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  Using the lead as a guide, he directed me up and down on his erection until he finished jetting his come down my throat. Then he pulled out. “Lick my balls and asshole,” he said, leaning back on the bed and spreading his legs. I obediently buried my face between his legs once more, licking along the length of his now softened shaft and taking his lightly furred balls in my mouth one at a time. I sucked on them delicately until he grunted and his cock started stiffening in response again, then licked along his perineum and circled his opening with my tongue. I pushed inward a little ways. He tasted sweetly musky and male.

  “No,” he said and yanked on my lead so I was forced up into his lap and wound up straddling him on the bed, our hardened, throbbing pricks sandwiched between us. He shortened the lead so I was pressed against the hard plains of his chest, so he could feel my heart flitting wildly against his own. He kissed my mouth like he wanted to swallow me whole and alive, then jerked my chin up and ravaged the side of my neck, his big teeth nipping, his scars grazing my skin so I shivered violently against him.

  He grabbed my Adam’s apple in his teeth, sucked, then slowly let it go. I felt myself go against him, just a little, our wetness mingling in our laps. “You like that?” he asked.

  “God, yes,” I said. It had been too long since I’d felt this way, this excitement, this total surrender and lack of control.

  “Do you know what would get me really hot and bothered?”Richter said against my lips. He explained what he wanted to do to me in great detail and I felt myself blush like an amateur. “Go over to the Queen Anne desk and lean on it, both hands down. Give me your sweet ass.”

  I did as he asked. It was his show, after all. I got up and turned to the desk in the corner. I set my hands on the smooth, cool surface and leaned forward a little.

  I watched over one shoulder as he disrobed and slid my dressing gown—his, really—over the smooth, well-tanned, muscled length of his beautiful body. He picked up the riding crop and approached me. I groaned when he took up the chain again and leaned against my back, holding me down against the surface of the desk. I squirmed but he held me easily, dominating me. He tenderly kissed the back of my neck, then placed one hand in the space between my shoulder blades to hold me immobile so he could stroke the crop down the line of my back, slowly following the vertebrae to the crack in my ass. I shivered and he repeated the motion.

  “Is this how you train your cats?” I asked, my breath rasping out in a whisper. Each time the long, hard piece of rawhide touched me, I shuddered and my breathing grew ever shallower.

  “I don’t want to hear a word out of you,” he instructed, his crop lingering over the jumpy skin of my ass. “You mustn’t move your hands and you mustn’t come until I say. Do you understand?” He jerked the lead hard, the links jingling, so I would know he meant business.

  “Yes,” I said, and the crop swished through the air and lashed across my left buttock. The pain was sharp and instantaneous. It hurt like hell and I couldn’t help but cry out. Richter struck me sharply on the other cheek for that second offense, and I finally clamped my jaw shut and just remained silent the way he wanted me.

  “Good,” he said in a cold, burning voice. “You’re capable of learning.”

  Again he stroked along my back and now sore buttocks, then slid the length of rawhide between my legs. I worked on not making a sound, though my hips immediately started moving as I rubbed my engorged dick against the crop. That was permissible and he allowed for it, even encouraged it, but when I accidently moved my hands, he said, “No!” and withdrew the crop from between my legs and struck me soundly across both buttocks, the crack almost deafeningly loud in the quiet of the playroom.

  The lash against my already heated and tingling ass made me grunt and spurt precum onto the surface of the desk, which earned me two more lashes, one for each offense. The cracks echoed through the room and through my own flesh, making me harder than ever. Then he shortened my lead and wrangled me down onto my knees and angled my head so my chin was just above my own mess. “You’re too willful for your own good, Ben. Lick it,” he growled.

  I almost used the safeword, but he pressed against my back and bent his head to lick the shell of my ear, gently biting the lobe. The sensation left me feeling warm and sedate. I inclined my head and licked at my own spunk.

  “Good,” he said in my ear, keeping me down on my knees until I’d licked it all up. Then he used the chain to jerk me roughly around so I was kneeling before his long, tall figure dressed in the open, silken dressing gown. I looked up at him, his glistening cock twitching inches in front of my face, but he brought the crop around and laid it gently to the back of my neck. The feel of it made my skin jump. “No eye contact until I say,” he said in that steely voice, and I obediently stared down at the floor instead.

  He continued to stroke the crop over my bare back and shoulders, gently but firmly. He kept my lead short and tight and I worked at not shivering or making any more noises. I had never been so vulnerable in my entire life. I had never allowed anyone to do anything like this to me before. Finally, after some time, he said, “Prostrate yourself before your master—but I want your ass up. I want to fuck you properly like the animal you are, Ben.”

  I thought about saying no, using the safeword to stop our scene, but my own rampant lust overwhelmed my ego and all my pride. I wanted him, I realized, wanted him so badly I didn’t even mind humiliating myself like this. I slid forward on my chest and belly so most of my body was pressed to the hard, polished wood, but kept my ass high, still accessible to him.

  “Good boy,” Richter said with enormous satisfaction.

  My heart banged against my ribs, so loud I was sure he could hear it. I was more nervous and excited than I’d ever been in my entire life.

  Richter went to his knees behind me and sniffed and licked all along my crack before spreading my buttocks. Then his tongue, like a hot flame, moved over my opening before teasing inside. I bucked uncontrollably against the fierce wetness of his mouth and his nipping sharp teeth. First two of his fingers speared me, slowly but steadily, then the rubber tip of the slightly rounded crop nudged a few inches inward.

  My breath caught and my shoulders bunched as I pushed back against the invasion. Richter pumped the crop in and out of me a few times before finally mounting me and sliding his silken-clad arms around my lower belly. He pressed himself tight against my ass, his fat, swollen pick rubbing between my legs, leaving streaks of wet precum dripping down the inside of my legs. He growled into my hair as he covered me, marked me with his scent and his semen. I closed my eyes and grunted with excitement as he rubbed himself against me.

  “Silence.” He stopped rubbing his erection against me so he could spank me by hand for making those sounds. He struck both my burning ass cheeks hard, with a strength I was only just beginning to respect. I snorted and gasped through the pain, and the pressure of my own throbbing erection crushed against the surface of the floor was so powerful that I thought I would explode from the force of it. His hand slid down my belly, found my rock-hard dick, gripped me so I whimpered deep in my throat and had to clench my teeth to keep from screaming at the tremendous pressure building within.

  “Beg your master,” he hissed in my ear. “Beg me to fuck you up the ass the way you want it.”

  My voice, coming in increasingly short spurts, I said, “P-please…”

  “Please what?” His teeth nipping playfully at the base of my neck. “What do you want, my beautiful rose? Tell your master.”

  “Please fuck me,” I somehow managed.

  “Say it. All of it. I want to hear the words from your mouth.”

  With a nearly inhuman cry I said, “Please, master, fuck me up the ass.”

  “Good boy,” he said in a soothing baritone and I heard the tear of foil as he extracted a condom from the pocket of his dressing gown. Before long he was back pressing his considerable weight against my back, forcing my legs further apart and my body into a position m
ore convenient for him to fuck. His hand explored my pecs and the jumpy, sweating muscles of my lower belly. He found my hardness once more and started pumping me with his considerable strength. I whimpered uncontrollably and he said, “If I could reach you, my beautiful rose, I’d punish you for those noises you’re making.”

  I was glad he couldn’t reach me because I couldn’t hold off any longer. But before I could go off, he nudged the meaty head of his cock into my hole, going slow at first so I had time to adjust to the way he was stretching me but applying just enough force to keep me pinned down. I gasped at the enormous pressure filling me, making me his. My body tried to escape the pain but he moaned into my hair and said, “Relax and take me, my rose. Take all of me.”

  I relaxed my lower body and he bucked his hips, claiming a few more inches inside me. Now firmly anchored, he started pumping in and out of me in a series of smooth, gliding thrusts, going slow but steady. At first it was like being in heaven, everything I wanted, everything he needed—being held down, fucked on a wholly carnal level like some wild animal in heat—but my lust eventually went unsatisfied. “Harder,” I told him. “Fuck me harder, master.”

  He jerked my lead tight so my head was forced higher and I was crushed back against the front of his body, while simultaneously bucking his hips and plunging his cock home. I cried out at the depth and intensity he achieved, the pleasure so great it danced at the knife-edge of pain.

  My lover stopped for a moment as if afraid he was really hurting me. I rocked my hips backward into him, welcoming him as deep as I could take him. He grunted in acknowledgment and starting pounding his prick relentlessly into my ass so his balls slapped against my sore cheeks. Soon I was grunting and mewling as he tamed me, trained me, subjugating me to both our primal hungers.

  Wedded together, I couldn’t tell where he ended and I began. I held him deep, using my inner muscles to milk him of every last drop of his lust, and he groaned and jerked as he came inside me and my prick spurted jets of semen through his fingers. Finished, he sagged against me and kissed the back of my neck and called me his rose again.

  We both trembled in the aftermath of our violence and shared lust, and I worked at getting my breath back under control. I had never experienced anything like that with anyone before, not even Beau, whom I would have spent the rest of my life with, had he not left me.

  Eventually Richter welcomed me into his bed. I lay there sated but exhausted, with my master spooning me, still possessively clutching my lead. Within seconds he was snoring against the back of my neck. The rainstorm had long since stopped but neither one of us had noticed.

  * * *

  “I don’t understand this,” I muttered to my secretary as I looked over the lab results that had just come in over my fax. I went to my office and shut it against the hubbub of the clinic and started poring over the lab sheets, but they made little sense.

  I reached for my cell and called Dr. Fields.

  “Before you say it, yeah, Ben, I know,” Dr. Fields said even before I could greet him.

  “Amphetamines?” I said, sitting down on the edge of my desk without thinking, then wincing at the lingering soreness of my ass. “How in hell can there be traces of that in the ligers’ vomit?”

  “Maybe he’s giving it to the cats.”

  “Richter? But he loves those cats,” I said, defending the man even though there was no reason to do so. Richter and I had had our little encounter three days ago, but we hadn’t spoken since. Then again, what we’d shared had been casual sex. Kinky, mind-blowing casual, sex, but casual sex nonetheless. We didn’t have any kind of relationship past that, I knew neither of us wanted one, and now, on looking at the results from the lab, I wasn’t entirely sure I ever wanted to see him again.

  “Amphetamines can incite animals to violence, but they can also make them violently ill over time,” Field reminded me. “You have to admit he definitely has motivations for wanting to hurt them. Those cats made his career, but they also ended it for him.”

  I got the impression that Fields didn’t like or trust Mr. Richter anymore than I did.

  “But he’s had those cats for years, Fields. That makes no sense whatsoever.” I didn’t even add the fact that he’d gotten a contract with The Mirage, and that murdering his cats—his act—wasn’t exactly going to forward his career.

  “And his cats are insured for millions, Ben. Maybe he’s decided it’s time to collect? Hell, I don’t know. The last time I was out there, he threw a brick at my head when I started asking too many questions. I don’t think Richter is necessarily a sane man.” He hesitated. “Will you be good enough to deliver the results to him?”

  I had the distinct impression that that pulled back he’d had the first time he’d sent me out to the Richter place had been a tall Texas tale, one born of fear. “Sure. I guess. Richter’s place is on my way home anyway.”

  Before I left the clinic for the day, I did a little Googling on Karl Richter, something I should have done a long time ago. The research was interesting, to say the least. It turned out that Mark Meyer was indeed Karl Richter’s protégé, and Richter was telling the truth when he said he’d given him his own liger to train, Caesar, and that Caesar had turned on Richter one night while he was working with the big cat. But what Richter had failed to tell me was that the night of the attack, a stagehand had observed Richter and Meyer having a violent argument about Meyer’s contract with the casino before the two lion tamers threw the man out of the building.

  The next day, Richter was found unconscious in a pool of blood, his face ravaged, surrounded by his cats. Caesar and Mark Meyer went missing. About a week later, Caesar was trapped at the city dump, the cat destroyed, and an autopsy performed. Amphetamines and bits of flesh were recovered from the cat’s stomach, and some of the flesh had matched Mark’s DNA, but there wasn’t enough to prove anything, and there was no solid evidence to convict Richter of wrongdoing. But that didn’t stop people from believing that the man had ordered Caesar to attack and consume his business partner and ex-lover, or that the cat, driven to a bloodlust by amphetamines, hadn’t turned on his master.

  I looked at the lab report I had to deliver tonight to Richter and wondered just how dangerous—and insane—the man really was.

  * * *

  Once more I found myself in Richter’s drawing room, standing near the wet bar while he looked over the lab report I’d handed him just minutes ago. Goliath lounged on the leather settee, the huge, shaggy beast glaring at me with little yellow marble eyes and swishing his tail irritably while the settee groaned under his tremendous weight. He wore a thick, studded collar but no lead.

  There was a whiskey bottle within easy reaching distance on the bar—not that I thought it would save me, should Richter turn Goliath loose on me.

  Finally, Richter looked up at me and said, “Let me get this straight—someone’s been feeding amphetamines to my cats?”

  “It would seem that way.” I looked over at Goliath and wondered who was more dangerous, him or his master.

  “Thank you for showing me this,” Richter said, setting the report down on his bar and pouring himself a bourbon. The cat jumped off the settee and padded over to him to rub his body familiarly against his master. Richter finally turned to face me, his hand resting on Goliath’s withers.

  I looked at Richter and I looked at his beast. I wondered if the gig was up, as it were.

  Richter narrowed his eyes. “You look nervous, Dr. Bellerose.”

  “He’s a big cat,” I pointed out.

  Goliath took a step toward me, making a lowing sound deep in his throat, and Richter put his hand on the beast’s back, halting him. “I assure you, he’s completely under my control.”

  I moved my hand an inch toward the bottle.

  Mr. Richter smirked at me. “You don’t trust me. That’s interesting. But I suppose it’s to be expected.” He glanced down at his drink. “You know about Mark, then.”

  “That he disappeared myst
eriously the night of your attack and was never seen again? I’ve heard the story.”

  “And of course you believe it.” Mr. Richter swirled the bourbon in his tumbler. “You believe the sensational story that we quarreled over contracts and I fed my partner to one of my most beloved cats.”

  I thought about that, but then realized I had a number of problems with the story. Why else would I have come here tonight except to hear his side of things? “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you suspect me.” He sounded hurt.

  “Why don’t you tell me the story?”

  Richter’s face grew remote and he stroked his hand over the liger’s striped fur as if seeking strength in the enormous beast beside him. “It’s true that Mark and I quarreled. But it wasn’t about contracts, though that was part of it.”

  I watched him. “Go on.”

  Richter hand grew still as he stared at me. “Being my lover made Mark feel powerful, like he had some privilege with me, like he could do anything he wanted. He translated that tremendous ego of his into his act, and Caesar was magnificent, of course, though difficult to manage at times. Mark was even on the verge of his own contract with the casino, a deal which would have been worth millions, but then I discovered his dirty little secret, as it were.”

  He paused before continuing. “Mark was feeding amphetamines to Caesar. When I found out, I ended our relationship and revoked all his privileges. He felt I’d trained our ligers to be too docile for our audience to enjoy. He thought he could create a better act. I thought he was a fool, and I was offended that he would treat our cats with such disregard for their health and well-being.” He ruffled Goliath’s mane and the cat sank down on his hunches at Richter’s feet. “We quarreled that night, yes. I threatened to tell the casino what he had done, to turn him over to the police. What he was doing was not only dangerous to us, but to anyone the cat came into contact with. Mark insisted he knew what he was doing, and he accused me of being jealous of his act. Our argument quickly escalated into a shouting match.”