Tiffany Reisz - The Last Good Knight - Parts 1-5

“Yes, Mistress. Nothing unladylike about any of that. Not in my eyes.”

Nora caught her crop and let it slide down between her fingers until she caught it by the handle.

She leaned forward and put the end of the crop handle under Lance’s chin, forcing his mouth to meet her mouth. Their lips hovered only an inch apart.

“You know what, Lance? I think I like your eyes.”

Just to be sadistic, Nora stayed there for a few unnecessary seconds, letting Lance feel her breath against his lips before she moved forward, closed the gap between them and kissed him. The kiss started soft and careful but quickly turned passionate. She slipped her tongue into his mouth and bit his top lip. Even as the kiss deepened, grew hungrier, Lance stayed on his knees and kept his hands to himself. He wouldn’t touch her without permission. Someone had trained this man and trained him well.

With reluctance she pulled back from Lance. She’d almost forgotten how much she loved kissing a man. She had sex mostly with women lately, a nice break from the male clients she dealt with all day long. When was the last time she’d even kissed a man on the mouth? A month ago? Two? It would have been Kingsley, right? The last man she’d kissed? And he hadn’t had a session with her in weeks. Kissing Lance, she realized how much she missed the feel of soft stubble on her skin, missed the sense of power restrained. If she didn’t stop kissing him now, they’d end up making out all night instead of doing what she really wanted to do.

“Take your shirt off,” she ordered. Lance hesitated. “Shy?” she asked.

“Not really. But I have some scars. Fair warning.”

“I don’t mind scars. Show me, Sailor. That’s an order.”

He sat back on his heels and with one easy tug pulled his shirt up and off. Any other man would have simply tossed it on the floor, but he took the three extra seconds to fold it neatly before setting it at her feet like an offering. If she hadn’t known he was military before, that would have done it.

“I don’t see many scars.” She looked and saw only a few random healed cuts here and there.

“Wrong side,” he said.

Nora raised her eyebrow. She gripped him by the back of neck and pulled him forward. At the base of his spine she saw a thick mass of scar tissue.

“Damn. Bullet wound?” she asked.

“IED. Got hit with shrapnel. Looks ugly but it didn’t hit the spine.”

“Does it cause you any issues I need to know about?”

Lance narrowed his eyes at her.

“The scar doesn’t bother you, Mistress?”

She shrugged. “One of my best clients is riddled with bullet wounds. I just need to know if it gives you any pain or other issues that would impede or change our play.”

“Just a little nerve damage in that area.”

“Understood. I won’t play anywhere near the scars then. Easy enough.”

“I’m glad you’re okay with the scars. I haven’t really been...it’s been a while.”

“You have a gorgeous body, Lance. I don’t say that to everyone. Just people with gorgeous bodies. I am a little shocked by one thing, however. Where are your tats? I can’t believe I have a seaman in here with no tattoos,” she teased as she caressed his bare chest with her fingertips.

“I don’t need ink to advertise my service, Mistress. I know what I am. The Navy knows what I am. You know what I am. No one else needs to know.”

She raised her eyebrow at him.

“Well, damn,” she said.

“Something wrong, Mistress?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

The caress turned into a scratch as she ran her fingernails over the sensitive skin of his upper chest. She dug in a little deeper and left four red trails in his flesh. As she scratched he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, offering more of himself to her touch.

“Stand up. Go to the cross. Face it.”

His years of military service had turned the man into an order-obeying machine. He came right to his feet, swiftly but without unnecessary or graceless expediency. He walked to the cross and stood facing it.

“So obedient...I need more of you boys in my life. I only have a couple military clients. One Air Force pilot. One Marine. Some kind of officer. Nice guy. Loves getting his balls flogged.”

“Sounds like the definition of being in the Marines to me.”

“I need a Coastie. I haven’t done nearly enough boat kink.”

“I have a friend in the Coast Guard. I’ll get you his number.”

“I’d rather have your number, Lance. Pick a number between one and one hundred. Take your time to decide. I need to pick a whip.”

Nora left him standing in front of the cross as she perused her single-tail collection.

“You’re not going to tell me what I’m picking, Mistress?”

“Nope.”

“Fifty.”

Nora smiled as she picked out one of her heavier single-tails.

“Smart. Split the difference. I might be having you pick out how many minutes we play in my bed tonight or I might be forcing you to choose how many lashes you get with this nasty bitch.” She let the whip flick the cross about six inches from Lance’s shoulder. She missed on purpose, hoping to see if he’d jump. He didn’t.

“Seemed the smart choice,” he said. “But I’ll change my answer if you want me to.”

“No...fifty is perfect.” She reached into a drawer and pulled out a stopwatch. “Fifty is how many minutes I’m going to make you wait until I let you inside me. Starting...now.” She programmed fifty minutes into her stopwatch and hung it on the wall by the cross.

Nora stood behind him and pressed her corset-covered breasts into his back.

“Do you wish you’d picked a different number? Maybe one?” she asked him as she wrapped the whip around his chest and pushed him back against her.

“One part of my body wishes I’d picked one. The rest of my body can live with fifty, Mistress. I’m a man with a good appreciation for foreplay.”

“Foreplay. Good way to think of it. Ready to play?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Good.” She curled up her whip again and sat it on a table while she pulled out wrist cuffs. “Got a safe word?”

“I do. Semper Fi.”

“Semper Fi? Isn’t that the motto of the Marines?”

“It is. Why do you think I equate it with surrender?”

“You know, my father was a Marine,” Nora said, cuffing Lance’s left wrist to the cross. She had to get on a step stool to reach high enough.

Lance winced. “I’m sorry, Mistress. I have nothing but respect for the Corps. I’ve served with them, and they’re all brave and honorable men and women. It’s all good-natured rival—”

“I’m just fucking with you. My dad was a lowlife, two-bit crook who never made a legal cent in his life.”

“You’re the devil, Mistress.” Lance sounded impressed.

“I might have forgotten to mention that. Glad you noticed.” She cuffed his right wrist and picked up her whip again. Pausing, she took a moment to study his back. The scar tissue ended about six inches above his back belt loop. That tissue was tough, but she didn’t want to fuck with surgical scars. Dominatrixes hurt but they didn’t harm. She pictured landing the lashes from shoulder blade to shoulder blade and down to the second-to-last rib of his rib cage. With his arms bound high up on the cross, she could see all the taut muscle of his back and arms and count his ribs. The man had a beautiful back. All it wanted for was a few dozen welts.

“We use the red-yellow-green-light system down here.” She unfurled the whip and held it by the handle in her right hand with the tip in her left. “At any point, call out any of those colors as needed. You say green and I’ll give you more. You say yellow and I’ll pull back the pace. You say red and I drop the whip and we play with a new toy. Got it?”