Honor Bound by Joey Hill (speld decodable readers .txt) 📕

thong. “Those might be my lips there, if Peter allows us the pleasure and opportunity at some future time. But tonight is just for you to feel the possibilities.”

Holy crap, her knees were weak. If Peter willed it, these men might do even more, bring her pleasure in multiple ways at once. She wondered if they’d ever shared Cassandra or Savannah, if those women craved such extreme play the way she had. The way she did.

An erotic shiver went through her at the certainty of it.

When Lucas let her go, he didn’t nudge her in a specific direction as the others had. He simply stepped back, letting her decide where she would go. She’d wrapped the leash around one arm to keep from tripping on it, but she’d preferred it taut, one end in Peter’s hand. Her anger had dissipated. She was anxious, aroused, her mind spinning, but she moved forward without fear now, convinced they wouldn’t allow any missteps. As such, the next obstacle surprised her, because it wasn’t male. Or a familiar body.

She’d walked into an occupied St. Andrew’s cross. Exploring, Dana found lovely, thick hair that tumbled down soft shoulders. She drew back when she brushed what was

obviously a bare breast. A female slave. If she was in the public area, her Master or Mistress was likely encouraging a limited amount of touching. No one had stopped her yet, so cautiously, Dana reached out again, investigated a pair of breasts far heavier and fuller than her own. Aroused nipples, despite the raised welts on the generous curves. A hard-core pain slave. Despite that, in sympathy, she bent, kissed the abraded flesh. The woman quivered beneath her mouth. She couldn’t hear her reaction, which meant either it was below her hearing threshold or, more likely, she was gagged. The shudder was pleasure, though, so she continued to investigate, finding the restrained submissive had a curved belly and Venus’s thighs to match the breasts. A voluptuous woman. She liked that, liked the woman’s smooth skin. She bit back a helpless little moan of her own as the strobing feel of whatever Jon had put on her nipples increased, responding to her own elevating arousal. She pinched this woman’s nipples, a reflection of how much she wanted her own teased. She thought of what Peter had said about the breast bondage, imagined it in detail. She wanted that. She wanted Peter.

What she was doing must be pleasing him, so she decided to push it further, see how much he could take before he got involved. Coming closer to the woman, she ran her hands over the curvy body, learning her, grazing her knuckles over a puffy clit. The restrained slave hadn’t come yet, or had been built back up to mindless heights again.

Dana pressed her corseted breasts against the woman’s and whimpered at the sensation against her stiff nipples. She rubbed herself there, trying to get relief, even as she found the woman’s stretched mouth with her fingertips and kissed her over the ball gag, kissing her like she wanted Peter to kiss her. Hard, demanding. She rubbed her silk-clad pussy against one of those pillowy thighs, across the woman’s mound, and clung to the posts above her as the woman shuddered and cried out. Rotating her hips and then thrusting forward, she brought pressure and friction against the woman’s mound. From the back she knew it looked as though she was fucking the woman as a man would, all the while giving them a generous display of her ass.

Was the blindness making her abandon all inhibitions, or was it the overstimulation of her nipples, the feast to the senses his men had just given her? She didn’t know, but she was yearning toward what all subs sought, that subspace where rational thinking meant nothing and responding to one’s Master was everything, giving pleasure and receiving it.

Peter was a breast man. Turning, she leaned back against the woman’s body and plucked at the front of her own corset, unhooking the top several eyelets, then cupped her breasts, displaying them. When her ensconced nipples brushed the top edge, she bit back a cry at the near-climactic sensation, arching back into the woman. Oh, God, if her Master or Mistress freed her hands, but not her legs, that woman could cinch an arm around Dana’s waist, reach around to Dana’s pussy, bring her to climax while the men watched, growing harder and harder.

She liked the idea, felt the power of it, desire and lust pulsing toward her. She wondered how much of an audience she had. Now she felt no fear of it, because she knew that protected circle was around her. What were Cassandra and Savannah doing? Were they watching, or doing similar things? Or did these Dominants bring their women here for arousal and voyeurism only, confining their play to more semiprivate methods? Was that another reason this circle of men were around her? The message being that she was here to serve Peter’s pleasure, but not available to others except someone like this restrained slave, who’d become another enhancement to their private pleasures?

When they’d wanted to touch her, with Peter’s consent, it had only been more

stimulating, fuel thrown on the fire. It was all about her pleasure, as he’d said. She didn’t feel handicapped or pitiful. She felt cared for, not as someone who needed protection, but as someone who’d been given it because they didn’t want to share. The idea swept her with feminine power. But she also burned with a craving want, and that want had a specific target. She’d wanted him to come to her.

But he was her Master. She’d pulled the leash from his hand.

Sliding away from the woman, she stopped, trying to concentrate past her arousal. It wasn’t only their intoxicating combinations of male scents that told her they were close to her. She could detect body heat, some kind of pulsing . . . energy. For the first time in nearly a year,