“Let playtime begin. His safeword is porcupine,” she added, walking over to the equipment cupboard for a vibrator stand and carrying it behind Boudreaux. It wasn’t needed yet, but once he reached a certain point, she needed to utilize the moment quickly.
The pinnacle moment, she thought with a smug smile.
“Got a good grip?” Fordham asked Boudreaux, his hands still on the bar as her sub for the day adjusted his fingers a few times.“I wouldn’t advise dropping it without using your safeword first.”
“I won’t need to drop it nor safeword,” was the quiet, confident answer. “Whatever the Mistress needs me to accomplish, I will.”
Fordham nodded and backed up to the wall. “I’m here if you change your mind.”
“Don’t coddle him, Ford. He has more years’ experience under his belt than you and I combined.” Rolling her eyes derisively, Violet selected her flogger with care. “Given the opportunity, he’d do worse to either one of us, trust me.”
“Know each other, do you?”
“Not anymore.”
“Ah, I see.”
“He’s here of his own volition, Ford,” she admonished, knowing full well where his clever brain was heading. “Despite numerous warnings and vehement objections from me, he conspired with Eli and Evander to lock me into a Domme-sub contract I don’t want. Therefore, his ass is mine.”
Ford’s lips twitched when she lifted the flogger with the rubber-tipped fronds and gave it a testing thwack across her palm. There wasn’t quite as much sympathy in his eyes when he glanced at Boudreaux. “Tough break, buddy. Fucking with this one is akin to pulling the tail on a tiger.”
“Alas, of this I am aware.”
Violet smiled and snapped the flogger across his ass, relishing his almost silent grunt and the way he tucked his butt in. “I hope you’re going to keep presenting me with these opportunities to punish you, Boudreaux. To reiterate the rules—your safeword is the only damn thing I want to hear from your snake oil slick mouth.”
He sucked in a breath to reply, but wisely kept his response silent.
She stretched out her shoulders and arms, flicking the rubber tips leisurely from his shoulders to his upper thighs. Tiny red marks began to appear across his skin, little fingerprints left behind without her hands ever touching him.
She knew how those marks felt when they landed on skin—swift, fleeting bites of pain that dug their teeth in as one, then separated into individual hurts. Granted, she was being gentle with him, using the flogger as a warmup rather than a punishment, but by the time she was done, his skin would be humming, singing, and so fucking sensitive the brush of a feather would make him cringe.
Unhurriedly, she worked his back and thighs over until they were a deep shade of pink, then moved around to the front. She noted the slightest signs of strain in his biceps, the hint of white over his broad knuckles, but nothing to alarm her yet; he could, and would, take more.
Using her fingernails only, she dragged them down the center of his chest to his navel, feeling him shudder as he sucked in a shocked gasp. His stomach muscles clenched, turning to steel, and his cock… well, that was a beautiful sight.
No more the tormentor, the controller, the worshipped.
The metal ring fit snugly, perhaps slightly too much. Several inches of thick, hard shaft strained above the constriction, painfully erect, glistening with copious amounts of precum leaking from the stricken crown. Plump veins visibly throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and the color was a healthy pink, edging toward red.
Violet checked her watch. The advised period of time for wearing a cock ring was around thirty minutes. Given his current state, she might get ten or fifteen more from him before a minor risk became critical.
She’d keep her eye on it and adjust the scene as necessary.
Satisfied he was warm and tingly, she returned to the table, laying the flogger down and selecting one of her favorite toys. “Fordham, be a dear and add another weight or two to the bar if you don’t mind. Twenty should be sufficient.”
“Each side or in total?”
Violet slipped on a custom-made black leather glove, flexing her fingers until it fit perfectly. There was nothing worse than trying to create a masterpiece with ill-fitting accessories, so she’d commissioned a good friend of hers to craft the perfect pair. “Let’s up the game, shall we? He’s far too composed for my liking. Twenty each side, if you please.”
The overall weight fell under what he normally lifted, so she wasn’t concerned about exceeding his physical limitations. Lifting and holding heavy weight for a brief few seconds was one thing, however; lifting and holding it for a long period flirted with injuries and muscle strain, something she’d rather avoid.
If she broke him, she’d have to fix him.
As Fordham obliged, she slipped on the second glove, brushing the palms together. When designing the gloves, she’d opted for a different kind of spike—most vampire gloves sported the thicker, dog collar type—but she preferred something more devilish.
Each finger of her gloves were adorned with almost two dozen needle-thin spikes, precisely three millimeters long. Another fifty were scattered over each palm.
Used lightly, they could evoke the most exquisite sensations.
