AVAILABLE: Monday, August 22nd
[Siren Classic BDSM: Erotic Romance, Consensual BDSM, Contemporary, Interracial Romantic, Suspense Romance, Bondage, Spanking, Sex Toys, May-December, MF, HEA]
When his favorite Domme shifts her attentions to a new submissive, physical therapist Dustin Gavaris sets his sights on another older Domme upon whom he’d like to risk it all.
Former collegiate wrestler and now a high school history teacher, Chelsea Prescott has never divulged her primal self to anyone, much less a young submissive with trusts issues.
Dustin knows he would be a good sub for the right Domme if given the chance. He’d thought that chance was Iceland, but knows now not even the unrelenting Domme upon whom he wasted so much time fantasizing could handle the primal needs he has inside him.
Chelsea was Dustin’s age when she married an older man and wealthy investment banker Brooks Prescott who recognized her nature and introduced her to BDSM. Recognizing something in Dustin the same way her ex recognized something in her, Chelsea is ready to usher her new sub into the uncommon world of primal play.
Collars and Cuffs – Kink or Treat - Halloween Night
Dustin Gavaris hadn’t been inside a BDSM club in two weeks, not since he’d encountered Mistress Iceland and her new Adonic boy toy at The Lair.
He knew he shouldn’t think such insolent and petty thoughts because it had been obvious that presumptive boy toy had been so much more to Mistress Iceland than a playmate, and it was disrespectful to think she would entertain another sub’s attention so lightly. She did pickup play, she did spontaneous, but she did not do lightly. There had always been an intimate connection and intensity during every scene Dustin had shared with Mistress Iceland, a connection that had fooled him into thinking there was something more to her feelings for him.
She had also always been honest and up front with Dustin about their relationship, however, informing him it could never extend beyond The Lair or their play within its walls. She had not been looking for anything serious, especially not with someone as young as him, although he considered his twenty-five years just old and wise enough for her.
But none of Mistress Iceland’s declarations had prevented Dustin from falling and hoping. Falling and hoping so hard, so fast that he could have sworn he’d seen the striking woman and her equally striking partner heading downstairs to where he assumed the private playrooms were located.
That would be just his bad luck to bump into them here too. Though he should have been prepared for just such a scenario since the BDSM community was tight-knit, and practitioners and club-goers explored other clubs outside of the ones in which they had memberships and attended BDSM events all around the city.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” His friend, Perry Ellis (“No, no relation”) flung an arm over his shoulder.
“Or just lost your best friend.” His other buddy, Sebastian Seagate, flung an arm over his other shoulder.
Dustin glanced from one to the other and shook his head before his friends burst out laughing. The perfect tag team, those two. Not the devil or the angel on either shoulder. They were straight-up provocateurs and mischief-makers, always trying to drag him into their schemes.
He’d been tight with them ever since they’d saved him from being pummeled by two bigger boys in the foster home where they had all lived at the time. Dustin had been seven, Perry ten, and Sebastian eleven.
Perry was the witty, smooth-talker of the trio, cutting opponents with words, slicing their egos before they even knew they had been psychologically damaged. Sebastian was the pretty boy who wasn’t above endangering his fine features to engage in fisticuffs if he thought it was warranted.
Evidently, he’d deemed it necessary to rescue Dustin from two bullies determined to flush Dustin’s face in the toilet when Perry’s deadpan gibes failed to triumph over evil.
“We’ll get to you later, four-eyes,” one of the bullies replied to Perry’s taunts before he and his buddy frog-marched Dustin to the bathroom.
Perry wouldn’t let it go and retorted as he followed the three boys down the hallway, “Oooh, how clever stating the obvious. That all you got, Einstein? Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”
Sebastian soon joined the foursome and added his two cents, but with more of a threatening bite. “Let go of the squirt, or we’re going to have a problem.” Though he wasn’t much bigger than Perry and certainly not as big as the two teenagers holding Dustin, something in his voice and eyes must have given the bullies pause. This and the Louisville Slugger he brandished in one hand might have tipped off the bullies that Sebastian wasn’t playing around.
From that day on, the threesome had remained inseparable, watching each other’s backs throughout the rest of their stay at the foster home. Even after Perry and Sebastian had aged out of the system, they did not leave Dustin completely alone or unprotected. They visited the home often, letting the bullies and the neglectful foster parents know that they had their eyes on them.
By then, Dustin was close to sixteen, and Perry and Sebastian had taught him some tricks on how to take care of himself. Not to mention, he’d put on some height and muscle and was more than capable of defending himself.
Dustin wasn’t the only one his friends felt it their duty to defend, however. Legend had it that there had been a girl in the same foster home before Dustin’s time and much older than even his friends. Dustin heard she was on the autism spectrum, and the other kids mercilessly teased her the way they’d bullied him before Perry and Sebastian stepped in.
Dustin had a fairly good idea that the first dating app his friends had created—Spectrum Romance—and consequently sold for millions of dollars, had been created with said girl in mind.
His friends were just like that, protective to a fault, always had the back of those who needed it the most.
The thought choked up Dustin at the oddest times.
Like now. Especially now when he needed friends most after being dismissed by his favorite mistress. He loved his friends even when they took jabs and teased him about “the BDSM hotty” dumping him. Neither of them had met Mistress Iceland, but Dustin had praised her enough for Perry and Sebastian to know just how hot she was and that he had unwisely fallen head over heels for her.
“Like what you see?” Perry asked.
“I bet she could flog the gloominess right out of you,” Sebastian added.
The tag team was at it again, and it took Dustin a moment to clear his mind of the past and home in on what and whom the pair were talking about.
Then he saw her across the room dressed in the red-and-black fringed costume of a Roaring Twenties flapper, throwing the falls of her flogger against the well-muscled, lightly tanned chest of a sub dressed as Aquaman and lashed to a St. Andrew’s cross.
Did he like what he saw? Well, fuck yeah. He hadn’t been this turned on since one of the last times Mistress Iceland had played with him at The Lair. He’d known then that the end of their affiliation loomed near. There had been something different about her—distant and more restless than he’d ever known her to be—during their last session.
Nothing like the flapper center stage, the embodiment of serene, the seductive smile making her seem almost approachable.
Almost, because he would never dare approach someone so…out of his league?
Chelsea’s higher brain warned her to pull back, not be so rough. She was going too far, too fast. But her primal, her inner beast told her she wasn’t going far enough.
Dustin can take whatever we dish out.
On some level, she knew this, which made her go farther with him than she ever had with any other sub.
She’d never been this aggressive, this savage with anyone before, in a scene or out. Who would have tolerated the treatment—drawn blood, primal play, edge play—other than another primal willing to indulge her most animalistic fantasies?
No one until now.
Dustin was so hot and willing. So there with her, instinctively knowing what she wanted from him, needing what she had to give.
He barely flinched as she dug her nails into his skin like an untrained kitten before scraping across smooth virgin territory like a lawnmower over a grassy field. In fact, he leaned into her nails with a moan and sighed as if welcoming her nails home.
“More,” he grunted.
“When I say.”
“Of course, Mistress.”
Already hard, her nipples tingled at his acquiescence. “You’re lucky I’m in a giving mood,” Chelsea murmured and dipped her head again, indulging her senses of taste, touch, and smell. Immersing herself in Dustin’s essence as she slammed her hips against his. She gave his back a break, trailing her hands up—solid ridged abs, flushed sensitive nipples, well-muscled and powerful biceps—before finally clamping her fingers around his wrists again, imprisoning him. She rocked her hips against him, panties soaked as she imagined the large, hard bulge behind his jeans unsheathed and buried inside her. “Do you know what I want to do with you right now?”
“I can guess.”
“Tell me,” she ordered. “I want to hear it.”
“Stalk me. Circle me like an animal before you pin me to the mat, get me in a good clinch, and fuck me while I’m bound.”
She melted at the sound of his deep, lust-roughened voice describing exactly what she wanted, how she had been picturing him since she’d met him. Dustin on a St. Andrew’s cross was nothing compared to Dustin on a mat beneath her, begging for mercy.
If it had been warmer out, she knew some nice places upstate, private property that could be rented out and where they could have a stalking scene. Places she had mapped out for just such an occasion. Places she had imagined chasing a sub and bringing him to his knees.
She licked her chops at the vision of Dustin bound to a towering tree, shirtless and writhing as she tortured him with her teeth and a flogger.
That she knew Dustin would be that sub, that he would be around beyond the terms of their contract, long enough for them to enjoy an outdoor scene beneath the summer skies, told her a lot. And it freaked her out.
Chelsea drew his arms down to his sides and pulled him forward. “Come.” She turned him around so that his back was facing her, rested her hands on his shoulders before she began to massage with her fingers and thumbs, rubbing out the kinks from him having held his arms overhead for an extended time. She’d treat him even better during aftercare because he would need it. She’d make sure of it. “Such a good sub, my Indy.”
Dustin sighed and dropped his head forward, muscles relaxing beneath her steady touch.
Chelsea smiled. “Don’t get too comfy.”
She stopped to remove his shirt, slowly drawing the soft material down his arms, revealing the trail of scratches she’d left on his back. Knowing he was clean—his medical records and lab work spotless —she had no qualms bending her head to lick away the trickles of blood. It was like licking her own finger after cutting herself. He belonged to her as much as her own finger did. If he didn’t know it yet, he would.
Dustin shuddered and groaned as if her tongue and saliva were balms. The intense sound of satisfaction sent shockwaves straight to her pussy.
Chelsea wondered if Brooks had felt as possessive of her as she felt of Dustin. Did any Domme feel as possessive of their sub as she felt of Dustin, or was it just her primal side kicking in? She knew for a fact she had never felt this sense of ownership with Lars or Adam or even Edge, at least not outside of a scene. She felt possessive of Dustin all the time, wanting him to herself whenever and wherever they were. It had taken everything in her earlier not to snatch him away from all the tittering nurses and doctors at the hospitals and nursing home they had visited.
Jealousy was a horrible but, more importantly, unhealthy trait, and she hadn’t thought herself capable of the emotion before then. Hadn’t thought it in her nature, but there it was.
Chelsea wanted to taste more of his essence.
She stepped back around to his front. “Don’t move.” She slowly sank to her knees, watching as his pupils expanded until they engulfed the natural gray blue of his eyes. She held his gaze as she unbuttoned his jeans and slid them and his boxer briefs down to his knees.
Dustin’s ample hard cock bobbed, the pearl of pre-come gathered at the slit a tempting, earthy glaze. His cock was the only body part that did stir because, like the good sub he was, Dustin didn’t move a muscle. In fact, Chelsea thought he had stopped breathing until she put her mouth on the head of his cock, and he gasped.
“Yes, Indy?” She licked his throbbing shaft from root to tip, relishing Dustin’s trembling. When he didn’t continue, Chelsea filled in for him. “I know you’re not going to ask me to let you come.”
“No, Ma’am. Just…?”
“Out with it, Indy.”
“We’ll get there. Don’t rush this.”
“Wouldn’t think of it, Ma’am.”