Free The Plume: The First Anthology by Ella Ardent

sucking on her tongue, insisting that she meet his passion halfway. He cupped her face in his massive leather-clad palm, holding her helpless, just the way she was realizing she liked it. Joanna pressed herself against him, grinding herself against the seat, wanting him to take her over and over again.
    She was lost in the sensation of pleasure, bound and possessed.
    And she was loving it.
    Rafael bit her clitoris, sliding his teeth against it with gentle power, in the same moment that the Master pinched her nipple. Joanna exploded with a shout, her orgasm so powerful that she was left shaking and panting. Rafael coughed, and she felt him move away. Joanna was glad to be bound, glad she didn’t have to stand up or say anything coherent. She shook in the wake of her release.
    She wondered what the Master would do to her next.
    She couldn’t wait to find out.
    “Bad girl,” the Master chided, his voice dangerous and silky. “I didn’t give you permission to come.”
    He unfastened her seatbelt, dumped her over his knee and spanked her hard. His other hand bracketed her waist, holding her firmly against his powerful thighs. Joanna squirmed with outrage, crying out at the smack of leather against her bare buttocks. It didn’t hurt but it was humiliating, not the attention she wanted from him. She wasn’t a little girl. She was a woman and she wanted him to take her like one.
    But no.
    “She will be silent, by choice or not,” the Master said.
    It must have been Rafael who jammed a roll of cloth into her mouth. Joanna struggled to spit it out, but failed. She screamed but made only a faint sound.
    Rafael growled in appreciation.
    The Master spanked her again and again and again, her butt heating with the impact of the leather. Rafael hovered in close proximity. Joanna’s tears flowed and she struggled against the Master’s hold, even knowing it was futile.
    She was silenced.
    Claimed.
    His.
    He stopped when he was satisfied and not one moment before.
    He rolled her easily back to her seat, flung her down and locked her in with the seatbelt again. Her buttocks stung with the impact against the seat but she didn’t dare complain. Tears were running down her face, tears of humiliation, slipping from beneath the blindfold and domino. Her chest was heaving in agitation and embarrassment.
    She realized then that the Countess had returned, because she smelled the woman’s perfume.
    “Had your fun?” the Countess asked, laughter lurking under her words. Joanna heard the rustle of taffeta, felt those skirts brush her knees as the Countess moved to sit beside her.
    And the Master moved away.
    “Take her back where she came from,” the Master said, his voice hard. “We don’t need her kind at the Plume.” He leaned closer to whisper in Joanna’s ear. “Displease me and the world will see my pictures of you.” He snapped another, because she heard the click of the shutter and saw the glow of the flash.
    Then she knew he was gone.
    Rafael plucked out the gag, then the door to the car slammed. Joanna started to protest, but the Countess leaned closer. “Shut up, bitch,” she whispered. “This is all the story you’ll get from us.”
    Rafael slammed the driver’s door and started the engine, and the car pulled away with enough speed that Joanna was tipped off balance.
    She was back in her apartment, in her raincoat, with her keys in her hand and the domino mask in her pocket, in record time. The return trip had been the exact inverse of the outgoing trip, although the silence had been charged.
    Rafael – was that even his name? – had grinned at her when he ushered her out the door, then ran his tongue over his front teeth.
    Joanna stood like a statue in her apartment, keys still in her hand, dissatisfied. Her butt was burning. Her nipples were aching. Her skin was tingling and her sex was itching. There were tears on her cheeks and a new crevasse cracked wide inside of her.
    She hadn’t been in control.
    And she