“Zoom in on her red lipstick and the ball gag,” said Jo.

“Who doesn’t love a good lipstick-and-ball-gag shot?” asked Zarina with a laugh.

The two women sat in a small glass room perched above the filming set floor. The old building had once served as a seafood warehouse, with thousands of pounds of crabs and oysters moving through these walls each year on Matthew’s Island, tucked away in the Chesapeake Bay on Maryland’s Eastern Shore. Now, the property had a sign outside reading “VXD Enterprises.” Shellfish still came and went from these parts, but not from this building anymore.

Vixenden.club was a high-end sexy fantasy website for women, secretly owned and operated by schoolteacher Jo Bird and coffee shop owner Zarina Harandi, unbeknownst to most of the people in their lives.

The producer next to them gave a thumbs-up, and the director below made an “OK” hand gesture signifying he’d received the message from the studio. The screen in the studio reflected the change: the scarlet-red-lipstick-clad mouth of the actress now glistened in the shot, perched as it was around a specially-ordered black rubber ball gag. The original red ball gag hadn’t looked good in any of the combinations with red lipstick, so Jo ordered the scene to be shot again. The close-up was going to be used as the main image for the short film.

“Are you happy with it?” asked Zarina, pointing toward the screen. She knew how much effort had gone into the shot.

“Yeah, I think there is just enough glitter in that deeper shade of red,” said Jo, concentrating on the image before her. “Let me see the still.”

The producer paused the shot, and Jo nodded. Only Zarina noticed the simultaneous exhales of the producer, the director, the makeup artist, and the photographer. Even the actresses on the set breathed quiet sighs of relief—that crazy OCD bitch finally had the shot she wanted.

“Pause the action and send in the photog,” said the producer into his headset microphone. The director said “copy that” with the slightest hint of relief in his voice as the auburn-haired photographer made her way onto the set to capture the image that would be used on the website’s main page.

“We should toast to that!” said Zarina. “This is going to be our biggest hit yet.”

“It’s a good feeling,” said Jo. “Taking our tiny company from a crazy idea in a writing class to this secret online empire!”

She cranked up the volume on her phone and the wireless speaker in the studio blared Salt-N-Pepa’s “Shoop.”

The second line on the sign outside the door to VXD Enterprises read “Photography ~ Graphic Arts ~ Web Design” and most islanders had ignored the comings and goings from the building. The owner had been happy to lease the empty building. Locals figured some chicken-necker weekenders with more money than brains had set up some kind of fancy Internet business; they really couldn’t care less. Though the seafood business wasn’t what it used to be, hard-working watermen and their families continued season after season to bring in the shellfish for which the region was known internationally.

“The lighting is so perfect,” said Zarina, looking at the small screen on the camera handed to her and Jo by the photographer.

Jo turned the sound down a few notches. “Don’t know how you do the voodoo that you do…”

“The way the sun comes through those wooden slats—you could never capture that with electric lighting,” added Zarina.

“Fantastic,” said Jo. “Let’s work it up with a title.”

“Tara’s Secret,” said Zarina. “Wait until the website members see this one!”

Vixenden.club was an exclusive, members-only website for women. Its creators took great care to avoid the use of the word “pornography,” which had negative connotations of male-dominated, anti-feminist ’80s VHS tapes in seedy video stores. Those days were over. This brand of sex for women was on an entirely different level. This was highly specialized, professionally produced erotica for the web: steamy short stories, artfully filmed short movies, and galleries of provocative, sexy images designed for powerful, sexually high-charged, discriminating women who were willing to pay.

“We are on track to double our membership from half a million to a cool million,” said Jo. “And then it looks like my days as a schoolteacher are over. Besides, if any of the island mommies figured out that their kid’s elementary schoolteacher was moonlighting as an online sex empire goddess, they might object.”

“True!” said Zarina, laughing. “I think people who know me as the friendly neighborhood coffee shop owner would be a little shocked, too. My mom the college professor, for instance. Though I honestly don’t think she would mind. Especially if she knew I was starting to make money.”

“What does your husband have to say?” asked Jo, who at thirty-four vowed to be perpetually single.

“Stanley couldn’t be more laid back,” said Zarina. “He calls himself a ‘product tester’ and always offers to check out our new stuff first! I just wish the hours at Zoomdweebies weren’t so long so I could be here on the island more—but having an Internet business works out.”

“I’m at the point where I hate going across that drawbridge at all,” said Jo. “The phone signal on the island is terrible, but I think I’ll be sad when the new cell tower starts working. I didn’t want to talk to anyone on the phone that badly anyway.”

“Definitely has its charms,” said Zarina. “Something to be said for unplugging. Though there is some irony in the fact that we started an Internet company on an island where there’s hardly enough bandwidth for four people to play Words With Friends at the same time. Ha! Well, for now I’m headed back up the road.”

“I’m having lunch with Eva,” said Jo. “Do you think it would be cool to talk to her about VXD Enterprises? We could really use a legal opinion on our expansion.”

“I think it’d be great,” said Zarina. “She will be totally cool with it, and a great help—and besides, I keep worrying she’s going to see my car on the island and wonder what I’m doing here!”

Zarina gathered her purse and keys and walked past a wall where crops, whips, switches, handcuffs, blindfolds, ropes, spreader bars, and other BDSM tools were neatly arranged on hooks and shelves. A chain and black leather sling in the corner was a bit more hard-core than the typical suburban “sex swing” from a toy party that usually ended up as a plant holder. The film set was busy and she was sure to remain quiet as she passed the dominatrix and her submissive; the two women were readying themselves for the next scene. Girl-on-girl BDSM was hot on the website right now. As the site’s statistician and web traffic analyst, Zarina made recommendations to Jo about what stories and film clips were getting the most hits. As the more creative director, Jo, who was a world-class dominatrix herself, seemed to have good instincts when it came to knowing what women wanted to see in both the straight and gay portions of the vixenden.club world.

Their site was meant to bridge a gap in the online world of sex. Needless to say, there were tons of porn available for those who wanted it. But for the more “vanilla” set, there wasn’t much in the way of classier, more subtle arousal on the Internet. That’s where Jo and Zarina’s site came into play: curate some of the better sexy content from around the web, screen out the hardcore, tacky, or overly violent stuff, and produce original material that was just what couples needed to start off a hot night at home after the kids went to bed.

As she got into her car, Zarina smiled thinking about Jo’s schoolteacher comment. Would the parents be surprised “Miss Jo” ran a sexy website? Sure. But they’d be even more shocked if they saw her in full pro-domme costume, starring in one of her own videos.

 

 

“That’s a wrap, ladies,” said Kevin, the director of the video, and the actresses headed for the changing rooms. He walked up the steps to the studio and entered. The producer, Lorena, removed her headset, exchanged a few words with Kevin and their executive producer, Jo, and headed off to her job at the local radio station in nearby Easton.

“Were you happy with today’s work?” asked Kevin. He absentmindedly ran a hand across his close-cropped silver-white hair. At fifty, he was retired from his job as a pilot for the Naval Academy, but the military haircut had remained for his unexpected second career in erotic film directing.

“How dare you announce that scene was a wrap without checking with me?” asked Jo, angrily pulling her jet-black medium-length hair into a ponytail. She narrowed her steely blue-gray eyes.

“I beg forgiveness, Empress Josephine,” said Kevin, lowering his hazel-green eyes.

“You know what this means,” said Jo, unbuttoning her white linen blouse to reveal a contrasting black leather bra. Kevin had already noticed it through the fabric, and his body was reflecting his arousal.

“The dungeon?” Kevin asked, his eyes still cast downward.

“Exactly,” said Jo. She noticed his arousal, picking up the remote control from the equipment table and running it across the bulge in his pants. “And there will be extra punishment for this exhibit of your lack of self-control.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Kevin, braving a glance directly into her eyes, a twinkle of mischief in his own.

“Meet me in the dungeon in five minutes—I need to clear this studio,” ordered Jo.

Kevin nodded his agreement, his hands clasped in front of his arousal to shield it from her penetrating gaze.

Jo walked briskly around the studio, thanking actresses as they left the studio to head toward their cars and jobs in waitressing and house cleaning. She locked the doors. Vixen Den Enterprises wasn’t the location of anyone’s full-time job. Although the company was profitable, Jo didn’t want to leave the safety of her full-time benefits package at the elementary school where she taught.

Right now the only package she was concerned with belonged to a madly sexy former military pilot she wanted to dominate. She walked over and slid a large hanging wooden door across its rusty, creaky track. She actually enjoyed the old industrial setting for the site of not only her side business, but the playing out of the very real fantasies that were part of her dominatrix lifestyle.

She walked down a set of wide, dark steps to the partially underground dungeon space, opening a huge metal door to enter. Once a refrigerated holding area for the fresh catch of the day, the space received its light through chipped-paint windows cut high into the metal walls. Glass block had been used in the construction of the openings, which offered privacy to the space while still allowing the natural light of the outdoors. Today the room was a gloomy gray, darkening as a storm gathered on the horizon of the Chesapeake Bay outside the walls.

She looked down at the music selection on her phone and turned on “My Lovin’” by En Vogue.

Kevin had removed his clothing and stood against the wall between the windows, his head down, hands clasped in front, awaiting instruction. He had learned this routine over time and after extensive punishment sessions. The sex was consensual, outlined in a detailed contract created at the beginning of their passionate, ongoing dominant-submissive relationship.

“Kneel,” said Jo, and Kevin did as he was told, regardless of how cold and hard the poured concrete floor felt on his knees. His loins throbbed in anticipation of her every move. He’d never been a part of a relationship like this; in fact, had discovered Jo through her own website, where she had been testing the “Bonds” personal relationship meet-up section. Members could view one another’s profiles, video chat online, and set up meetings “IRL” (in real life) at this section of the site. Jo was perusing the Bonds page and accidentally discovered the new curious member Kevin, a traditional vanilla, who would be a virgin to the BDSM lifestyle. I need someone to take charge of me, he’d written. Jo noted his Maryland location only an hour from the island, raising an eyebrow at the photo of him in a dark military jumpsuit uniform on a plane. She was transfixed by the contrast of his mysterious green eyes, the sexiness of that early-gray hair, the confidence of his smile. She would take control of this new member with a direct, personal welcome. She removed his profile from the website, sent him a private message, and claimed him as her own. I will take charge of you, she’d written to him. Now, a few months later, his post-military film directing hobby that started out with wildlife had been transformed into coverage of the human species’ wild lives instead.

Jo walked over to the huge iron hooks on the heavy steel walls that once held seafood packing equipment. Some of the original nautical rope remained, but only for show because of their harmony with the theme than for actual use—those ropes were too thick for practical use. She ran her finger across the silk ties and blindfolds that were neatly arranged over a clear fishing line between two old hooks. She selected a simple red silk blindfold; its ends featured a slightly grittier texture for easier tying behind the head. She placed it on a small table next to him.

(“Maybe next time you’ll give your woman a little respect…”)

She glanced over at Kevin—his head was, as it should be, downcast toward the cracked, whitewashed concrete floor.

She took him by the wrist, and after he rose to his feet she walked him over to the large wooden X-shaped St. Andrew’s Cross in the corner of the room. Thunder rumbled outside. Jo lit four massive pillar candles on tall iron stands in the corners of the room as it grew ever darker in the sky, stealing light from the room around them.

She walked across the space to a large, wooden cabinet, custom-built using old wooden floorboards. He twitched ever so slightly when he heard the creak of the cabinet door opening; he knew what it meant.

Several dozen whips, crops, cat-o-nine-tails, and other devices hung in a neat array. Jo ran a manicured finger over the selections, thinking. Facing the cabinet, she unbuttoned her blouse, dropping it gently onto the floor. She could feel the heat of his gaze; knew she could turn around and catch him in the act of watching her without permission. She let him watch as she removed her long black skirt to reveal the black leather garter belt and panties that matched her bra, the French stockings with their single black seam down the backs of her perfect, shapely legs.

Kevin took the risk of watching her, knowing if she turned and saw him, his ass would literally pay for it later. His dick pulsed with its own heartbeat, filled with longing for her—the sweet anticipation of his time in this sacred, energy-filled space with her. Lightning struck outside as he waited, waited…

She picked up a small cat-o-nine-tails with long, thin strips of leather bound at one end with a firm leather handle. She turned to face him, noting that his eyes were probably only recently turned downward. Suddenly, she cracked the worn leather against the wooden cabinet. He jolted slightly. She walked slowly across the room in her four-inch red patent leather heels, placing the whip on the table beside the blindfold, which she picked up.

“Lower your head,” said Jo. “And kneel.”He did.

“I see you still can’t seem to control yourself,” she added, glancing down at his arousal.

He raised his eyes to her to determine whether she expected a response.

“You may answer,” she said.

“I’ve tried, but when it comes to you, Empress, I have no control,” said Kevin. The candlelight reflected in his sexy green eyes and Jo began to feel a familiar tingling between her legs. Her nipples grew hard in a room chilled by the impending storm, as thunder rolled again. This would be fun; she loved the anticipation of it.

“I see,” she said, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Well, it seems I need to remind you of your manners.”

She walked behind him, securing the blindfold around his head. He took in a breath when she pulled it tighter to knot. “Stand,” she directed. He stood.

The next song on her playlist began. K.Flay. She smiled.

Jo took the cat-o-nine-tails in her right hand and walked behind Kevin, admiring his strong shoulders and firm ass, slightly clenched as it was under the circumstances. She knew the sound of her heels on the concrete floor was what made his butt cheeks clench even more tightly. She raised her arm and brought down the whip, with a medium amount of pressure, on his left butt cheek. He flinched only the tiniest bit. She switched the small whip to her left hand and bent slightly to drag it slowly from his left ankle up to his left butt cheek, where she paused, slapping him with her hand, hard. She lazily grazed three fingers across the red mark she’d left on his ass with the whip, feeling his goose bumps rise. She traced the fingers across the middle of his back and around to his left front nipple, which she felt stiffen as her fingers took it in, twisting slightly and pinching hard. She gently caressed each of the areas she’d reddened.

(“If you like S&M, go choke a bitch…”)

Kevin could barely stand. The sensation from the spanking was so exhilarating, and the sudden softness of her skin such a contrast. The nipple pinch brought another wave of desire. He felt weak in the knees.

She seemed to sense the weakness. She walked around to face him, placing the leather loop on the handle end of the whip in his mouth so its leather tails dangled across his neck and chest. Taking him by the wrist, Jo reached up to shackle his hands one by one to the St. Andrew’s Cross. The modern bondage device was primarily steel and leather, though it conjured images of older wooden cross styles. It was hinged and could invert to different angles as well as rotate to any degree. She bound his feet into the leather and metal shackles, tracing the whip’s tendrils along his abdomen after removing it from his mouth.

“No way to hide yourself now,” she said.

Kevin, now blindfolded, could only hear her to try to anticipate her next move, and with his hands and feet bound, he felt himself give in to her control. His years of military training, of piloting planes, even in wartime in the Middle East, meant he was used to being the one in the driver’s seat. But it had been a lifelong fantasy of his to be dominated by a woman—and he had told her when he signed the contract that he couldn’t be more pleased it was finally coming to life.

“You have been quite noncompliant today,” said Jo. She gently grazed the leather tails across his right leg, then his left, tapping them with only the smallest amount of force on the side of his upper left thigh.

Kevin spoke only one word: “Forgiveness.”

“Repentance,” responded Jo.

She grazed the leather tails across the surface of his complete arousal, watching as his dick twitched in response to her, glistening at the tip. She took a single finger and rubbed the very end of it, only for the briefest touch. She heard him take in a breath.

“Mmm,” she said, as he heard her lick her finger and smack her lips. “This reminds me that I’m hungry.”

He exhaled slowly, waiting for her next thought, her next motion. The rain pelted against the glass block windows as the wind whistled, rattling the old wooden doors. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness behind the blindfold enough to see the flickering of the candlelight at the edges of his vision, masked though it was in a tight silk embrace.

Jo turned the heavy metal crank on the side of the large St. Andrew’s device clockwise, and click by click, the angle of the cross changed. Kevin was rotated onto his back almost as if on a spit until she stopped the rotation and he was splayed almost completely flat, his head raised only barely, his arms and legs extended in their X-shape.

Kevin heard the tapping of Jo’s heels as she opened a cabinet door, closed it again, slid open a drawer, closed it, and returned to his side.

“You are my table,” said Jo.

He felt her place something small and solid on his abdomen, holding it in place as, holy shit, she began to cut it with a knife, slowly. The smell of the apple filled his nostrils. He concentrated on not moving. She cut only part of the way through the slice, popping the rest of it off. He heard the metallic clank as the knife landed on the table beside him. He felt a tiny trickle of juice drip down his side as she placed the apple face down in the center of his belly.

And, oh, God, the sweet, unexpected sensation of her hot tongue as she lazily licked that drop of juice from his side. Sounds were louder when you couldn’t see, and just as a sudden crash of thunder ended he heard the sharp crunch as she took a bite from the slice of apple she’d cut. She picked up the knife, cutting another slice from the fruit that rested on him. His abdominal muscles tensed despite his efforts to relax them.

“Trust,” she said, putting down the knife again.

She slowly dragged the slice of apple along his chest as she licked another stray drop of the fruit’s sticky liquid from his body. She traced his right nipple with the apple slice, watching how his lower half reacted. She placed the piece into his mouth; he hungrily accepted it. She cut another, using his body as the table. This time, she traced the slice down the lower half of his abdomen, gently across his thighs. She took it into her mouth, sucking a bit loudly. He listened to the sounds of this, growing ever harder. She returned the apple to his engorged dick, tracing it up and down, slowly, circling it around the tip, returning it to her mouth to suck again.

He ached for her. His ass muscles arched against the steel of the cross. His rippled chest muscles, shoulders, arms, legs—every muscle in his body stiffened along with his cock, ever harder, as he waited for her to quench the unending hunger he had felt for her since the initial moment he’d laid eyes on her, long before she had ever tied him up in this dungeon.

Jo allowed her tongue to trace this aching hunger, to taste him for one brief moment before simply placing the apple slice into her mouth and eating it, chewing slowly. She placed another piece of the apple into his mouth.

She quickly slapped the cords of the whip across his abdomen, leaving a pink mark. She placed the whip down on him gently, letting its weight leave her hands, its handle on his chest, taking four leather tails and winding them around his arousal.

“I have a lunch date with Eva,” said Jo. “So I’ll be back to see you when I am ready for my dessert.” She gathered her clothes and left him as the storm beat on the windows and he smiled, ever waiting, tense with the knowledge of her power over him.

 

 

The semi-retired corporate attorney Eva Bradley shook the rain off her oversized cotton T-shirt and stretchy black yoga capris as she entered Paul’s Café and looked around to see if her friend Jo was already there. The late spring storm had caught her off guard, as island storms always did; she never managed to have an umbrella ready. The one from her car always ended up on her porch.

Seeing Jo wasn’t there, she used the time to sit and collect herself. Herman, the chef, was ever busy, now icing one of his delectable Smith Island cakes with its endless layers. She didn’t bother saying hello so he wouldn’t have to look up from his concentration. She wondered what cake flavors were available in the back case today. She’d had quite the sweet tooth in recent weeks since the nausea had passed, and a slice of the orange cream cake (or mmmm, maybe she’d stop by for some of Patty’s salted caramel cheesecake from the country store on the way home, too), delicacies she hadn’t really appreciated before on the island, she now craved at least a time or two a week.

Nathan had brought her a cream cheese Danish that morning already from Paul’s, so she’d better slow down with the pastries if she didn’t want to end up the size of a…

Jo breezed into the café, apologizing for being late.

“It’s fine,” said Eva, “I was just sitting here fantasizing about cake.”

“About cake?!” said Jo. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

“Well, it usually isn’t,” said Jo.

Eva had kept the secret for months, but knew that in a very short time the world would know. Even though she’d had months to get used to the idea, she was still somewhat shocked herself that at the age of nearly forty-three and with sons graduating from high school (thank the heavens) next month, she was nonetheless going to be having a baby in early September. Definitely not in the life plan.

Jo cocked her head slightly and narrowed her eyes, trying not to obviously glance down at Eva’s oversized shirt. There is no way, she thought. And yet, of course, the number one question you never ever ask a woman, even a woman who appeared to be fully nine months pregnant, is whether she was pregnant. But Eva smiled at her.

“Buttttt, you just suddenly like cake now?” said Jo, cheerfully grinning at her friend.

Eva laughed. “I freaking love cake now. And let’s just say I might have a tough time bending over to go sea glass hunting for a while.”

“Oh no,” said Jo. “No fucking way. Just no. You can’t be…”

“Sigh. Yes, I can be. I guess I didn’t pay attention to that movie in fifth grade,” said Eva. “Looks like just when I thought my nest was empty, there might be another little one showing up in it.”

“I don’t even know what to say!” said Jo. “We’re happy?! Right? You’re happy and we are happy about this news? I mean because obviously if you didn’t want a baby, you wouldn’t be having one or you’d be giving it up for adoption to some poor infertile couple or something…”

“This is why I love you,” Eva said, laughing again. “Your honesty. Yes, since I’m in my forties I’m in full command of my reproductive decisions and rights. And yes, I’m surprisingly happy even though I will be a single mother for the first time.”

“A single mother because…” Jo began.

“Let’s just not even go there,” said Eva, a shadow crossing her blue-gray eyes.

“Fair enough!” said Jo. “Let’s just get some lunch. With cake for dessert!”

“Yes. Enough about me. What’s new in life as a kindergarten teacher?” asked Eva. “Glad the school year is coming to an end?”

“Oh, just the usual,” said Jo. “Bossing kids around. It’s the off-season, so no kids, but I’m tied up with a halfway-done summer project, so have to get back to that soon. I actually have a secret of my own I was hoping to share with you.”

“Great! Let’s get that secret out on the table,” said Eva.

 

 

When Jo returned to the makeshift dungeon at the former seafood warehouse on Matthew’s Island, Kevin had drifted off to sleep. He awoke quickly and tried to pretend he had been awake the whole time she had been gone, but she could tell that he had napped. Both the knife and the cat-o-nine-tails had slipped to the floor.

“Bored, were we?” she said. The storm had passed, and the room was bright. She walked around the room slowly, unbuttoning her blouse and tossing it onto a chair as she blew out the now-unnecessary candles. She picked up the whip and returned it to the cabinet, choosing a suede flogger from the wall. She gently ran its tails across Kevin’s abdomen before placing it next to him.

TLC’s “Baby, Baby, Baby” played through the sound system from the control room upstairs where she had turned it on.

“No, Empress, just saving my energy for your return,” said Kevin.

Jo had brought a bottle of water with her. She stepped out of her black skirt and, now back in her sexy black leather gear, screwed off the top of the water bottle.

“We can’t have you getting dehydrated,” she said. She poured water into the cap and began dripping droplets of water onto Kevin’s chest a drop a time. His nipple stiffened as a drop landed on it, sliding off his chest and onto the floor. She filled the cap again, tracing droplets up his neck and onto his chin. One drop touched his lips and he dared to reach his tongue out to lick it.

“Mmm, as your domina, I’ll decide where that tongue goes next, slave,” said Jo.

“Yes, Empress,” said Kevin, struggling to keep the smile from his face.

She filled the cap again, letting a sip of water enter his mouth. She filled her own mouth with a capful and kissed him gently, taking his tongue into her mouth to suck on it for a brief moment. As she did, she brought down the flogger, hard, onto his thigh. He gasped audibly.

“That’s for falling asleep while I was gone,” she hissed.

The slap brought his body’s full attention back to her. She slowly dragged the suede tails of the flogger across his erection. As research for her own BDSM videos, she’d seen countless crazy penis-bondage devices and was never really into that next-level kink. She and her viewers liked a subtle, classic bondage—dark shadows, some rope, sleek muscles, silky ties, but nothing massively painful or terrifying looking. There was already plenty of that out there. As a dominatrix, bringing a certain amount of pain to her submissive brought her pleasure. But she wasn’t into the hard-core stuff. She’d leave that to the dominatrices who were, and did it well.

Kevin didn’t even know the hidden camera was on now—she’d surprise him later that night while they were in bed watching a movie, but only if she thought it was something they could use.

“My lunch was fun,” said Jo, “but I want my dessert now.”

“Anything you want,” said Kevin.

“I want everything on this table,” said Jo. She pulled off the blindfold and lowered her head to kiss him.

“It’s all yours,” he responded, eyeing her black leather thong hungrily. As she trailed her fingernails across his chest, he wished he could return her touch. She removed her remaining clothing until she was naked—so perfect, thought Kevin, just gorgeous.

(“Cause if you’re gonna get me off, you gotta love me deep…”)

She walked over to a cabinet drawer, placing down the flogger and returning with a double-headed rippled purple vibrator, deftly applying lubricant to one end, turning it on, and teasing it across her nipples, pinching them into peaks.

“You’re kind of tied up right now, and I’m horny as hell, so I’m going to get this party started,” said Jo.

Kevin nodded his compliance.

She turned on the other side of the vibrator and mimicked giving it a hand job while he watched, his cock throbbing with jealousy. She smiled, lowering the vibrator to let it stimulate her for a few moments while her hand tweaked one of her nipples. Her head lolled back. He watched as she ground against the vibrator. He strained against the leather and metal restraints, longing to be the source of her arousal.

She stopped short of orgasming, walked over to Kevin, inserted one half of the vibrator into herself and let one half toy with his ass as she stroked him. She let this go on for a few moments until both of them were ready to explode, and then stopped, turning off the device and putting it aside.

Panting heavily, she turned to him, seeing the beads of sweat dripping down his neck, his chest—his own complete state of sexual hunger. She stood beside the St. Andrew’s cross where he had been splayed flat for hours now. She pinched his nipples, hard. He gasped. She traced her tongue across his chest, slapping both his nipples so hard they became bright pink immediately. She stroked his rock-hard cock as she cranked the cross to the position she wanted, his head lower, swinging one leg over so she straddled the cross. She swerved her hips and lowered herself toward his tongue, taking him into her mouth; they pleasured each other orally until they were both ready to explode.

“Tell me your desire,” said Jo.

“Whatever is your desire, Empress,” said Kevin.

“Bullshit,” said Jo. “Tell me your desire now!”

“You,” he said. “Always you.”

“Beg me to fuck you,” said Jo. “Beg.”

“Empress, I beg of you,” said Kevin. “I can’t stand any more of this torture. I need to be inside of you. Please, take me inside you, now.”

She made one more adjustment to the angle of the St Andrew’s Cross—from experience, she knew exactly the position she wanted it. Facing away from him, she slowly squatted over his tight abs into a reverse-cowgirl position, taking his burning hot man candle of desire inside herself, Jo moaning with pleasure as she finally got where she wanted to be.

Grabbing the straps hanging from the ceiling above her for leverage, she raised and lowered her body to her preferred rhythm. He exhaled with pleasure, perfectly in sync with her movements. She used her strong abdominal and upper thigh muscles to move slowly in a rhythmic circular motion, up and down until both of them finally exploded in turn, Kevin loudly wailing with release.

The fingernail scratches on Kevin’s thighs, red marks on his ass, and chafe marks on his wrists and ankles lasted for days. He texted Jo the next day, telling her that if he accidentally brushed against any of the sore areas, even with the water from the shower, it would make him hard with desire to return to the dungeon.