I laid my head against my arm, tilted forward as I waited and listened for what he would do next.

I started as something hard but smooth stroked against my other cheek. I turned my head to see a thick black oval paddle that was patterned with holes. He pulled it away before I could get a better look.

He struck swiftly and repeatedly along my butt and thighs. I was still sore from the roses, which added to the pain, but he was relentless, not holding back a bit. He worked me over hard.

I had nothing to hold onto, nothing to grip on the cross, so my hands curled and uncurled as the blows struck me.

My legs were spread wide, and a few rough blows to my sensitive inner thighs had me gasping with the pain. He had been the reticent Dom since he’d picked me up from the café, but the force of his blows were telling me plenty, communicating so much that he hadn’t. He was furious and hurt and scared, and that pent-up, frustrated emotion was all for me.

My flesh was on fire when he finished. There was no pause between the last blow and him thrusting into me roughly from behind.

“That wasn’t your punishment, Bianca,” he rasped into my ear. “Do you want to know what your real punishment is?”

I nodded, unable to speak as he thrust into me again and again. I was on that fine edge when he pulled out of me abruptly.

“You don’t get to come until tonight, Love. Not for hours. I’m going to work you over, fuck you thoroughly, and you don’t get an orgasm. That’s an order. And if by chance you disobey that order, you won’t get to come for a week.”

I wanted to scream in frustration, but instead I gasped as he thrust back into me, pounding inside of me, again and again.

“Don’t,” he said, knowing that I was so close.

He hit the end of me, coming with that rough little groan that I loved. I hated it right then, sobbing in frustration.

“Please,” I begged as he pulled out of me.

“Not until tonight,” he said firmly.

He left me there for long minutes before coming back to unfasten me. I didn’t move after I was loose, instead I just lay against that X and waited.

He sighed and swept me up into a cradle hold.

He carried me to the playground, laying me onto a firmly cushioned surface. At the first touch of my back to the table, I began to look around. There were two such tables in this room that I knew of for sure. I saw from where I was positioned just what he had in mind, but not before he had my wrists and ankles strapped tightly to the corners of the table.

He watched me intently while he slipped on tight latex gloves. “Any objections?” he asked, a touch of a taunt in the question, almost like he was daring me.

I set my jaw hard, just watching him, daring him to do his worst.

He gave me a tight smile and got to work.

He washed and dried the area around my nipples with a clinical thoroughness. He pulled tiny metal forceps from the open drawer built into the table.

He didn’t hesitate, using it to grip my left nipple firmly. At the end of the metal instrument was a small hoop that fit around my hard nipple perfectly. He held it captive while he leaned in close and marked it carefully on each side.

I had to tell myself to breathe as I watched him. I was painfully tense, not knowing what to expect. I’d never had anything pierced but my ears before.

He carefully studied the marks he’d made, my nipple still held firmly with those mean little forceps. He put the pen away, pulling out a sadistic looking needle with the same hand.

My eyes were glued to that thick needle as he pushed the sharp, hollowed-out tip of it into my skin. I took one very deep breath and held it.

He pushed it into my skin, and through, with a quick, almost smooth motion. It was painful but fast, the sight and feel of it a shock to my system.

He laced a tiny silver hoop into the needle, pulling it through, and then slipping the bigger needle out.

I watched my chest rise and fall as I started breathing again.

He pressed a cloth very gently to the newly pierced area before striding away.

He came back less than a minute later with two small, cold gel packs in his hands. One he set in the open drawer, the other against my pierced nipple.

“Are you up for the other?” he asked, watching me carefully. Even in this dangerous mood, I still saw concern.

I took a deep breath and nodded.

He changed his gloves before he gave my right breast the same treatment, quickly and with consummate skill. He tended to both breasts, carefully cleaning and icing them. The aftercare took much longer than the actual piercing had.

When he was done, he took off his gloves and unfastened me, picking me up and carrying me directly to the bed.

He laid me on my back, his hand moving between my legs to push one finger into me.

I glared at him.

He laughed. It was a cold laugh. My tender-lover was still very much missing, even with those little glimpses of concern I’d seen from him as he’d tended to me.

“Now, now, Love. Looking at me like that can get you punished, as well. Don’t think that it can’t get worse than a sore ass, some pierced nipples, and one day without an orgasm.”

Very deliberately, I shut my eyes and turned my head away, defiant of what I knew he wanted from me. I was pissed.

He just laughed that merciless laugh. “Okay, have it your way. I was going to leave you alone, but this is certainly more fun for me.”

He pushed me flat onto my back, and tied me spread-eagle to the bed. I kept my eyes shut tight.

He crawled between my legs and gripped my chin, very careful to avoid brushing against my tender breasts.

“Look at me. Now,” he growled.

I hesitated, but finally looked at him. I swallowed hard then moaned loudly as he lined himself up at my entrance, ramming in to the hilt.

“Don’t fucking come,” he told me, jamming himself into me once, twice, three times. He came with that delicious groan of his, just shy of making me lose my mind.

“Very good, Love,” he murmured as he pulled out of me, his thick length still twitching.

He unfastened my feet, but only one of my wrists. This he left tied, but with a lot of slack. He curled naked against my back, burying his face into my neck. I arranged myself carefully, shifting to avoid brushing my breasts against my arms or the bed.

“Are you afraid I’ll try to run away? Is that why I’m still tied?” I asked him, since he’d never done this before. Something was seriously off.

“Yes,” he said succinctly. “No more questions right now.”

I tried to roll away, but he held me fast. He pressed hard against me. His cock was semi-hard against the back of my thigh. “Relax. All you have to do now is fall asleep. When you wake up again, your punishment will be over.”

That was much easier said than done. I was agitated, confused and mad as hell, and the fact that James was soon sleeping heavily and peacefully against my back was no help at all.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Mr. Manipulative

STEPHAN

I’d been woken up after only a thirty minute nap, but I still knew I wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep. And I couldn’t leave her here alone, though I knew not to try to interfere again.

So I stayed. I ate and played video games, texted Javier a lot, and worried. I didn’t like to be a worrier, but where Bianca was concerned, I just couldn’t help it. If she was okay, I was okay, and if she wasn’t…

I remembered the first time I’d seen her. She’d been wearing baggy jeans, and a hoody that covered most of her hair, but she hadn’t been able to disguise the fact that she was breathtakingly beautiful, with clean features and a perfect complexion.

We’d been at a homeless shelter, but neither of us had lingered. At our age, if you stayed around people that wanted to help you for too long, it was inevitable that they would try to help you find your parents. It was always a good-natured intention, but almost insulting in its way. As though we’d have been living on the streets if we had any other acceptable choice… But even that was unfair, I knew. Some of the lost kids weren’t really lost. Sometimes they were mad, or trying to worry their parents, or even just trying to prove a point that they didn’t need anybody.

I knew at a glance that she wasn’t one of those. Yes, she had a proud tilt to her delicate chin, but she was no spoiled brat. She was like me. She had nowhere to go. She was truly lost.

I had followed her, keeping my distance, instinctively wanting to make sure she was safe. If she was like me, perhaps we could help each other. She looked about my age. Maybe we could keep each other company. The thought gave me a pathetic amount of hope.

I stayed far away, just observing, but it wasn’t long before I saw the old man stalking her.

I knew where she was headed. There was a warehouse not far away. It was a popular spot for squatters. None but the homeless were interested in the place. I trailed them there.

It was getting dark out, and so I didn’t recognize the large man that stepped into my path. I squinted warily at the one who had stopped my progress, trying to make him out in the dark.

“Old Sam has a fight for you,” the man said, and I vaguely placed who he was. I was almost positive his name was Mike.

“Now isn’t a good time,” I told him, shouldering my way around him. I wasn’t comfortable leaving her alone near that old man for even a minute, not in the darkness, where no one would care what was happening.

I began to walk briskly towards the warehouse, my eyes shifting around frantically, trying to make out all of the shadowed shapes.

“You’ll be sorry if you get on his bad side!” Mike shouted at my back.

I completely ignored him.

I was almost to the broken side entrance when I heard a faint noise down the alleyway. It had been a muffled grunt, a feminine one, and that was enough to have me tearing down the alley with no hesitation.

I saw the old pervert first, since he was on her back. He already had his pants down around his ankles, and was working at the front of her pants with one hand. The other was over her mouth.

He cursed, drawing the hand at her mouth away to punch the back of her head at the same time that she screamed.

I pounced with a furious roar. My vision went red for a long time, and I couldn’t form a coherent thought again until I felt a soft touch on my shoulder.

“You can stop. He won’t be bothering me now,” she said, her voice soft and gentle.

I stopped beating his head against the ground, letting go to study my bloody hands.

She tugged on my shirt, trying to get me to stand. “Come on. I know a place where you can clean up. You shouldn’t have to have his filthy blood on your hands.”

She took my arm and began, in that gentle way of hers, to lead me behind the building. Her every touch was like a question. She was sure of her actions, but I didn’t think she was capable of being bossy.

I looked at her, so afraid of what I’d see in her eyes.

She met my look, and hers was full of gratitude and understanding, and not an ounce of fear. “Thank you so much. I didn’t know that there really were nice men in the world. I thought that was a myth, but you saved me.”

That did it. I was lost.

“I’m Bianca,” she said with a sad smile, her eyes a little lost, as she cleaned me up.