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sure he couldn’t hold back
    another moment. When the women
    brought him to his feet, he despised
    the fact that he was forced to lean as
    the blood pounded out of his head.
    Worry and lust made him even more
    unsteady.
    How was he supposed to get a handle
    on any of this, let alone the upper
    hand?
    Mouth stretched by the gag, arms
    wrenched back to display his chest
    and hold his muscles taut. Dona’s
    collar on him. He was hard as a rock,
    his body screaming for release, but
    thankfully the harness would keep
    him from losing control. He was
    terrified to realize he felt like a true
    slave. Completely out of control,
    dependent on the whim and Will of
    his Mistress. A state he’d rarely if
    ever truly allowed a Mistress to
    achieve with him.
    There would be breathing time later.
    Wouldn’t there? Time to get his
    ducks in a row. Let them prepare him
    for her pleasure now. He made
    himself stand rigid, his jaw clenched
    as Olivia brought that blade into play
    on his face. When she made him lift
    his chin, he could not help but glance
    toward the banks, seeking Dona. She
    sat now, her hands clasped around
    her knees while she watched.
    Carefully scrutinizing everything
    being done to him.
    Fiona looked toward the shore.
    “What about his head? Take the hair
    or wash it?”
    She had the gel bottle in one hand and
    another crystal bottle in the other,
    perhaps shampoo.
    24
    Mistress of Redemption
    Mistresses loved his hair, the thick
    ash blond strands that they could coil
    around their fingers, play with on his
    nape. He’d never let it grow this
    long, but these last few months he
    hadn’t been interested in letting the
    prison butchers who called
    themselves barbers touch it. He’d
    been looking forward to walking into
    a men’s salon, having it artfully
    styled the way he always liked it.
    Short, layered on top, streaked with
    some dark brown and cut close at his
    nape, an expensive GQ -looking style.
    Such a style was part of the whole
    package that attracted the attention of
    well-to-do Mistresses who liked a
    man who knew how to put himself
    together well. Who would look good
    on their arm inside a club.
    The idea of having another weapon
    removed from his arsenal panicked
    him. His ability to assert rights he
    might not have anymore had been
    taken from him with that gag. He
    couldn’t employ his charm to coax
    and cajole. Hell, Dona hadn’t even
    given him a safe word, but he had the
    distinct feeling they were in a
    territory far beyond safe words. He
    was a dumb bastard who had
    allowed five years of self-denied
    lust, his weak need to play at being a
    submissive and the fact he somewhat
    remembered this bitch to cloud his
    judgment. He’d been so stupid,
    giving in to something he felt when he
    looked at her, some freaky emotional
    reaction. A reaction that, damn him
    three times over for an idiot, he still
    felt every time he looked at her.
    Like now, his panicked eyes locking
    with hers for some type of
    approbation as she sat on that bank.
    Her expression said it clearly. He
    was hers to do with as she wished
    and it just made his cock get even
    harder.
    Maybe this was some weird
    hallucination. While his mind howled
    at the idea he might still be in the
    prison, undergoing some bad trip on
    something some bastard had slipped
    in his slop that was called lunch, no
    woman had ever had this kind of hold
    on him.
    Pulling away from Olivia, he tried to
    get away from all of them. He
    tripped, tumbled under the water. The
    weeds reached for him, twining
    around him from ankle to thigh. As he
    twisted in mindless terror, he sunk
    further. Tendrils soft as a woman’s
    hair circled his throat under the
    collar, holding him down below life,
    air. He struggled, his lungs bursting.
    A shadow brushed against him.
    Feeling a clasp on his arm, he turned
    his face in that direction, seeking
    help. Instead, he saw a broad face,
    the lips pulled back in what would
    appear to most to be a maternal,
    kindly look. Her