Affairs Of A Wicked Heart by Lizbeth Dusseau
Blackmailed and forced to surrender... degraded, bound, whipped and humiliated by a man she fears... a master she obeys... a dominant who moves her submissive soul...
By day, Lana Desmond is in charge of acquisitions for a major museum, by night she submits to dominant men and sexual masters. Once a nubile innocent... her world has transformed. In scenes of pain, degradation and bondage, her private obsession comes alive while she carefully guards this tawdry secret.
The ambitious Lana has every reason to despise her arch business rival, the unseen and mysterious Ellery Graham and his agent, Jordan Lucas. But as the war for several valuable paintings heats up, so does the sexual chemistry between Jordan and Lana until they take it to bed, screwing like minks in a downtown fleabag hotel. Risking everything, their one afternoon of unbridled sex turns into a hot affair and covert rendezvous, where their real lives fall away, lust-filled passions rule, and the novice to S&M, Jordon, soon learns that his lover thrives on sexual submission.
In the real world the battle still rages: Jordan has a sassy, spanking-loving fiancé to please, and Lana's torn between her secret lover, her long term companion, the gentle Armando, and a long string of exacting, ruthless masters in the art of S&M. But when her newest master, Allegro, finds his way deep into her submissive soul, the delicate balance of her love-life threatens to tumble. And who is this master, really? Where did he come from? And why is it so important for him to spirit her from her life into his private domain?
These sinister beginnings opened into a strange café. This wasn’t like the diner. The light was golden and glowing, not some painful fluorescent glare that hurt the eyes. She smelled garlic and olive oil, herbs and Spanish cooking.
“Mr. Brionas,” the unidentified guide introduced her to a man of earthy color, washed in ember tones, his hair black and slicked back, his features well-defined and critical of her as she presented herself for his inspection.
“Sir,” she bowed slightly, feeling oddly uncomfortable in her leathers. The corset dress was tight, making it difficult to breathe. But wasn’t that what they wanted of her?
“Sit,” he replied simply, nodding to the empty wooden chair at her side.
Of the seven tables in this obscure restaurant, theirs was the only one occupied, but even at this hour there remained a festive atmosphere, as if the proprietors were expecting at any moment more customers to rush through the door, doffing their overcoats and sighing their welcome. She understood, however, that they would remain alone, except for the few who would serve them like dutiful slaves.
Lana sat gingerly on the edge of the chair, the corset dress riding high enough on her thighs so that her naked bottom squashed itself against the wooden seat. She squirmed in honor of the exhilarating current of desire that swept through her lower half—the more sexual part of her.
“Part your legs for me, so that I can see your cunt,” Mr. Brionas said.
She answered obediently. This was what he paid for.
“And finger yourself.”
Unusual, she thought, but not a struggle. As her fingers skirted about the folds of sweaty, come-soaked flesh, she breathed deeper, relaxing in the familiarity of her body, encouraged by its swift response. She could pull this one off quickly if that was all he wanted. She ran her hand along her crotch, poking fingers in appropriate places, while relishing this moment of surrender staring into a master’s eyes. Minutes, seconds really, the finishing spasms were just a moment away, he reached to his side, while still filling his mouth with a forkful of meat and Spanish spices, and jerked her hand from her crotch. “Enough.”
She gasped annoyed, but trying not to let that show.
His lip curled into a smile. “Get up. Turn around and crawl on the chair, on your knees. Play with yourself like that.”
She had the instruction memorized and completed within a moment, picking up where she’d left off. It was more difficult this way, but not impossible. While clinging with one hand to the back of the chair, she began to hump her pussy with her other hand, sticking her uncovered butt out, naturally swaying it lewdly, so close he could touch it if he chose to. Mr. Brionas continued eating, watching, finding his pants bulging, his erection pressing at the seams urgently.
“Cum, slut,” he barked the order between bites of food and a gulp of wine.
She paid heed to the physical response forgetting where she was in this nearly empty restaurant. The waiter peered at the pair from the kitchen door, joined by the cook and the Maître’d, snickering, embarrassed but unrelenting in their appreciation of the scene. The buxom beauty with the streaked, honey-colored hair and the pale eyes, all decked out in glove-soft leather was putting on quite a show. Though she strained to keep her balance on a precarious chair, her thighs were strong and her poise perfect, even as she was getting off. Every gasp from her parted lips, every ‘ooh’ and ‘ah’, sent erotic vibrations through the warm, golden air.
“Take your hand away,” the man ordered at the moment of culmination, as the chair was gently rocking and her hand rapidly working her wet slit. She’d jiggled and cooed enough for him. He stood, moved his body over hers like a vulture descending open-winged, grasping her nether regions from behind and underneath, finishing what her fingers had taken to the edge.
She whimpered, her cry like a wounded bird. Slumping into the chair afterwards, she was afraid to use him for comfort. He was a stranger; this was their first time.
“I suppose sluts like you prefer pain,” he acknowledged. He laughed hollowly. “That’s why you have sadists like us.” He whipped his belt from his pants and brusquely wrapped her neck, pulling tight enough so that she choked, then he let go, doubling the leather in his fist and pelting her naked derriere with powerful strokes that smashed the air with sound and her flesh with pain. Her ass turned pink then a darker indescribable shade streaked with blood blisters close to the surface.
She stoically squelched a cry, again and again, each time the belt thundered on her behind.
He finally stopped the beating, rubbing the plump red cheeks with his hand. The tender rounds were soothed by his touch enough to feel her pussy respond with another climax rising quickly. He unzipped his pants revealing his erection and smearing juice from her pussy deep into her crack, he parted the cheeks and shoved himself inside.
“Yeeeeaouch,” she quietly expelled a breath of air, while letting him take over until he finished.
“I can’t wait to have you in irons, Myth.” He practically toppled her over as he pushed her away, withdrawing from her ass. She stepped down to catch her balance, and stood upright. “Your ass hot?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” she spoke directly. “Is that what you wanted?”
“Is that what you wanted?” he snapped back.
“It’s my place to serve,” she said. “That is what you’re paying me for.”
“Yes. Indeed,” he was reminded of the arrangement. Fishing through his pocket, he pulled out the sealed envelope. “It’s all there in small bills.”
“I’d like to take you in a crowded bar, pinch your nipples with clamps underneath your dress and watch your face contort as you attempt to absorb the pain.”
Her entire body winced.
“Yes,” he noted her response, “I think you’d like that.”
She stared at him while he paid for his dinner, leaving a $20 tip for the inquisitive waiter. When he was gone, she glanced toward the kitchen door where the trio was still looking on, dazed. Stuffing the envelope in the bodice of the corset dress, she grabbed for her shawl and retreated into the night.
(c) Samarel, www.samarelart.com