Read Marked for Surrender for Free Online Page B

permission to move or to speak,” their Mistress snapped.
    She reached out her booted foot and jammed her heel into Christophe's shoulder, the one closest to Zevon. What happened next surprised Zevon as much as it surprised her and Christophe.
    Zevon reached up, pain ripping through his sore arm, his muscles shaking uncontrollably, and gripped her ankle. He jerked her heel away from Christophe's flesh, and then he lifted his head to press his lips to her foot.
    She froze, the crop at rest, the end tickling his scalp. This was what he'd longed for. To bend to the will of a female dominant, this female dominant. What a fucking joke. He had to be falsely accused of a crime to find the answer to the empty hole in his chest.
    He opened his eyes, and the sight before him only made his cock harder. Christophe pressed his lips to the other side of her boot, their fingers meeting under her heel, tangling.
    "Don't touch me,” she said in a hard, cold tone.
    Shit. He had overstepped his boundary. Her heel cut into his shoulder, and she shoved him away from her. He attempted to rise, but she stepped on his back, pressing him to the floor.
    "Don't you move,” she whispered.
    "Mistress—” Christophe scooted closer, but she glanced at him and he froze.
    "You will not interfere.” She held Zevon down with her boot and held Christophe with her voice. “Say it,” she snapped.
    Christophe met Zevon's gaze. Silently Zevon pleaded with his lover to let it go, let her punish him. Christophe jerked his eyes to look at her face. “I will not interfere, Mistress."
    Good boy. Zevon almost sagged in relief.
    She bent down until her mouth was near his ear. “Trust me."
    His hands flexed involuntarily, and he wondered why she'd said those words. Was it part of her process, to gain the trust of her prisoners and then betray them? Or worse?
    But what could he do? He raised his head and met her scrutiny. “Yes, Mistress."
    The way her irises darkened, a sign she liked when he called her “Mistress,” and the way her tongue flicked out to lick her lips, he knew she wasn't acting. She wanted him.
    She kept her heel on his back, the stiletto heel digging into his skin, pressure keeping him prone. When the crop hit his ass, he jumped, not anticipating the blow.
    One. Two. Three. The sting rippled through him, and his body jerked with every strike. Four. Five. Six. The pain was like a wave washing over him. Seven, eight, nine. Stars, his ass burned. She wasn't holding anything back. Breathe in, breathe out . Ten. Eleven. Twelve. She'd broken the skin, and blood trickled down his thigh. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.
    Her hand wrapped in his hair and yanked his head back. “Scream for me, you bastard,” she said and peppered him with three more blows.
    He gasped and met her stare. “No.” He knew that would spur her to give him more. So close. Stars! What number? How many? He felt like his skin was being ripped from his flesh. The sound of the crop swishing through the air, the snap of the crop against his ass, the incredible pain all combined to overload his senses.
    Pain. Need.
    Fuck.
    He humped the floor, his ass meeting her crop now, needing more, wanting it all. Full strength she struck him, her other hand still twined in his hair. “Don't you dare come,” she snarled.
    An animalistic growl escaped and rumbled in his throat. Suddenly, she stopped. He started to rise slowly, but she jerked his sore arms over his head and quickly snapped them with cuffs.
    He would have rolled away, but he was spent, his cock hard as iron, his mind fuzzy. She glanced at the vid stream and reached down to press a control on her ankle.
    "Get over here,” she said to Christophe.
    Christophe rose slowly, and she stopped him. “Crawl,” she snapped.
    His arms shook, but he shuffled across the floor to her. She pointed to Zevon's feet. “Hold them down. Don't you dare let him move."
    One glance at Zevon and Christophe slid into position. The woman stood over