the leather strap. Blood pooled and pumped into the shaft,
and he closed his eyes tight.
“Does it hurt?”
“A little,” he said.
“Good.” She grinned at him. “It’s a start anyway. Now
stand there, don’t move. I’m going to take your clothes off.
I’ve heard rumors that Kingsley Edge had one of the better
male bodies in the city. Time I find out for myself.” She pulled his jacket off his shoulders and pushed it down
his arms. When she had it off, she walked to the armchair and
laid it carefully over the back. He knew better than to think
she was showing respect for him by showing respect for his
clothes. No, he had a cock ring on and a painful erection. She
would undress him as slowly as possible, dragging the process
out until he was in agony.
“When was the first time you submitted to erotic pain?”
she asked as she unbuttoned his vest.
“Eleven years ago.”
“You’re so young,” she said. “How old were you when you
started doing kink?”
“Sixteen.”
“Domme?”
“Sadist,” he said. “Male.”
“Sixteen’s awfully young to be submitting to a sadist.” “He was seventeen, Ma?tresse.”
Mistress Felicia laughed. “I wish I had gone to your high
school instead of mine.”
“You couldn’t have. It was an all-boys Catholic school.” “Catholic,” she said as she removed his shirt. She didn’t
f linch at the sight of the scars on his chest. She’d likely seen
worse in her work. “I should send the pope a check. I get half
my clients from his church.”
Lifting his feet to let her tug his boots off sent pain shooting into his stomach. He hated cock rings. He could keep his
erection without one. But the pain did what pain always did
to him—cleared his mind, pulled him out of the past, obliterated the future. There was nothing but now, right now, and
the pain that held him in place, unable to think, unable to
dream, unable to want anything but more pain.
Mistress Felicia tugged his pants down, folded them neatly
and laid them across a chair with his other clothes. He appreciated that she treated his clothes with respect, unlike S?ren
who’d taken perverse pleasure in dropping them on the f loor
and traipsing over them.
Kingsley focused on her face as she moved. A lovely woman
in her late thirties, she had an imperious air to her, a proud
set to her face and no mercy in her eyes. In that regard she
reminded him very much of S?ren.
“When did you start dominating people, Ma?tresse?” he
asked, curious what else she and S?ren had in common. “I’m going to punish you for speaking out of turn.” “As you should.”
“But to answer your question,” she said, standing in front of
him, “I was eight when I started bossing around all the boys in my neighborhood, fifteen when I tied my first boyfriend up and nineteen when I took on my first client. He was my
college chemistry professor.”
“You had good chemistry, then?”
“I was going to be gentle with you,” Mistress Felicia said.
“Because of that joke, I’m afraid now I’ll have to destroy you.” Kingsley’s heart galloped in his chest. The cock ring had
made him hard. The threat of pain made him harder. “Good.”
Mistress Felicia bent down and from a long leather bag produced two sets of leather cuffs.
“You haven’t had sex in two weeks?” she asked. “The two longest weeks of my life.”
“I’m going to leave two weeks’ worth of bruises on every
inch of your body. It’ll take them that long to heal, which will
give you two choices. You can either not have sex for another
two weeks until they’re gone, or you can come to me every
day and serve at my pleasure until they’re gone. And then, if
you beg nicely, I’ll give you more.”
Two weeks as the property of Mistress Felicia? It was June,
wasn’t it? Had Christmas come early?
“I’ll take the second option,” he said.