Dirty Bad Wrong(35)
I felt the pulse in my temples. “What else does he do?”
She shrugged and exhaled all her breath. “Fucking hell, Lyds.” On the next the woman was spread-eagled, bound tight to a wrought-iron bed like the one in my room. Again I couldn’t see her face. The picture was focused on her pussy, red and puffy, between purple-streaked thighs. Masque was knelt over her, ready to strike her again. On this one he was naked. I felt my cheeks burn. His stiff cock was as threatening was the rest of him, a weapon in its own right. His implement of choice in this picture was a metal ruler, his target her poor swollen clitoris. “You can’t even imagine how much that hurts.”
I recalled the thump as James Clarke had landed one on his desk. Ow wouldn’t even begin to cut it. I stared at the image, willing it to burn into my memory forever since I doubted I’d ever get to see it again.
“I shouldn’t be showing you these, Lyds, it’s purely to knock some sense into you. Most doms stick to the ass or the thighs, the fleshier parts, you know?”
“But not him?”
“Masque isn’t most doms. He’s dirty...”
“I know, dirty bad and wrong.”
“Yes, dirty bad and wrong.” She slapped my arm. “You’re getting too bloody cocky.”
“Maybe,” I smiled. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do here.”
“Clearly you don’t,” she said. “He gets off on your pain, Lyds, proper pain. He craves submission, like all doms, but it’s more than that with Masque. He needs you to break, that’s what gets him off. Could you break for him? Would you cry? Beg him to stop? Let him lick your tears? Would you fall apart enough to sob in his arms like a broken little doll?”
I felt my heartbeat between my thighs. “I don’t cry...”
“He’d make you cry, Lyds, trust me.”
“Maybe that’s what I need,” I spoke aloud.
“Or maybe Explicit has sent you round the twist.”
“I need to find out.”
“Don’t do this!” she said. “Don’t put me in this position.”
“Please, Bex. Just give me a chance!” I yanked the arm of her chair until she was facing me, forcing her to meet my eyes. “Just one chance. If I get hurt, it’s my own fault.”
“You will get hurt. It would be irresponsible and downright fucking stupid.” She crossed her arms, resolute.
I paced away from her, Masque’s image burning at the corner of my vision. “You took these, right?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Why?”
“So, you must know him pretty well, yes?”
She paused awhile, eyeing me suspiciously. “Yes, I know him well. He’s the only dom to ever leave me with scars. I’ll show you them, if you like.”
“He’s hit you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, he’s hit me. Hard. I’ve subbed for him a few times, when the mood takes me. Occasionally, I’ll add, it’s very occasional.”
“So, you’d know if I could cope with him, right?”
“Just where the fuck are you going with this?”
She knew damn well where this was going; I could see the spark in her eyes. “We have a month, yes? Until you can take me as a guest again, I mean.”
“Yes...”
“So, use it! Test me! Train me or something, whatever you call it. If I can convince you in one month that I’ve got what it takes to cope, then take me back to Explicit. If not, then I’ll forget all about him and never mention him again. I promise.”
A sly grin crept across her lips. “Are you propositioning me, Cat?”
I’m sure I was the colour of beetroot but I kept going. “I want to prove I can cope. Please, Bex.”
She stood up from her chair, closing the distance between us. My heart raced so hard I could have sworn she could hear it. “It’s Raven. Have you ever been with a girl, Lydia?”
I shook my head. “Not yet.”
“Good answer,” she smiled. “On your knees.”
“Now?”
She took my chin in her hand, gripped me rough. This wasn’t the Rebecca I knew, but it wouldn’t be, because this wasn’t Rebecca at all. This was Raven. Mistress Raven.
“Don’t ever question me again. I speak, you obey.”
I dropped to my knees without hesitation. “Sorry, Raven.”
“Mistress,” she hissed. “You’ll call me Mistress.”
“Sorry, Mistress.” My pulse raced like a jackhammer, nerves on fire.
She hitched her skirt, bunching it high around her waist to reveal just a tiny pair of lace panties. She swept the hair back from my face, holding a hand possessively against my scalp. “You’re going to eat my pussy now, Cat, and if you want any fucking chance of this plan of yours working out, I’d better believe you’re fucking hungry for it.” She spread her legs, and yanked my head towards her. I breathed her in, a musky smell of sex so familiar and yet so alien. “Pull my panties to the side.”