OnlyatTheCavern (8 page)

Fuck, she was good. When her eyes shined with mischievous
light, he was almost ready to do whatever she wished. At least his cock was
anyway, judging by the way it pulsed against his thigh.

Had someone cranked up the furnace to the joint? Sweat
gathered on his brow and his collar suddenly felt as if it had shrunk an inch.
“Sorry, Doc,” he rasped out of a tight throat. “That would be a hard no.”

A grin tugged at her lips and she sighed. “Pity.”

There were a lot of things he marked as undecided, but
touching another dude in that way? Or have another dude touch him? Uh-uh. Not
going there.

“Well, there is certainly enough here for me to work with.”
She set the contract down and skimmed her hands down her side. “Did you have
any questions for me?”

“Yeah, what exactly is expected of me? I know in the
contract we have a designated meeting time, but will I be at your beck and
call?”

“Not at all. What I expect from you is your respect and
courtesy. The moment you walk through The Cavern’s door, your time belongs to
me. I understand that your work schedule is unpredictable, as is mine, but when
we’re together, nothing else exists. When you are out and about your day, you
are welcome to do as you wish. If a work situation arises, you will give me as
much advance notice as possible. On occasion I may send you an instruction, but
don’t fret. I will never ask you to do anything that may cause an embarrassing
situation.”

“So no orders for me to wear a pink G-string under my work
clothes?”

The husky notes of her laughter made his abs clench and his
hands flinch, eager to gather her close to feel the vibrations against his
skin.

“What you wear to work is entirely up to you.”

“That’s a relief.” He slid the chalice back and forth on the
tabletop and hoped he sounded nonchalant as he asked, “And we’re to refrain
from intimate relationships outside the, uh, dungeon, right?”

The question was more to confirm her stance than his.
Between pining for Brett and the Smithwick case, a girlfriend never fit into his
life, and he had grown tired of one-night stands years ago. And selfish as it
might seem, considering she wasn’t his girlfriend, he wanted Jasmine all to
himself.

She chuckled again. “I have yet to meet a woman who allowed
her significant other to visit a dominatrix. Although I guess there might be
one or two in existence. So, yes. I will insist that we remain exclusive. I
like to devote all of my attention to one man. However, I may bring in another
on occasion to assist with a scene, for the most part it will be just you and
I.”

A hundred different scenarios of who those people might be
and how they were going to assist flashed through his mind, one dirtier then
the next, and he felt the buzz of anticipation raise the fine hairs on his neck
and arms.

“Where do I sign?” he asked in a voice far raspier than he
intended.

Jasmine reached for the clutch he hadn’t noticed resting on
the seat next to her as she flagged down Ari who stood by the bar.

As Ari drew near, Jasmine held up the contract. “Can you
make me a photocopy, please?”

“Certainly,” she replied with a curious shifting of the eyes
between the two of them before she departed.

Marco groaned. “She’s going to read that.”

“Maybe.” She sat back in her seat as if the idea didn’t
bother her, which it probably didn’t. “She may be looking for ideas. You’re not
the only man who’s interested in exploring their submissive sides.”

It took a second for the implication to set is. “Wait a
minute. Bale? Big guy, deep frown, biceps as big as my head, can rip a car apart
with his bare hands. That Bale? Submissive?”

“Ah, so you’ve met.”

Ari’s return halted any further questioning. A red flush
covered her face from hairline to neck and she set the papers down in front of
Jasmine with a barely audible, “Here you go,” before dashing away.

Yep. She had read them.

“Shall you do the honors, Captain?” She handed him the
fountain pen.

The plastic held the warmth of her touch. His heart beat
faster as the tip touched the paper and he scrolled his name across the page in
what turned out to be purple ink. He smiled at the sight. Mental note:
Jasmine
likes purple.

He signed the duplicate contract and slid both over to
Jasmine who signed her name with a flourish in her surprisingly clean
penmanship. Guess not all doctors had illegible handwriting.

“Shall we make a toast?” he asked when she had placed the
pen and one of the contracts in her purse.

“Why not?” She lifted her glass. “To a new adventure.”

“Sounds good to me.” They clinked their glasses and from
over the rim he saw her eyes narrow. The brown of her irises deepened and all
he could think about was smoke and sin.

“So, Jasmine.” He cleared his throat. “What now?”

“Well…” she trailed off in a way that immediately put him on
high alert. Somehow in the last half-second a shift had occurred in the
universe and he sensed he was about to be schooled. She crossed one leg over
the other. Her skirt hiked up, exposing a long length of creamy thigh. “Now,
you call me Mistress Jasmina, or Mistress. Do you understand?”

Holy shit. The game was on.

“Yes,” he croaked and her brow rose. “Mistress. Jasmina,” he
added.

“Good. Scoot your chair back a bit and angle yourself toward
me.”

The slight scrape of the wood on tile sounded like a
chainsaw in his ears. A quick glance to the left and right confirmed no one
seemed to be looking their way. However, that didn’t lessen the tension rolling
in his gut.

“Spread your legs apart. Wider,” she commanded in a low,
husky tone.

The fabric of his slacks pulled taut across his lap,
outlining the thick line of his erection. He should have been embarrassed, but
damn, the woman turned him on, and obviously she wanted to check out what she
had signed up for.
By all means, baby, go ahead and look to your heart’s
content.

A minute passed in silence as she ate him up with her
intense stare. Her lips parted as she breathed in and out in slow, steady draws
that drew his gaze to those luscious breasts while his fingers pressed into his
thighs to fight the urge to fidget like a schoolboy in math class.

Mistress Jasmina flexed her foot, sending the black stiletto
to the floor with a tiny clatter. Purple polish glittered on her toes as she
stretched out her leg and rested the flat of her foot on the ridge of his cock,
making him hiss with the contact. As her toes massaged his hard-on, he glanced
around the room, convinced every eye in the bar was on them.

“Look at me,” she commanded and dug her big toe into his
scrotum with the most delightful pressure. “The only person you need to focus
on is me.”

A moan caught in his throat and he nodded.

“I meant what I said about your time outside of the club
belonging to you. But as of the moment you signed that contract, your body
belongs to me. You will take care of yourself and come to me in the same, if
not better, condition as how I left you. As for your cock,” his dick twitched
beneath the sole of her foot, happy to be addressed, “you will not touch
yourself in any way sexual without permission. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” He swallowed hard. “Mistress.”

“Good. Before our appointment tomorrow you will trim down
all the hair around your cock. Do not go down to bare skin.” She chuckled low
in her chest. “You are not prepared for what will happen if you do.”

What was that supposed to mean? Did she mean physically or
the punishment she’d met out if he disobeyed?

“I can’t wait to play with you,” she said, and drew back her
foot, leaving him a hairsbreadth from coming in his pants, again. And he wasn’t
supposed to find relief? Oh God, the torture had already begun.

She slipped her shoe on and rose to a stand, gathering her
purse. She pushed the fingers of her right hand into his hair and stroked his
scalp down and around his ear. Her thumb brushed his parted lips, and on her
face he saw a calculating hunger like a lioness lying in wait while the hapless
gazelle grazed in the brush, unaware that at any moment she was going to bounce
and tear it apart.

Lord help him, he couldn’t wait.

“Until tomorrow, Captain.” She dropped her hand and walked
away.

Like a magnet to metal, his head whipped around to follow
her progress. His tongue about fell out of his mouth as he saw that the back of
her dress was cut so low, the entire expanse of her spine was bared down to the
dimples above her ass. Judging by the murmurs that erupted around him, he
wasn’t the only one enjoying the view of her swishing hips.

He wiped the back of his hand around his mouth and motioned
to Ari. “Can I have another Stella and the check, please?” He needed something
to cool his boiling blood.

“Sure. But don’t worry about the bill. This is on Jasmine’s
tab.”

“Really? Wow. I’ve never not paid before.” He was the man.
The man was always supposed to pay. “That’s okay. I can still take care of it.”

She popped her hand on her hip. “Sweetie, if what just
happened here is what I think just happened here, you are now a kept man. What
Jasmine says, goes. And she’ll know that you paid.”

Dare he risk displeasing his Mistress? Or just sit back and
enjoy being, as Ari said, a kept man?

He sat back with a smile. Well, there was a first for
everything.

Marco shook out his hands and arms like a swimmer preparing
to dive into the deep end of the pool and let loose a nervous chuckle. Maybe he
should do some stretches and warm-ups too. Who knew what the evening was going
to bring, and judging be the room’s décor, he’d best be up for anything.

Frosted-glass wall sconces illuminated the room in a soft,
candlelit glow. The effect was quite soothing. If only the racks of whips and
floggers hanging against the caramel-colored suede walls, and the bars and
pulleys suspended from the ceiling offered the same amount of comfort. Hell,
just a tiny bit of comfort would be appreciated.

Was Mistress Jasmina going to break him in gently or tie him
to one of the pieces of furniture in the room and have at him? Of the six
pieces of leather-covered apparatuses, the only ones he recognized were a table
and a chair.

“This is nuts, this is nuts, this is nuts,” he muttered to
the giant armoire that sat locked in the corner. He knew it was locked because
he had tried to take a gander at what was inside. Of course, if he had really
wanted to get inside, he could have picked the lock, but it wasn’t a good idea
to piss off his Mistress before they even begun.

The door opened without warning, and Mistress Jasmina
stepped inside the room. Unsure of how to respond to her entrance, he reverted
back to his police academy days and snapped to attention where he stood. Hands
to his side, chest up, he faced forward and stared at a spot on the wall just
over her shoulder.

From his peripheral vision he saw that she was, as his
grandfather would say, dressed for bear. Black was still the predominant color
of her outfit, but a red satin bustier replaced the see-through top, and the
leather skirt was switched out for skintight pants that fed into thigh-high
lace-up boots. If the idea was to torture him with making him work all those
laces free to get to her covered pussy, he wasn’t going to last past the first
boot.

Jasmina approached him in slow, crisscrossing steps. She had
left her hair down so the ends curled around each breast, and her makeup was
minimal except for that tantalizing red lipstick staining her lips. She circled
him once before coming to a stop scant inches before him and regarded him with
her princess expression in place.

“At ease, solider,” she said.

Marco released a sigh and shifted his weight to both feet as
he clasped his hands behind his back.

“From now on, when you enter this room, you will wait for me
on your knees, sitting on your feet, palms down on your thighs and gaze to the
floor. Unless you are instructed otherwise, this is the position you take at
all times. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“You will also not speak unless instructed. The only sounds
you are allowed to make without permission are sighs, moans, gasps, and any
other sound of pleasure or distress. When we are in a scene and you have a
reached a limit outside of your comfort zone, you will say the word ‘stop’.”

“Like a safe word?”

“In a way, except the only word you are allowed to use is
stop. If I have you bound too tight, or you are feeling ill effects, let me
know and we will pause to assess the situation. Be warned that if you say stop
more than once, the scene ends immediately.”

He nodded in understanding then shouted when she reached out
and twisted his nipple through his shirt.

“Ow. What was that for?”

“You had spoken without being asked. I didn’t ask if you
understood.”

“I didn’t know we were starting,” he shot back.

All of the muscles in her face went lax, and in her eyes he
saw disappointment as she went completely still. Her immediate withdrawal was
like a bucket of cold water over his head.

“I’m sorry, Mistress Jasmina.”

She blinked once and reached to twist the other nipple.

He bit back a curse and was about to ask why, then realized
he had spoken again without being asked. Message received. He’d have to figure
out another way to ask for her forgiveness.

Since she hadn’t given him permission to move or speak, the
only option left to him was to hang his head in shame. With each second that
passed with nothing but the faint sound of their breathing filling the room,
the fear that he had already crossed the point of no return created a band
around his chest that tightened by the second. He felt like the dog that pissed
the carpet and their master was chewing them out.

Except Jasmina didn’t shout. The icy silence closed in
around him until he trembled with the need to drop to the floor, bury his head
in her belly and beg for forgiveness. The urge was crazy. They had barely begun
and already his emotions were all over the place.

The loss of control almost had him bolting for the door and
then she moved. A slight shifting of her knees followed by her hand lifting to
rest on the top of his bowed head. Her cheek brushed his as she whispered in
his ear, “Take off your shoes and socks.”

His knees buckled with relief and the breath shuddered from
between his lips. He wasted no time slipping off his wingtips and socks while
she took a seat on a low-slung chair. She crossed one leg over the other and
settled her hands on the slanted arms.

“Shirt next followed by your pants. Fold them neatly and set
them on that stool to your left.”

The plastic buttons of his shirt felt like ice against his
fingers, and the cool air hitting his overheated skin was a welcomed respite.
He stripped off his undershirt and set that on top of his shirt. The belt came
next. He worked the zipper of his slacks over his erection, then drew the
material down his legs, revealing his deep-purple boxer-briefs.

Jasmina gasped, and he saw a big grin curl her lips before
she resumed her bored expression. That little crack in her cool as a cucumber
demeanor released the weight of anxiety in his chest. He surprised her. He
pleased her. If he did it once, he had the power to do it again.

He slid his thumbs under the waistband of his underwear then
stopped. She hadn’t mentioned anything beyond removing his pants. He snuck a
glance in her direction and saw the smile in her eyes.

“Take off those sexy briefs.”

He bit back his own grin and took off his last stitch of
clothing. When no further instruction came, he dropped to his knees and set his
palms against his thighs and lowered his head. Free from its confines, his cock
stiffened further and rose in the air. The night before he had done as she
asked and trimmed the hair around his dick, surprised at how much larger his
cock appeared. Why hadn’t he been doing that his entire adult life?

From what he’d been told and had seen with his own eyes in
the locker room, he possessed a decent-size cock. Not overly long, but it held
a nice curve, and the ridge around the head was nice and thick, stroking all the
best places once seated inside a tight pussy. Hey, he never had any complaints.
However, Mistress Jasmina was a connoisseur of cocks and he hoped he impressed
her with a good showing.

Like a panther rising from its resting place in the sun, she
left the chair and walked toward him. She dug her fingers into his hair and
stroked his scalp. God, his eyes closed, he could come from that touch alone.

“I understand this is new to you. You’re just learning. But
my expectations are high. Think of this time as the same as when you were a
rookie in the police force. In fact, I think that’s what I’ll call you. Rookie.
You see, here at The Cavern, you have to earn the use of your given name.” She
leaned forward and her bustier gaped, giving him an excellent view of the curve
of her breasts. A few inches from his nose, a heavenly spice scent rose from
her warm skin and he swayed, ready to pitch forward into her cleavage. Her lips
brushed his ear as she continued. “You have to earn the right to hear me scream
your name when I come. Do you understand, Rookie?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he answered with a puff of his warm breath
against her bare shoulder.

“Good.” She pressed her nose against his neck and breathed
in deep. Her tongue flicked out to lick the pulsating vein before she
straightened with a satisfied sigh. “Now stand and let me get a better look at
my new toy.”

He climbed to his feet and stood straight and tall. As she
circled him, he sucked in his gut. He had gotten a little soft around the
middle, otherwise he was proud of his build, and from the slight smile on her
lips, she liked what she saw.

In her four-inch heels, she still only came up to his chin.
He could easily overtake her physically, but the power she had over him with
just a look made him weak in the knees.

She came to a stop behind him and placed her palms against
the back of his neck. She smoothed a line down his back, her thumbs pressed
deep along the channel on either side of his spine. When she reached his ass,
she said, “Bend over. Keep your legs straight.”

Great. He bit back a moan as he did as he was told. Dear
Lord, please don’t let him pull a hamstring. He knew he should have done some
stretches when he arrived.

His fear for his hamstrings diminished when she gripped the
cheeks of his ass and spread them apart. For a long while he felt the heat of
her gaze on his ass and flames erupted across his face. Humiliation and desire
waged a war in his mind with both sides putting up a hell of a fight.

Vulnerable didn’t begin to describe how he felt with his butt
cheeks held wide open and the cool air kissing his puckered hole. Embarrassed?
Yes. Exposed? Of course. Completely depraved and ready to fuck anything that
held the slightest bit of resistance? Absolutely.

“You may straighten,” Jasmina said with a pat on his butt
and gestured to the padded table. “Lie down on your back.”

Goose bumps erupted as his hot skin hit the cool leather. He
didn’t fail to notice the stirrups attached under the tabletop and the
restraints at the sides and near his head. His imagination exploded with the
possibilities of the wicked things she had planned.

Mistress stood at the head of the table and gazed down at
him from above. Her hands lifted and she placed her thumbs on his forehead.
Over and over she smoothed the line of his eyebrows and down under his neck.
Man, he loved the way she massaged his scalp. His eyelids grew heavy, and he
swore he was floating on a cloud. Her touch extended to his shoulders and the
cap of his arms. He hadn’t realized how tense his muscles were until she dug
with her fingers into his sore spots.

She moved around the table and lifted his right hand. For a
long time she studied his palm before pushing her thumb into the center. Oh so
slowly, she brought his hand up to her face, nuzzling his palm with her nose
before resting it against her cheek. His breath caught as he watched her eyes
close on a sigh. She was so soft and delicate in his hold, her skin like silk
against the light caress of his fingers as he cupped her face.

So sexy. So sensual. So… “Beautiful,” he breathed out. “You
are so beautiful.”

She smiled against his hand. “Thank you.”

Before he blinked, her hand shot out to twist his nipple.
“Ow.”

“That was for talking. And this,” she twisted the other, “is
for touching me. I did not tell you to curl your fingers.”

Right. Damn it.

He sucked in his lips to refrain from any more outbursts and
concentrated on studying his Mistress as she continued to work him over.

As she examined the almost-healed wound on his chest, her
eyes narrowed and for half a second he saw her doctor expression as she turned
her head to the right and left. When she caught his gaze she nodded as if she
read his mind, “Looks good.”

The tips of her fingers scored his ribs and he flinched. She
did it again, and he squirmed, resisting the urge to laugh. She tugged on the
fine hair across his belly and again, he bit his lip.

“Stop it.” She latched on to his nipple and pinched it
tight, pulling the bud higher away from his chest until his eyes watered.
“You’re holding back your responses. If it tickles, then laugh. If it feels
good, by God I want to hear it. Understand?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he panted.

“We shall see.”

And with that, she dragged her fingernails in deep grooves
from under his armpits down to his flanks. His hips bucked and he about shot
off the bed with a shout.

“Finally,” she huffed and went to work on his thighs.

With her nails and fingertips she scored, scratched and
pinched his lower body. She pushed her knuckles into the bottoms of his feet,
tickled the sensitive area behind his knees and ran the flat of her hand up the
inside of his thighs as he bucked and moaned on the table. All the while she
left his cock alone to bounce with his movements and trail a fine line of
precum across his belly. He gripped the edge of the table until his fingers
ached to keep from reaching for his dick and stroking himself to completion.
This was by far the best and worst massage of his life.

By the time she stepped back, he was covered in sweat and
heaving as if he had run after a felony suspect. Jasmina too was breathing
heavily. Her hair was mussed and the tops of her breasts glistened with a fine
sheen of perspiration. Excitement glittered in her gaze as she eyed his cock
with hunger.

“Good boy,” she cooed. She reached under the table and the hum
of a motor kicked up. The side of the table his torso rested upon lifted until
he reached a sitting position.

She knocked his legs apart to rest down on either side then
pulled another chair up to the foot of the table. From the sidebar she
collected a glass tumbler then rejoined him.

“Take your dick in your hand and stroke it.”

He jerked as if she poked him. What was it about her talking
dirty that got him so hot?

A moan rolled up from his gut as he gripped his cock and
began to move his hand up and down.