The slight jerk of his hips and quiet grunt of unease told her exactly when she found it. He exhaled slowly as she gripped the curve of the hook, angling it carefully to rock the ball back and forth, adding pressure gently. She might want him to suffer, but causing harm wasn’t acceptable under any circumstances.
She felt the ball begin to loosen the tight ring of muscle, pleased with the low groans punctuated with spates of that bastardized French he only used when his emotions were compromised. “Ready to walk out of my life yet, Fontenot?”
He laughed, but it was strained. “Give me more credit, Mistress.”
Tiny sounds were echoing in his throat, building into a whine. Grinning to herself, she wriggled the hook as she pushed, incredibly gratified by the keening yelp he gave her when the ball popped through the reluctant ring of muscle and sank into his rectum.
She eased a couple more inches of the curved shaft inside him as his legs quivered, then held the rest of the metal against his back so she could unhook the chains from the beam. “Stand up straight.”
He obeyed, grunting softly in response to her command.
Quickly and quietly, she adjusted the chains and connected the ends to a single carabiner, then attached the hook. “Lift your arms.”
As they rose, the chains slackened, taking the pressure off the hook.
“Put your hands down as far as they will go.”
The brief slump of his shoulders told her he’d caught on to her devious plan, but he didn’t know the half of it yet. Slowly, he lowered his arms, tightening the chain, pulling the anal hook deeper. When he stopped with his hands barely past his waist, she smiled.
That was his limit; he could drop them at least another six inches to his thighs.
Violet strolled around to face him. Droplets of sweat were starting to bead along his temples, his hairline, and she was smugly proud of the borderline murderous glare he aimedat her. A glance at his cock—thick, straining, captured—was incredibly satisfying.
“Did you think I’d play nice, Boudreaux? Start off with a gentle, easy scene and give you a chance to worm back inside my heart?” She snorted derisively and dragged the edge of her fingernail up the underside of his shaft from cock ring to tip. “I am going to rip an orgasm out of you. I’m going to make it hurt. It’ll feel like your precious cock is splitting in half, like the remnants of your black, shriveled soul are being torn from your body. All without laying a hand on you.”
“Mistress—”
“Ah-ah.” She wagged a finger in his face and tsked. “I get to choose whether my toys talk, and I don’t feel like listening to your bullshit. The only thing you have permission to say from this moment on is your safeword.”
Jaw clenched, he wisely shut his mouth. He didn’t know her well enough to push her when she was in this mood, not anymore. The power to punish was in her hands now, and she could be creative with her wrath.
Violet heard a door open and close at the back of the dungeon—the staff door. Oh good, the next stage of her plan was here, right on time. She stepped back and smiled at Fordham as he emerged from the shadows with a barbell in one hand, pulling a cart laden with weights with the other. “Perfect timing, Ford.”
Tall, dark, mysterious, and somber, Fordham assessed the situation, concealing the slightest wince. It was funny how many of the Masters reacted to walking in on her scenes, grimacing as though she might turn her attention onto them without much provocation. “Good morning, Violet. An early start for you.”
“I have a full day ahead of me. Busy, busy.”
“So I see. Are you ready to begin?”
“Oh yes. Set him off with one-twenty please, Fordham.”
Serious features relaxed into a smile as he began sliding weights onto the bar. “That’s some nasty predicament bondage you’ve devised there, Mistress. How long are you planning on torturing the guy?”
“Until he learns a valuable lesson.”
“Don’t piss you off?”
“You know me well, Ford.”
His gaze flicked up to her as he secured the weights in place. “Evidently not as well as I thought. Some of your scenes are pure poetry, Vi, but this… I’m impressed.”
It would be if it worked. She’d chosen to weight the bar on the lighter side to stretch out the length of the scene; he’d be able to hold it for a while before even his strong arms couldn’t bear the strain. As the bar lowered, the hook would be pulled deeper, rubbing on his prostrate.
Fordham was here to take the bar if Boudreaux safeworded. On occasion, if she slipped deep enough into her dominant mindset, it took a few seconds to snap out of it long enough to recognize the safeword—a few seconds too long when someone’s delicate, vulnerable parts were at risk of being injured.
While she wanted to tear Boudreaux a new asshole, she didn’t mean it literally.
“All done.” Fordham double-checked the weights and their security, then stood and hefted the bar effortlessly. “Ready when you are, Mistress.”
