Steel Embrace Read online

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  Champagne Books

  www.champagnebooks.com

  Copyright ©2011 by Vixen Bright COPYRIGHTNOTICE Zachary Zane

  First published in 2011

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  About Vixen & Zachary

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  Carnal Passions Presents

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  Steel Embrace

  By

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  Vixen Bright & Zachary Zane

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  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Carnal Passions

  A Division of Champagne Books

  www.carnalpassions.com

  Copyright 2011 by Vixen Bright & Zachary Zane

  ISBN 9781926996424

  August 2011

  Cover Art Amanda Kelsey

  Produced in Canada

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  Carnal Passions

  #35069-4604 37 ST SW

  Calgary, AB T3E 7C7

  Canada

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  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Carnalpassions.com (or the retailer of your choice) and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dedication

  Life is full of variables and differences. To that end I am dedicating this book to the wonder and unpredictability of the human spirit, for all those that follow a diverse path, and all who offer a smile rather than a frown when they encounter someone different. Listen to your personal accordion player and dance the dance that is you. ~ Vixen

  I dedicate the spirit of this book to Emma, Elmo, Bodie, Jamie, and Mitzi. I thank them for teaching me duty, love and responsibility. I believe I've become a better man for that. ~ Zachary

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  PROLOGUE

  The Master stared down at his thrall, withering on the bed, eyes pleading. Were her eyes beseeching his protection, control, or was it just for sexual release? She understood his keen glare. Being a thrall, a slave, was her lifestyle.

  Though she excited him, he remained stoic; this was his way. Kneeling on the mattress before her, he toyed with the possibilities as he watched her inviting buttocks from this vantage point. His silence haunting. He brought with him his slapper, a heavy leather tool oft used for striking the ass, its design created a smacking sound as the split leather would spread and close. He was amused with the idea of using the handled end to moisten her pussy, but chose to lean over placing his teeth on her fleshy derriere and bit down a little harder than would be comfortable, bringing a reaction.

  Shanna hadn't been well trained, yet she was enthusiastic and ready to experiment, unlike many who professed to follow his fetish lifestyle. Who would have thought that outside his realm of counter-culture, he could have found such a willing partner? It suited him that she was more than willing. She took to the lash as if made for it, wincing beneath bitten lip. With subtle empathy she anticipated his needs, and catered to them,.

  Was he just poaching another's wildlife? Was he filling a void? Was he toying because he could? The cold truth was...the girl was bait, seduced purposely to lure her owner. At present, he couldn't think of that, couldn't see beyond her dark, adoring gaze, or her heaving voluptuous breasts. The rage of desire defused his initial intentions, yet he knew his bravado rattled in such a way it screamed for him to invade her dark damp treasures, exploiting their wealth of pleasure. The bindings provided the permission; his jetty of engorged flesh offered motivation and imagination was primped in fantasies finest. Why? This vixen incited urges.

  This day Shanna had worn a red latex mini dress, plastered to her body like fresh glaze, depicting nubs and nuance, it barely disguised her willful lack of panties, spiked five-inch heels that tightened calf muscles, ruby lipstick and sheer thigh-highs with a thick welt. She must have deliberately chose this look to please him. When she arrived he asked her to spin as he admired her appearance.

  She had chosen well. Everything but the hose had been systematically stripped from her in a controlled furor that insisted she had the type of body that shouldn't be covered, ever.

  The forcefulness of slow moving time, deliberate silence, well-placed gropes and grabs asserted his domination. He balled her hair in a fist and wrenched her head to see her eyes; eyes she dare not show him for that would be rude.

  Finally, he moved behind her, drew fingernails down her spine, tracing pink, and smacked one buttock cheek, hard, then the other, each strike expected yet startling.

  "Does my little bitch enjoy this?"

  Small yelps emerged.

  He repeated his onslaught of her skin.

  She winced at the next strike on her pinkened ass.

  "This is my ass,” he stated. “Mine to turn hot."

  Groans of anticipation trailed the further use of his nails, followed by an intense moan as his fingers dipped into natural juices.

  "She wets nice.” He continued invading. “This pussy of yours has caught my interest."

  She drew a deep breath.

  "Move and show me you want more."

  She rocked into his hand.

  "I said, move!” A commanding slap sounded as he struck her ass once again.

  Shanna increased her speed, panting and nearly rutting.

  He had deliberately brought her to the brink of orgasm several times, then denied her that release until she would have done anything, bedded anyone, surrendered everything to climax.

  "More?” he asked, taunting.

  She groaned.

  "Show me why I should give you more."

  Her hips gyrated in time with her whimpers. Some Masters cared for only their own satisfaction, but he thrived on control.

  "Faster!"

  She followed his instruction.

  "Stop!” He knew she was close to orgasm, but it was his, not hers. “You're not ready yet."

  "You want to come, don't you?"

  Her head bobbed, saying yes.

  A firm hand clenched her ass cheek, exacting pain. “You'll come when I want you to come. Understand?"

  She groaned and nodded.

  Once her natural juices covered his fingers, he inserted one in her tight anus. At first she tensed—he expected that. She soon
bucked against him. He pulled back, then thrust again with a second finger, plunging, wiggling. Then a third, widening her. At the same time, he stroked her clit, feeling it harden, again pulling away before she could climax. Her pant for more was delicious.

  "Please,” she whispered, causing the word to resemble gibberish coming from beneath the gag. At this moment, he knew he could do whatever he wanted with her, and she'd accept it, relish it. With that empowerment he thrust his fingers in and out, hard, hurtful as she reared back, moaning, thrashing as best she could against the taut bindings, each movement begging for more.

  He released the gag and cradled her face in a massive hand. “I know what you want, thrall. Say it!” His choice of that term was deliberate, implying an enslavement to him.

  She did, all trepidation lost to desire, she uttered the words that would eliminate the final barrier. “Fuck it!"

  He plunged his shaft into her moist vagina, evading the dark hole; masterfully, once more bringing her to the brink. Hearing her whimper and implore for more was an aphrodisiac to his senses. His heart raced, his pulse quickened, his skin moistened, and with all of this his cock grew, now throbbing with redirected blood. He thrust harder, stopped, started, stopped, until her pleading became incomprehensible, then he readjusted her weight, slid his cock along her ass cleft. At the same time, he snatched a small, battery operated vibrator from the bedside table and slipped it inside her pussy at the exact moment he penetrated her, slowly, letting her adjust to him, measure by measure.

  She panted. He doubted she could think or see anything beyond being taken. To him, she was a squirming toy—a tool to stimulate his pursuit. That she offered her total submission despite belonging to another only intensified his enjoyment. He grabbed her hair, yanked her head, arching her back as he invaded her fully, now, ripping into her without caring if it still hurt, almost hoping it did. That willingness to take the pain furthered her commitment to him.

  With three fingers of one hand, he squeezed a pert nipple, just hard enough to make her gasp. He sensed that her nerve fibers ricocheted sensations throughout her.

  A forceful slap on her ass echoed through the room. He slowed the pace, manipulated her nub while taking care not to dislodge the vibrator. His tempo increased. Her tightness milked him. Zinc shoved her face into the mattress. She turned her head, her lips parting. Though silent he knew she wanted the taste of him as well. He offered his fingers and she sucked fiercely.

  By her tightness, he realized she hadn't been quite ready for him, but he also knew the tearing pain only enhanced her perception of pleasure. He knew she was fighting to control her orgasm. Was he ready to release her? Had she earned the right? He answered those queries, “You may come!” Instantly, he felt her rush in the tremors quaking through her. He heard and felt it in the guttural sound emanating from around his fingers. By now she had to be tender, but he didn't stop the aggressive invasion. He tormented her anus as his hardness became even more engorged, filling her to the point of agony. Each deeper thrust was accentuated by the strength of hands pulling, hips pounding, and the rattle of the bed against the wall. This only ignited a second orgasm. Her acute responses and pleasure prompted his own release. The ripple of her third explosion harmonized with his.

  Drained, he slipped out of her, listening to her mews of pleasure and watched as she twitched in occasional spasms. Post coital tenderness was replaced by a series of distinctive nips with his teeth of her back flesh. He had just marked her.

  "Did I not tell you, it could be pleasurable?” he said as he untied her wrists and ankles.

  She nodded but no recognizable words emerged. They obviously couldn't form. Sweat beaded her body. Her breathing slowed, but she couldn't focus. Shanna mouthed a thank you as her limbs trembled. He'd oft felt others feigned such rapture to please, which was fine, but this day, that eve, he knew her reactions were real. Her responses thrilled him. They'd have another session before dawn. Her raw, undiluted reactions made him want more of her.

  He kissed her forehead, gathering the thrall in his arms, stroking, murmuring endearments. Few knew the secret to utter control resided in simple after-care. Coddle a thrall, make her believe you cared, and she'd submit to your deepest, most depraved desires. The chemistry had to be right, the connection strong, and the girl needed to have an ingrained submissive mindset all mitigated by trusting and believing in him. Yet, even those with a stronger will could be wooed, like this one in his arms. She professed love and fidelity to her Master, yet Zinc had lured her away with ease. Why? He refused to toy with the why, trusting it was his will and strength.

  Time passed. How long? Hours, minutes? Shanna didn't know. She could barely comprehend her world any longer. Yet, she felt Zinc's strong embrace, heard the gentle singsong of his cooing voice. He cared. He wanted her. She was now his and he'd take care of dealing with her old Master. Shanna had found a new home. This was where she'd always want to be. In her bondage, in her utter submission, she had found emotional and sexual freedom. Contented, Shanna slipped into exhausted sleep.

  She didn't know how long she slept, but when she woke she was once again bound. She called out Zinc's name, but he didn't answer. Instead, a familiar voice emerged from the room's shadows.

  "I'm sorry,” the voice announced.

  "Sorry?” Shanna said, fear rising like bile. “I don't understand."

  A tall figure emerged, yet there still wasn't enough light to make out features. The figure remorsefully said, “I have no choice."

  Shanna strained against those same silk fastenings Zinc had so carefully untied just hours before. Somehow, she knew he hadn't been the one to bind her this time. The figure stepped from the shadows. As recognition evolved, Shanna's initial fear dissipated, until she saw a quivering hand and in it a curved blade dangling from fingertips. Shanna didn't have a chance to fully scream.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  ONE

  Weeks later

  Raina stepped onto the Victorian porch, taking in its yesteryear charm and freshly stained floorboards. Damp darkness enfolded her as the porch's shadows blocked out the sun and the only warmth the chill autumn day offered. The picturesque period establishment reminded her of old-fashioned garments and gentlemen with canes, four o'clock tea and scones in a quaint parlor and billiards over cigars and brandy. However, the Victorian didn't entertain genteel society. It was a private club with unknown practices and mysterious patrons. Raina knew little about the place, except they were looking for an artist to finish partially developed murals, and was privy information that they needed this artist because their last one had been murdered. Grisly, the headlines read. Most local artists hesitated knowing of the incident that was complicated by the employers insistence the artist live on the premises until the work was completed.

  Raina had seen enough violence in her time to know crime could happen anywhere. She experienced it in over-crowded urban schools where she taught, as well as uppercrust suburban ones where drugs were sold a block away. Having just lost her job as an art teacher due to program cuts, it dispelled any possibility of being hired anywhere in the state as an art teacher. She desperately needed work and she needed it nearby, not in another state, so being a sleep-in artist was an easy trade-off.

  Raina pressed the doorbell, waited, and when no one answered immediately, pressed it again.

  "May I help you?” a scantily clad woman asked, cracking open one of the twin doors.

  Somehow, Raina hadn't expected to be greeted by someone barefooted and wearing a crimson sarong that did not disguise the shape and color of any of her womanly parts. However the sarong itself didn't startle her as much as the impact of what it further revealed. It was no more than a wash of translucent color against tanned flesh, totally tanned flesh. This woman was statuesque and physically perfect. Small, but flawlessly rounded breasts tipped with pastel pick rigid nipples pressed against the flimsy fabric. Raina assumed—no, hoped it was the draft stirring through the open door that pro
duced those erect nubs. Somehow, though, she suspected it wasn't, for Raina noticed something more, slightly dilated pupils and moisture glistening just beneath the incredibly short sarong. In fact, if the sarong were any shorter you'd see the raw curve of her buttock. From this angle, the shaven triangle of the woman's sex and a gentle profusion of nether lips peered just beneath the garment's hem, luring attention. It was Raina who blushed, not the woman. Focusing on a gold, oval pin engraved with the name Fawn, all lower case, Raina, though rattled and befuddled, tried to behave as if she spoke to near naked women every day and that there wasn't anything unusual about it.

  "I'm here for an interview with Steel Hunter. I'm a little early.” Raina ran a hand self-consciously over her slightly large jacket and knee-length skirt, which gave the impression she wore hand-me-downs, despite the designer label. Her choice of apparel was more eclectic and reflected her bohemian take on life, yet, generally quite confident this moment she felt inappropriately dressed.

  Fawn's heavily lined eyes narrowed suspiciously but she stepped aside, allowing Raina to enter. “For the thrall position?"

  A rotund foyer with mahogany floors, chair rail and crown molding greeted her. Twin, curving staircases dissolved into a balcony while an oval table adorned by an ornate floral arrangement sought attention. Beyond that, a Persian rug sprawled outward as if coaxing patrons down the long, dimly lit hall, while Victorian rosewood chairs flanked a marble-topped mahogany table. It would have been a spectacular sight except that the walls bore nothing more than primer and barely discernable sketches.

  Raina lifted her portfolio. “Ummm, I'm not sure what a thrall is. I'm here for the artist position.” Instinctually, she surveyed the sketch, evaluating the skill and intent.

  A catty smile spread over Fawn's face, more the I-am-better-than-you smirk of her social order. She had the walk and look of someone young and vibrant, but fine lines betrayed she was well into her thirties. Her unique confidence was aptly portrayed in her lack of response to the trappings of modesty. Her insolent stance, the razor edge to her tone and the empty depth of her eyes provided evidence of a hard life. “If you get the job, you'll find out soon enough.” There was cruel coldness in the words.