The Golden Dolphin, Dodge Island, The Port of Miami, Miami, Florida, August 23, 2014—Saturday morning, day twenty-three and final day of the Panama Canal cruise
Con was extremely glad that this Panama Canal cruise was over. He was anxious to get home. It didn’t help that Alex Dragados, his best friend and second officer, had been riding him over the entire cruise about the fact that he and Casey Campbell had had a falling out that he’d been unable to bridge. Casey, who had bottomed for Con for the first three Dolphin cruises, took exception to the excessive attention he paid to Barbee Baxter on the singles cruise. When he looked back on his behavior, he realized he could have handled it better—much better. Con knew that Alex only had his best interests at heart, but he could be a pain in the ass.
* * * *
Casey was anxious to close up shop. The passengers had all departed the ship. It was almost four o’clock, and Con had left hours ago. She was to join him at the condo he and Alex shared on Biscayne Boulevard nearly across from the entrance to the port. She knew that Alex had also left shortly after Con. None of them had been home since before the Alaska cruise in the beginning of July. She packed a small overnight case with cosmetic necessities, two bathing suits, some shorts and tops, and one dress with a pair of killer shoes just in case they went out. She didn’t know what plans Con had for the weekend, but she was sure a good portion of their time would be spent in bed—no clothes needed. She grinned.
She made her way to the port entrance, turned onto Biscayne Boulevard, spotted Con and Alex’s high-rise building several blocks up the street, and made her way in that direction. She parked in the underground parking garage and took the elevator up to the twentieth floor.
* * * *
Con was pacing the huge kitchen of the condo he and Alex had bought out of foreclosure at the lowest point of the real estate crash. It had a killer view over the Port of Miami, Biscayne Bay, Miami Beach, and out to the ocean. Con perched on a barstool at the granite island. “Where the hell is Casey? She should have been here at least an hour ago.”
Alex took a swallow of beer and looked up from the fresh fish, shrimp, scallops, and baby squid he was cleaning for a huge bowl of ceviche he and Baylee were preparing for the preseason football game on Sunday afternoon. Baylee Baxter, Barbee Baxter’s twin sister, had flown down from New York to spend a few days with Alex. She was busy chopping onions, garlic, cilantro, and juicing limes for the acid sauce that would marinate the fish overnight in the refrigerator. “Chill, man. You know last minute shit always comes up, and she is the one who usually has to deal with it. She’ll be here.”
“I know. Just anxious.” Con had spent two hours trying to relax at the rooftop pool and wishing Casey was there with him. He was looking forward to this weekend with her in his own home and not in a theme room or the dungeon. That was all fun, but having Casey at home with him was different. He rarely brought women home. He preferred to go to their place or just see them onboard or at a club. Since he spent so much time away, home was special to him, and he wanted Casey there to share it with him. He hadn’t been able to sort out what this actually meant for the long-term. He just knew it was what he wanted now, but he could still feel that she didn’t quite trust him.
When the doorbell rang, Baylee had just dried her hands and put the bowl of dressing aside. “My hands are dry. I’ll get it.” She walked to the carved mahogany double doors in the foyer and opened one of them. “Hi, Casey. Good to see you.”
* * * *
Casey stared at the woman opening the door in shock. Barbee Fucking Baxter. She couldn’t believe her eyes. What the fuck is she doing here? She hesitated a moment and made a decision. “Hi. I’m just dropping this off for Con. Please give it to him.” She rooted around in her tote and handed Casey a manila envelope that had grocery receipts she had already entered into her laptop spreadsheet—anything to have an excuse to turn around and leave. She couldn’t go through this again. It was her worst nightmare, and she was wide awake. She handed the envelope to Barbee, who looked more than a little confused, and turned back toward the elevator.
Casey walked to the elevator, which was still open, turned to the control panel, and punched the button for the parking garage. She had to hold it together. She would be back in her car in minutes, and then she would be out of here. She didn’t know what she would do, but she wasn’t going to hang around here. Son of a bitch. He’d done it to her again. By the time she got to the parking level and trotted to her car she had made up her mind. She would return to the ship, get her bag, and go to the airport. She might be able to get on a flight to Chicago on standby. She was usually able to work those little transportation miracles for passengers, why not for herself? Her fondest wish was to be out of here.
Con pulled her up against him and kissed her. Hard. Her breasts melded into his muscular chest. He let her up for air. Then he tipped her head back and nuzzled her neck, smacked her butt, and said, “Go change. I’m anxious to spend a little quality time with you.”
Casey hurried down to the crew deck and her very efficient but miniscule cabin. She dropped her uniform on the bed and popped into her tiny shower stall for a quick shower. She slipped into a short, tight, latex, sub dress and spikey high heels and hurried back up to the third deck and the ship’s public dungeon.
Con was waiting for her when she arrived. He looked magnificent in tight black leathers, high boots, and nothing else. His chest was wide with a light coating of glossy black hair over his pecs and a strip running in a happy trail into the waistband of his pants. Obviously he hadn’t had time for a wax before the trip. The preparations for the transatlantic crossing had been more demanding than those required for a run-of-the-mill cruise with a full complement of passengers and crew.
His deep voice rumbled through her system as he said, “Strip and stow your clothes. Then bring me a set of wrist and ankle cuffs and assume the slave position below the hanging chains, sub. I’ve been anxious for a scene with you.” Casey felt the frisson of nerves skitter up her spine and back down to her pussy. That rough voice and dominant nature got to her every time.
Casey did as instructed and was presently kneeling on the small rug in the center of the dungeon. The heat of the spotlight above the position warmed her cool shoulders. She held her hands up to him and offered him the heavy, sheepskin-lined cuffs. He took them, fastened them around her wrists and then her ankles, checked their fit, and kissed the palms of her hands. “You please me, sub.”
“Thank you, Master.” Casey had been reluctant to call Con Master again, but the gravity of the scene seemed to call for that formality. She stood gracefully as he guided her with a careful hand to the small of her back. When she stood below a set of hanging chains, he fastened the rings on her cuffs to the hooks at the bottom of the chains and to the spreader bar inset into the teak deck. He adjusted the chains until she was standing on tiptoe with her legs spread. When she was positioned to his satisfaction, he circled around her, running his warm, callused hands over her naked back and butt before he lifted her heavy red hair off her neck and kissed the nape.
“I’m glad you are here with me again, sub.” He came around to the front and lightly skimming her uptilted breasts with his lips before he took her into his mouth. The feeling of his hot mouth on her puckered nipples was exquisite.
She was not surprised when he reached around to deliver a hot, stinging slap to her bare bottom. “You are in for a long afternoon of torture, subbie.” Casey had already known that. Con pulled every emotion and response from her eager body and mind. “You are not to come without my permission.”
Con reached into a basket he had left on the credenza near the door and pulled out a pair of nipple clamps. Casey felt her eyes widen. She had seen the clamps in use many times, but had not experienced them herself in a long time. Con reach down and took one of her nipples into his mouth, pulling and tugging on the tip as he gently bit down. When the nipple was distended and hard, he fastened the clamp to the end. He adjusted the pressure to just this side of painful and proceeded to prepare the other nipple. When both clamps were in place and calibrated to his satisfaction, he turned his attention to her pussy. He rubbed her little nub until she was on the brink of an orgasm and then attached a clit clip. Now she was starting to get a little worried. As a final touch, he connected all of the clips with a fine silver chain, to which he attached a small weight. Her body was on fire from the unaccustomed and unrelenting pressures. Then he took a soft blue peacock feather and began to lightly stroke her breasts and pussy with a delicate touch. The contrast between the two feelings had her quickly approaching the edge of sanity.
“Hold your orgasm, sub. You do not have permission to come.” She glanced up at him from under her lashes. He had a smug, satisfied look on his face that made her determined to hold out as long as she could.
What is he going to do now? She didn’t know how long she could last. Her orgasm was on the cusp. He pulled a crop out of his boot and walked behind her with a menacing look on his face. She knew it was all an act, but it was still very effective. She felt her anxiety level skyrocket as he skimmed the business end of the crop over her back, butt, and thighs. He quickly slapped her bottom with the crop’s clapper, and she flinched. All her various bits and bobs attached to the nipple and clit clamps were buzzing with the surges of pleasure-pain that zapped her body.
“Please, Master. May I come?”
“Not yet, sub.” He ran his tongue around the areola of her breasts and then sank to his knees in front of her. He ran his tongue over her slick pussy lips and nipped her labia. That was it. That was all she could take. She rolled into an orgasm as electrical impulses flashed through her body.