Risqué Business (Club Risqué #8)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

T he room rang with echoed moans, gasps and cries - the sweet symphony of surrender reverberating off the stone walls as Micah turned his attention to Laurel and Connor.

There was a different dynamic in play between these two, as much based on the need for dominance and control as the others, but with a subtler finesse that was just as intoxicating.

Laurel was bound in a simple yet exceedingly effective knot, her body draped over a specially designed chair, rendering her utterly exposed to Connor's every whim. Her eyes were blindfolded, and with deprivation came heightened sensitivity - Connor knew just how to exploit it.

The myriad of sensations he would subject her to were moving in a crescendo, purposefully designed to tease her to the edge of madness before throwing her into the abyss of pleasure. He wielded his tools skilfully - a feather here, an ice cube there, his hot breath against her skin, contrasted with the cold edge of a knife tracing circles around her most sensitive areas. It was sensory play at its finest.

Laurel’s body shivered and twitched under his touch as he left the blade on her skin. Her breath hitched when the cool metal traced lazy circles around her perky nipples.

Connor chuckled deeply at her reaction while one of the dungeon monitors kept a close eye on proceedings.

A deep, throaty growl rumbled from his chest as he watched her reactions. The sight of her writhing underneath his touch was a tantalising imagery that kept him on a dangerous edge. His hands were skilful, almost dancing over her naked flesh, tracing the shivering contours of her body with an artist's precision.

Her whimper echoed in the vast room, a testament to his expertise and proof of her surrender. His lips curled into a sardonic smile at the sound, satisfaction lacing every line of his lithe form. As an experienced Dom, he knew that each submissive was not only unique but also as varied as the play they engaged in. For Laurel, it wasn't about the pain or profound bondage; it was about heightened sensations and control he exerted over her body.

Laurel was a brat, and a deep part of her makeup was having a Dom who didn’t allow her to act out. The knife Connor wielded certainly was effective to that end, although Laurel, and anyone else watching, all knew the big Dom would never use it for anything other than its shock value. Not even as much as to prick her skin.

But it had the desired effect, and Laurel was quiet and trembling as she held her breath and submitted to her husband’s whims as he brought the tool dangerously close to her labia, then pressed it down on her clitoris.

She drew in a shocked gasp, her entire body quivering with the way she suppressed her responses in reaction to the knife-play, no matter how incongruous it might be.

Micah wasn’t sure the implement even had much of a blade… but of course, Laurel didn't know that since she couldn’t see.

As her shuddering increased, Connor threw down the knife, causing a metallic ring to fill the room as it clattered on the floor as he hurriedly unlaced his leathers. Then he gripped his wife’s hips and plunged violently into her dripping sheath.

Her breath hitched, and a guttural groan echoed off the walls as he started to move. Each thrust was deliberate; a tantalising melody of raw need and dominance that had Laurel writhing against her restraints.

Like most Doms, Connor’s own pleasure was secondary to the all-consuming need to shatter her resistance and push her to the heights of ecstasy.

And as if orchestrating an intricate symphony, he continued his onslaught, her breathy moans and pleas serving as the rhythm to their dance.

His hands found her bound breasts, squeezing and pinching her hardened, jutting nipples.

"Come for me," he growled into the relative silence of the room, his words heavy with command as he released her nipples only to spank her thigh, the sharp sting of pain driving Laurel over the edge.

Her body stiffened as pleasure washed over her in powerful waves that left her breathless and limp beneath him. The sight of her rapture fuelled Connor's own climax, his roars mixing with hers in a crescendo of shared satisfaction that had Micah impatient for his own scene with Melody.

He and his wife didn’t get to play in the dungeon very often.

Deciding he needed to move, Micah turned to the silver-haired woman by his side. “I’m just going to check on Logan and Luanna in the suspension room,” he told her. Micah knew the DMs would be doing their jobs, but the couple were the only ones who were scening in a playroom rather than on the dungeon floor.

Melody nodded. “I’ll come with you,” she said, climbing gracefully to her feet. Micah wasn’t surprised. He’d yet to meet anyone who wasn’t mesmerised by the intricacies of Kinbaku, or Shibari as it was more commonly known.

In the suspension room, Logan, with his charming smile, was busy setting up a maze of ropes and pulleys. Luanna was suspended mid-air, her body contorted into an artistic weave of knots that pulled her into positions that looked almost impossible. But Luanna was flexible, resilient, and bizarrely able to find a sense of calm amidst it all.

Her body was bowed but unbroken, her spirit defiant yet submissive. Her trust in Logan was as tangible as the ropes that held her suspended - they were the strings to their marionette dance of total power exchange. It was her surrender and his control that made their dance as mesmerising and terrifyingly beautiful as it was. It took a special kind of submissive to surrender herself to the ropes like this. An art that was lengthy and complicated to construct, and never quick to extract someone from. It demanded a cool head and a lot of patience.

As a dominant, Logan’s skills were different from the rest, yet equally admirable. Where Jake wielded his whip like an artist painting on a canvas and Xavier’s strength lay in the tortuously devilish conundrums he devised, Logan’s artistry lay in the ropes and knots; he sculpted Luanna’s lithe body into positions that seemed both impossibly complex and graceful all at once. This wasn't about inflicting pain but about pushing boundaries, breaching the limits of endurance both physically and emotionally. Each knot he tied brought Logan and Luanna closer together; each pull of the rope deepened their connection.

Logan ran his fingers over the intricate knot-work, tracing the lines and curves of the ropes that bound Luanna. His gaze was intense, full of concentration as he assessed the art he'd created. He moved around her, slowly, sinuous in his movements as his eyes roamed over her skin. The tableau they had formed was an intimate portrait of trust and desire laid bare atop a foundation of formidable skill.

His hands began to roam higher along the lines of tension, toying with a knot here, pulling at a length of rope there - each movement evoking a gasp or a shudder from Luanna. Her skin was flushed, beads of sweat trickling down her body as she hung suspended in the air.

"Beautiful," Logan murmured, his voice low and gravelly with desire. His fingers traced a particularly intricate knot at the apex of her thighs, directly over her clit, a touch that had Luanna arching her back with a soft moan.

The thick ropes creaked slightly as they absorbed her movements, their sound harmonising with the soft whimpers and sighs escaping from Luanna's lips. The sight was hypnotic - her body swaying gently in the air as Logan manipulated her with nothing more than his hands and ropes.

He moved slowly, his fingers now teasing the knot pressing against her sensitive nub. His eyes never left her face, watching each shift in her expression as he increased the pressure - a curl of the lips here, a flutter of her eyelashes there.

Luanna's moans grew louder, her gasps turning into an erotic melody that echoed within the suspension room.

The ropes held her steady despite the quaking of her body - a testament to Logan's skilful knot-work.

With a final tug at the rope putting pressure on her clit, Logan took a step back, his eyes drinking in the sight of Luanna writhing and moaning in pleasure, totally at his mercy. It was a sight that clearly mesmerised Logan, filling him with profound satisfaction and arousal.

His fingers began to dance on the knots once again, this time adjusting their tension along Luanna’s ribs and waist. Each move was calculated yet filled with passion and admiration for the woman hanging before him. Luanna wasn’t merely suspended in mid-air, but rather, she was elevated to an ethereal plane where bondage and pleasure were indistinguishable.