Tormented

Mercy. That was her safety word. He would honor it. Only a total jerk like Jake wouldn’t.

Jake. She had to find out what the guy was up to and how Claire was truly doing. She probably couldn’t do it without Ben. It was too dangerous to return to the cabin without him. And if she brought someone like Sam with her, Jake probably wouldn’t let them in.

She wondered if the second recording pen she’d left behind had picked up anything. And where had that first one disappeared to? It would have picked up the exchange between her and Jake on the matter of the safety word. If she was lucky, it had also picked up the incident with the shock collar, when Claire used her safety word but Jake ignored it. She had to get that pen back.

Okay, so she needed Ben to get her back to the cabin. Could she get him to do what she wanted for a change? She hated finding herself between a rock and a hard place, i.e. him, all the time. Should she be a better pet? Would that get her further? It was worth a shot. But it also meant submitting more of herself than she wanted to. Was she ready to do that?

Yes. His kisses are to die for, his caresses melt you faster than butter on burning coal, and he fucking made you squirt for the first time ever. Not to mention his cock feels so damn good inside you, you might never again be satisfied with your vibrator.

With a groan, she tried to think of something else, like the soreness of her feet from being on imaginary five-inch stilettos. When was he going to come back?

She tested the shirt again. No go. Not that he would be happy to find her out of her bonds.

Looking around the room, she remembered that she was supposed to come up with her punishment. She wondered which of the implements would be the least harsh. The flogger hadn’t been too bad. She could probably handle more of that. The cane was another story. She eyed the stocks, one tall, one short. How bad could being locked in one of those be? The shorter one would probably be more comfortable since one could kneel.

Her gaze moved next to the cages. One was tall and narrow, almost like a coffin, obviously for standing. The other was cube-shaped and cramped-looking. Even in a sitting position, she would have to bend over to prevent her head from hitting the top of it, and there was definitely not enough room to stretch one’s legs. But the cages didn’t look as ominous as the wooden pony. Somewhere she had read that, in medieval days, victims would be placed atop the edge with anchors tied to their ankles.

She started to get nervous. There had to be a way out of the punishment. Could she stall him? Maybe make him come until he was exhausted? But the man wasn’t built like most guys she knew. Jesus, he was capable of multiple orgasms. She even had the feeling he could outlast women.

She shuddered. Maybe she could bribe him.

With what? What could you possibly offer a billionaire who has it all?

Herself. Her body. Her submission.

But a guy like him can get dozens of women willing and waiting to do his bidding. He could probably walk out the door, snap his fingers, and find women ready to jump down his pants. Hotter women. Women more experienced with BDSM.

Information.

That was the only thing she had of value, and that he clearly wanted.

One of the flat screens on the wall flickered on. A film started to play. The setting was dark, with illumination coming from a single spotlight behind a curtain. An Asian female, naked and bound in shibari, dangled from an appa

ratus onstage. In the audience were dozens of Japanese men in suits.

Onstage, a man held a long black dildo attached to the end of a stick. He pushed the dildo at her crotch till it slid between her folds. She winced but soon began to moan as the dildo pumped in and out of her. Across the stage, another petite woman was tied with her arms stretched above her. A man pounded his cock into her from behind.

The scene faded away into one from Nagisa Oshima’s In the Realm of the Senses, in which the character of Kichizo Ishida receives a blow job while smoking a cigarette. The following scene was of Ishida and Sada Abe, a former prostitute, having sex while a woman played the shamisen in the background.

Kimani found herself drawn into the scenes. They felt like porn, for they titillated, but they looked so artistic that they felt like more than porn,

The door opened. At first she was excited to see Ben, like a dog happy for its owner’s return at the end of the day, but his jaw seemed a little tight, and his eyes shone with determination. Her excitement turned to trepidation.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Already got one,” had been Stephens’ reply.

Prior to returning to the playroom, mobile in hand, Ben had studied the headshot Stephens had sent over of a good-looking guy in his mid to late forties. According to the background research Stephens had conducted, Samuel Green was married to Kyle Santos and had two children. That didn’t mean Kimani wasn’t romantically involved with the Tribune editor, but Ben would wager their relationship had more to do with work or education. Perhaps this Sam fellow filled a mentor role for Kimani.

“That is the man she met at the coffee shop,” Wong had confirmed after Ben had forwarded the photo.

Ben had considered forwarding the photo to Ezra as well, but he didn’t trust Ezra’s discretion. He was fairly certain anyway that Sam was the one who had approached Ezra.

What was Kimani up to?

Ben recalled the snippets of conversation he had overheard Kimani having on his mobile with Sam. The two of them were digging into his family, probably with Uncle Gordon as the target.

Had that been her intent all along?