Bound to Ecstasy Read online

  BOUND to ECSTASY

  BOUND to ECSTASY

  VONNA HAPPER, P.F. KOZAK LISA G. RILEY

  KENSINGTON BOOKS

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  CONTENTS

  Restraint

  Vonna Harper

  Mirrors Within Mirrors

  P. F. Kozak

  Fit to Be Tied

  Lisa G. Riley

  RESTRAINT

  VONNA HARPER

  1

  Heels tapping on the cement flooring, Evi Hult stepped into the middle of the set that had once been part of Dungeon Dames. Although she’d snorted with disbelief when she’d opened the door for the first time, standing and staring at the dimly lit set had produced an interesting change. No longer torn between laughter and disgust, she noted that her heartbeat was now nearly as loud as the sound her shoes made. And her skin felt as if it been sandpapered.

  Dungeon Dames! Had the owners of the bankrupt adult film company her employers had just taken over honestly believed the name would entice buyers to purchase their videos? How about having a little class there, folks? What about dignity and self-respect?

  Hell, what did it matter? Dungeon Dames was out of business and her task a simple one: inventory the several sets and prepare a list for a Wednesday meeting of the decision makers at Intellectual Properties, Inc., her employer.

  Clutching her clipboard to her C-sized breasts, Evi approached the four-poster bed that dominated the set. Made of sturdy metal resembling cell bars, the head-and footboards were hardly what any sane and sensible human being would chose for bedroom decor. Bondage, it declared, bondage! Of course the leather restraints hanging from the metal did more than a little to help her come to that conclusion. Smiling, Evi made a mental note to include the leather straps in her list. For the moment, however, making peace with her too-sensitive skin came first.

  A bed designed for sex, forced sex, albeit simulated forced sex, while cameras rolled.

  Mouth dry, she placed her clipboard on the blood-red sheet stretched over the mattress and ran her fingers down what was designed to look like silk but, unless she was mistaken, was plain old cotton. The sheet looked and smelled clean, thank goodness. If it had been sex-spotted—

  Not going to go there! Not with her fingers tingling and heat blooming between her legs. Damn, how long had it been since she’d been laid?

  Months, came back the unwanted answer. Months because she’d been single-minded about her career.

  Well, so be it. The window of opportunity to establish herself as a creative director in an ever-changing business might close or break if she so much as blinked.

  No blinking today, no asking herself what kind of woman would allow herself to be spread-eagled naked on red silk with her limbs held captive so some porn industry stud could bury his well-used and impersonal cock in her. Just because the world included submissive women didn’t mean she was going to waste her time questioning what made said females tick. She had better things to do, much better.

  And yet against every-and anything sane, Evi sat on the side of the bed and reached for the closest strap. It came complete with an overly shiny adjustable buckle, obviously the better to quickly accomplish the job it had been designed for. Not that she had any intention of locking it in place, of course. Only a fool would risk not being able to get out of the contraption.

  Caught! Helpless against a man’s will. Forced down into a dark place filled with secret needs and powerful fears.

  Mouth still dry, she draped the leather over her wrist and leaned back so she could study the results. Interesting, from an artistic and only artistic point of view of course. Still, the contrast between brown leather and her never have the time to get a tan flesh would play well on a DVD. And her wrist was slender, fingers long and in serious need of a manicure.

  Ah, nice. Softer than she’d expected, erotic even, the leather stroking her skin and adding to its sensitivity. As for what was chasing a heated path from the base of her throat to her pussy, well, a gal without a man in her life had to take her pleasures any way she could.

  Eyes at half mast, she imagined that a macho member of the opposite sex out of central casting was responsible for what now roped her wrist. Another dark thought threatened to slam into her, but she forced it away. Damn it, in the real world she was alone at the warehouse-type building where Dungeon Dames had produced whatever they’d produced. Unfortunately, or fortunately, her mind had no trouble creating a hunk worthy of earning whatever the so-called masters or doms or whatever in the porn industry were paid.

  Her hunk would be big and strong and supremely confident, of course. Hmm. How about wavy blond hair to contrast with her long, straight brown-on-brown hair? His skin would be naturally dusky so it’d play off her too-pale skin, and that way she’d be less likely to draw comparisons between him and the midnight images hovering at the edges of her mind.

  Of course he’d speak with an accent that put her in mind of a Viking warrior, whatever they sounded like, but unlike some uncivilized ancient Viking, her hunk would have ready access to soap and running hot water. She didn’t give a damn about his educational level, just the way he was hung.

  He’d be naked of course because she couldn’t imagine wanting to waste time stripping him down for action. First and foremost, he’d be steeped in knowledge about women’s bodies and needs, their secret fantasies.

  Ah, shit! Hadn’t the heat been shut off in here?

  Looking down with an effort, Evi took much-needed comfort in her dress-for-success knee-length black skirt, sheer panty hose, and two-inch heels. This was her, not the horny broad lurking at the back of her mind along with other images she had no business facing right now. Time to get back to what she’d come here for.

  Only, oh shit, she hadn’t really snapped that restraint in place, had she?

  An experimental and nearly panicked tug only reinforced her fear that yes, that’s what she’d indeed done. Even as her heart raced and she breathed in gasps, a part of her stood back like the stern and usually disapproving aunt who’d raised her, the older woman’s pursed mouth saying that, once again, Evi had failed her because no self-respecting good girl would do something that irresponsible.

  No, of course she hadn’t, Evi tried to point out. It wasn’t like this was a real leather cuff. It was part of a set and obviously designed to release. All she needed was to make the right move, trip the right clasp, something.

  To hell with Aunt Margaret! And to hell with panicking because, after all, here she was in a place designed to enhance make-believe. Might as well go with the flow since that’s what her subconscious wanted anyway.

  Yes, yes, she was a prisoner in the Dungeon, a new captive anticipating her fate. With no choice but to wait for her master to walk into the room and have his way with her, whatever that entailed.

  No reason to freak out or ask herself if, finally, her most unsettling images had moved from make-believe to reality. She didn’t need a shrink, damn it, because there was no way she was going to tell some stodgy old man about her make-beliefs and have him label her sick and demented.

  Feeling decidedly more relaxed than she had a moment ago, Evi scooted around so she was facing the door, a move which pulled her trapped arm back and to the side. A delicious tingle tiptoed up her inner arm. Imagining that the door was opening, she opened her legs as far as her straight skirt allowed. Head up and shoulders back, she waited—for what she didn’t know.

  Ah, there he was, the Viking warrior she’d ordered, naked with an erection that caused her mouth to gape and her cunt to flow. He had legs like tree trunks, washboard abs, shoulders out to there and beyond, no belly, and from what she could tell, the tightest as
s allowed. His pale hair was long and raggedly cut but clean. He wore an earring in his right ear, his only adornment—except for the I’m ready for you cock. The deepest, bluest eyes she’d ever seen locked on her.

  Melting inside, flowing into a hot puddle, lips tingling, legs shaking, fingers clenching, hard nipples jabbing at her bra, thigh muscles doing battle with her skirt—oh yes, that’s what she’d become.

  She felt no surprise when her Viking faded a bit; after all, who could concentrate on anything as mundane as mentally creating another human being when her cunt was on fire? Moaning, she stood as best she could and yanked up her skirt with her free hand. Then, giving in to the strain in her pulled-out-of-position arm, she sank back onto the mattress, but not before ramming her hand under her panties and panty hose. Grateful that she’d also positioned herself closer to the head of the bed so the strain on her left arm slackened, she concentrated on finding the source of her frustration and need. Only when she’d slipped her forefinger into her hole did she turn what was left of her attention back to her warrior. He had a grainy quality, as if he hadn’t quite achieved three-dimensional status, but she was used to that, unfortunately. Too much fantasy time spent with fantasy fuck partners had that effect. One decidedly positive thing about having ordered today’s hunk, she was in charge of his behavior, wasn’t she?

  “Come closer, please,” she begged, head now tilting back and mouth agape so she could pull enough oxygen into her lungs. “I’m yours. Take me.”

  Cringing at the corny words briefly distracted her from what she needed her fingers to be doing, but a gal well-versed in self-pleasure knew the drill. Concentrating on her clit produced the desired results all right, but she’d never been a fan of wham-bam, especially at her own hands. A long, slow dip into her inner recesses reinforced what she already knew; she was wet down there, wet and hot enough for a fan to be a great benefit.

  Visualization. Visualization had always been a vital part of getting the job of self-satisfaction done. Reminded of that fundamental fact, she tried to locate her warrior, but he wasn’t where she’d left him. Damn, damn, damn. And what remained, a cheap setting consisting of the bed of course and three walls crudely painted to resemble a dungeon, wasn’t helping.

  There. All right. Get rid of the plywood walls and concrete floor. Keep the bed but make the sheet real satin and trade the single mattress for queen size. Throw in a little drum and guitar music, low and deep like rolling thunder. Nix the clothes. Have her surroundings be a real cave complete with thick granite walls, a barred entrance, burning candles in wall sconces the only light, shadows everywhere, the smell and taste and feel of sex.

  And the Viking. Most of all the Viking.

  Sweating, Evi leaned back as much as she dared and risked cutting off the circulation in her right hand by running it so far under her clothes and between her legs that she nearly reached her ass. A touch, a man’s touch! Callused fingers instead of her soft ones, hot knowledge kissing her clit and taking her up, all the way to the top, holding her there, bringing her back down without allowing her to climax, and then starting up the mountain again while she mewed and begged.

  “Be quiet,” he’d order. Then he’d tell her that she was no longer in control of her body, he was.

  She recognized her labored breathing and the fingers repeatedly collecting her wet excitement; even the fantasy was relatively safe and familiar, but she climbed on board anyway. There. In her mind’s eye, she was on her back and both of her wrists had been secured to the headboard. Her legs were widely spread and kept that way via the ungiving leather lapped around her ankles. Of course she was naked and sweating even more than she had when her imagination started working because a man was sitting on the bed next to her, bent low so he could tongue and mouth-bathe her vulnerable pussy.

  “No, no, no, please, mercy,” she kept begging as she twisted this way and that trying to escape the unbelievable pleasure-pain. Climax after climax piled out of her. She couldn’t stop them! Couldn’t draw a calming breath! Another, oh shit, another! Being torn apart and knowing she’d die happy if everything ended today. “Please, please, please, master, please!”

  “No begging!” the formless man commanded, coming up for air. “As long as it pleasures me to tease and torment you I will!”

  “I understand, master. A moment of rest, that’s all I ask, a moment.”

  “When and if I grant it,” he growled as he went back to work. A single, hard contact with her shivering core ripped another explosion from her, causing her to strain against her bonds.

  Unfortunately, the real-world increased burning in her left shoulder did more than stop the blood-boiling fantasy. Straightening, she yanked her hand away from her core and clamped her sex-wet hot fingers over her cramping shoulder muscle. “Shit, shit. Oh, fucking shit!”

  Hard kneading of her poor muscle wasn’t getting rid of the knot so she turned toward the head of the bed, scooting close at the same time. The pain eased a bit, allowing her the thinking space necessary for releasing the buckle. There. Done. Not nearly as hard as she thought it would be, she acknowledged as she turned her attention to the pressure marks now around her wrist.

  What the hell was the matter with her? She had a job to do and not much time to do it in! So get with the program already, starting with pushing her skirt back down where it belonged. Her own bed was the place for this kind of role playing, not here!

  She’d stood up and was doing just what she’d ordered herself to do when something shifted. No, not a shifting, almost as if the whole set had started breathing. More intrigued than afraid, she swiped a hand over her eyes. Even before her vision cleared, she knew what she’d find.

  A man.

  2

  “You’ve been searching for me for a long time, haven’t you?” the tall, blond, proudly naked creature said. “Preparing yourself physically and emotionally even while your mind rejects the lengths and depths of your needs. I’ve decided to reward you. And challenge you.”

  Who are you? she should be asking. What the hell are you talking about? Instead, she nodded because every word he’d spoken had been the truth.

  “Listen to me,” he continued. “Because of where your mind and emotions are, I have become your only reality. The bridge has been crossed. Until and unless I say different, there’s just you and me. Do you understand?”

  On the verge of another nod, she ran her hands down her hips. The last time she’d felt this lightheaded, she’d just finished her third glass of wine, but she was stone sober. At least she thought she was. Lightheaded was good. Lightheaded kept her thoughts on the surface.

  “I know about you, Evi Hult,” the man with bottomless blue eyes and no clothing said.

  “What? We’ve never met.” Except late at night when I bring you to life.

  “You believe you’re responsible for my existence,” he said as if reading her mind. “But I exist in ways you can’t possibly comprehend.”

  “You—do?”

  He didn’t immediately answer, maybe because he was waiting for her to say more, but her mind had gone blank thanks to his formidable and bone-melting presence. “You’re what the movie industry calls a creative director,” he continued. “You work for a company that produces documentaries mostly for public TV. Your dream is to be put in charge of your own production company, where you’ll be able to control content instead of responding to the demands of advertisers and money men. You were raised by an aunt because your parents were so focused on their international business.”

  “They shouldn’t have had me. They didn’t have time—”

  “What is, is. Don’t dwell on what can’t be changed. Aunt Margaret was a lifelong virgin. Did you know that?”

  “I, ah, I suspected.”

  “I’m sure you did. What did she teach you about sex?”

  God but he was beautiful! Well over six feet tall with top-of-the-scale muscle development and a skeletal frame to carry it off. She couldn’t judge his age and di
dn’t much give a damn. Beyond a teenager and far from retirement age. His cock, although not completely erect, wasn’t exactly hanging limp and disinterested. He’d been circumcised, something she didn’t think happened to Vikings. He was blond just like in the majority of her fantasies, the hairs on his chest and elsewhere echoing what was on the top of his head. Yep, there was the earring. “Who are you?”

  “Did I give you permission to ask questions?”

  His tone was no-nonsense, a man who expected obedience. “No.”

  “No, what?”

  Her skin again felt as if someone had exposed the nerve endings. She knew his voice, his presence, his promise and danger was responsible. As for his take-command air, that was the result of her imagination, of her needs, wasn’t it? “No, sir.”

  “Sir, for now. Did Aunt Margaret teach you about sex?”

  “No,” she admitted although he must know the answer. Now she didn’t know what to do with her hands so she kept moving them from her hips to around her waist, to folded in front of her belly. “No, sir.”

  “How did you learn?”

  His voice was echoing a little and, without taking her gaze off him, she knew the plywood was gone and they were in a real cave. No, not a cave. A dungeon lit by candles. “Like most girls, I guess, sir. Experimentation.”

  “What kind of experimenting?”

  “In the back seat of cars—although I lost my virginity at my boyfriend’s parents’ cabin.”

  “Why did you do it?”

  Think, damn it, think! “Because I couldn’t not, sir.”

  “And why was that?”

  He’d run his gaze from her face to her crotch, just like that answering his own question but waiting for her to validate what he already knew. “Because I had itches. I was hot, hungry. When he touched me—”

  “Did you climax the first time?”