced her mind when she forced her lids up—to behold a massive room bright with candles, all
colors, all sizes, all types of holders, even torches—a room stocked with all manner of medieval furniture.
She saw chairs, wooden benches, covered benches, bare tables, covered tables—and oh, God, they had
leather straps hanging to the sides.

Stocks with benches and straps, swings, slings, cages…

Biting her lip hard enough to send bolts of pain across her face, Celia looked to the right. The stone wall
on that side of the dungeon was dominated by a rack with all sizes and shapes of whips, not to mention
canes, rods and ticklers. Below the rack, arranged neatly on a long table, was the largest collection of
dildos she had ever seen. Different colors, different sizes. Handles, strap-ons—this dungeon had it all.
Even wooden horses with mounted dildos.

“Come in,” Reggie said gently from her left.

Celia wheeled to see him reclining on a very large medieval bed. The doctor was stretched out on a red
satin bedspread, wearing a black lounging robe and pants, complete with black slippers. The drink in his
hand looked like Scotch.

He nodded toward the center of the room, and this time, when Celia turned her gaze back toward the
array of cages, tables and benches, she saw Alan.

Her body twitched like he had shocked her with that violet wand.

Damn, he was handsome in his tuxedo, arms folded across his muscled chest. His sexy, stern face
doubled the warmth between her legs, as did his wide stance.

He looked so serious.

So…masterful.

And he was holding a flogger.

Oh, God.

“Well, well. If it isn’t my naughty djinni,” he said in that low, teasing rumble. “Come here. I have a few
hot lessons to teach you.”

Chapter Five

Celia approached Alan.

Only the tap of her heels on stone kept her in reality.

She felt like she’d been pitched back in time to an era when men possessed their women totally, without
question. She’d slipped into a dimension all about passion and how much pleasure two people could
share.

I’m a djinni in a castle dungeon, and my Master is about to flog me.

Just the thought nearly unhinged her reason.

She came to a halt in front of Alan. He was smiling at her. Not a boyish rogue’s grin—but a man’s
carnal smile. The gleam of anticipation in his blue eyes made her skin tingle.

“Kneel,” he demanded.

Almost on reflex, Celia dropped to her knees. Her soft green gown spread out to either side of her as
the rope thong shifted against her clit. She had to clamp her teeth to hold back a moan. The stone felt so
cold against her knees, but it was smooth, almost polished. Her eyes were fixed on the obvious bulge in
Alan’s crisp black pants.

“Unfasten my pants,” he instructed.

Celia complied with an eagerness that surprised her. She fumbled with the fancy hook and zipper, but
the minute she created a little space, his thick, long erection broke free, only inches from her lips.

She moved his pants down just a little, to keep the zipper’s teeth at bay.

“Hands to your sides,” came the next order, and she complied quickly. Alan’s voice sounded so sure
and husky. “Do you like what you see, djinni?”

“Yes.” Celia nodded and licked her lips.

“Yes—what?”

“Oh! Um—I mean, yes, Master.” She started to look up, but he spoke first.

“Keep your eyes lowered, and don’t forget my title again.”

His stern orders made her wiggle, which of course made the rope thong torture her clit. Damn it felt
good, but it was driving her totally insane.

“Yes, Master,” she responded, doing her best to sound contrite.

Alan stroked her hair gently with both hands, and Celia realized how damp it was despite the dungeon’s
coolness. Her arousal was really making her sweat. And it only got worse when Alan curled his fingers
into the short strands and started forcing her head forward. The tip of his cock pressed into her lips.

“You’re my djinni tonight,” he said quietly, in that sure, commanding tone. “I want your complete
submission. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master,” Celia answered, shivering as her lips swept a drop of pre-come off the tip of his
erection.

He tightened his grip in her hair, making her eyes water, but even that felt naughty and thrilling and so
good.

“Suck me,” he ordered.

Celia barely got her lips apart before his hot, throbbing cock drove deep in her mouth, stopping just shy
of her throat. Her tongue flicked along the bottom vein. Then she did as he commanded, sucking hard
and fast, delighted by his immediate groan.

He may be the Master,she realized,but boy do I still have the power .

Alan pulled his cock back, letting it slide along her tongue, through her lips, then back in again, a little
deeper.

She relaxed, letting him force her head back and forth, moving her up and down his shaft as she sucked.
She had to brace her hands against the floor and lean forward a little to keep from pitching into him as he
pulled harder and faster. The tip of his cock plunged deeper, filling her mouth like she so wanted him to
fill her pussy.

How long would he make her wait?

Each time he rocked her, the damnable rope caressed her clit.

“That’s it. Yes. Take me.”

The pain of his tugs on her hair, the sensation of the rope along her pussy, the stone beneath her knees,
the salty, warm taste of his cock—dear God, did she ever need an orgasm.

Alan built his speed and force another few seconds, then cut loose, fucking her mouth so fast and
powerfully it stole her breath. Celia sucked hard, using her tongue to increase his enjoyment.

How much she wanted to please him—that rattled her down deep in those empty places. In the quiet,
lonely chasms he was warming, filling, forcing her to surrender.

His hands tangled in her short red hair, pulling, pulling, demanding that she give him more, more—and
she did.

“Look at me,” he said, and it sounded like he had his teeth clenched. “I want to see my cock pounding
in and out of your mouth.”

Celia looked up and fixed her eyes on Alan’s handsome face.

She could tell he was close.

She was way too close herself.

Once more, she made herself move away from the sensation of her pussy and somehow kept a measure
of control. At the same time, she moaned against Alan’s cock, letting the vibration fill her mouth, run
along his tender flesh, all the while sucking, sucking, tracing that pulsing lower vein with her tongue.

“So beautiful,” he said, part word, part gasp.

With another powerful thrust, he erupted, spilling his hot seed straight into her throat.

Celia didn’t flinch. She took every ounce, drank him, drained him, feeling the flush of need crest in her
own cheeks.

By the time he slowed his pumping and took his cock out of her mouth, she was so close to the edge she
wanted to scream.

“Is the rope rubbing your clit?” he asked in a hoarse, pleased tone. “Do you need to come?”

“Yes, Master.” Celia rocked a little more, squeezing her pussy tight around the rope. “Please.”

“No.” Alan knelt and pulled her to her feet. “You came without my permission in the limo. The lesson for
tonight is self-control, which is about trust. I want you to trust that seeing to my pleasure, following my
instructions, will give you what you need.”

Celia started to protest, then glanced at the flogger he still held in one hand and thought better of it.

“Undress yourself,” Alan ordered as he moved back a few steps.

Muttering a few choice words under her breath, Celia pulled off the luxurious gown, folded it, and
placed it carefully on the stone floor. Trying not to let the rope thong move too much, she pulled off her
heels and put them beside the dress.

Alan gestured to the thong. “That, too.”

Grateful and reluctant at the same time, Celia slid the leather band over her hips and ass, eased the rope
out of her pussy, and stepped out of it as it dropped. Her clit felt raw and huge without the constant
pressure. So, so sensitized. Damn. Even without the rope, moving almost made her come.

Alan’s gorgeous eyes studied her for a long few moments. She saw so much emotion pass through the
bright, swirling blue. Appreciation. Desire. Something else.

Was it hope?

His wish to please her?

Oh, yeah, he was enjoying this too, no doubt—but he had taken so much trouble to learn new things,
amazing things, just to give her pleasure.

This delectable hunk of a mathematician truly wanted this to be the night of her life. He was doing
everything in his power to make her fantasies come true.

I need to be careful. I could fall for him way too hard—and way too deep.

Damned tears. Why did she keep wanting to cry? Was she scared of feeling too much for Alan?

Scared of feeling too much about anything? Scared of…turning loose?

Alan reached out and took her arm, not roughly but definitely firmly. “Over here,” he said, and as he
pulled her forward, she saw where she was going and balked.

“Talk her through it,” came Reggie’s smooth, unobtrusive instruction.

Until that second, Celia had forgotten Reggie existed. Now she was aware of another man’s eyes on her
naked ass—but it didn’t bother her. It added a little shiver of pleasure in the midst of her fear.

Alan let go of her arm and dropped the flogger on the floor. He rubbed her arms shoulder to wrist once,
twice, and let her catch her breath. Her eyes flicked to their obvious destination—the St. Andrew’s
Cross on the dungeon wall.

“What scares you, Celia?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, then quickly added, “Master.”

“Is it the restraint? The pain?”

“N-no.” She leaned into his touch, letting him support her just a little, enjoying the feel of his stronger,
larger male body so close to hers. He felt like an anchor holding her to earth. “I think it’s the pleasure. All
of it. I don’t know how much I can stand, Master.”

“Do you trust me?” The question was tentative, reflecting genuine concern with no condemnation. Celia
looked at Alan again, at the concern etched into the Nordic lines of his face, the worry in his bright blue
eyes.

I’ll be damned. He could fall for me, too. Maybe he already has.

“Yes, Master,” she said, surprised at how small her voice sounded in the huge stone room.

“Do you remember your safe word?”

Agamemnon,her brain screamed, but what came out of her mouth was, “Yes, Master.”

“You can stop this any time you choose.”

“I know.” She lowered her gaze. “But I—I don’t think I want to stop it, Master. I want to try.”

Alan rubbed her arms again. The relief on his face was so obvious and sweet. Celia realized with a start
that he would have been devastated if she had spoken that word and brought this evening to a close.

This whole Master-slave thing is backward in a weird sort of way. It really is.

In truth, the ultimate power was hers, wasn’t it?

That thought, along with his touch, his unmasked emotions, gave her new courage.

She looked at the St. Andrew’s Cross, then back to Alan.

“I’m ready, Master.”

Alan’s lips curved upward.

Slowly, slowly, he led her forward, then turned her back to the cross. The wood felt cool against her ass
and thighs, sending pleasant chills across her shoulders.

Never taking his eyes from hers, he raised first one hand then the other over her head, fastening her
wrists securely to the cross.

“Open your legs as much as possible,” he instructed. “I want your pussy spread wide.”

Celia’s cheeks burned a few degrees hotter, but she did as he ordered. He tenderly fixed a leather strap
across both thighs, then secured her ankles, too. Alan stepped back and stared at her so intently he might
as well have been touching her everywhere. All at once. Her nipples grew impossibly harder.

It felt both wrong and right to be stretched open, bound and exposed to a man fully dressed in a
tuxedo—and another man, off to the side in his lounging robe.

Alan took full advantage, approaching her again, closer, closer, until the fabric of his tux scraped her
jutting nipples. He matched his hands to hers and kissed her so softly it was more a tease than anything
else. His smell of light aftershave, leather, tux and pure male crowded out the dungeon’s faint scent of
stone and earth.

“Do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you?” he whispered.

Celia’s heart galloped.

She wanted to know, but she didn’t. As long as it involved orgasm, she wasn’t sure she cared.

His lips moved down to her chin as his fingers trailed down her arms. He kissed her neck, then ran his
tongue down her chest between her breasts. Then lower, to her belly, back up to flick her nipples, and
down again so fast she didn’t even have time to gasp. He kissed her mound, pulling at the curly red hairs
with his teeth as his fingers followed the wet trail across her nipples.

Still nipping, he moved lower again, catching the edges of her swollen lips between his teeth.

Celia ground her teeth to keep from screaming. Even his breath was almost too much. Sheneeded to
come. Had she ever needed anything so much?

And he was going to make her need it more, she just knew it.

Alan’s teeth raked her clit oh-so gently.

Her entire body rose up and slammed back against the cross. She whimpered. A fresh sheen of sweat
broke over her brow.

One swipe of his tongue and she’d explode. Just one swipe.

Of course, that swipe never happened.

Instead, Alan moved slowly upward, licking and kissing and touching, showing her how helpless she
was, how he could make her twitch and moan and buck with the tiniest tap of his tongue or thumb.

“Mine,” he whispered more than once, and each time he did it, she shivered.

At last, he had mercy enough to back off and just look at her for a time.

Right before he undressed. Very, very slowly. Folding each article of clothing, stacking them neatly on
the floor, cufflinks, tie, shoes—everything.

Celia couldn’t stop staring at him.

The man was truly splendid. Muscled and tan, blond from head-to-toe like some sea God freshly landed
to bring her fantasies to life. And his cock. Mmm-mmm. She knew how that thick piece of heat felt in her
pussy, like barely yielding iron, driving deep, pounding and pumping.

“You wish I’d fuck you now, don’t you, djinni?” He walked toward her again, in all of his naked glory.

“Yes, Master,” Celia almost shouted as he once more matched his hands to hers, letting his erection
press into her belly.

“I’d like that, too.” He eased himself down, letting the tip of his cock touch the top of her pussy.

Tremors claimed her, then doubled as the head of his cock dipped lower, brushing her aching clit.

Alan took himself in one hand and moved his cock back and forth over her swollen button, playing,
hinting—until he stopped again and sighed.

“I wish I could fuck you, but you’re being punished. We’ve a ways to go before you’ve earned my
cock.”

Several vibrant curses occurred to Celia, but she kept her mouth shut, figuring a tirade would just make
him wait longer before he gave her what she wanted.

Alan turned back to his clothes, knelt and rummaged in the pockets of his pants, then folded and
stacked everything back like it was.

When he came toward her again, he was holding a silk blindfold and a pair of bronze clamps joined by a
gleaming chain.

Agamemnon,she told herself, then swore silently over choosing a word too damned hard to say when a
gorgeous naked Master was about fasten clamps on her nipples.

He put the blindfold on her first. The black silk blocked all light. Not even a sliver got through after he
tied it around her head and made sure it was comfortable and secure.

Celia heard rustling noises, and she knew Reggie had gotten off the bed.

Agadimwit. Agadumbnon. AgaohmyGod…

Male voices murmured, but Celia couldn’t make out what they were saying. Then Alan’s hands were on
one of her breasts, holding it out, pinching the nipple between his thumb and forefinger—hard, damn it!

She held her tongue between her teeth as cool metal slowly replaced the warmth of his grip and fastened
even tighter. The pain was enough to make her grimace, to bring tears to her eyes, but just as fast, ripples
of pleasure spread out and down, straight to her pussy. He fastened her other nipple into its clamp, then
let the chain drop. It swung against her chest and belly, pulling the clamps, increasing the sensation,

making her think of streams of swear words she hadn’t heard in years, all ending insoooo fucking good !

Her senses told her Alan had moved away. More murmuring—and then he was back.

She felt the light tickle of leather on her neck and shoulders—lots of soft strands.

“Do you know what I’m touching you with?”

Alan’s question startled her. When she jumped, the nipple clamps dragged and made her moan. “Yes,
Master,” she finally managed as the soft but insistent sound of music filled the dungeon.

Reggie must have turned on some accompaniment.

Why? Am I about to scream? Shit!

The soft leather made a deliberate path up her arm to her hand, back down across her swollen nipples,
to her other hand and back down, across her belly, across her pussy, down her legs and back up—damn
it, he wanted her to faint! What was he doing?

The leather tips left her skin, only to be replaced by the flogger’s rough bulbous end. This, too, traced
her entire body, skipping her pussy at first, but lingering in its maddening path across her nipples.

Alan dropped the tip down to her clit so fast she slammed her head against the padded part of the cross.
Lower, through her juices—and he slid the flogger’s end inside her—barely.

The walls of her pussy clenched around the rough bulb, sending hot tremors in every direction.

“If you hadn’t come without my permission in the limo, I’d be fucking you right now.” He moved the
flogger in and out, in and out, slowly, mocking, taunting.

His tongue flicked against her unbelievably sensitive nipples. Her groans came like spasms with each wet
contact and each thrust of that flogger handle.

I’d be fucking you right now.

Whatever. If he kept it up, she’d have another unauthorized orgasm in about three seconds.

“Give me the control, Celia. Turn yourself over. Let go.”

The flogger handle left her pussy. The next thing she knew, it was pressed against her lips.

“Taste yourself,” Alan instructed.

Tentative, embarrassed, but willing to do anything to have an orgasm, Celia flicked her tongue across the
rough leather grip.

“Sweet,” Alan said as she sampled the forbidden flavor. “Like honey. I love how you taste.”

The handle left her lips.

The music got a little louder.

Oh, God. She knew what that meant.

“You can make noise if you’d like,” Alan said offhandedly, as if the offer didn’t scare her half to death.
“But first, tell me why I’m punishing you.”

“Because I came without permission, Master.”

Master-bastard! I really, really need to come!

“Yes. And that means you saw to your own pleasure before mine, and that you didn’t trust me to be the
Master. Do you think you’ll make that mistake again?”

“No, Master.”

A pause. Celia counted twenty heartbeats, all in time with the steady drum of the music.

“You’re not very convincing, djinni.”

The first lash of the flogger fell across one breast.

She screamed from the shock of the intimate sting, at the sudden yank on the nipple chain. He was
flogging her chest! Whipping her from the front! Was he nuts?

But honestly, it didn’t hurt like she thought it would. No more than when he spanked her ass. And by the
time the flogger stung her other breast, the heat had faded into amazing pleasure, making her nipples swell
even larger in the confining clamps. She gasped and arched forward. The next stroke fell on her belly,
and the next on her hips, just above her pussy.

Alan worked her with precision, warming her thighs, her arms, her legs. Celia had that strange sensation
of breaking free of her body again, of climbing, then of floating.

The lashes fell across her pussy, and she heard herself scream again. When the leather stroked her clit,
her head slammed backward out of reflex again, cushioned by the pillowed part of the cross—only it
didn’t feel like her head at all. She was up, up, up, somewhere on the ceiling, sailing away to some
perfect, quiet place.

A place where that emptiness way down inside simply didn’t exist. A place where she felt completely full
and satisfied, forever loved and cradled.

Some part of her thoughts found it bizarre that pain could push her to such pleasure, that being tied up
could make her fly, but that logical part got more and more quiet as Alan’s careful lashes brought her
closer and closer and closer to the orgasm she was fighting so, so hard.

She did trust him to be the Master. She did trust him to teach her this lesson, and to take her to those
places he promised. Where she never thought she’d go. Places she might never want to leave.

A few moments later, she grew vaguely aware that the flogging had stopped.

Once more, male voices murmured, and she caught only bits and pieces.

“…whip like that, Alan—not for many months, or perhaps years…face-out, not in good whipping
position…nearing the breaking point. Look at her.”

“She hasn’t used her safe word.” Alan’s voice. Concerned. Excited.

“She is helpless, completely at your mercy.” Reggie’s answer. Clinical. Precise. “It’s up to you to care
for her completely, to realize when she has reached her limits…”

And the voices were gone, a million miles away. She faded into the darkness of the blindfold, the stinging
pound-pound-pound of the music and the matching pulse in her nipples and clit.

Damn, she needed to come so badly.

Somebody was moaning, whispering, “Please, please, please…”

Was that her?

It had to be.

Alan’s hands were on her body again, stroking her hips, moving upward. She felt him grip the chain
connecting the nipple clamps. He tugged it hard, and she cried out, heading straight back to that
place…that place above everything.

The pressure on her right nipple abruptly eased, followed by the pounding pain of blood flowing back
into the tortured nub. Alan’s mouth was there, sucking, soothing, cooling…

Oh, God, so good.

Her left nipple next. First the release, then the intense shock of pain eased by his tender suckling. The
man was a wizard with his mouth, a magician with his tongue.

The music picked up again, this time with a louder beat.

“That’s it,” Reggie instructed. “Massage them. Make certain blood returns to the confined tissue—and
make the best use of sweet, sensual bruising.”

Celia groaned and moved against her restraints as Alan switched to using his fingers, gently pinching and
rubbing her nipples. They were so ripe, so sore. Each second of contact made her head spin. With his
free hand, he was checking her wrists. After a few seconds, he knelt and checked her ankles, then
straight back to her nipples.

She wondered if she could come just from his touch on those throbbing, aching points. No, scratch that.
She knew she could come. She just didn’t know how long it would take.

I can’t believe he can make me come just by touching my nipples. Unreal.

“Still warm, no cuts or tears,” Alan murmured. His husky voice sent shivers to her pussy, as did Reggie’s
matter-of-fact response.

“Good, good. Then proceed.”

Chapter Six

When Alan’s hands left her nipples, Celia almost swore—partly because she was seconds from
orgasm, and partly because she had no idea what the hell he was going to do next.

That split-second of fear and uncertainty gave her as much charge as the violet wand.

Was he kneeling? She thought she heard him close by. The soft silks of the blindfold didn’t give an inch
even when she turned her head.

Then his fingers were on her pussy. Without warning or hesitation, he jerked open her lower lips and
fastened his mouth dead center on her clit.

All Celia could do was scream.

Her juices flowed like a hot river. Her body shook and thrashed. She chewed her bottom lip to stave off
the orgasm, tried to think of anything but what was happening, but oh, dear God, the way he was
sucking, the way he was using his tongue, his teeth, biting her, eating her, possessing her. His breath felt
like flames. The way he rumbled and purred against her wide-open flesh trapped her breath.

The things coming out of her mouth—she had no idea what she was saying. She couldn’t have stopped
herself for all the punishments on the planet. “Yes. Damn you!” Screaming, her screaming, her gasping,
then, “God, yes, bite me!”

Alan stopped so abruptly she screamed again and thrashed against her bonds. Fucker. She’d kill him!
KILL HIM!

He stood quickly and started unlashing her from the crosspieces.

“Don’t you dare!” She wanted to scratch his eyes out. He had to let her come. She’d taken everything,
damn it. Everything!

“Tell her what you are doing and why,” Reggie commanded. “Anticipation is half the pain—and the
pleasure.”

“I’m going to punish you, djinni.” Alan spoke in that low, clit-grabbing growl. The throbbing soundtrack
in the background seemed like accompaniment to his dangerous mood, his Masterful insistence. “I’m
going to strap you to the whipping table and lash your ass until you learn to follow the rules.”

Celia heard herself actually snarl. She had gone feral, and she had absolutely no control.

“Answer me,” he commanded. “Tell me what you did wrong, and what I’m going to do.”

“Yes, Master,” she spat—only the venom she felt didn’t carry into her tone. She sounded more like a
sixties groupie than a wildcat. “I spoke without permission. You’re going to whip me for it.”

“I’ll sting you until you beg, and it better not be too soon.”

Mind and body growing more and more separate, Celia stopped struggling as Alan moved her away
from the wall and the St. Andrew’s Cross. He stroked the back of her neck. “Now, djinni, lean

forward.”

Celia wanted to refuse, to fight him a little more, but at the same time, she wanted to do exactly what he
said. Just the sensation of his hand on her neck excited her more than she could comprehend. Totally
gone now. Totally helpless. Part-feeling, part-flying.

She leaned forward.

In a few seconds, he had her facedown on one of the padded tables. She extended her arms without him
asking, and he tied her wrists to either side. He repeated the process with her ankles, until she was
spread as wide as she had been on the wall.

She liked being spread. Liked her pussy pulled open for his inspection, his touch. She didn’t even care if
Reggie looked, too. The thought of anyone being able to walk in and see her stretched wide, so red and
wet and horny, felt more naughty than anything in her life.

She liked naughty, too. Loved it.

Ice clinked in Reggie’s cup. He was on the move again, but Celia couldn’t see him. She heard him rattle
something on the far wall, walk back across the floor, and hand something to Alan.

“This flogger is deerskin,” Reggie said. “Soft, but firm. Take your stance.”

Oh, shit.Celia tried to force the rest of her consciousness up, up, out of her body, but that stubborn part
of her that refused surrender, it just wouldn’t let go.

Not even when the flogger came down hard across both ass cheeks, setting her completely on fire. That
wild, uncontrollable reaction started again. She gasped and wriggled on the table, even though she
desperately wanted to stay still, to give no response at all.

The second blow didn’t fall. And still didn’t fall.

Sweat ran down her neck, between her breasts. She’d give anything to see what Alan was doing.

But I can’t. I have to trust that he knows what he’s doing.

The flogger bit her ass again, harder. Celia choked out a scream, surprised to hear it sound more like a
moan of pleasure. And the pleasurewas starting. The heat of the sting flowed down, down to her pussy
and up to her heart, up to that stubborn part of her mind that still wouldn’t let go.

Another blow. Another.

Then too many to count. One cheek, the other, never quite the same spot, striping, blazing across her
ass and thighs.

Another piece of her mind let go and headed upward, to that quiet perfect place she had so briefly
touched.

He was whipping her. God, he was whipping her. Probably marking her for days, leaving a reminder of
his power. It hurt so damned much, but more and more, the pain was fading, leaving, singeing her ass,
then turning into a rushing flow of need and want and desperation.

“You are not allowed to come.” Alan’s authoritative tone cut through her stupor, and the lashing
stopped. Celia groaned as he cupped the swollen lips of her pussy with his hand, letting his fingers slide
through the wetness. He rubbed and stroked, never touching her clit. “Tell me when you’re approaching
the edge. Don’t disobey me, djinni, or I’ll have to punish you again.”

Edge.

The word fixed in what little of Celia’s consciousness held on.

Edge. Edge. I’m on it. I’m on the edge.

His fingers moved away and the lash returned once, twice, making her move, making her scream and
groan. Then his hand was back, fondling her slick folds, darting in and out of the cleft, swirling
around—but never ever touching.

The lash again.

His hand.

The lash.

His hand.

The lash.

Her groans were no more than broken gasps.

Then, he sank three fingers deep in her channel.

Celia thrashed so hard in her restraints she thought they might squeeze off her wrists and ankles. The
walls of her pussy clenched convulsively, over and over, pushing her closer, closer, closer. Her ass
burned. God, how it burned. She needed to come. She needed his cock. She needed something.
Anything.

He was fucking her with his hand then, and not just fucking her. Pounding her. In and out. Over and
over. Her screams hurt her own ears.

“Edge,” she managed to gasp at the last possible second. “Edge!”

All sensation stopped.

Celia sucked in air, trying to bring herself down, determined to see this through. She could barely think,
barely plan, didn’t care what came next as long as it was in her pussy and didn’t stop.

Please don’t let it stop until I come. Please!

Hands on her ass. Alan, massaging, massaging, reigniting the sting from his whipping. Then nothing. Then
the lash smacked her cheeks again, harder than ever.

Moans tore from Celia’s throat. Sounds she didn’t recognize at all. Another chunk of her awareness

spiraled up and away. Just a thread now as he whipped her again and again, side to side, up and down.
Then something cool and hard was shoving inside her pussy, filling her, stretching her even more. A dildo.

Abig dildo.

Thrust.

Lash.

Thrust.

Lash.

Celia bucked and groaned, shaking and shaking, fighting the pain, fighting the orgasm, fighting Alan,
herself, the world, the universe. The music pounded into her just as hard as the rubber cock.

“Imagine what you could have had if you had followed the rules.” Alan’s growl almost pushed her past
the point of no return. “Answer me now. Tell me you understand.”

Talk? He wanted her to talk? How? Her words were gone.

The flogger struck. The dildo rammed deeper, deeper, deeper. He was fucking her so damned hard.

“I understand, Master!” she gasped, and heard the overcharged desperation in her own voice.

I’m leaving…

I’m leaving…

And she was gone.

Not a bit holding back.

No part of her left behind.

Her whole soul and spirit seemed to leap up into that absolute high, a total distance and relaxation she
never knew existed.

Pain and pleasure blended into perfection. Her body felt like a tool, an instrument of her mind, showing
her how far she could go, how much she could take. The lash, the dildo…she wanted him to fuck her
harder. Deeper. Fuck her forever.

Then she couldn’t feel the fucking, either.

She felt only a warm, dizzy bliss. A woman with wings. She had wings and she was flying, flying, flying…

When Celia finally sank back into her aching, throbbing, still-as-yet unsatisfied flesh, she had no bonds,
no blindfold. She was cradled in Alan’s arms. He was rocking her, kissing her face, stroking her arms.

Had there ever been a better feeling?

Her lips found his, tasted the salt and sweet of his mouth. He was whispering to her, how beautiful she
was, how well she had done.

She was saying something too.

“Thank you.”

And, “Please fuck me, Master. Please. I can’t wait anymore.”

Seconds later, he was carrying her so gently, so sweetly, to the leather swing, hanging her in midair. Legs
spread wide and tied into stirrups. Arms fastened above her head.

“I want you,” Alan said over and over. “Sweet djinni. You’ve earned whatever I can give you.”

Celia loved the sensation of floating in the swing, loved how she was helpless and exposed to him again.
His eyes, so alive, so penetrating. His smile, so real, so full.

No doubts now. No reservations.

Alan gripped the swing’s leather ropes, positioned his cock…

Celia’s heart slammed against her ribs.

Her breath caught.

Her pussy was so damned sore. So tender. So wet.

With one last, long, perfect and possessing look, Alan drove his cock into her throbbing channel. Deep.
God, yes! She felt it in her belly, that stroke. Felt the welcome hot iron of his cock filling her core. Heard
her own breathy screams again.

Nothing—absolutely nothing—had ever felt like this.

When he pumped his hips, she thought she’d die. Her entire body felt like a sweet, burning bruise,
covered with sweat, hot enough to burn to ashes. The swing moved her back and forth, letting him take
her deep and hard with each slamming thrust.

The thick smell of sex and leather overwhelmed her nose. The slap of flesh on flesh filled her ears.

“Fuck me,” she gasped before he reduced her to shrieks and moans, and finally to incoherent noises.

“Harder,” Reggie commanded, and the sound of his voice gave her a doubled thrill.

Someone was watching.

Reggie was watching her get fucked like this, so totally, so absolutely. She was completely open to him,
to anyone who wanted to look.

“She’s trusting you to hold nothing back, to see to your own pleasure and thereby double hers.”
Reggie’s voice was as close to the edge as Celia felt.

Yes, yes, yes, yes…

“Fuck her, man!” the doctor shouted. “Fuck her!”

Alan roared and plunged his cock even deeper, hammering her channel like he would never get to fuck
anything again.

He was everything to her.

She felt like everything to him.

There was nothing on the planet except that sweet, wet, pounding connection, cock to pussy, cock to
pussy.

Celia couldn’t take it anymore, not even another second. She let out a scream that seemed to have no
end, but somehow, she shoved in the word, “Edge!”

“Come for me,” Alan shouted over the music. His order seemed to echo between the stone walls. “Do
it. Do it now!”

Celia’s long-denied orgasm hit with the force of a flatlands tornado, sweeping her into hot, formless
winds, turning her breath to molten screams, turning her bones to nothing, nothing, nothing at all. She
shook and shook, unable to hold on, unable to stop, unable to beg for mercy. Her mind whirled and
tumbled in the endless heat. Wave after wave of exquisite pleasure rolled across her flesh, melting,
reforming, pushing, pushing, pushing her back to that perfect place.

Alan grabbed her legs and pummeled her with his thrusting hips, drawing out the unbearable ecstasy,
shoving her higher still.

She was gone. No thought. Only sensation. Only that peaceful, flying high she never wanted to release.
Only that place she never thought she would go. That place Alan said he would take her to—and he had.
Had he ever. Alan had kept his promises beyond all expectations.

Please don’t let me land. Don’t let this best night of my life ever end.

“Keep me,” someone was gasping. “Keep me, Master.” Her again. She knew it was her, but she didn’t
even realize she was talking.

A noise caught her attention in a vague way. Something clattering in the hall outside the dungeon. Reggie
moved away to investigate.

Alan bent forward, keeping his cock lodged deep in her pussy.

He kissed her so softly, just right, light and kind and loving.

“I’ll keep you,” he answered, and that empty place down inside felt incredibly full and satisfied.

“More lessons, Master,” she pleaded between kisses and gasps. “Hot lessons. I trust you. Make me
burn tomorrow. Make me burn the next day.”

Alan’s blue, blue eyes blazed with male possessiveness and appreciation. He kissed her again and again,
then pulled back only long enough to say, “Trust me, sweet djinni. I don’t plan to let you out of this bottle
any time soon.”

About the author:

Annie Windsor lives in Tennessee with her two children and nine pets (as of today’s count). Annie’s a
southern girl, though like most magnolias, she has steel around that soft heart. Does she have a drawl? Of
course, though she’ll deny it, y’all. She dreams of being a full-time writer, and looks forward to the day
she can spend more time on her mountain farm. She loves animals, sunshine, and good fantasy novels.
On a perfect day, she writes, reads, spends time with her family, chats with friends, and discovers nothing
torn, eaten, or trampled by her beloved puppies or crafty kitties.

Annie welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at 1337
Commerce Drive, #13, Stow OH 44224.

Also by Annie Windsor:

Arda: The Captain’s Fancy

Arda: The Sailkeeper’s Bride

Arda: The Sailmaster’s Woman

Cajun Nights

Ellora’s Cavemen: Tales From the Temple IV anthology

Equinox

Legacy of Prator: Cursed

Legacy of Prator: Redemption

Redevence: The Edge

Vampire Dreams – with Cheyenne McCray

Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s
Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at
www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.

www.ellorascave.com

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