Scandalicious (13 page)

Thank goodness Deon had decided to give her a freebie. He was not a cheap fuck, and her credit card was being absolutely abused.

“M
adam was pleased with you,” Colden mentioned as he positioned Melanee’s arms behind her back. The feel of the rope against her flesh sent icy shivers up her spine.

“Really?” Melanee had figured she’d made Colden proud. There was no other explanation for him putting in quality time. Just the two of them—the way it used to be.

“Are you happy?” he inquired in a low baritone. He could be such a loving dominant at times. Times like now…when Melanee deserved it.

“I’m very happy,” she whispered. It had been so long since they’d engaged in rope play. Colden tightened the knot, cutting into her skin vengefully. “Oh, God,” she uttered, wincing from the sweet pain. A wave of fear and excitement had her trembling violently.

“Your ass is getting plump. But not quite ripe for spanking.”

Disappointment was palpable. She’d been eating everything under the sun. Killing the cupcakes at work; feasting on fast-food. “But I gained five pounds,” she protested.

“I said your ass is not plump enough.” His voice was stern.

Melanee pressed her lips together, trapping further protests inside her mouth. “I’m sorry, Master. So sorry that I’m not worthy.” Aroused by that admission, her pussy throbbed, aching for attention. Yet Melanee had no idea if Colden would allow her release tonight. She never knew. That was the nature of their relationship.
Trying to ignore her starving pussy’s yearning, she closed her eyes and embraced the pleasure of the moment.

With her back turned to her master, she couldn’t see his face. Yet being touched and handled by him—no matter how roughly—had not only caused her pussy to quiver, but a rivulet of sweat trickled between her small breasts. There was a tingling sensation around her nipples, coaxing them into sharp, sensitive protrusions.

Colden’s hand stilled for a moment. He halted tying the intricate knots. “You’re shaking. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, master.” Her voice cracked with emotion.

He worked one hand around to her lower region and explored her moist pussy. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, writhing from sexual agony.

Angry fingers traveled upward, large hands wrapped around her breasts. Then the tips of his fingers discovered nipples that were hardened with desire. Fingernails dug into the delicate tips, punishing them. Melanee squirmed and cried out in fiery pleasure. Each brutal pinch and twist of her nipples was received like a lover’s caress.

Bound, she was completely at his mercy. “Harder. More. Please!”

“You’re a glutton for punishment,” he said mockingly and removed his hands. He resumed tying the knots. Colden enjoyed binding her with dozens of intricate knots.

Realizing that he was completely absorbed and would not be doling out any more pain, Melanee closed her eyes and enjoyed the heat of the rope that cut into her skin.

Finally finished with the knots, Colden gave her a sudden shove. Face down, she landed on his bed, her feet still planted on the floor.

Ass up, she hoped that Colden had had a change of heart.

Excited, she waited for the sting of his hand against her ass. If memory served correctly, the first blow would be harsh, taking her breath away and before she could recover, he would deliver a peppering of red hot smacks—one after another.

But he gave her something else altogether. Gently, he separated her butt cheeks. Melanee shuddered. Tenderly, a moistened finger caressed the tiny opening of her ass. When the front of his thighs touched the back of her legs, she gasped. But with her arms tied expertly behind her back, she was his captive.

He placed one hand firmly on the small of her back, pressing down hard as if uncaring of breaking her spine. The other hand guided his swollen dick between her petite buttocks. She shouted into the thick coverlet on the bed as he forced his dick inside the impossibly small area.

She cried tears as her flesh was brutally torn. “You like this?” he growled.

She nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir!” Her words were muffled by the bed sheets.

He grabbed a hand full of her hair and yanked hard and cruelly as he anchored himself. Her scalp felt like it was on fire and her ass was being split in two. Now he released her hair, and used both hands to force her ass to open wider. With loving ruthlessness, Colden filled her with more inches of hard meat.

It was a whirlwind of agony…an eternity of misery. Finally, Colden’s dick was completely buried inside her virgin ass, working up rhythm, and Melanee followed the tempo. This was a different kind of heaven. A feeling of euphoria that she had never imagined.

Her ass had been widened by the girth of his dick, allowing Colden to slide in and out with ease now. Something happened. A glorious sensation took her completely by surprise. While he
stroked her ass, her pussy walls tightened and convulsed, bringing her to a surprising and magnificent orgasm.

She slid down to the floor. Her chest rose and fell as she struggled to catch her breath. Arms tightly bound, she lay uncomfortably on her side. He left her there. Her eyes followed him as he went into the bathroom and closed the door. She could hear the shower running; Colden was cleaning himself. Meanwhile, his secretions oozed down her inner thighs.

What was next? Would he leave her on the floor for the remainder of the evening? Or did he have another surprise in store? The anticipation—the unknown was exhilarating.

Colden came out of the bathroom but she could see only his feet and his calves as he approached.

“Master,” she whispered worshipfully.

He didn’t acknowledge her, he strode past her.

Melanee’s shoulders slumped. “Master, didn’t I please you?”

She wanted to spin herself around to keep him within her sight. She struggled to sit upright, but collapsed after a few moments of effort.

“No questions.”

“I only wanted—”

“Don’t you remember the rules? Do not speak unless spoken to.”

She nodded briskly. There was the rustling sound of clothes as he got dressed. Colden left the bedroom. Was he going out for the evening? Would he leave her alone on the floor all night? Her heart thudded inside of her chest.

After an immeasurable amount of time, she heard him padding toward the bedroom. Her heart leapt with pleasure. He stood over her, watching. Obediently, she remained still, in spite of the awkward and uncomfortable position. Her muscles ached, her
skin burned from the tightly bound restraints, but she didn’t so much as twitch. Glorying under his gaze, she waited for his instruction.

The sudden flash of light startled her. “Do you know how beautiful you are—right now—like this?”

“Yes, sir.”

Another flash brightened the room as he captured the image of her naked and fettered.

Colden bent down to her level. Gripping the strong rope, he pulled her to her feet, positioning her backward, so that the ropes could be fully viewed. Melanee was nothing more than a prop. The intricately tied ropes were the main attraction.

It took at least forty-five minutes for Colden to undo all the intricate knots. Free from bondage, the ropes fell to the floor.

As Colden held the camera, admiring the images of Melanee in bondage, she couldn’t help from noting that he was becoming aroused. She licked her lips at the sight of the big dick that was clearly outlined inside his pants.

“Go ahead,” he mumbled, focused on the pictures, not even bothering to gaze at her.

Melanee ignored the pain in her arms and her wrists. With Colden’s permission, she unzipped his pants, retrieved his lengthy dick and feasted while he scrolled through the images in his camera.

A
s planned, Lincoln walked into the BMW service center at ten minutes to four.

“Do you have a scheduled appointment, sir? We close at four,” said a lean, young white guy, dressed in tan khakis, blue shirt and striped tie. He was sorting through a stack of yellow invoices as he stood behind the counter.

From the garage area in the back, Lincoln could hear the animated voices of laborers, loud and cheerful. Their work day was soon coming to an end.

“I didn’t know that an appointment was necessary,” Lincoln said. “I just stopped in to get a price on a part.”

With furrowed brows, the service rep glanced up at the clock, not wanting to be left behind when his coworkers started heading home. His worried look quickly morphed into a courteous smile. “What part are you looking for?” His pleasant tone of voice and willingness to help, announced that this young man had been given excellent job training.

Wondering if he could pick his wife’s ex-paramour, Raheem, from the group of mechanics, Lincoln leaned his head to the side, scrutinizing the fleeting silhouetted figures that moved noisily inside the garage. The men were becoming increasingly loud and jubilant as quitting time grew near.

A rugged-looking, dark-complexioned worker came out of the garage and sauntered up to the counter with paperwork in his hand. He added a couple of sheets of paper to the pile that was
next to the computer. “You still working?” He turned his nose up at the young white guy, as if the idea of putting in an extra minute was a punishable crime.

“Man, they ain’t paying you no overtime. You better cut that computer off and get ready to roll out.” The man had an arrogant attitude and was throwing off a real bad vibe. Disliking the man instantly, Lincoln looked him over with a sneer. His body was somewhat husky—particularly around the shoulder area—like he pumped a little iron. Lincoln blinked in surprise when his eyes settled on the man’s name tag. It read, “Raheem.”

Hot anger rushed through Lincoln’s entire system. He wanted to leap behind the counter, and choke the life out of that adulterous muthafucka.

“I’ll check on that price tomorrow,” Lincoln told the clerk with forced calmness. Being a civilized man, he clenched his jaws, controlling his primal urge to kill.

A few minutes later, sitting in his car with the motor running, he shuffled through CDs. But it was murder—not music—that was on his mind.

Raheem stepped outside and lit a cigarette, and then strolled toward the parking lot. His slow, confident stride had a little dip, suggesting that the mechanic was feeling himself—walking through the lot like he owned the BMW dealership.

Lincoln watched the cocky bastard through his rearview mirror. Raheem was laughing and talking with one of the mechanics, bobbing his shoulders side to side, fully engaged in a ghetto rhythm as he communicated. Lincoln was disgusted. Chevonne should have been disgusted, too. Everything about that clown should have been totally foreign and completely repugnant to a refined woman like Chevonne.

Lincoln had envisioned Raheem to be the quiet but strong,
sensitive type that many women claimed that they were yearning for, but Raheem was nothing of the sort. From what Lincoln had observed, Raheem didn’t have a sensitive bone in his body. He was arrogant, ignorant, and obnoxious. And he had a cigarette habit. Chevonne couldn’t stand the noxious odor of tobacco, so how did she get so close with this dude?

Trying to fit into the business world and the architecture industry, Lincoln had gone through a severe transformation, changing his speech patterns, excessive gesturing, and rhythmic body swaying that was indicative of the urban culture. He’d effectively smoothed out his rough edges and was able to mingle in any crowd.

It was astonishing to discover that his wife had been sexually attracted to a common street thug. If Lincoln hadn’t promised Chevonne that he’d move past her indiscretion, he would have picked up the phone and cussed her out. How the hell had she allowed a hood rat, ruffian to get into her panties?

What the hell?
Mouth agape, Lincoln observed Raheem climbing into a brand-new Navigator. The truck had tinted windows and twenty-two-inch chrome rims. Apparently mechanics were earning more than architects. There was something horribly wrong with this picture.