Buckskins, Boots & Bondage (Cowboy Kink) (15 page)

Toward the end, she gained less sexual satisfaction out of laying the cane across his skin and more a feeling of retribution for the way he was destroying her. Montana swallowed a sigh. She’d finally had the sense to kick him out before the entire situation became destructive and she turned into someone she didn’t even know. She’d spent the past six months in celibate solitude, pulling in the tattered edges of her wits and her emotions. Rawhide gave her the opportunity to dip her toes in the water again. Now she was ready to move beyond that.

She hoped.

Moments later, they seated themselves, all the lights in the club dimmed, and overhead spots in the performance area became bright and all-encompassing. The entire glassed-in stage was lit up like the sun at high noon. In the center was an apparatus that Montana herself had often used, a rectangular frame padded with thick leather built on a platform that rotated. Attached to each corner were manacles.

It allowed the sub to be restrained, but unlike with the St. Andrews Cross, the entire body was exposed with no support except at ankles and wrists. It not only allowed minimal movement as the instrument of punishment was applied, but also, with a male sub, it could be rotated to give the audience full view of the man’s cock and its reaction to the pleasure/pain.

A door at the far side of the area opened, and a couple strode in so striking they took Montana’s breath away. The man was at least six foot four, with a lean, muscular body, a chiseled faced and thick sun streaked blond hair that had been expensively razor-cut. The well-defined muscles in his body stretched and tightened as he walked. Nipple clamps were attached to his chest, and his magnificent flesh was completely oiled, glistening beneath the overhead lights.

The woman was equally as attention-getting. She was a good foot shorter, although the stiletto-heel boots she wore added to her heights. Her hair was blonde, also, the color so pale as to be almost silver. She wore it pulled back and anchored with a wide black clip. Other than her boots, she wore only a bustier that lifted her breasts so they appeared to be resting on a shelf. Her pussy was completely exposed. Montana wondered if the hair was close trimmed or just so pale, like that on her head, as to be nearly invisible from this distance.

And right behind them, Clint Chavez moved with the grace of a panther, the heat of his presence searching out Montana even through the glass. She shifted in her seat and crossed her legs, squeezing her thighs against the sudden surge of lust.

Clint stood in the center of the room and smiled at the audience.

“Good evening.” His voice came through what was obviously a state of the art sound system. “Welcome to Performance Night at Rawhide. Tonight we have one of your favorite couples, Linc Stoddard and Melora Regan. When we asked for preferences you chose them almost overwhelmingly.” He glanced over at Melora. “It must be your beautiful blue eyes that gets them, darlin’.”

She smiled, shook her head, and lifted the coiled whip from her shoulder. “I think it’s my toy they’re fascinated with. Oh, and of course, Linc’s wonderful screams.”

Clint turned back toward the spectators. “As you know, Melora is an expert with the single tail whip, trained by Rawhide’s own Reece Halliday.”

Montana slid a glance sideways at the mention of Reece’s name. Katie was looking at her husband with a hungry look on her face. Reece brought her hand up to his lips and ran his tongue over the knuckle. Just the intimacy of the gesture made Montana shiver.

“I know you want to see our starring couple get to it,” Clint was saying, “so I’ll turn the floor over to Melora.”

Tugging Linc to stand next to her, she took Clint’s place as he moved out of the enclosure.

“For those of you seeing us for the first time, tonight I’ll be demonstrating the use of the single tail whip as an instrument both of punishment and extreme pleasure.” She turned to Linc and ran one hand slowly over the upper part of his body, pausing to tug at the chain between the nipple clips.

The man’s cock jerked in response and his body stiffened slightly, but his face was expressionless.

I wonder if Clint has ever been whipped? Maybe he prefers the cane and paddle like I do.

Stop it! You can’t do this again. Choose someone who hasn’t suddenly assaulted your emotions. Besides, he’s one of the owners. Off limits. That should put up a big enough barrier.

But she’d been in sexual isolation for so long that all her hormones were waking up and doing a fast two step everywhere in her body. Not helped at all by the rampant sexuality of one Clint Chavez. Or the powerful connection that had exploded between them. She dug her nails into her palms to still her racing emotions.

“The whip can be an instrument of great pleasure if used, properly,” she continued, trailing her hand down Linc’s stomach to the caged cock. When she tugged on it, Linc tensed again but remained at attention, hands clasped behind his back.

Melora uncoiled the whip and let it trail lazily on the floor, walking around the immobile man, eyes tracing invisible paths over his body.

“I like to oil Linc’s body in preparation,” she said in a sultry voice. “It allows the tail of the whip to slide over the skin more easily and also helps to prevent scarring if I happen to be a little, shall we say, enthusiastic in its application. We have been playing with the whip for a long time, and as you can see, his back, ass, and thighs are still quite smooth. Barely marked.”

She lifted the handle of the whip and in a fluid motion snapped it in the air so the thin strip of leather made a resounding
crack
as it sliced through the air. Although it came close to his body, Linc didn’t flinch.

Montana recrossed her legs, reminding herself it would be bad form to slide back and forth on her seat to ease the throbbing in her pussy. Her breasts ached so badly she wanted to rip open the short leather jacket and squeeze them as hard as she could. And they’d barely even started. Another signal that she’d been denying herself for far too long.

She stole a glance at the Hallidays. Katie was leaning forward now, face flushed, eyes shining with avid interest. Reece had one arm around her across the back of her seat, his hand draped over her shoulder, his fingers idly tracing lines across the top of one breast. His face was taut with desire. They’d be some outstanding couple to watch at play.

“Lincoln has been very, very bad today,” Melora was saying. “He has begged me to punish him so I am going to oblige.”

Gripping the chain between the nipple clamps, she tugged until Linc followed her to the rectangular contraption. Coiling the whip around her shoulder for the moment, she took great care in locking the manacles around her sub’s wrists and ankles, then running her hands lightly over every inch of mouthwatering body. Finally, she touched a switch in the platform with her toe and the apparatus rotated so Linc was facing the audience.

Reaching between his legs, she cupped his balls, squeezing, and Montana could see the tension in every rigid line of Linc Stoddard’s well-defined muscles. His Domme teased him with her touch, no doubt ordering him not to react lest his punishment increase.

At last she was satisfied and rose to her feet.

“And now,” she announced, “we begin.”

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