Page 70 of Scribe

For a heartbeat, Violet felt as if she knew him, breathing in the earthy scent of his cologne and the soft drawl of his words. He seemed almost familiar, like déjà vu, but then the moment was gone as his strangeness and the invasion into her personal space came charging to the front of her mind.

Startled by the fact that someone had snuck up on her so completely while she watched the intimate display of feminine debasement, she went completely still. Violet could feel her face blush hot and red with humiliation at being caught. Then she realized, with her mask on, he didn’t know her. So why should she be ashamed? Besides, he was the one sneaking up on people. But as his hands tightened on her arms, reality set in. Panic lanced down her spine. Her heart kicked into high gear.

She took a sharp breath, ready to scream bloody murder. Before she had a chance to exhale, he forced a leather ball into her mouth and strapped it to her face. By the time she realized he had to let go of her arms to secure the ball gag, he already had her pinned back against his chest, his breath slow and steady against her neck.

So much for a quick escape.

Violet tried to scream through the gag, but he whispered quietly, without intimidation, in her ear, “Hush, my little flower. I am not going to hurt you. I give you my word. Just relax and take a deep breath. If you scream, those gentlemen will know you’ve been watching their little get-together uninvited. I’m sure they would be more than happy to include you in their fun as payment for admission.”

That brought Violet quickly to her mental knees.

He was right.

Her head spun. She had to choose between the stranger standing at her back or the pack of aroused men beyond the sheer curtain. She had snuck up on this scene unaware, yet once she started to watch, she couldn’t deny the arousal she felt. There was something about watching and being caught watching that had her heart beating furiously. Though she couldn’t say the words, she knew what she wanted—what her body wanted, now all she had to do was get her mind to agree.

“Just breathe, my little flower,” he whispered in her ear as he nudged her toward the rail. He pushed her against the cold metal so she was balancing precariously on her heels, her ass pushing into his slowly hardening groin, her nose inches from the sheer lace.

The unknown fear gripped her heart at the thought of one of the audience members glancing her way, catching her behind the curtain. But all eyes focused on the submissive woman on the altar, panting in pain and pleasure as the dark and handsome man spanked her ass in between flicks of his finger, as he rubbed her clit. Her arms buckled as she held her body up on her elbows, her breasts bouncing heavily with every slap.

The stranger laughed in her ear. “Someone knows how to take her licks, little flower. Now don’t move, or I will send you over the rail and into their lusting arms, understand?”

Violet could only nod her head, her body enthralled by the sound of his husky voice. He pulled her arms up above her head and then spread them wide. He pinned her against the rail as his hands worked deftly, tying her wrists one at a time with silken ropes to wooden handgrips set into the wall on either side of the curtained opening. The grips, placed slightly in front of the rail, forced her to continue to lean forward, her pussy pressed against the cold metal, her legs straining slightly in her compromising stance. He gently guided her hands to the grips as he finished tightening the ropes with a definitive tug. “Hold on to those, little flower. We don’t want you to lose your balance, now do we?”

Somewhere in her brain, the cold analytical side of her wondered why those grips were there. It seemed like an odd place for hand grips and rope.

The stranger laughed lightly as he inserted a foot between her legs, pushing them apart with his knee until she was standing as wide as the woman bent over the altar. He stepped back and Violet could feel the fresh air rush into the space between them. She pictured him looking at her, spread-eagle and completely immobilized, not sure if she should be more terrified of the unknown danger at her back or the witnessed peril in front of her.

Blood pounded in her ears as she realized the last vestige of her alcoholic haze had burned off with the adrenaline surge. She wanted to struggle against her bonds, panicked like a trapped animal, but she knew that any noise she made would draw unwanted attention from the room beyond the curtains, and though a tiny part of her mind relished that thought, she made the decision then and there to accept his brand of dark intent over the altar and its congregation of men with raging hard-ons and lascivious leers. Violet steeled herself, squinting with her eyes closed, trying to block the tears, refusing to let him see her cry.

“You’re missing the show, little flower,” he murmured in her ear, startling her out of her thoughts for the second time.

Violet squeezed her eyes shut even harder. She tried to maintain some level of self-determination, but his husky voice sliced through her consciousness as he ran a finger down her jawline. “Open your eyes and watch, my little flower, or you will become the one who is being watched.”

Violet blinked back a misting of tears as she opened her eyes to look into the space beyond the curtains. Through the lace, she saw that the woman was now on her hands and knees on the altar. The dark and handsome man was lounging in front of her on a pile of cushions, his jacket discarded, and his shirt opened, revealing a layer of steel abs under dark skin. He watched as the woman deftly undid his pants and loosened his boxers, releasing his straining cock directly in front of her face. She looked up at him and asked permission before bending her head gratefully to slowly and seductively lick the head of his throbbing dick with her tongue. Violet watched as more men sitting in the chairs and chaises pulled out their dicks and began stroking themselves.

“Erotic, isn’t it, my little flower?” he asked softly, licking her earlobe and then trailing kisses down her neck. “Nothing quite like watching a woman honestly give herself to a man. She wants it. She craves the domination, the discipline, the structure more than the air around her.”

As he spoke, his hands lightly gripped her throat in possession. “To be owned and to want to be owned.”

“Your face is flushed.”

I looked up from the book and blushed deeper. He was right. This book was something else. I’ve read many erotic books, but never something this dark in the BDSM scene. Oh, I knew there were authors out there who lived the lifestyle and loved writing about their escapades and readers who gobbled them up. While I stuck to regular romance books, I easily admitted that the kinkier ones intrigued me.

“There is something about the lifestyle that’s always called to me. The allure of it all. I always wondered what it would be like to be tied up too, willing to give myself to one man and trust him to give me everything I need.”

“It’s because you are a true submissive, Princess.”

“Am I?”

He nodded.

“So does that mean you are a dominant, Scribe?”

“I am many things, babe. I’m whatever you need me to be.”

“That is not what I asked. Who do you want to be, Scribe?”

Chapter Twenty-Three

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