Menage by Emma Holly Page B

candlelight. I stared at his graceful, restless hands, at his rising and falling chest, at the pulse beating hard and quick in his throat. He wanted to beat me so badly that he could taste it.
    'I can hardly bear to watch,’ he said, but his body denied the lie. I think he knew it, too, because his expression grew even more miserable.
    I looked away.
    'C'mon, you do it, Sean,’ Lou coaxed. He gave Joe a sympathetic wink. 'You know you want to.'
    Sean glared, but I could see him waver.
    I wanted to shake him. A true master would have used this chance to break Joe. And why should Lou have a say? Wasn't he a slave here, too? Even as my body tightened with frustration, my brain toyed with a plan. Sean's indecision opened a window of opportunity. All I had to do was figure out how to crawl through.
    Tine,’ said Sean, oblivious to the whir of my mental gears. 'I'll do it.'
    He extended his hand to Lou, obviously the keeper of the toys. Grinning, Lou pranced over to the hold-all he'd stowed on my camel-back sofa. Without wig, make-up, or heels, Lulu appeared, as he tossed paraphernalia from the bag - a jockstrap, a padded bra, an assortment of black velvet ties and, finally, a mahogany-handled, velvet-tongued whip.
    He slapped it neatly into Sean's waiting hand. 'Whip away, my master.'
    Despite my amusement, a trickle of cream ran down my thigh.
    'Oh, man,’ said Joe. Still kneeling in front of me, he caught the trickle on his finger and carried it to his mouth.
    Sean made us all jump by cracking the whip through the air.
    The first lash stung like hell, as did the second. I knew at once I didn't like this as well as the spanking. The whip wasn't as intimate, and the glow it raised was less sensual. By the fourth lash, I was debating whether to cry 'Uncle'. It didn't hurt too badly, but it wasn't much fun.
    To my surprise, Joe stood before the whip could fall again.
    'Sean.' He held out his hand. 'Your aim sucks. Hand it over.'
    'What?' Sean and I said at the same time. What happened to my protector, the man so soft-hearted he couldn't bear to watch? Sean wound the tail of the whip around his palm. 'What makes you think you can do any better?'
    'I used to play flick the can with my Dad's bull whip.'
    'Your Dad's bull whip?'
    Joe shrugged. 'We weren't allowed to use the deer rifles. I always beat my brother, and he was two years older than me.'
    Joe had a brother? How could I not know that? Why hadn't he mentioned it?
    The first crack of the whip startled the questions from my head. This time, I knew an expert held it. The velvet licked my hip and tickled my belly. Again it descended, and again, never settling in the same place twice. It fell without hesitation, but in a pattern too subtle to predict. My body danced to its stinging syncopation. I swayed in my bonds and dreamt of a smoky jazz club - me on the stage in a long, slinky gown, tugging off a glove, easing a satin strap down one shoulder. They watched me, all of them. Their lust beat at me through the dark.
    Dimly, I heard Joe sobbing for air, but the whip seemed separate from his distress, as if it whipped me by itself.
    My sense of yielding increased, of being able to sink deeper and deeper into arousal. Through slitted lids, I saw Lou stagger back into an armchair. He unzipped his khaki trousers and drew out a long erection. He punched one fist down it, then the other. I cried out under the whip - for him and for the love of that long, rigid stalk.
    My cry pushed Amy over the edge. She yanked the black angora turtleneck over her head, baring breasts every bit as soft and delicate as I'd imagined. Her upper body glowed in the glimmering light, and she pulled and twisted her nipples just as she'd pulled and twisted mine. Lost in a private dream, her hips churned on nothing. Her expression was so concentrated she might have been solving the mysteries of the universe. In my current state, nothing seemed more natural than a crowd masturbating to the music of a whip