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  Wide-eyed, Sarah did as he’d ordered. He set the Spanish donkey directly under the O-ring overhead. He took his time positioning it, checking the angle several times before stepping back.

  “Do you know what this is?” he asked.

  “I…I don’t think so.” She eyed it suspiciously, but the way she shifted her weight foot to foot, her knees rubbing together, undoubtedly in an attempt to generate some friction between her legs, told him that while she might be intellectually wary, her submissive side was looking forward to whatever was about to happen.

  “The Spanish donkey, or Spanish horse, or wooden horse, was, like so many things we now use for pleasure, originally a medieval torture device.”

  “A wooden horse.” She sucked her lower lip between her teeth, worrying it.

  “Have you ever been put on one before?” From the way she’d said the name he was guessing she understood what this was.

  “No. I’ve watched scenes where the sub was on one, but it didn’t look like this.”

  “Some people prefer a simpler style. Just a two-by-four on a couple of legs. This one is actually modeled on the original.”

  “Well, that’s terrifying.”

  Devin shot her a glance, but grinned when he saw the small curve that graced her lips.

  “What makes this diabolical,” he said. “Is that eventually it will force you to ‘sit’ down, and put your body weight on your pelvic bone. But that will start to hurt, so in order to relieve that pressure, you’ll rock forward and back, shifting which part of your pussy is bearing your bodyweight.”

  Sarah looked up at the ring, then at him.

  “Yes,” he said. “You can relieve some of the pressure by grabbing a hold of the ring or the strap and lifting up using your arm muscles. You have some very fine arms, so you’ll actually be able to do that. But how long can you hold a pull up?”

  “Not that long,” she admitted.

  “Time to mount up. I’ll help you.”

  “Mount up.” Her lips twitched, but the amusement fled when he grabbed her by the waist, tugging her directly alongside the piece of equipment.

  Before she had time to panic, Dev bent, grabbed her leg by hooking his hand around the back of her knee, and swung her leg over. For a moment she was poised with one butt cheek on the ridge-like top, but he grabbed her hips, shifting her over.

  Once Sarah was straddling the Spanish donkey, he stepped back to check the height of the device. The point of this was to put her in a stress position, that, when coupled with the discomfort and bondage, would reinforce her submission. Even better, she’d be going through all of this in front of an audience. She would watch them, as they watched her squirm and shift and struggle.

  They’d had an audience for the flogging too, but he doubted she’d been aware of them.

  Sarah watched him as he took a knee and removed her shoes, then cleared away the area around her feet, tossing her discarded garments into a corner.

  “Want to know more about what’s going to happen?” he asked. “I could leave it a surprise, but I personally think sometimes knowing what’s coming is a different, better, kind of torture.”

  “I’ve never liked surprises,” she murmured, her attention on the ground and she found her balance, managing to straddle the Spanish donkey, keeping an inch of space between the top and her leather-protected pussy.

  “First of all.” Dev stroked her thigh as he stood. “As you can see, the height is set so your feet touch. Back when this was used for actual torture, your feet would be off the ground, maybe with weights on your ankles.”

  At that she glanced up. “Should I thank you for not torturing me like a medieval witch?”

  “I think they mostly used this on men.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “That makes sense. This would be worse with a scrotum I think.”

  Dev cupped a hand over his crotch and winced. She giggled, and damn it, that was cute.

  When the amusement faded, he felt his dark desire to dominate her, hurt her in ways that brought her pleasure, come rushing back.

  “Because the top piece is triangular, and just over a foot wide at the bottom, it’s keeping your legs spread. That’s going to make it harder for you to stay on your feet. Your legs will get tired, or your feet will start to slide—”

  “Ah, that’s why you took my shoes.”

  “—and then you’re back to having your weight on your pussy.”

  He watched her shift, testing what he’d said. Her face turned serious with concentration. For a minute he thought he was going to have to come up with a way to tie down her legs, maybe a spreader bar, because Sarah managed to grab hold of the strap just above the ring and lift herself nearly a foot off the ground using only the strength of her arms.

  “Damn girl,” he muttered. That was seriously impressive.

  “Spreader bar!” Someone called out from behind him. “Spreader bar with weights.”

  He might have to resort to that, but Sarah lowered herself, breathing heavily, if not hard. He doubted she’d be able to do that for long, plus most submissives didn’t try to break out of their bondage, even if they could. This was BDSM, not escape artistry.

  He contemplated her leather underwear. “When I saw what you were wearing I figured your guardian angel was looking out for you. You’ll have a bit more protection with those than you would if you had something thin on…or if your pussy was bare.”

  “So this is really all about how long I can hold myself up…and how much abuse my pussy can take?” The last words were breathy.

  “Yes, and we could leave it there, but…”

  Dev leaned down to scoop up the coil of rope. He unwound it, then found the midpoint, and folded it over on itself so it was half as long.

  Stroking his free hand over her bare breasts, pausing to tweak and caress the nipples, he leaned in to whisper in her ear.

  “Tell me, Sarah, are you going to lean forward and grind your clit against it? Are you turned on enough that you want that? You rubbed yourself on the handle of the flogger.”

  Her breath caught as she inhaled, then released in a whoosh as he wrapped the doubled rope around her chest just above her breasts, feeding the ends through the loop made by the folded centerpoint.

  Slowly, he wound the rope around her chest, above and below her breasts. As he worked, he asked her what she was feeling, if her leg muscles were tired, if her bare feet were slipping against the wood.

  When he was near the end of the rope, he fed the tails under the bands he’d made, cinching them together. He did it three times, two of the tightening bands on the outside of her breasts, one between them.

  Once done, her upper body was held snug in the rope harness, her breasts plumped and vulnerable. Dev took a minute to appreciate his handiwork, bouncing her tits on his hands, then flicking her nipples hard enough to make her wince and whimper.

  “What hurts?” he asked mercilessly. “Your nipples when I do this?” He flicked them again. “Or is your pussy starting to ache?” He rubbed his fingers over her leather-clad sex as she pushed up onto the balls of her feet, taking the pressure off her pelvic bone.

  “Both,” she whispered, voice high and reedy.

  “There’s one more thing,” he said.

  She whimpered, shaking her head. “Dev…”

  He stopped, assessing her. “Talk to me, Sarah.”

  “I…” but she didn’t say anything, merely looked away after a long moment of silence.

  He dipped his head, caught her gaze with his while reaching out to gently fondle her breasts, thumbs circling the nipples.

  “One more thing,” he said again. “I want you to feel the bondage. Feel my control. If it’s too much, we get rid of it, and the scene keeps going. Same goes for any of this. Understand?”

  She nodded.

  Dev plucked one of the soft multipurpose straps he’d used on her wrists out of the small pile still on the stage.

  “Open your mouth,” he commanded.

  When she obeyed, he pressed the center of the strap between her lips. Winding it around her head once, then a second time, both passes going between her lips and teeth, he fastened it off at the nape of her neck.

  She looked up at him, eyes wide and luminescent. Vulnerable. She was still such a mystery, so different than the woman he’d talked with in the library.

  “The gag isn’t tight or complete; you can make yourself understood if you want to, can’t you?”

  She nodded, but he pinched her nipples gently in warning. “Can’t you?”

  Her muffled “yes” sounded like “yefth.”

  “But, if that’s too hard or you feel like you’re not being heard, you have this.” He held up a bright white handkerchief he’d fished out of his pocket, then pressed it between her palms. Her fingers curled around it.

  “Wave it or drop it to signal you need something. Understand?”

  She nodded, adding a “yefth” when he tweaked her nipple.

  Deciding to indulge himself, Dev bent his head, sucking each of her pretty nipples into his mouth for a taste before stepping back. He took a moment to admire his handiwork, and then to admire the beautiful woman he’d put in such diabolical bondage. She looked soft and vulnerable and he…

  Shit. He wanted to rescue her.

  Dev moved back, out of the way, so the people who’d paused to watch him put her in bondage had a chance to step up to the edge of the stage and admire her. He slid into the shadows on the far side of the courtyard, leaning on a support post.

  He wasn’t supposed to feel this urge to rescue someone when he was here. Las Palmas was where he came to release the dark urges that were the antithesis of his day-job responsibilities. This was where he could safely admit that he wasn’t anyone’
s white knight.

  Yet, as he watched Sarah from the shadows, all he wanted to do was sweep her into his arms and carry her away. Possibly into the sunset while riding on a white horse.

  Shit.

  CHAPTER 7

  Dev checked his watch. Seven minutes since he’d stepped back, eleven total minutes riding the Spanish donkey. He wouldn’t let her go longer than fifteen, despite the fact that she seemed to have sunk into the scene.

  Sarah had her head cradled in her arms, but the intervals between shifting her weight were growing longer, and that meant she was getting tired.

  Right now she was fully sitting on the Spanish donkey, meaning all her bodyweight was on her pelvic bone, and had been for the past seventy-three seconds.

  Given her obvious fitness, he doubted that her leg muscles were too tired for her to lift up onto her toes, so it might be that she was enjoying the pressure-pain. Still, if she didn’t switch position in the next few seconds he’d step in and check on her, because as a Dom, sometimes his job was not pushing a submissive, but reining them in.

  Even as that thought formed he started moving, driven to action half by the need to assess her current status, and half out of a burning need to be close to her. To touch and caress her.

  He decided to circle around the courtyard via the hallway so he wouldn’t distract her if she was in the zone and enjoying herself.

  He was just over a meter away when he heard the quiet sound of her sobs.

  His blood ran cold.

  Sarah cried quietly, pain-fueled panic clawing at her, while outwardly she was still. Accepting of the fate she’d come to expect.

  It was hard to pinpoint what hurt the most.

  Her bad knee twinged. When attempting to stand up on her toes, she’d tried rotating her leg to accommodate the width of the Spanish donkey and her foot slid out from under her in a weird way. She’d felt her knee twist.

  Her fingers had hurt but now were going numb. She’d twisted and repositioned her arms enough that she’d somehow worked the bindings into a weird position that was cutting off circulation to her fingers.

  But that was nothing in comparison to the pain between her spread legs.

  And her pussy was throbbing, and not with arousal. Her pelvic bone felt bruised and tender.

  When Dev had first left her, everything that now hurt had been a source of pleasure. Her bound hands made her feel helpless in the best way. Being astride the Spanish donkey had meant pressing and rubbing her throbbing sex against something while relishing in the lingering sensation from his mouth and fingers on her nipples.

  But that was before.

  Before Dev left and forgot about her.

  Before the people who’d been watching, who’d at first murmured soft admiring words, had started to ignore her.

  She wasn’t sure how long she’d been trapped here, fighting back tears as much from humiliation as from pain. She didn’t think it had been more than an hour, but it felt like longer.

  Why she’d thought this would be different, he would be different, she didn’t know. It didn’t matter what pretense she put on, she was forgettable, ignorable.

  When the first tear fell, Sarah had fought down the sobs, adjusting her arms so she could hide her face. Peeking out between her forearms, she’d watched a group of people sitting on couches and cushions conversing while ignoring her.

  She was in agony, but no one noticed. And even if they had, no one would care.

  Soon her tears weren’t silent, but she managed to keep them quiet. Someone would have to get close to her, pay attention to her, in order to hear her.

  Dev.

  She’d had such hope that he’d be different. No, that wasn’t fair, because it wasn’t him that was the problem, it was her. She’d had hope that she’d be different with him, and this scene wouldn’t end the way the others had.

  But as soon as he could, he’d left. He’d turned her into a piece of ornamentation, no different than one of the plants in this courtyard or the statues in the Iron Court.

  She glanced around the courtyard for the hundredth time, stupid in her stubborn hope that he’d come back, but Dev was gone. Wherever he’d gone, he’d forgotten about her. It wasn’t unexpected, or at least it shouldn’t have been. But it hurt. It hurt so much.

  Now she was quietly crying in earnest, her stomach muscles quaking. At least the gag soaked up her tears. Her fingers clenched around the handkerchief that she knew better than to wave. If she did try to signal for help, signal that she was hurt and hurting, and no one came…well, that would be so much worse.

  It was safer to never ask for help than to ask and be ignored.

  “Sarah!” The shouted word, coupled with the sound of boots on wood in the Constellation Court startled people to their feet. The handful of Doms who’d been sitting with their submissives started moving as they saw Dev—who’d leapt onto the stage—sweep Sarah into his arms.

  Dev kicked the Spanish donkey out of his way. It tumbled off the stage with a heavy clatter.

  “Help me,” Dev snarled.

  One of the Doms raced over, pulling a rescue hook out of his pocket. The small metal hook had a blade embedded in the inner curve, and with one quick swipe he severed the single strap from which Sarah dangled.

  Dev sank to his knees with Sarah in his arms. When he held out his hand, the other man slapped the rescue hook into it. Dev made short work of the bonds on her wrists, tossing the bits of strapping away.

  Another moment and the gag was gone, yanked from her mouth and released to dangle around her throat.

  Master Dante dropped to his knees, two fingers on Sarah’s wrist.

  The chest harness fell away as Dev made short work of the hemp rope.

  A small crowd had gathered around them, someone producing a phone—which they shouldn’t have had outside the Subs’ Garden or Den—ready to call 911.

  “What’s her name?” Master Dante asked with the calm professionalism of a doctor.

  “Sarah, Sarah, talk to me,” Dev ignored the other man, his attention on her. He pushed her hair back from her face. “What happened?”

  For the first time the pretty blonde sub looked up. For a moment her expression was shocked as she looked around, but that faded to…anger?

  “What happened? The same fucking thing that always happens. You left! You ignored me! Even though everything hurt, you ignored me!”

  A gathering murmuring of shock ran through the crowd.

  Her voice broke on a sob. “You forgot about me.”

  Several people turned accusing stares on Dev.

  Dev, who’d been cradling Sarah on his lap, gently set her down on the stage floor. Master Dante scooted back since this was an emotional rather than medical issue.

  “You were in pain?” Dev asked slowly.

  “Don’t act like you fucking care,” Sarah snapped, her gaze sweeping over the crowd, seeming to include everyone in that accusation.

  The angry, accusing words were followed by a sob.

  “And instead of telling me there was a problem—” Dev reached over and tugged on the corner of the white fabric she held clutched in one hand. “You decided to…” his voice trailed off, but rage shimmered in those words.

  “You, all of you, would have ignored it, even if I had used it.”

  Another murmur from the crowd as it became clear that this wasn’t a situation where the Dom had been neglectful.

  The crowd backed away. They’d been ready to offer aid when it appeared this was a medical emergency, then to step in and defend Sarah when they heard the accusation of being ignored.

  That little bit of white fabric changed things. She’d had a safety protocol, a safe word, and she hadn’t used it.

  Sarah’s gaze darted across the faces looking down at her, and the anger drained from her expression, leaving in its place a stark horror.

  The last thing any of them heard was Dev’s low-voiced, furious question. “How about you explain what the fuck is going on?”

  CHAPTER 8

  His anger would have been easy to deal with, to ignore.

  It was the hurt in his gaze that pierced Sarah. She’d been riding a wave of fury and frustration when he first came for her.

  That rage had, originally, been self-directed, because, as always, she was an idiot. An idiot because, when he’d appeared out of nowhere, scooped her up into his arms, her first emotion had been a nameless feeling somewhere between relief and joy.