Feral King (The Dominant Bastard Duology 1)

“Have you ever been beaten with rope?”

She shook her head.

“Don’t look so unimpressed. Sometimes the simplest implements can be nice and painful. Rope, a plastic hanger, an extension cord. Who needs fancy?”

He walked around the bed, admiring his handiwork on her.

“What about the romance of real implements?”

“If you find being beaten with a fancy, two thousand dollar elk hide flogger more romantic than being beaten with whatever your partner has at hand, you’ve turned into a little snob.”

He flicked the rope in his hand like a lash and it stung a hot path along one of her thighs. She squeaked.

“Maybe you need to go back downstairs and troll for a rich guy. There are plenty of them.”

Flick.

She squealed and struggled against her bonds.

Flick.

Fire licked along her ass, wrapping partway around her hip.

“There’s no reason for a girl like you to be slumming with the likes of me.”

Flick.

The whippy length of rope bit the inside of her thigh. It fucking burned, but she found herself straining toward him for more. Her whole attention followed him around the bed as he chose his next target. He changed the rope in his hand to one strand of rope and whipped her breast with it, connecting with her nipple. For a brief, glorious moment her back bowed, and every muscle in her body tightened.

Fuck. That was close. She’d almost come just from that.

“Sir!”

He paused, looking amused at the interruption.

“Yes?”

“If I come will I get in trouble?”

His laugh sounded like pleased, exhaled evil rather than mirth.

“No, Leelee. Don’t worry your pretty little head about controlling your orgasms. If I don’t want you to come, I won’t let you.”

He walked around her, his evil rope whistling through the air, landing on her skin so quietly it was hard to hear it over the sound of her labored breathing and her cries of pain.

The twirl of the rope and its quiet whistle as it sliced through the air mingled with her own sounds, and the sounds of Nathanial’s aroused breathing as he turned her skin red and blotchy.

Her jerking reaction to each strike settled and soon she was swallowed up in a cloud of nettles, muscles limp, cradled by the same type of rope that he flogged her with. Good rope, evil rope. Nice touches, evil touches. He pinched and stroked and tickled, and when she lost all will to struggle, she let him have his way, lying in her rope cage, as he hurt her skin and touched her breasts, as he kissed her lips and her neck and went underneath her to kiss his way down her spine and bite her ass. He was back again, murmuring dirty things in ears that had lost access to the part of her brain that understood words. He clamped her nipples just hard enough to remind her how they ached.

Blissful. Spaced. High. Mind blank.

He whispered and whispered, touching her, hurting her nipples and then he was on the bed between her legs.

He breathed hot against her pussy, spreading her open while he inspected her there too. She jolted when his tongue sliced sharp against her painfully swollen clit – too needy, too sensitive. She wailed and sniveled but she couldn’t control anything anymore, not even her own responses.

“You still like it light here,” he murmured against her aching pussy. He teased at her clit hood, her opening slick with the arousal she couldn’t hide from him. He gave short, cruel nips to the flesh of her sit spot, where he’d spanked her so hard earlier, then back up to her pussy where he hinted he’d bite her clit. Instead, he settled in, licking around her clit hood, then spiraling closer, but too slow. She arched for him, trying to force herself against his mouth. The rope trapped her, held her steady, kept her safe and drove her mad.

“Please,” she chanted, not able to stop, “Please, please, please.”