Another Tuesday came along and I have one fantastic lady and BDSM writer as a guest. Mystk Knight’s books of the world of Dominance, submission, rope bondage and other lovely things are pretty short. However, they are hot and well-written enough to make you boil with need and lust. Just a week ago she released Part 2 of her Rigger trilogy so I invite you to take a look.
The Bequest (Rigger Book 2)
by Mystk Knight
Blurb: Book Two of the Rigger trilogy continues the tale of Lachlan, Shibari master and dom, and Shae, the young female slave who captured his imagination and ensnared his heart. They meet again, this time over dinner, followed by a serving of decadent dessert. Can Shae control herself? Or will Lachlan have to dish out a further serving of corrective training? And what of Shae’s mysterious master. Read this mesmerizing tale of love, lust and lusciousness to find out.
Excerpts
“Well, fuck me.” I stood there on the sidewalk, watching the cab disappear around the corner at the end of the street with my arms crossed at my chest and my pulse beating a crazy tattoo in my throat.
How the hell had this one woman managed to affect me so viscerally? She had walked into my home, invaded my heart, and now with her leaving, I realized she had taken a huge piece of it with her. Even as I watched the cab’s tail lights disappear out of sight, I acknowledged in my heart she was my destiny. I would do whatever was necessary to make it a reality.
At my age, I had all but given up on finding ‘the one’, but I guess the old saying is true: “It’ll happen when you least expect it.” The only question now was how to make it a reality.
I turned and retraced my steps through the gate, slamming it behind me. My long legs ate up the stairs, taking them four at a time before I let myself back into the house. Sliding to a stop in the foyer, those first few moments from the day before when I had opened the door to find Shae standing on my threshold flashed through my mind. I savoured the memory of the way her eyes had grown wide and filled with surprise as they had met mine. It might have been in that very instant that I knew.
Shaking off the memory, I strode with purpose down the hall to my office. I navigated the banker’s desk standing resolute in front of the bay window and sat down in the ancient and worn leather chair I had inherited from my parents’ estate. Leaning back into the comfort of its memories, I turned the issue over in my mind, my thumb running back and forth over my lower lip as it always did when I worked through a problem.
My Neanderthal brain was howling at me to get myself over to Jon’s house and refuse to leave without Shae’s contract, and her, in hand. But my Hominidae logical self knew that tactic would get me nowhere with Jon. I had known the man some thirty years at this point and had come to appreciate he did things on his own time and for his own reasons.
So what was his purpose in sending Shae to me for correction? She had performed beautifully. In fact, I found nothing in her presentation to give proof to his complaints.
The man was an enigma to me. A close personal friend of my parents for as long as I could remember, he had become my guardian when at fourteen years of age my parents died in a horrific motor vehicle accident while travelling abroad. Jon had managed my inheritance until I reached the age of majority at twenty-one. During that period, he had split my time between attending schools abroad and living under his roof where I had learned and adopted his lifestyle. Despite all that, I had never fully understood the reasoning behind many of his decisions. I had, however, learned to accept them unquestioningly.
I had left his home at twenty-one, my inheritance safely invested in the money market, and I remember thinking I had the world by the tail. In retrospect, I suppose I had. I had dedicated the next several years to growing my inheritance, perfecting my craft, and making a life for myself—one that included occasional visits to Jon’s home but usually only when summoned.
He was not an easy man to live with, his propensity for sudden and unreasonable outbursts of anger always a looming threat over the members of his household. I could count neither the number of times I had heard his slaves paying the price for some perceived transgression nor the number of times Jon had called upon me to deliver those punishments. I had learned how to wield a dragon tail whip by the time I turned fifteen and dual blacksnake whips by seventeen, both harsh and deterring tools of correction. Once I left Jon’s home, my interests had turned to suspension play; in particular, Shibari. I spent many years learning those arts from masters around the world and preferred using them in my own life over harsher forms of BDSM play.
Perhaps Jon felt I was too soft in my management of the various subs I brought into my life and sought a way to impose his will on my choices. Shae was not the first of his slaves sent my way, but she certainly was the first who did not present with any overt behavioural issues requiring correction.
And therein lay my dilemma. Why had Jon done it? Time would tell as he always revealed the reasons for his actions—particularly where my “life lessons” were concerned.
Was that what this had been? Another of his life lessons?
Jon took a somewhat perverse, if not sadistic, approach to ensuring I understood my own fascination with the BDSM lifestyle, pushing me through tests of domination that only the most hardhearted of doms I came across in my life could have imagined. I turned my thoughts away from those memories. I had decided years before to use them only to remind myself of the kind of dom I did not wish to become.
No, I needed to come up with a plan to convince Jon to sign over Shae’s contract to me and make him think it was his own idea. But how? I had no idea yet, but I would figure it out come hell or high water. There was no way I intended to leave Shae under his control when I knew the punishments she would face if she ever did anything to truly upset him. That was not an option.
The sound of an incoming email roused me from my dark thoughts, and I opened my laptop to confirm the sender even though I knew without looking. Jon. He would be looking for a final status report on Shae’s visit. I had emailed him sometime around midnight the night before to confirm Shae’s arrival and let him know she had been an excellent suspension subject, submitting without question or complaint. He had not responded to me then, but opening his email, it surprised me to see him commending her presentation and compliance, praising her as he had never done with any other slave.
The last sentence of his email contained the ultimate reason for the missive—one I knew better than to ignore. “Dinner. Sunday evening at seven.”
The berries were fresh. The cream, fresher. The dark chocolate was the perfect counterbalance to the sweetness of the berries but under it all was the salty-sweet flavour of Shae. She was writhing and moaning with need by the time I took my place at the end of the table and sat looking over the landscape of her delectable body. I slid my hands under her knees and pulled her toward me, placing her legs over my shoulders. I slipped my hands under her buttocks and lifted her pussy to my mouth, locking my eyes to hers. “Do not come, pet, until I allow it. If you fail, I’ll punish you.”
Shae’s eyes widened as she watched me move slowly toward her heated and needy centre, my full intentions becoming clear. An involuntary gasp of air escaped her lips when I licked her creamy slit from back to font. She bucked up, pressing her pussy into my mouth, unable to control her body’s automatic response. I slid one arm around her hip, settling my hand on her abdomen to hold her steady, and set to work on breaking her control.
The torture started with light licks and puffs of cool air on her pussy. I progressed slowly to sucking and nibbling her clit, worrying it with unrelenting attention. Shae’s moans grew over time to pleading as I clamped my teeth firmly around her swollen bud and heated it with the constant friction of my tongue. Her legs began to tremble. I knew she was close to her climax, so I pulled my mouth from her pulsing flesh and kissed the inside of her thighs, first one then the other. Shae squeezed her knees to the sides of my head, her hands finding purchase in my hair. If she had her way, I would go nowhere until I satisfied her, and I could not allow her that control.
“Grip the sides of the table, pet, and do not let go.” I growled my command, letting her know she was pushing her boundaries. She reluctantly loosened her grasp on my hair, my scalp stinging as the blood rushed to the assaulted area. Shae’s breath sawed in and out of her chest, and her words tumbled over one another as she begged for a reprieve.
“Please, sir, please! Let me rest or please let me come! I’m losing my mind! I need… I need to come please, sir, please!”
I grinned. She had played right into my hands. “Shae, Jon’s outfitted his dungeon with a spanking bench. It has your name on it if you so much as twitch in the next five minutes. I suggest you get a grip on your control. Now.”
“You’re being completely unreasonable, sir! You’ve been torturing and teasing me for the past hour without a break! Your demands are impossible, and you well know it!”
Her outburst sparked a flame of irritation in me the likes of which I had not felt in quite some time.
“Would you care to rephrase that, Shae?”
I pinned her with a harsh look of derision though I knew she was right. My demands were unreasonable, but I wanted her to fail to meet them in the most spectacular way possible.
When no response was immediately forthcoming, I stood, gripped Shae around her waist, and tossed her over my shoulder. Navigating the table, I strode out of the dining room and made my way to the top of the stairs leading to Jon’s dungeon.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Mystk Knight lives on an island in beautiful British Columbia. She shares her home with her fur-baby, who often looks at her as though she is perhaps a little insane as she chats her way through scenes or crawls around on the floor testing the positions she writes her characters into. She dabbles in erotic romance and erotica and, no, her stories do not reflect her real life experiences, nor would she admit it if they did. Her favorite hobby is procrastination; she will get to the final book in this trilogy when she is damn good and ready.
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Lilah E. Noir 