All Wrapped Up: Absolute Power by Sierra Dafoe

All Wrapped Up, Vol. 2
by Willa Okati and Lacey Savage and Sierra Dafoe

Changeling Press

eBook ISBN: 978-1-59596-821-0

Naked Exposure by Lacey Savage
Scoop of a lifetime — Hollywood bachelor Greg Radigan in all his naked glory, participating in some very explicit BDSM play. The moment the picture hits the Internet, it goes viral. Naturally, whoever took the picture has to pay. When Greg and Deidre finally come face-to-face, he’s ready to exact revenge. And nothing short of Deidre’s complete submission will satisfy him…

Absolute Power by Sierra Dafoe
Trapped at the mercy of six overpoweringly handsome vampires, can Mia find the courage to let down her guard and discover the ecstasy of submitting herself completely to their sexual demands?


Chain of Three by Willa Okati
Two alien Marines, a human BDSM Master, and a shapeshifting Empress with a mind of her own — a recipe for trouble. Dane and Julian, ex-war heroes now in the Empress’ service, hate each other. Problem. Julian wants Dane almost as much as he hates him. The Empress thinks Master Anubis can tame the two. It’s a three-way battle for dominance, and the Empress never fights fair…

Chapter One
Absolute Power by Sierra Dafoe

Pathetic, Mia thought as the man stripped out of his expensive business suit, laying it piece by piece across the back of his black leather desk chair. What a pathetic little worm.
She tapped her foot impatiently, and Jerry — only she never called him that; he was always Gerald whenever she chose to address him — hurriedly shed the last of his clothing and knelt before her, his chest lowered to the floor and his arms crossed at the wrist behind him.
Mia snapped on the handcuffs with a snick and stepped back.
There was a certain innate satisfaction, she had to admit, in having a corporate CEO on his knees — and Jerry was certainly a good-looking man, tall and muscular, with a sprinkling of gray in his freshly trimmed hair. He was, in fact, in excellent shape for a man nearer fifty than forty. Nevertheless, though, the sight of him kneeling, ass thrust in the air, quivering in anticipation of whatever she might choose to do to him made her lip curl in disdain.
“All right, Gerald. I’ve got a new toy for you today –”
The phone rang abruptly, cutting her off, and Jerry stiffened in obvious fear. As he damn well ought to, Mia thought. “Gerald, did I not tell you to have all calls held while I’m here?” Planting one of her stiletto heels against the flat of his shoulder blade, she pressed downward.
“Yes, Mistress, you did, but…”
“But?” Mia dug her heel in harder. “But, Gerald? There are no ‘buts.’ I gave you an order. You disobeyed. You’ll have to be punished, now.”
Below her, Jerry Hubert, owner and CEO of Hubert Industries, moaned in mingled terror and longing. The phone continued ringing. “Mistress, my secretary wouldn’t have put the call through unless it was urgent. Mistress, please…”
Mia rather liked the desperation in his voice. She let him squirm another moment and then said, “All right, Gerald. I’m putting it on speakerphone.”
She pushed the button and turned away to the plate glass window as Jerry gritted, trying to project some semblance of composure even as he knelt naked and handcuffed on the floor of his office. “Hubert here.”
Mia grinned in genuine amusement. The way Jerry Hubert’s voice changed from groveling submission to the muted growl of an industrial lion was a riot. And she could change it back in an instant, with barely a word, any time she wanted.
That knowledge pleased her.
“Jerry? It’s Rick Morena.”
Mia glanced over, recognizing both the voice and the name. Morena was the mayor’s personal aide — and another of her clients. She wasn’t at all surprised that they’d know each other. Mia liked powerful men.
Wealth alone wasn’t enough for her. It never had been, although she certainly liked the lifestyle she’d earned for herself. No, it was power that drew her. She liked men with clout, influence. And best of all, she liked having power over them, the power to do to them whatever she liked.
She could never understand how Jerry, how any of them, could like being subjugated to her every whim, caressed or humiliated or chastised as the fancy struck her. But clearly he did — his cock was so hard it strained up against his torso, twitching slightly with every beat of his heart.
Lazily, Mia trailed her hand across the carved wooden box displayed prominently on Jerry’s desk. Jerry’s eyes glittered as he watched her. In that box were all the toys she’d selected for him. Butt plugs. Restraints. Dildos. A cock ring. An interesting device she called a “pincher” — something like a nipple clamp, but meant for an even more tender part of the male anatomy.
She flipped the box open, and saw Jerry swallow nervously.
“Listen, Jer,” Rick was saying, “His Highness is worried about some of the provisions in the appropriations bill.”
Selecting a medium-sized dildo, Mia lubricated it thoroughly and strolled past Jerry, her stiletto heels clicking on the polished oak floor. She smiled again as he turned his head, watching her, his eyes wide. She enjoyed the terror in his eyes — a terror mixed with anticipation — as he struggled to keep his mind on Rick’s words.
“I really thought we could sneak this one through, no problem, but some damn reporter’s tumbled to the implications…”
Smoothly, Mia spread Jerry’s ass and inserted the tip of the dildo, hearing his breathing deepen.
“Jer? Jer, are you listening?”
“Answer him,” Mia murmured even as she cupped the curve of his ass, pulling it higher. Slowly, she worked the dildo deep into his rectum.
“Yes, I’m listening!” Jerry’s voice was hoarse with desire. Mia liked that. “Damn it, Rick, I thought you said you were going to keep it quiet.”
“Look, I tried, Jer. But you know how it is these days, with the way things are in Washington and all. It’s a witch-hunt.”
Pushing harder, Mia sank the dildo in all the way, and Jerry gasped.
“Jer? You okay?”
Bending low over his back, she raked her crimson fingernails up his spine and whispered, “Keep talking.”
“Fine, Rick. I’m fine. What do you suggest?” He bit his lip as Mia glided the dildo in and out, fucking him slow and deep. She could tell he was trying not to groan.
“I dunno. I think we might have to shelve this one — for now.”
“No.”
“Jer…”
“No, I said, damn it!” His face clenched in ecstasy as Mia wrapped one hand around his cock, stroking it as she increased the pace, plunging the dildo into him with a ferocity that made him arch back to meet her. He panted, forcing himself to continue the conversation. “Look, Rick, let’s meet tonight, see if we can straighten this out.”
“All right. Eight o’clock?”
“Sure.”
Mia seized his balls and squeezed — hard. Jerry bit off a shriek. “Not — not eight. Oh, Christ. Nine?” Mia squeezed again, lightly this time, and prodded his ass with the dildo.
“I’m not sure I can make it that late…”
“Well, I can’t do it any earlier, Rick.”
“Fine. Nine, then.”
Mia released Gerald’s scrotum, and he whispered gratefully, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Rick sounded puzzled. Reaching over, Mia flicked off the speakerphone.
“Why not eight?” Jerry asked.
Quick as lightning, Mia grabbed his balls again, grinding them in her hand till he writhed beneath her, whimpering. “You tell me, slave. Why not eight?”
“Because… because it did not please you, Mistress?”
“Very good.” She released her grip, and Jerry cried out in mingled shock and relief. “Now…” Opening the carved wood box, she took out a newly purchased toy — an enormous remote-control vibrating dildo with a suction cup on the end. She fastened it securely to the floor a few feet in front of Jerry’s executive chair. Then she unsnapped his handcuffs, removed the dildo she’d been using, and handed it to him. “Clean it.”
She sprawled comfortably in the chair as he took it into his private washroom and washed and dried it thoroughly. When he was done, and had packed it away again in the box, Mia pointed to the monstrous dildo on the floor beneath her feet. “Now, Gerald, I want to watch you fuck yourself.”
“Mistress,” he whispered, his eyes wide, “it’s too big!”
Her eyes narrowed in immediate displeasure. “Did I ask your opinion, slave?”
“No, Mistress.”
“Would you prefer the alternative?”
His gaze dropped, and he flushed. “No, Mistress.”
Now, slave.”
Immediately, he dropped to his knees at Mia’s feet, taking the tube of lubrication she tossed him and smearing it over the dildo which was shaped like a massive cock, veins and all. “That’s right,” Mia purred, “rub it, Gerald. Caress it.” She watched his own cock stiffen again as he slid his fist up and down the shaft, which was almost as thick as his wrist. His fingers played over the huge, rounded tip.
“That’s enough,” Mia snapped. “Mount it.”
Swallowing nervously, Jerry positioned himself over it and slowly lowered himself down. She could see the concentration in his face as he sought to encompass it, tilting his hips back and forth as he slowly worked the huge tip into his rectum. “It burns,” he whispered.
“Good. I want it to hurt. And you want to do whatever I want, don’t you, Gerald?”
“Yesss,” he hissed, forcing himself lower on the enormous thing. His breaths became gasps, and the blood drained from his face as it slowly invaded him. Mia could see his entire body trembling from the strain. Cupping his asscheeks, he spread them wider, and Mia pressed the remote, watching him arch in shock as the vibrations pulsed through him.
“Now,” Mia commanded, “touch yourself, slave.”
She watched, eyes slitted, as he caressed his cock, his motions growing jerkier as he lifted and lowered himself on the monstrous dildo, sending it deeper and deeper into his ass.
“You like that, don’t you?”
“Ye… yes, Mistress.”
It was obvious, from the grimace on his face, that it hurt — and yet it aroused him, too. The pain of it, and the humiliation, both. That was something she could never understand, how her clients could enjoy their obedience so.
She never had, no matter how many times she’d heard that hateful question whispered in her ear. Oh, you like that, don’t you, Mia?
Even now, his voice haunted her, rousing the old, desperate rage which had flooded her every time she’d heard that question. Mia gritted her teeth, trying to push away the memory. Bastard, you fucking bastard
A hard, angry impatience unfolded in her gut as she watched Jerry’s motions become more and more frantic. “Faster, slave,” she growled, and twirled the vibrator’s remote up to high. The executive bucked, his back arching, his head thrown back in agony as he savaged his shaft, his whole body shuddering with exquisite pain.
“Come on, Gerald, harder. I want to see it hurt.”
He moaned as he complied, sliding one hand down to clench his balls. Mia narrowed her eyes further, letting her vision blur until it could have been anyone before her, anyone at all, even…
Even Kyle.
Well, she wasn’t Kyle’s meek little Mia any more. She was the mistress now. She was the one with the power — and she knew how to use it. Turning her attention back to the man in front of her, she lifted her leg and stepped down on Jerry’s shoulder.
“Deeper, slave! Take it, now. Take all of it,” she spat, both hating and reveling in the control she had over him, over all of them, these politicians and businessmen and CEOs, these powerful men that she collected like playthings. With a howl of agony, Jerry drove himself downward, jerking like a fish on a hook as the dildo split him open.
He hung there, quivering, impaled on the massive thing. Reaching out, Mia tilted his chin up so she could see the agony on his face, watch the tears roll down his contorted cheeks. “Yes,” she murmured. “Yes, Gerald. Now make yourself come for me.”
A hot stab of anticipation shot through her groin as she leaned back, watching his hands clamp mercilessly on his cock, squeezing it so tight she could see the tip turning purple. He shrieked with pain as Mia dug her heel into his balls, and thick, streaming jets of come burst from his throbbing shaft. At the sight of it, Mia felt her own orgasm lance through her, freeing for one crucial second all the rage and fury and helplessness that wound like a tangled, burning, impossibly knotted thread deep through the core of her being.
No one would ever have power over her again. She’d sworn that, years ago. No one would ever use her.
It would be she, now and forever, who did the using.
* * *
Sighing, Mia sat on the edge of the tub and pulled off one of her stiletto-heeled boots. Behind her, water splashed into the bath, easing the knot of tension in her belly.
She couldn’t say she liked what she did for a living — she found it impossible not to despise the men who paid, and paid exorbitantly, for her services. In fact, Mia speculated, it was probably precisely because she despised them that she had built up such a reputation.
The judge, for example. She’d called him upon leaving Jerry’s office, demanding that he drop everything and come drive her home. She’d allowed him to service her with his tongue during the limo ride, forcing him to kneel, his pants pooled around his knees, between her thighs. When they’d stopped, she’d refused to let him cover himself as she got out, knowing that the possibility of being seen — and recognized — would only add to his excitement.
It was the sort of humiliating touch at which she excelled, like forcing Jerry Hubert to store his play toys in a carved wooden box on top of his desk, right in plain sight. What if someone, curious or just bored, flipped it open? She liked to imagine how he must quiver, how he must feel a small electric shock of terror every time someone approached it or asked about it or even simply looked at it.
Still, underneath that satisfaction was a vague, restless emotion, one she’d never had a name for. It was as if somewhere deep inside her a small, starving, wordless creature whimpered, yearning to be fed. For a moment, in the silence of her opulent apartment, Mia could hear it as clearly as the plaintive cry of a seagull.
Then the phone rang, and she thrust the awareness of that cry far back down into the depths of her mind. She let the answering machine pick up the call as she added a dollop of foaming vanilla-scented bath soap to the rushing water. A California state senator, calling to reschedule an appointment — she’d have to think of an appropriate punishment for that, she thought as she stripped off the rest of her clothes and moved to the vanity, seating herself before the mirror. She pinned up her thick chestnut hair, tilting her head as she regarded herself in the mirror, studying her features.
She’d never been — and never would be — a beauty. But she had clear, smooth skin, decent cheekbones, a rather pointy chin. Impish, Wallace had called her once — not that feminine beauty was exactly Wallace’s forte. Her eyes were a cool, guarded blue, sharp and penetrating. It was hard to remember how vulnerable they’d been once, vulnerable and full of torment…
Scowling, she turned away from the mirror and slid into the hot, foamy water. She leaned back in the steaming water, allowing her eyes to fall shut, letting her mind float.
You like that, Mia, don’t you? Come on. Say it. Say it.
Mia jerked upright, her heart pounding. Jesus! It had been so clear, as close as if he’d been speaking right in her ear. When the phone rang again, she shrieked, then picked it up hesitantly. “Hello?”
“Mia, darling, it’s Wallace.” Mia relaxed back against the smooth marble of the bathtub. Wallace’s lilting voice was soothing, bringing a sense of normalcy with it. “I just dropped off your dry-cleaning, and I’ll be going to the market tomorrow. Is there anything special you want this week? I understand they’ve got some fabulous salmon on sale.”
“God, no.” Mia made a face at the steamy mirror. “I hate salmon. Get me some truffles instead.”
“Now, you know you only get chocolate when you’re pms-ing. You made me promise.”
“Well, now I’m making you un-promise.”
Wallace chuckled. “Girlfriend, you pay me six hundred dollars a week to ignore you when you say things like that. Oh, and I changed the laundry delivery day to Tuesdays — I hope that’s okay. My weekends are getting a tad bit busy.”
“Oh?” Mia cocked an eyebrow. “Would that mean there’s finally a man in the picture?”
“Only in my dreams, darling, so don’t go getting jealous.”
“And who is this dream man?” Mia smiled at her reflection. Wallace fell in love more regularly than the tide came in.
“He’s a bartender. Don’t laugh.”
Dutifully, she choked back her reaction. “Is he actually a bartender, or another Brad Pitt wannabe keeping his head above water while he waits for his big break?”
“Girl, Brad Pitt has wet dreams about looking this good.”
“Really? I’m impressed. I didn’t think anyone would ever replace the Bradster in your affections.”
“Neither did I.”
There was a strange note in Wallace’s voice, a sort of wistful ebullience that, for all his various crushes, Mia had never heard there before. “So, where does this Adonis of the martini shaker work?”
“At Dominion.” Mia’s lack of reaction must have tipped him off, because Wallace gasped in affected shock. “Oh my God, you haven’t heard of Dominion? It is so the rage! They say the owner’s a…”
“What?” Mia demanded. “C’mon, Wallace, what?”
Wallace dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “They say he’s a vampire.”
Mia did laugh, then. “God, Wally, hasn’t the Anne Rice thing been done?”
“And done, and done…” Mia could just picture Wallace’s artfully dismissive shrug. “That one’ll never die. But this is different. It’s… There’s something about him, Mi…”
“I don’t know,” Mia murmured teasingly. “Maybe I shouldn’t let you go, then. Letting my personal shopper hang out in a nest of vampires…”
“Clave, dear. They’re called claves. And I am not, and never have been, one of your clients. The only orders I accept from you are starch, no starch, and Chinese take-out. Besides, Aleksi’s dreamy.”
“I thought it was the bartender you were lusting after.”
“Aleksi is the bartender. God, I wouldn’t go near Fyodor if you paid me.”
The shudder in Wallace’s voice was wholly unfeigned. Mia laughed again, but it was more to push away the trickle of uneasiness his tone had roused than because his reaction amused her. “Oh, come on, Wally. You’ve been watching Interview with the Vampire again, haven’t you?”
“I have not. I still can’t believe Brad ever stooped to making a film with Tom Cruise. And mock all you like, but I think Fyodor’d have even you wearing garlic and Grace Kelly scarves and quaking in those thigh-high boots of yours.”
“Hah! I quake for no man, as you know quite well.”
Wallace muttered something — it might have been “Pity.” Mia ignored him. “And don’t show up with any interesting hickeys tomorrow, either.”
“I wish.” With a last sigh, Wallace broke the connection, and Mia hung up. She leaned back, stretching her arms out along the smooth white marble rim as she mused.
It wasn’t like Wallace to cry wolf, even over something as silly as this. For all his playful theatrics, he was a hardheaded realist underneath. He’d had to be, Mia knew, growing up in rural Idaho of all places, in the sort of town where “his kind” too often ended up as a statistic in an Associated Press news report. It wasn’t hard to guess what he must have gone through before he’d escaped, just as she had, to L.A.
No, Wallace wasn’t the type to jump at shadows.
He was much more than her personal shopper, too. He’d been her first friend in L.A., letting her sleep on his couch for three months while she’d forced herself to hold down a waitressing position just to keep afloat. The restaurant had been the sort that used designer china and catered to the very, very rich — but it had been a hideous job for all that. One night, after the manager had chewed her a new asshole for some minor infraction, she’d gone off the deep end on a customer, showering him with abuse. But instead of demanding she be fired, the man had invited her back to his apartment, and that night Mia had found herself introduced to the lucrative world of the dominatrix.
Now, she paid Wallace a ridiculous sum for running her errands and doing her shopping — a job which took him perhaps five hours a week. But it didn’t matter. He was still, if truth be told, the only real friend she had.
Vampires, huh? Mia smiled as she leaned back into the water. The fading bubbles gave off a tiny hiss as they dissolved around her.
What would that be like, being bitten by a vampire? They made it look so sexy in the movies, but the idea made Mia shudder, imagining fangs puncturing the skin of her neck — it’d be like stepping on a nail, she thought. Or maybe a thumbtack. Yuck.
Okay, maybe the bite part wasn’t so appealing. But being a vampire? She could see certain advantages to that. Immortality. Yeah, definitely appealing. And…
Mia stretched out, letting the warm water lap along her body. She could feel it playing through the chestnut curls of her sex, tugging lightly at them. The sensation was pleasantly arousing.
As was the idea of sinking her fangs into somebody else’s neck.
Oh yeah. Oh yeah, she could go for that.
With a sudden sense of decision, Mia picked up the phone and punched in a number. “Wallace? What did you say the name of that club was again?”

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