It's Thursday, and that means it's time to give you a taste of what's to come.
As I've mentioned now and again, one of my goals is to one day turn my stories of Bannon and Sadira into a full-length novel. This week I've teased about a bit of naughty bondage between them, a short scene-in-progress that I'm calling Lady in Chains.
Bannon's rough, hot hand on the nape of her neck held her prisoner. It kneaded, exploring and massaging the muscle, spreading a warm, delicious relaxation. She arched herself into it, like a cat. He liked that, and his kneading went on longer in reward, sharp contrast to the strain in her legs and back, earned from standing so long in the inverted, spread-legged position in which he'd shackled her.
The pressing heat of the room crawled over her like a tongue on her damp skin, sheened in sweat. Her barbarian's hand slowly moved from her nape down the naked contours of her shoulders, trailing further along the subtle ridge of her spine.
She knew what came next: his palm caressed the round of her ass, stroking, stroking. Then his free hand took hold of her hip and the sharp slap and sting of his palm made her cry out. He liked it when she cried. It made him hard.
She moaned a little as he soothed her, gently rubbing the spot he had just struck. Slow, slow, and so fond. Then again came the bright, sudden red pain of a smack, and she shook, another yelp escaping her.
His voice was low, and hushed, and full of wicked promise.
She breathed heavily, and then replied. "Yes, please... my Lord."
His fingers traced the lines of the tattoos on her back. Wild markings, the remnants of life in her desert homeland thousands of miles away. Sadira let out another quivering breath as Bannon touched her, exploring the map of her servitude, until again he rested his hand against her ass, letting her count the seconds in anticipation.
He had her bent double before him. He'd shackled her wrists and ankles., the latter bound to a rigid iron bar that kept her legs spread wide, leaving her bare, hot pussy open to his pleasure. He'd locked the manacles on her wrists to that bar, forcing her to hold this position until he was ready for more.
Another slap; she cried. Though they were deep in his private wing she was sure his guards could hear her. Good. She liked that. She wanted the fortress to hear her pleasure. "Tell me how it feels," he commanded.
"Hot," she panted. "My skin... I can still feel it sting."
He grabbed her ass, driving the pain deeper. "Are you wet?"
"Yes, Lord," she gasped. "So wet... my cunt aches for you."
He chuckled. Sadira always warmed up quickly but his torture could last for hours.
He slapped her again, and his hand stayed, rubbing the tender flesh, aggravating the sore pink skin. Then again, and again the taunting caress, and then again. Sadira's cries ran together into a desperate moan and she arched again, torn between begging for more and shrinking away. Her backside sang with beautiful bright agony—she shuddered with the sudden thought of him entering her, his big hands parting her tender cheeks and his rigid cock sliding home inside her, her body strained to accept such invasion after this slow, exacting torture.
Bannon chuckled over her shoulder. As if he'd read her mind—or more likely, her body—he moved his hand to her other hip and pressed himself against her. Through his leather trews she could feel the sure weight of his cock grinding against her sore ass.
"Want it?" he muttered. "Do you?"
"Yes," she gasped. "My Lord... barbarian..."
He laughed, gave her one last tormenting thrust. Then he released her and came around to her front. He knelt to unlock the shackles from the bar, and then forced her to her knees. He reached out to retrieve another implement—her leather leash and collar—from the stand, and he swept her long, damp curtain of hair back over one shoulder, to bare her throat. He locked the collar on her, then tightened his grip on the leash. With his free hand, he released his cock from his trews.
"Suck me. Show me how hungry you are for my cock. Make me ready to fuck you."
Sadira gazed up at him, green eyes aglow, as her hands—clumsy in the shackles—rose to take him, stroke him. She wrapped her fingers along his burgeoning shaft and uttered a soft, eager groan.
Be sure to check out our other Thursday Tasters!
Naomi Shaw: http://www.authornaomishaw.com
Theresa Stuart: http://oneuniquewomanswords.blogspot.com/p/thursday-tasters.html
Pablo Michaels: http://www.pmmanmanromance.com
Dianne Hartsock: http://diannehartsock.wordpress.com/my-blog/
Michelle Howard: http://www.michellehowardwrites.com
Decadent Kane (Summer): http://decadentkane.blogspot.com/
Cree Walker: http://www.creewalker.com
Tempeste O'Riley: http://tempesteoriley.com/thursday-tasters-desires-guardian-3/
Áine P Massie: http://apmassie.com/blog/
Muffy Wilson: http://muffywilson.blogspot.com