The Gypsy & the Rogue – BDSM Connections Book 4

Excerpt from The book

Large, almond-shaped eyes so dark he couldn’t distinguish the pupils from the irises, long, loose wavy black hair, olive skin, a tiny diamond glittering in her elegant nose, the nostrils slightly flared over lush, red lips and a strong, dimpled chin. Not there a moment before, she’d appeared like a vision, momentarily distracting Evan from his patter.

Unlike the rest of the crowd, decked out in leather, boots and stilettos, this girl was wearing a red tank top over full, high breasts that clearly weren’t fettered by a bra. Her flat midriff was bare above a flowing cotton skirt with swirls of silver set against a red batik background. Her feet were shod in flat leather sandals.

The woman walked over and stood beside Evan, lifting her pretty face to meet his eyes. She wasn’t tall—maybe only five three or four, but she was perfectly proportioned, slender and voluptuous at the same time.

Evan rarely spent more than a month in any one location. Because his job entailed working with folks in the BDSM scene, he met lots of female submissives and sexual masochists, many of them ready and eager for casual play.

Choosing only one or two lovely ladies per venue, he would give them his full attention for the brief duration of their time together. The underlying awareness that he’d be gone in a week or a month freed him up to tumble headlong into intensity. But he always made it clear at the outset that he was only passing through, and whatever they shared was finite by definition.

Something in this young woman’s gaze both thrilled and slightly unnerved him. Intrigued, he silently promised himself to get to know her better during his brief stay in Portland.

“Take off your clothing, please,” he directed. “Then stand under the rig so I can secure your arms.” Cuffs had been hung from the apex of the tripod on adjustable chains. The rig was set up so both the volunteer and he would be in profile to the audience as he conducted the demonstration.

He tried not to stare as she gracefully lifted the hem of her tiny shirt and pulled it over her head. Her breasts were full, the nipples dark red against smooth, tan skin. She stepped out of her sandals and hooked the elastic waistband of her skirt, dragging it down her bare legs, along with a pair of lacy black panties.

After folding her clothing in a neat pile near the rig and then stood beneath it as he’d instructed. There was a small, intricately inked red rose tattoo on her left hip, a tiny drop of blood suspended from one of the thorns on its stem. Her mons was covered in a small triangle of dark curls. Evan, used to the current fad of women shaving off their pubic hair, was oddly excited by this bold statement of feminine individuality. This, clearly, was not a woman swayed by what others did or expected.

He was vaguely aware of the excitement and sexual tension in the group of onlookers on their folding chairs, and didn’t doubt every straight man there was sporting an erection at the sight of such feminine perfection, but he no longer cared about giving them a demonstration. All he wanted to do was flog this beauty, and then take her back to a room somewhere so he could fuck her.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Ruby,” she replied in a low, smooth voice.

“And you have experience in the scene?”

“I do.” She turned her right arm to show him the small circular tattoo on her inner wrist.

He smiled. “And your safeword?”

“Quicksilver.”

“Quicksilver,” he repeated, though it was highly unlikely she would need to use it. This demo was more about giving the crowd a show and creating buzz for Taggart’s gear than it was taking a submissive to the edge of her limits. He needed to remember that. This Ruby wasn’t his lover, though if he had his way, he’d soon change that.

But first things first. “Stand with your back to me and lift your arms so I can cuff your wrists.”

She turned her back and lifted her arms, which, while slim, were muscular and firm. Standing behind her, so close her full, round ass brushed the denim of his fly, Evan closed the Velcro cuffs around her wrists and reached up to adjust the chains to pull her arms taut.

Forcing his eyes away from the naked beauty, he addressed the group, many of whom were leaning forward in their chairs, the Doms no doubt wishing they could be the ones with the whip, the subs aching for the sting of its tresses.

“Taggart Fitzgerald makes these superior pieces by hand,” Evan said, pulling his fingers through the soft strands of leather. “You won’t find finer workmanship anywhere in the world.” Evan wasn’t lying. He had rarely seen such beautiful craftsmanship as the Leather Master brought to his BDSM implements. The leathers were first class, the handles perfectly weighted, the designs both functional and artistic. The price tags were hefty, but they were worth every penny.

He started slowly, warming Ruby’s supple skin with the leather tresses, aiming carefully so as not to inadvertently curl the tips around her hips. He shifted his stance slightly and aimed for her shoulders, his balls tightening as the flogger rippled over her skin.

Though she didn’t move, she reacted to the impact on thinner skin with a sudden intake of breath. Pleased, Evan struck her back and shoulders in a steady rain of leather before moving again down to her ass, which reddened nicely as he focused there.

As he whipped her, he managed to talk to the audience about the merits of the flogger, and about correct flogging technique and protocol, having done it so many times in the past that he could put his brain on autopilot. That was a good thing, because all he could concentrate on was how the rich, soft leather looked as it struck her body, and her increasingly evident reaction to its kiss.

Standing to her side, he could see her profile. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted. She was breathing rapidly now, her chest rising and falling, her red nipples erect, a sheen of perspiration on her glowing skin.

He wanted to take her further—to push her past her pain threshold and up into that wild sub stratosphere he knew from personal experience was like nothing in this world. But he forced himself to rein it in. For all he knew, she might shout out her safeword at any moment and totally ruin the mood.

He eased off the flogging and finally lowered his arm. Giving her a pat on that luscious ass, he said, “I hope I wasn’t too rough on you.”

She turned to him, her eyes sparkling. “The warm-up was great, thanks,” she said in a bantering tone. “But when are you going to get to the actual flogging?”