Violet chuckles and sucks him harder, driving into me with every forward movement. Heat builds within my core again, and I have to resist the urge to bite down as another powerful orgasm slams into me and pulls me under. She continues to thrust as I ride out the sensations, stealing every last morsel of pleasure she’s willing to give.
She kisses me, her tongue delving deeper, exploring my mouth. When we come up for air, she whispers, “I could lie here buried inside you all night, but I want to hear you scream.”
An involuntary moan escapes me. She chuckles and bites my collarbone, her teeth sinking deep enough to bruise. I cry out, and Violet nips her way down my breasts and abdomen. She pulls out of me and sits. The dildos glisten with my juices. “So fucking hot.”
She unfastens the buckles and tosses the device on the floor. Violet picks up the cane, and my pulse beats double-time.
“What is your safe word?”
“Swan, Mistress.”
“Good.” She stands at the base of the bed. My legs tremor, tied in their restraints. They ache, and I long to be released, but that won’t happen. Not unless I use that fucking safe word. How is it that being in control, having all of the power in a scene is far more terrifying than having no choice at all?
Violet begins tapping the cane lightly up and down my thighs and ass, desensitizing the flesh. The strokes still hurt, though they’re gentle. Just when I become frustrated that she’s holding out on me, Violet swings without warning, striking me across the ass. My breath hitches in my throat. My brain registers the initial sting, and then pain, white-hot and searing, erupts from the welt, radiating outwardly to my whole ass. Before I can open my mouth, she strikes again and again, this time on the other cheek, and the crease where my buttocks and thigh meet.
Violet gets her wish.
I scream. Over and over I scream until my voice is hoarse as her blows torture my inner thighs and ass, and then, when I’m a begging, sobbing mess, her cane lightly taps each nipple. It’s still hard enough to hurt, like the workup caning she used to desensitize my flesh, but it sends pleasure arcing through my pussy at the same time. She does it again, four lighter taps on each breast, but this time she rubs my clit with her free hand. It’s graceless and brutal, and it brings me right to the brink. She spreads my labia, and takes the very tip of the cane and taps my clit. It’s enough to send me over the edge. I come involuntarily. I come harder than I can ever remember coming before, and finally,finally, I sink into that black abyss that I’ve craved every second since Ares set me free. I float through the atmosphere, high above this room, above the world, and I don’t ever want to come down.
“Incredible,” Atticus whispers. I’d forgotten he was even in the room.
“Good girl,” Violet coos, rubbing my pussy, prolonging the warmth and my sensation of being pushed to the brink and allowed to tip over the edge. “You did so well, Camille.”
“Please, no more. Please?” My voice is scratchy, my throat dry. I’m not even sure it’s audible. I can barely hear above the blood whooshing in my ears. “I can’t take it.”
“I know, baby.” She smooths her hands over my inner thighs and down my calves. It hurts like a bitch, but there’s comfort in it too. “It’s okay. We’re done for the evening. I’m so proud of you.”
Tears are still running down my cheeks. My limbs are both heavy and weightless at the same time, as if I’m made of bricks and feathers.
Atticus shifts around the bed and glances down at Violet’s artwork of red and purple welts on my flesh. “Jesus Christ, that’s a beautiful sight.”
He leans down and kisses his wife’s lips, and then bends farther forward and covers my pussy with his mouth. His groan resonates through me as he laps at the mess his wife created. I whimper. I can’t possibly take anymore, but he straightens and takes Violet’s face in his hands, pressing his lips to her in a violent, all-encompassing kiss. I smile and close my eyes, unable to stay awake any longer.
“You can’t go to sleep just yet, baby girl. We need you to eat and drink something first,” Violet says, running her hands over my body from the soles of my feet to the roots of my hair. I crack an eyelid and find Atticus unbuckling my restraints. His sure, steady hands massage my limbs as he frees each one.
I mutter an unintelligible reply. I don’t want to eat. I want to sleep. I want to dive headfirst back into that oblivion because that’s the only place I see my Sir, my Ares.
When I open my eyes again, the bed is clear of Violet’s paraphernalia, and I’m beneath the covers, sandwiched between Atticus and Violet. All three of us are naked, and it occurs to me that this is the first time I’ve seen Atticus without a three-piece suit. I roll onto my back, the welts on my ass smarting as I do so. Gray hair covers Atticus’ chest before thinning to his stomach. His arms are well defined—his abs, too. My hands travel hard planes of muscle. There isn’t an ounce of fat on him, and he’s in better shape, and is more virile, than most twenty-year-olds. I look at Violet, whose dark amethyst hair spills across the pillow like an angry storm cloud. Her pale eyes are on me, and her smile is bright and adoring. She hooks her thigh over my leg and her husband wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me closer. I offer up a sleepy smile, feeling safe, protected, and treasured, everything a submissive needs from her Dominants.
So why does my heart still give a little lurch when I think about the Dom who gave me away?