After a mission in a South American jungle goes wrong, DEA Agent Elgin ‘Hud’ Huddleston returns to his boyhood home to lick his wounds. Despite his better judgment, Hud is drawn to the woman across the street, a petite Dominatrix with a freeze your balls off name.
Mary Beth Winters packed away her toys and put the BDSM lifestyle behind her years ago when she realized the men she dominated didn’t need her as much as she needed them. But when a troubled bad-boy, Elgin ‘Hud’ Huddleston, moves in across the street, she dusts off her toy box and risks her heart to help him heal.
Here's a snippet where Elgin finds out just what Mary Beth is capable of -
Hud looked at the door, unsure what to do now. He’d gone for a walk and found himself outside her studio door, frozen to the spot. His heart pounded in his chest. He recognized the symptoms of the fight or flight response. Elevated heart rate, shallow breathing and heightened sensory perception. He couldn’t have mustered an erection if his life depended on it. His body was primed to do battle. He’d never run from a challenge in his life, and he wasn’t going to start with a pint-sized woman who thought she was a fem-dom. He remembered how she’d run practically screaming from his house when she’d seen his handcuffs. What real fem-dom would do that?
No, he had nothing to fear from Ms. Frost Your Balls Winters. He’d go in there, tell her what was what, and have her naked under him in minutes. Maybe he’d let her spank him a little first so she’d feel like a real fem-dom. He smiled. Yeah, she’d like that, and he would too. He knocked on the door. When she called out as if she’d been expecting him, he opened the door and stepped inside.
She sat with her back to the door and didn’t bother to turn and greet him. He took in her skimpy summer outfit, her bare feet with pink-tipped toes, her fire red hair pulled into a high ponytail and almost sighed with relief. No, this was no fem-dom, just a woman who was a little too brave for her own good. He mentally stripped her before he even got the door closed.
“Go relieve yourself,” she pointed to a door in the corner, “the bathroom is over there.”
What? He couldn’t believe his ears. She still hadn’t moved or so much as looked at him. He glanced over her shoulder to see what she was working on. Her attention was focused on a clay sculpture in front of her. He moved so he could see it better. The sculpture was about a foot high, and even to his untrained eye, he could tell it was exquisite. She was putting what looked like the finishing touches on a miniature cowboy carrying his saddle. Lines on his face conveyed his weariness, the lines of his body shouted his fatigue. Hud had never seen anything like it. At the sound of her voice, Hud snapped his gaze from the statue, to the artist.
“What part of that did you not understand?” she asked without moving her eyes from her work.
“I’m supposed to relieve myself? Is that what you said, Mistress?”
“Yes. Now. When you’re finished, stand over there.”
Why not? It wasn’t such a big price to pay for having a go at her delectable body. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he allowed a woman to play out her fantasy. Hud followed her orders and took up his position in the spot she’d indicated. She continued to ignore him until he’d just about had enough, and then she looked up from her work.
Her eyes raked over him, and he had the impression she was mentally undressing him as thoroughly as he’d undressed her in his mind. Something about her perusal made him want to squirm, but he held still. “Do you always wear black?”
“Yes, Mistress.” Yeah, he could play this game. She jumped off the high stool she’d been sitting on and walked around the worktable. He followed her with his eyes, admiring the curve of her legs and the fine bones in her feet and ankles. She stopped and dug around in a large pink canvas bag that sat on the end of the flower-print covered sofa along the long wall opposite the door. His heart almost stopped beating when she pulled out a serious looking set of leather handcuffs and a length of chain. Whoa there! Where the hell did she get those? All the fight went out of him and all he could think about was getting the hell out of there, but she was such a little thing. How much harm could she do anyway? He willed his body to relax and his feet to stay put.
“Hold out your hands.”
Hud allowed her to fasten the cuffs around his wrists. She hooked them together with a short length of chain that looked like it came from a hardware store. If he twisted his hands around, he’d be able to unfasten the cuffs, he reasoned, as panic threatened to set in. He was momentarily distracted by the sweet curves of her ass as she walked away from him. She picked up a step stool and dropped it next to his feet. “Take your shoes off.”
He toed his shoes off and kicked them to the side. When he looked up from his task, Mary Beth was on the step stool, a head above him. In one hand, she held an S hook attached to a chain and pulley, the other she reached down to him. “Give me your hands.”
Hud swallowed hard and lifted his shackled hands. For the first time, he thought he might have underestimated Mary Beth Winters. She looped the chain at his wrists through the hook, and with a hand on the pulley chain, she jumped off the stool. Hud watched in dawning horror as she pulled the chain tight enough to make his shoulders burn and secured the pulley chain to a hook on the wall, well out of his reach, even if he had his hands free. He cursed under his breath. How had he missed the chain pulley overhead? If he’d been on a mission, a mistake like that would mean he’d be dead.
“Spread your feet apart.” She kicked his instep, and he slid his foot out. His shoulders screamed at the added stretch. “I’m going to ask you a question, Elgin, and I want an answer. You’ll stay here, just like this, until I get one. Is that clear?”
“I should have asked this one first. Do you have a safe word?”
“Okay. If you say Uncle, I’ll release you, and this will be over. We, will be over. Do you understand, Elgin?”
“Good. Now, I asked you this morning and you refused to answer, so I’m going to ask again. Where did the name Elgin come from?”
He’d be damned if he was going to tell her. As far as he knew, everyone who knew was dead, except him, and it was a story he fully planned to take to the grave with him. He held his tongue.
“Do you think I’m playing games here, Elgin? I assure you, I’m not. You will tell me.” Her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his jeans. He sucked in a breath as she flicked the top button open and pulled the zipper down. “Tighty-whities, Elgin? From now on you will come to me commando, no underwear. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mistress. I understand.”
A moment later, she shoved the underwear down just enough to free his limp penis and balls. She tucked the cotton briefs beneath his package and refastened the top button of his jeans. He looked past her bent head to see his penis hanging from his open zipper. The teeth of the zipper dug into his skin. He gritted his teeth and mentally called himself a stupid fucker in several languages. She didn’t look like a Lorena Bobbitt, but then again, Lorena Bobbitt didn’t look like the kind of woman who’d lop off a guy’s pecker either. He mentally went over the tools he’d seen on her workbench. Did sculptors use knives? He’d seen plenty of other tools there that could inflict serious damage, and that was enough to scare the bejesus out of him.
He closed his eyes and fought down the panic threatening to take him under. He’d never underestimated an opponent the way he’d underestimated Mary Beth Winters. He just hoped she wasn’t some kind of crazy serial killer. She took his penis in her soft little hand and toyed with it. He idly wondered if he’d ever have an erection again.
As if she’d read his mind, she said, “Don’t worry, Elgin. I’m not going to hurt you.” He felt the air stir around him as she moved away. He counted to one hundred before he opened his eyes. She’d removed the cowboy sculpture from her workbench and replaced it with a lump of clay covered with what looked like a wet towel. He watched as she removed the towel and began to work the clay with her hands.
She acted as if he wasn’t in the room. His shoulders burned, and his fingers grew numb from lack of blood flow. His legs and back hurt from trying to maintain his posture to relieve the pressure on his shoulders. If he relaxed even the slightest bit, his shoulders and arms protested. The one time he’d moved his feet a fraction of an inch, Mary Beth had looked up from her work and reminded him all he had to do was answer her question, and she’d let him go. Then she’d hopped off her throne, that’s what he was beginning to call her stool in his head, and kicked his feet further apart. “Don’t move them again,” was all she said before she returned to her work.
It seemed like hours he hung there. He wondered how long his arms and fingers could go without blood flow. Mary Beth ignored him. Time passed slowly. He focused on her hands, hoping to distract himself from his discomfort. Her hands were skilled at what she did. It didn’t take him long to come to that conclusion. The lump of clay was taking shape. He couldn’t make out exactly what she was doing, but somehow, he knew it would be exquisite when she was done.
“Why do you want to know about my name?”
She didn’t look up when she answered. “Names define people, don’t you think?”
“No. Who are you, Mary Beth Winters? You’re not like any fem-dom I’ve ever met.”
“I’m an open book, Elgin. If you want to know something about me, just ask.”
He did. He asked, and she answered. He learned she was from Houston. She owned the art gallery he’d seen in town, and mostly sold her art over the internet. “I have to have someplace to store it, so it might as well be on display while I’m waiting on a buyer. Sometimes people come to the gallery because they want to see a piece in person before they buy it. I also display and sell work from other local artists. It helps pay the bills.”
He learned she’d trained as a fem-dom in one of the best known clubs in Houston, and after she’d fallen for a sub and he’d confessed he only liked to play at the lifestyle, that he couldn’t live it for the rest of his life, she’d picked up stakes and moved to Prairieview. That bit of information about her training convinced him she knew what she was doing. By now, he’d pretty much decided he wasn’t in danger of losing his cock, which relieved him beyond measure.
She didn’t ask again about his name, and he’d run out of questions to ask, so he did his best to ignore his screaming muscles and concentrated on her hands. It wasn’t that she sculpted the clay as much as she seduced it into doing what she wanted. Hud imagined her hands on him, stroking, molding and coaxing. To his chagrin, his cock began to swell. He hoped to God she didn’t notice, but he wasn’t to be that lucky.
“You want me to touch you? Tell me what I want to know, Elgin and I’ll give you some relief. You want to come, don’t you?”
Mary Beth returned her attention to the clay. Every finger stroke drove him closer to the brink. He wanted her hands on him, on his cock. He tried to will his erection to go down, but once he had it in his head that he had to have her, it wouldn’t obey.
“If you don’t trust me enough to tell me something so personal, then tell me something else. Tell me why you came back to Prairieview.”
“That’s personal too,” he said through gritted teeth.
She slid off her throne and wiped her hands on a wet cloth she kept on the table. She went to the bathroom and a minute later he heard the water running. She came out with clean hands and rummaged in the canvas bag again. He cringed at the wicked piece of plastic in her hands. God, he was in deep trouble. No one had ever used one on him, but he’d seen plenty of other men milked before. It looked painful, and humiliating.
She stopped in front of him. Her fingers were cool as she stroked along his stubbled jaw, then brushed a lock of hair from his temple. “Tell me something, Elgin. Tell me something, so I’ll know you trust me. If you don’t, I’m going to use this on you.”
He clamped his mouth shut and let his head fall back. He closed his eyes against the panic making his heart beat like a runaway steam engine. He wouldn’t tell her. He wouldn’t.
She freed the button on his jeans and shoved them and his underwear down over his hips. His cock sprang free of its restraints, and he breathed a sigh of relief. She took his cock in her cold hand and slid the plastic tube over it. The bottom edge pressed tight against his pubic bone. Oh God! She was going to do it. She was going to pump the come out of him. Air swished and whirred as she worked the bulb at the end of the tube, creating a vacuum, sucking his cock with every squeeze of her fist on the little ball. Ah, shit! It hurt like a son-of-a-gun!
“Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll let you have relief in a much more pleasant way.”
Hud thought about the way her tight little pussy would feel. She’d be tight and wet and hot, and there wouldn’t be a damned thing painful about it. He wanted her. God, he wanted her, not some godforsaken plastic torture device.
“My mother. My mother gave me the name.”
“Stop the fuck torturing me, and I’ll tell you.”
“Tell me, and I’ll stop.”
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