punish her for her thoughts.
“My parents were married, Butterfly,” I respond with a wink. “How about we go explore the club now, if you think you can behave yourself?”
Every nerve in my body is demanding that I orgasm. I don’t know what blue balls feels like but blue ovaries are overwhelmingly frustrating. I adjust my mask. It is heavier than I would have guessed, but wearing real diamonds on your face means they are going to have some weight. Bentley has covered me in jewels. Diamonds and gold drip from my earlobes, hang around my neck, my wrist, and even a beautiful dainty anklet. The weight of the jewelry, not the physical weight, but the emotional weight, knowing the cost, is almost like shackles of sorts. I am worried about breaking a clasp, losing a diamond. Bentley told me not to worry about it, he could replace any diamond easily, he owns them all. But how can I think like that? I have never seen anything this expensive in all my life. It is all so surreal to me.
Here I am, in the hottest club in Arizona, surrounded by vampires and werewolves, wearing millions of dollars’ worth of jewels, every nerve in my body on fire. I need an orgasm. I need to relieve myself. Maybe I can sneak off to the bathroom and just rub my clit a bit. It wouldn’t take much—
“You will do no such thing. If you touch your clit or relieve yourself at all before I give you permission, you will not orgasm for a week. You will be going to bed wanting every night of that week, feeling just like this. Understand me?”
“Yes, Sir.” I groan. I really hate that he can read my mind. Actually, I think I hate that I am aware that he can read my mind. Before, at least I thought my thoughts were private. Now, I understand how he managed to know what trouble I was going to get into before I got into it, and how he would do just the right thing at the right time to prevent it.
Nina catches my eye from across the room, and frowns. I snuggle closer to Bentley and narrow my eyes at the bitch. It is her fault my breasts are red and sore. It is her fault I am squirming with unmet desire.
Bentley wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me close to him. Leaning in, he kisses the top of my head. “No reason to be jealous, sweetheart. You are the only woman here for me.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“Now Keri, what is my rule about lying?”
“I’m not. I’m not jealous, I’m angry.”
“You have every right to be upset with her. Remember who you are and who you represent, yes?” He tilts my face up to look at him.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good girl. You keep being good, and I might just let you come before the night is over.”
The sound of a whip swishing through the air catches my attention. I turn to see a beautiful man, naked, his wrist and ankles tied to the St. Andrew’s Cross. Another man, dressed impeccably in a fine-fitting black tux, holds a cat o’ nine tails. He is playing with his prey. The whip is flying through the air then, after barely caressing his back, the next lash will cut a little, leaving a fine line of blood in its path. Each time the whip falls, wielded with practiced skill, another sensation is brought to the bottom. The dominant is massaging with one lash, cutting with the next. The beautiful creature on the cross is moaning, squirming, and extremely aroused, if the erect rod jutting from him is any indicator of his state.
“Do you like that, Butterfly? Does it make my pussy wet?” Bentley’s hot breath on my ear makes me shiver. His verbal ownership of my vagina does something to me emotionally that I can’t explain. His hand comes up and squeezes my breast. I bite back a yelp as he brushes against the tenderness left behind by the crop. He kneads the left one like a ball of dough, flicking his thumb over my nipple as he speaks, as if the room isn’t full of people. “Do you want me to strip you naked and tease you with the whip the way he is doing?”
“N…nnn…ooo.” I stutter as I feel the gush of liquid fill my panties. The cat has always been a fascination of mine, but it is also a hard limit.