REPLAY REUNION 2:

NAUGHTY VALENTINE

by

Nia Farrell

REPLAY REUNION 2: NAUGHTY VALENTINE

by Nia Farrell

Copyright 2019 by Nia Farrell

Edited by Anita Quick and Anne Bright

Cover Design by Crystal Visions

Stock Photography from pixabay.com

Formatting by Anita Quick

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced or used without the written consent of the author, except for brief quotes in reviews.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any other means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.  Such action is in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law.

Unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.  Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Release Date February 22, 2019

Length 6,835 words

ASIN:  B07NKZYMKN

Long Branch Books

Shattuc, Illinois

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Author’s Bio and Links

Previous Titles

Dedication

To authors NJ Cole and Oliver Durant for sharing their experience in the lifestyle in their Facebook groups and in their books.  Their devotion to each other, as husband and wife and Dominant and submissive, is heartening, providing a shining example for newcomers to BDSM.

~ Nia

Prologue

Rich Franklin was at a loss.  How long would it take before Tory stopped blaming herself?  When would she see that Elly’s miscarriage wasn’t her fault?  It was sheer chance that it happened on their girls’ day out.

The baby’s loss had affected them all.  Elly had changed.  Tory had changed.  As their Dominants, Piers and Rich were doing their best to deal with things.  The men had spent endless hours discussing how they could help their submissives heal.

Piers had had better luck than Rich.  Planning their daughter Adrienne’s second birthday had given his wife Elly new purpose.  Not even thoughts of mermaids in the Roman villa’s saltwater pool could dispel the remorse that clouded Tory’s eyes and dampened her spirit like a shroud.

He’d been with Tory a year now.  The first five months had been the happiest of his life.

Until Tory’s sister-in-law lost her baby and his ginger-haired witch lost her fire.

He wanted his old Tory back.  The one who teased him.  Who challenged him.  The beautiful English heiress who had captivated him even before she had dared to cast a love spell using candle magick.  She was locked in there, somewhere.

He just needed to find the key.

Chapter One

February 14, 2019

Victoria St. Leger watched her brother Piers show his daughter the pair of lit candles topping Adrienne’s birthday cake.  Before this, Adrienne had played with the other children, alternately digging for treasures in a temporary sandbox and watching the three mermaids who swam the length of the pool, spending as much time below the surface as above.

The far end of the room had been cordoned off.  An attendant was in place to ensure that the Peter Pan-themed party remained private.  Replay’s Roman villa was one of the most popular places to play, but separation between the orgy room and the Roman baths was necessary.  Tonight was a time for family and friends to celebrate Adrienne St. Leger’s second birthday and to share the innocent joys of a child.

Piers helped his daughter blow out her candles.  Adrienne clapped her chubby hands and chortled with glee.  Her mother Eleanor cut a small piece for the birthday girl, a bigger one for daddy, and yielded the cake knife to Nanny.  Wearing a mobcap, Victorian dress, and period apron, Nanny looked ready to take the stage in James Barrie’s classic play.

Replay’s head of security Marcus Vos had been the obvious choice for Captain Hook.  Sir Marcus’s submissive, local librarian Gini Shelton, was perfect to play Wendy.  Steampunk author Jeremy Randall had assumed the role of Peter Pan, while his Dominant Sir Courtney Reynolds played a pirate tonight.

Actually, most of the men here were pirates.  The exceptions were Piers, playing George Darling, and the band of Sioux warriors led by the former MMA star known as “Savage Joe” Greene.  In real life, Jody Greene was a life coach and personal trainer.  Tonight, he was a war chief and lead Dominant for the band clustered by the teepee in the far corner of the room.  The traditional Plains Indian dwelling provided the perfect backdrop for the Native American beauty portraying Tiger Lily.  Tory hoped to get a chance to introduce herself to the exotic-looking submissive, but she’d been placed in charge of the sandbox.  She was effectively chained until the children grew bored or all the treasures had been found.

Tory’s Dominant Rich Franklin wore his early eighteenth-century pirate garb with comfortable familiarity.  He was one of the few who’d come armed with a cutlass at his side and a brace of non-firing pistols strapped to his chest.  With his dark hair, scruff of beard, and six-feet, three-inches of sculpted muscles, he could play an intimidating brigand.  Tonight, he was saving his scowls for Savage Joe.

The former fighter had admired Tory’s cleavage as much as the seashells woven in her hair.

Playing a landlocked mermaid tonight, she had traded her tail for bare legs, billowing skirts, and babysitting duties.  The oldest child here was eight-year-old Alexis MacDonald.  The daughter of Scottish billionaire Micheil MacDonald and his second wife Rowena had donned fairy wings to play Tinkerbell.  She’d been a great help in making sure that the two-year-olds Kristoffer Falk and Adrienne St. Leger kept entertained.  At six-and-a-half months, Nikolas Alexander Moldovan was as apt to eat sand as dig in it.  He spent most of the time bouncing on Tory’s legs, watching the other children dig for seashells, rocks, and trinkets.  Excavated treasures were brushed off and added to gallon-sized tin pails.

Nikolas’s mother Leigh Ann—actress Ashley Slade—still had weight restrictions following her successful back surgery.  Nanny and Tory had taken over baby duties, freeing Ashley and her husband Master Sorin to enjoy adult conversation with the other Dominants and submissives who were close friends or relatives of the St. Legers.  Being on this side of the pond, the only other paternal family member here was their cousin Alex Boulton.  Alex was engaged in a lively conversation with his partner Dmitry Chezhekov and resort psychiatrist Sir Josef, speaking German while their submissives Lara Eastman, Luc Vashon, and Aubrey Wolfe visited with each other using an odd mix of French, German, and English.

Replay’s three adult Valentine’s parties would start soon.  Once Adrienne’s birthday celebration ended, the children would go with Nanny to the St. Leger estate and the grownups would seek their pleasures here at the hedonistic Roman villa, in Replay One’s merry Tudor banquet hall, or in the ominous Citadel on the RACK side of Replay resort.

They would be ferried by the resort to their next destination.  Rich’s car was parked at Piers and Eleanor’s where they planned to spend the night, two doors removed from the noise of Alex, Lara, and Dmitry’s room.

Master Sorin and Ashley were headed for the Citadel, revisiting where they’d fallen for each other on the dark side of the resort.  Well, they’d done more than fall.  Nine months later, their weekend dividend Nikolas was born.

Tory bounced the baby on her hip and waited until his father claimed him before taking a piece of cake and joining her family.  Eleanor made a beautiful Mary Darling to Piers’s George.  Adrienne was a magnificent mess with icing everywhere—fingers, face, and hair.  A true daddy’s girl, she was content in her father’s arms, which proved detrimental to his dark suit but saved his wife’s gown.  The suit was more easily cleaned, and sparing the dress would keep them in better graces with wardrobe mistress Jewell Fraser.

Eleanor should have had a five-month-old baby in her arms, too, but they’d lost Catherine early in the third trimester.  Tory’s sister-in-law was one of those women who had trouble carrying.  Tory knew her brother wanted more children, but she had to wonder if it was worth the risk.

Piers had almost lost Eleanor, too.

Guilt clawed at her soul, ripping at her heart, reminding her of how she’d practically dragged Eleanor out of the house.  It will be good for you, she’d told her.  She had made her walk.  Made her rest.  Made her split a favorite dessert at lunch.

That’s when the pain started.

One bite and their dreams of the future were shattered in an instant.  She could still hear Eleanor’s keening cry and the sound of her fork dropping onto the floor.

“Where did you go?”

The sound of Rich’s voice pulled Tory from the traumatic past to the bittersweet present.  She forced a smile and offered a half-truth.  “I was thinking about desserts.”

Rich dropped his gaze to the barely-touched birthday cake.  His dark eyes narrowed speculatively.  For a moment, she was afraid that he would challenge her.

He rubbed a hand over his beard stubble and blew out softly.

He’d become an expert at masking his emotions, too.

Poor man.  She didn’t know what she’d done to deserve him.  She was lucky that he put up with her moody English arse.

“Are you finished?” he asked.

She’d forced herself to eat two bites, which was two more than normal.  “Yes, Sir.”

“Let’s take our leave and get our cloaks.  No offense to Sir Piers and Elly, but it’s not just Adrienne’s birthday.  It’s our anniversary and Valentine’s Day.  What I want to do with you isn’t safe to be seen at work, let alone at a children’s party.”

The gleam in Rich’s eye was unmistakable.  A delicious shiver raced down her spine.  He’d been tight-lipped about his plans for tonight.  The suspense was driving her crazy.

The blindfold that he added only made things worse.  Putting a possessive hand on the small of her back, he guided her to the vehicle that would take them to their next destination.

That ruled out playing at the Roman villa.  The other parties were at the Tudor banquet hall and the Citadel where risk-aware consensual kink took place.  If Master Sorin and his submissive wife had ridden with them, she would have known where they would end up.  As it was, she could only guess.

Attuned to her, Rich sensed her anxiety and grasped her hand while they rode.  Thankfully, Piers had let the birthday guests take modern conveyances instead of caravanning them to the villa in horse-drawn wagons.  Judging from the feel of the seats and the ease of entry, they were probably in one of the resort limousines.

It pulled to a stop.  Rich opened the door, stepped out, and reached to help her exit.  “Watch your step,” he said, pulling her to join him in the chill night air.  “The surface is uneven.”

Tory’s stomach clenched when she realized where they were.  The Citadel.  He’d brought her to the dark side.  The Tudor hall was at Replay One, whose poured concrete entrance was a smooth, modern surface.  The Citadel resembled a Gothic mansion with a cobblestone drive and a paved-brick path to the massive entrance door.

She was familiar with the exterior because of the landscaping that she had done at the resort.  After moving to America, she’d put her degrees in horticulture and botany to work.  Most of her time was spent in the Conservatory at Replay One.  Last summer, she’d designed a Japanese garden with space for the Bonsai trees that she was training.  She would finish the landscaping after construction on the Samurai village was done.

Thankful that she was wearing ballet flats, not heels, she crossed the small width of cobblestones with Rich’s guidance and walked with him to the entrance.  As soon as they were inside, he led her down a long hall and into a room that smelled of leather, metal, and freshly washed fabrics.  Wardrobe.

“Leave your blindfold on,” Rich told her.  “You are to do whatever Lilith says.  If for any reason the blindfold comes loose, you are to close your eyes and keep them closed until it’s refastened.  Do you understand?”

His Dom voice raised gooseflesh on her arms.  “Yes, Sir,” she answered, acknowledging his orders.  Curiosity killed cats and got bratty subs in trouble.  She figured that she already had punishment coming for something or other.  Rich had the memory of an elephant when it came to keeping track of things.  She’d be lucky to escape with a spanking.  Goddess only knew what they did for discipline here.

Tory stood, blind and mute as a mannequin while the wardrobe assistant removed the mermaid ornaments from her hair and stripped off her clothes.  Nudity didn’t bother her.  She went sky-clad inside the sacred circles that she cast on sabbats and new and full moons.  But while she relished connecting to Mother Earth through the soles of her feet during rituals, she usually wore slippers or socks or both when she was indoors.

Having bare feet during scenes always made her feel vulnerable.  Tonight was no exception.

Lilith helped her into a coarse chemise that felt scratchy against her skin.  Beneath it, Tory was naked from her crown to the tips of her toes.  She wanted to fidget.  She forced herself to stay still.  Booted footsteps sounded, stopping in front of where she stood.  Robbed of sight, she inhaled deeply and recognized the scent of Rich’s body wash.

“It’s time,” he said.  “Come.”

Chapter Two

The word “play” didn’t enter Tory’s mind when she thought of the RACK side of the resort.  Her imagination went wild, envisioning the worst. 

Oddly, Rich’s silence was as foreboding as anything.  He’d barely said a word after leaving the wardrobe department.  She had no idea what he was wearing or what time period they would immerse themselves in, whether it was the actual RACK party or a private scene.

It felt as if they’d walked the length of the Citadel before reaching their destination.  Tory stepped through a door and immediately felt the difference from the hallway.  There was a stone floor beneath her feet and a telling warmth to the room.  Wherever they were, she was fairly certain that she would be stripped, her flesh laid bare for exhibition or punishment or both.

Rich pulled off her gown and bound her hands with rough hemp rope.  Making certain that it wasn’t wrapped too tightly, he caught the middle of her rope cuffs on a hook and hoisted her arms into the air, stopping when her soles were barely flat on the floor.  Another pull, and she’d be balancing her weight on the balls of her feet.

Rich moved behind her and undid her blindfold.  She blinked, letting her eyes adjust to the light.  Dozens of candles were scattered around the room.  Torches glowed in forged metal holders that jutted from ancient stone walls.  The whole space seemed hewn of rock.  Carved pillars rose from paved floors to support a vaulted stone ceiling.

One wall boasted a heavy medieval-style door, hewn of wood and studded with nails.  The chamber looked like it had been plucked from an actual castle or monastery and teleported here.  Piers would have done it, too, if it meant preserving a piece of history that would otherwise have been lost.

A clutch of black-robed priests and wimpled nuns stood to one side of the chamber.  Beyond them knelt five penitents, dressed in gleaming white robes and pointed hoods.  Even if she weren’t in this ancient space, she knew enough history to not assign them to a more modern era.  Their outfits predated the American Civil War by centuries.  The hoods were capirotes, worn during the Spanish Inquisition by penitents who would be flogged until their backs bled.

It wasn’t yet Lent, but that didn’t stop the first one from being stripped and bound to a whipping post facing her.

She recognized Conner from the eighteenth-century scenes that he’d done at the Georgian House.  When Rich slid his hands around her to cup her breasts and play with them, Conner didn’t even try to avert his gaze.  Instead, he focused on her and accepted the first lash of the whip on his back.

Tory flinched to see his reaction.  Pain twisted his features.  Watching her being fondled, knowing that she was out of his reach, just seemed to make it worse.

The next stripe fell.  The Dominant in priestly black robes wielded the whip like an extension of himself, each stroke as intimate as a bare-handed spanking.

“Watch,” Rich ordered when she started to look away.  “He thinks he needs to be punished, like his PTSD is his fault.  He feels responsible for what happened to his unit and guilty because he’s one of the few who survived.  You and I know that he’s not to blame, but he doesn’t see it that way, does he?”

“No, Sir,” she breathed, flinching when the next stroke fell.

Rich made her watch until Conner was let down and led away, headed for aftercare by one of the nuns.

Another man took his place.  Tory blanched when she saw that it was Luc Vashon and the priest wielding the whip was Replay psychiatrist Sir Josef.  This time, the scene didn’t end with a whipping.  Sir Josef tossed the whip aside, pulled up his robe, and impaled his submissive in one impassioned thrust that made Luc gasp and moan.

He took Luc where he stood, then freed him and led him away for aftercare.

Tory was a mass of seething lust by the time the fifth and final man was whipped.  Rich had kept her aroused and hovering on the brink of orgasm for what seemed like an hour.  She didn’t know how long that they had been here, but she was swollen and needy and craved Rich’s possession.

The whip-wielding priest scared her.  When he walked past the whipping post and stalked towards her, she instinctively shrank against Rich, silently begging her Dominant to protect her.

The priestly Dom had the look of a Spaniard about him.  Black hair.  Dark eyes.  Skin that looked kissed by the sun.  He spoke in accented English.  “I have seen your contract.  Are there any changes that you wish to make?”

Tory had reviewed its terms three months after meeting Rich, once she’d had a chance to observe the scenes at Replay and had a better understanding of what she was agreeing to.

“No, Sir,” she croaked.

His sculpted lips tilted in the barest hint of a smile.  “I am Don Diego,” he rumbled.  “In Brazil, we would call you a bruxa.  A witch.  You are a woman of power but for good or evil?  Not that it matters.  Tonight, you will be purified.  Bring her.”

Rich lowered her bound hands.  Tory’s arms ached from being extended for so long.  Rich rubbed at the tension, working her muscles once from the base of her neck to her wrists.  Cupping her shoulders, he guided her to stand beneath what looked like an oxen yoke with metal rings dangling from it.

It was the medieval equivalent of a spreader bar.

Don Diego lowered it from the ceiling.  Not to the floor, thank goodness.  She didn’t think she could take being strung upside-down.  She was freaking out enough when Rich untied her wrists and lashed each hand to one end of the yoke before it was hauled back up.

They didn’t stop until she was standing on her toes, feeling as close to a panic attack as she’d ever been.  Taking another bullwhip that he wielded with such skill, Don Diego ran the lethal leather coils down her sides, across her buttocks, and up her spine.

He stepped closer.  Close enough that she could feel the heat of his body and feel his breath stir her hair.

“Confess,” he rumbled.  “Unburden your soul.  What do you have to say, my child?”

Tory shivered, as much from Don Diego’s words as from the searing heat in Rich’s eyes.  But no words came.

Instead, there was a long moment of silence, then the lightning crack of the whip that left a fiery stripe on her skin.

Tory thought that she could take a lot, but the bullwhip was nearly too much for her to bear.  Rich was kinder in his discipline.  Firm but fair, he preferred rewards to threats of punishment.  Psychologically, she didn’t know if he would have been able to whip her.  He had spanked her and flogged her, but whips were far beyond the level of anything that they’d done.  She could tell that he was forcing himself to watch, yet he also enjoyed having her at their mercy.  His body didn’t lie.  There was a telltale tent in the front of his robe.

He wasn’t the only one who was excited.  When Don Diego inspected his work, he grasped her hips and pushed his pelvis into her backside, letting her feel his arousal. 

Rich knew what was happening and was okay with it.  His silence spoke volumes. 

He was letting this happen. 

Tory wondered what he had planned with the Brazilian Dom.  Thinking wildly, she rechecked her list of hard and soft limits and realized that she had opened herself to a lot of possibilities, including being shared.

Rich had never offered her to another Dom.  She wondered if this was part of her punishment, to be given away…?

The thought hurt.  Even worse, what if he didn’t want her anymore?

Desperate and desolate, she frantically sought out her Dominant, praying that she’d see reassurance, not rejection.  One look at Rich and her worst fear was allayed.  His eyes were hooded with lust.  His fingers were wrapped around his arousal.  There was no doubt that he wanted her.  He wanted her badly.

“Confess,” Don Diego whispered in her ear and bit it.  Tory moaned.  Her skin erupted in gooseflesh from head to toe at the sensual promise in his voice.  “Tell me what I wish to hear, or taste the whip again.”

“I don’t know!” she bleated.  “I don’t know what you want!”

“Think on it,” he crooned.  Stepping back, he swung the whip and made another stripe on her hip.

She looked at Rich, silently begging.  Her mouth formed a plea that only he could read.  Help me….

Rich caught her jaw and kissed her fiercely.  “Tell him,” he grated.  “Tell him about Catherine.  About Elly.  About us.”

Us?

Stunned by his choice of words, Tory searched Rich’s eyes.  She knew that she had changed.  Eleanor’s miscarriage had affected her so much that it was negatively impacting their relationship.  Rich had the patience of Job, but everyone had a breaking point.  How close had she pushed him to his?

She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him.  For years, she had looked for her perfect mate.  She’d finally met him a year ago on Valentine’s Day, but these past few months, they’d been living with the strain of her family’s loss.  Strain that she had only added to.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.  “I’ve made a mess of things, haven’t I?  Oh, god...”

“Sir Richard,” he corrected.  “You’ve blamed yourself for too long, duchess.  Tell me.  Tell me and make me believe it.”

Don Diego stepped back.  Putting the distance he needed between them, he shook out the length of braided leather and readied it for his next punitive strike.

Tory braced herself for another lash.  There was no way that she could convince Rich until she believed it herself.  “I’m sorry, Sir,” she said, dropping her gaze.  “I just… I can’t…”

He gripped her head and forced her to look at him.  “You can,” he insisted, a fierceness to his voice that said he would stand and fight beside her if only she would let him.  “Tell me,” he ordered.  “What happened to Elly was unfortunate but it wasn’t your fault.  She was lucky that you were there and got her the help that she needed.  You stayed with her.  You lent her your strength when hers was failing.  You kept her anchored until Piers could reach her.  You comforted them both in their grief, but their loss was not your fault.  Don’t you understand that?  Can’t you see?”

It was as close to begging as she’d ever heard him.  Knowing that she’d brought him to this point only compounded her guilt.

“I want to,” she said, feeling the hot sting of tears tracking down her cheeks.  “It just—it feels like I should have been able to do something.  Anything.  Maybe if we’d stayed home—”

“Stop!” Rich growled.  “Stop right there!  She’d already lost the baby.  Staying home wouldn’t have changed that.  She was ten minutes closer to the hospital where you were.  She had ten minutes more of professional medical help that she wouldn’t have had if she’d been home, all because she chose to go with you.  There may be no such things as coincidences, but that sounds pretty serendipitous to me.  You couldn’t save the baby but you very likely saved Eleanor’s life.  Have you thought of that?”

Tory stopped breathing for a moment.  He was right.  He was right.  Ten minutes for someone in Elly’s condition might well be the difference between life and death.  Going out hadn’t put Elly at risk.  It had given her ten precious minutes when every second mattered.

Rich’s words chipped away at the wall of grief and guilt that surrounded her heart.  She’d heard it all before.  The time had come to listen… and try her best to believe.

“It’s not my fault,” she whispered.  Searching his eyes, she saw the truth of her words written in their depths.  “It’s not my fault,” she said more firmly.  “None of it.  I was there when she needed me.  It’s not my fault.”

“Duchess,” he breathed, smiling with sweet relief.  Fisting her hair, he angled his head and kissed her, plundering her mouth as thoroughly as the pirate he loved to portray.

Tory felt Don Diego behind her.  He grasped her hips and let her feel his erection against her back.

Rich straightened, breaking off their kiss.  Meeting Don Diego’s gaze over her shoulder and nodding, he looked at her and asked, “What’s your safeword?”

Tory shivered, thinking of all the scenarios where she might need one.  “Molasses to slow and dime to stop.”  She’d learned a lot of Americanisms since moving here, including slow as molasses and stop on a dime.  She never used them in everyday speech but she had no problem invoking them when she bottomed.

Rich crooked a grin.  “That’s my girl.  I’m so proud of you.  Don Diego is proud of you.  We’d both like to reward you.  A Valentine’s Day treat from your list of potentials.  You said that you were open to trying a threesome.  Don Diego was willing to help you confess.  I think he can be persuaded to help with this, too.”

Feeling the Don’s arousal against her back, she didn’t doubt it.  But she knew from her cousin Alex’s relationship, having two Doms could get complex.  They’d learned to make clear which one controlled the scene.  That way, their submissive Lara knew whose voice to obey first.  The other must wait his turn.

From all accounts, their partner Dmitry preferred being in charge.  Don Diego was only a little less intimidating than Lara’s Russian bear.  But the singer’s secret smiles after a night of passion had made Tory wonder what it would be like to have the attention of two men.

Rich was offering her the chance to find out.

Meeting her Dominant’s searching gaze, she smiled and gave him the answer that he’d hoped for.  “Whatever pleases you, Sir.”

Chapter Three

Don Diego bit the back of Tory’s neck, eliciting a moan that echoed from the cavernous stone walls.

Rich cupped her breasts and squeezed them, making her nipples peak and her core clench.  Being whipped had her as primed and ready as if she had been given an erotic spanking.  Just guessing, she’d say that the fear factor had heightened things.  A few strokes of the bullwhip had catapulted her into a state of arousal that could take fifty swats with a bare hand to achieve.

Rich bent his head.  Fastening his mouth over her nipple, he sucked it into his mouth to torment with his teeth and tongue.  Don Diego pushed his hand between her legs and felt just how wet she was.  Coating his fingers with her juices, he slid a single digit inside her pussy and began fucking her with it.  Keeping his mouth on her left nipple, Rich squeezed her right breast and slid his other hand south.  Seeking and finding her clitoris, he coaxed it from its hood.

Don Diego added a second finger and pumped his arm, jacking into her until she was so wet, her juices trickled down her thighs.  Rich kissed his way south until he was kneeling on the floor at her feet.  Leaning, he licked her slit and flicked her clit with the hardened tip of his tongue.  Circling the sensitive bud, he pressed the flat of his tongue against it then flicked and circled it again.

Don Diego added a third finger and nipped at the curve of her shoulder.  Rich gripped her thighs to hold her still when her legs began to tremble.  It was too much.

“I need to come,” she rasped.  “Please, Sir!”

“Not yet,” Rich said, then resumed his sensual torment.

Behind her, the Brazilian Dom withdrew his hand and took off his robe.  Tory heard the rustle of fabric, the sound of sandal-shot feet on stone, the pop of a cork from a bottle.

He returned naked, sheathed, and oiled.

He added more oil to his condom and to her.  He lubricated her pelvic floor then started prepping her arse, anointing her outside and in, making her slick and stretching her out with his large, calloused fingers.  When she could take three, she felt him guide the head of his uncircumcised penis to her opening and push his way inside.

Sir Richard rose, rubbing her front with his body until he was standing against her, holding her in place while another man tunneled in her dark passage and filled her with his length.  The other Dom felt nearly as big as Richard.  She breathed a bit easier, knowing that she could handle him, at least.  The thought of taking both of them made her pussy grow wetter.

Breath hissed between the Don’s teeth.  He snapped his hips and drove into her, not stopping until he was balls-deep in her backdoor.  Richard fisted her hair and kissed her fiercely, plundering her mouth like a pirate bent on claiming her treasures.  He did so with his mouth, his hands, his cock.  Stroking his crown on her oil-slicked seam, he parted her folds and pushed inside, forging his way deeper, the way made tighter by Don Diego’s possession.

The feel of the two men, buried inside her, their erections separated by only a thin wall of tissue, was incredible.  The couple’s equivalent—using a dildo in her pussy while Rich took her arse—couldn’t compare to the sensations of being caught between two men, with four hands, two mouths, and two cocks to stimulate and claim her.

Not that she wanted two men in her life.  Rich was quite enough.  But from his descriptions of the scenes aboard Replay’s pirate ship, she knew that he’d done threesomes before they met.  She had wondered if he missed it.  Now she knew.  This was something that he’d arranged for them to experience together, bringing pleasure to them both.

She curled her fingers into fists, wishing that her hands were free to weave into Rich’s hair or reach behind and grab onto Don Diego’s arse.  The pace that the other Dom set was demanding.  His lungs labored like a marathon runner.  His swarthy skin grew slick with sweat.

Tory felt a familiar tension taking hold of her core, building toward release.  “May I come, Sir?” she begged Rich, hoping that he’d say yes before her body betrayed her.

Rich caught her nipples in the vise of his fingers.  “Yes,” he hissed, pulling and twisting them, setting off the charge that made her explode.  Her walls squeezed tight, spasming around him and milking his length.  He shoved into her and grunted to completion, pouring himself inside her, filling her with his cum. 

Don Diego was close behind.  Gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, he buried his cock inside her and growled, biting her neck and filling his condom.

Neither man was quick to end it.  They stayed, hips locked and cocks softening while they petted and praised her.

Tory felt like purring.  No wonder Lara was all smiles at breakfast, regardless of how sore she was.

Don Diego was the first to leave her.  He grasped the edge of his condom and pulled out.

Rich was still half-hard inside her.  With her backdoor sensitive from being fucked, she gasped when Rich snaked his hand around her and pushed two fingers into her star.

Tory bit her lip and moaned.

Encouraged by her reaction, he snapped his hips and ground her clitoris against his pubic bone, making her purr with pleasure.

His cock swelled inside her, readying for another round.

“Yes,” she whispered.  “Goddess, yes…”

Eventually, they let her down.  Don Diego freed one wrist.  Rich untied the other.  Both men checked her hands and rubbed them until they were warm again.  Aftercare included a healing cream for her stripes, chocolate, and bottled water while lying draped over two masculine laps.

She was so relaxed, she was on the verge of falling asleep when the Brazilian Dom asked Rich about the auto-da-fé.  If Rich hadn’t paused in petting her hair, she might have missed it.

“What?” she asked, curious now.  Whatever it was, it was something significant.

Rich didn’t answer immediately.  “This year’s party theme at the Citadel is the auto-da-fé, where confessions were forced and heretics were burned.”

Tory shivered.  Heretics included witches, regardless of how gentle and pure their souls were.

“Fire play,” he continued.  “They’re doing fire play.  It was my last option if this didn’t work, but you did it, duchess.  You released your guilt and handled us both.”  His eyes glowed with pride when he added, “I love you, Tory.”

She basked in the emotion that shone from his eyes.  “And I love you, Sir.  But I know that you’re interested in fire play.  This would give you a chance to learn it.  I can watch with you or you can watch another Dom do it on me, whatever works best for you.”

Rich spoke for both of them when he asked Don Diego to join them.  The men donned their black robes.  Fetching her homespun peasant’s garb and blindfold, Rich helped her into the chemise and looped the blindfold around her wrist, leaving one end long enough to use as a lead.  Don Diego opened the heavy nail-studded door and held it for them, falling into step with Rich while Tory followed them down the hall.

Like Replay One, the Citadel had the feel of a labyrinth, with halls branching off, leading to who knew where.  Thankfully, Don Diego was a regular on the RACK side of the resort.  He easily guided them to the hall where the Valentine’s party was well underway.

Like the chamber that they’d started in, this one looked like it has been shipped and reassembled from a fortress stronghold in Europe.  From the nail-studded door to the stone interior, its walls echoed with voices of the past.  Tonight, it held Dominants, switches, and submissives dressed in medieval Spanish garb.  Priests and nuns.  Lords and ladies.  Townsfolk.  Servants and serfs.  Given the roughness of her gown, Tory had to wonder if she was playing the latter.

A number of heavy wooden tables were scattered about the room.  Each had been covered in treated cloth that would protect the surface and keep it from catching on fire.  Each tabletop held a nude submissive lying stretched out on it, attended by the Dominant doing the fire play.  Every station was surrounded by voyeurs.

Rich found Master Sorin and his submissive wife in the crowd and took Tory to stand beside them.  Leigh Ann—better known as actress Ashley Slade—was waiting her turn on the table.  The two women watched, listened, and learned.

One table over, the fire play included cupping.  Pinch-necked glass vessels were heated and placed on the skin, drawing it up into them.  The table beyond that had wet cupping, where the skin had been pierced to make it bleed.

Their table was tamer.  A Dominant that Tory didn’t recognize swabbed alcohol on his sub’s body.  Long lines down the length of her legs and circles around her nipples.  He used his wand like a miniature torch, touching it to the alcohol to light it.  He chased the flames racing up the sub’s body with his hand, making certain that they burned briefly enough to not hurt her.  The sub seemed to be enjoying the flashes of heat followed by the strokes of his palm.  Tory held her breath when he lit her breast on fire.  The nipple was engulfed in flame but only for a moment.  The Dominant rubbed it away and lovingly squeezed her breast, praising her for her bravery.

Leigh Ann—Ashley—was next in line.  Because of her recent back surgery, Master Sorin had extra padding put down, including a pillow for her head, allowing her to lie on her side for their session.  He used the same technique but put alcohol on the sides of her arms and legs rather than the tops or backs.  At one point, he had her lie on her back with her knees bent and set her breasts on fire, chasing the flames with his hand.  When they were finished, Master Sorin helped his wife sit up.  Sweeping her into his arms, he carried her away.

“Are you ready?” Rich asked Tory.

“Yes, Sir.”  She was intrigued by what she had seen.  She knew that every precaution was being taken to avoid injury, but there were at least two doctors attending tonight.  She didn’t want to imagine a failure, but help was close at hand if an accident did happen.

“Strip,” he ordered, “and climb on the table.  Sir Leo is setting up for you.  Don Diego and I will watch.”

Tory’s gaze sought out the new Dom.  She froze when she recognized Leonidas Worth, lead singer and founder of the classic rock band WORTH.  The musician-turned-actor had recently brought Rich a 1935 Pierce Silver Arrow to restore.  He had purchased it after his first Oscar nomination.  He was up for another one this year—not for acting this time but for best original score.  Leonidas was currently writing the music for the screen adaptation of Jeremy Randall’s Iron Domination steampunk graphic novel.

Sir Leo was about six feet tall, with dark brown hair, dark eyes, and full, pink lips framed by an impressive growth of beard.  He had stripped to the waist for their session, revealing colorful tattoos that covered his neck, arms, and upper chest like a cape.

Mentally pinching herself, Tory took off her robe, climbed on the table, and lay on her back, nervous to experience fire play and excited to be paired with Leonidas—Sir Leo.

The celebrity Dom noted her pose and nodded his approval.  “Good girl,” he hummed.  “I spoke to Sir Richard when he was planning this evening.  I’ve seen your list of limits.  Before we get started, is there anything that you would like to change?”

Dear goddess.  Rich’s anniversary surprises just kept coming.  First Don Diego’s whip, then their ménage, now fire play with Grammy artist and Oscar winner Leonidas Worth.

Trying to not sound star-struck, she responded, “No, Sir.  Not that I can think of.”

“Very well.  What are your safewords?”

“Molasses to slow and dime to stop.”

His lips quirked in a hint of a smile.  “Molasses to slow and dime to stop it is.  If you are ready, let us begin.”

The first line of alcohol went on her forearm.  It burned so quickly, there was barely time to feel the heat.  It seemed to burn a little brighter and hotter on one leg, maybe because he used more alcohol there.  He drew a bull’s eye on her breast and set the ring on fire.  Her nipples were already hard.  The flash of heat and the sweep of his hand over her breast was one of the most sensual things she’d ever felt.  Encouraged by her response, Sir Leo had Rich and Don Diego hold her ankles apart while he teased between her legs with fire.  He brought the wand close enough for her to feel the heat but stopped short of touching her with it.

She dearly hoped that Rich was taking notes.

By the time Sir Leo finished, Tory was a quivering mess.

Sir Leo released her into Rich’s care, but the two hands that reached to help her off the table belonged to Sir Richard and Don Diego.

Rich kissed her mouth.  The other Dom nipped the back of her neck.

“Don Diego has a private room in the Citadel,” Rich told her.  “He’s invited us to do your aftercare there.”

Tory studied the two Doms.  From the looks of things, there would be more than arnica cream involved.  Remembering the scene that they’d done earlier and the orgasms that they’d given her, she wasn’t about to dampen their excitement.  If anything, she wanted to fan the flames and make them burn brighter.

“Whatever pleases you, Sirs,” she told them huskily, making promises with her eyes that her body was more than ready to keep.  She was smiling when they led her away, headed for another threesome.

Rich’s idea of an anniversary ménage might be unconventional but knowing that the men’s pleasure would be hers as well, Tory was more than willing to be their naughty Valentine.

AUTHOR’S BIOGRAPHY

Nia Farrell is the author of one of The 50 Best Indie Books of 2016, a four-times Golden Flogger Finalist, and a founding member of the Wicked Pens.  She has been published in erotic romance since 2015.

AUTHOR LINKS

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~ SERIES ~

THE THREE GRACES SERIES by Nia Farrell

REPLAY SERIES by Nia Farrell

AVENGING ANGELS MC SERIES by Nia Farrell

CRIME FAMILY VALUES SERIES by Nia Farrell  

MADE IN RUSSIA SERIES by Nia Farrell  

FOREVER OURS SERIES by Nia Farrell  

WICKED CHRISTMAS SERIES by Nia Farrell  

TOUCH THE WIND SERIES

by Nia Farrell writing as Erinn Ellender Quinn  

UNBILLABLE HOURS SERIES

by Nia Farrell writng as Ree L. Diehl

~ SINGLE TITLES ~

Dark Moons Rising

Pride and Punishment – An Erotic Retelling of Jane Austen’s Beloved Classic

Wicked Lady

Rules of Engagement

Highland Desire