Page 129 of The Cajun Doctor

He was digging in her bag and took out the red vibrator thingee. He flicked on a button and it made a whirring sound in his palm. “Interesting. For later.” He set it aside.

Next, he took out a little leather case.

“Don’t you dare laugh.”

Inside was a string of silver balls. “Ben wa balls. I’m not sure I know what to do with these. You’ll have to show me.”

“Like I know what to do! I didn’t know whether to buy that one, or the Adam and Eve ones.”

“What?” He looked at her, rather puzzled, and set those aside, too. “For later.” Then he took out the last of her “tools.” It was the long whip with the feather tails. “Now this one I know I can use.” He came toward her and flicked the feathers across her breasts, causing the already turgid nipples encased in the nipple rings to grow even bigger and harder.

He noticed.

She moaned.

“Do you like that, slave girl?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

He did it again, then ordered, “Dance for me, Salome.”

“I can’t, with my arms behind me.”

“Yes, you can. Dance in place.” He flicked the disc player on again. It had apparently turned off at its end. The eastern music filled the room again.

She began to sway from side to side, and realized that she actually had room to move a little, and so she undulated a bit, emulating the sex act.

Daniel muttered something under his breath, which she took for a good sign, and did some more undulating. “Am I a good slave girl?” she asked, glancing downward.

He knew she was teasing him for his own over-arousal and asked, bluntly, “Are you wet yet?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you check?”

“Tsk-tsk-tsk! Didn’t you ever hear that saying, ‘Never challenge a Cajun!’?”

“I think that referred to something else.”

He set the feather whip aside and unbuttoned her blouse, setting free her breasts with the gold clips on them. “Oh, my!” he said and touched each of them with his fingertips. “Don’t stop dancing,” he ordered.

What? She couldn’t dance and concentrate on what he was doing at the same time. She tried, but it was difficult, especially when he’d taken up the whip again and was feathering across the nipples, back and forth, slowly, then rapidly.

She was panting, even as she continued to sway and undulate to the music. When he pinched each of the nipples, softly, she whispered, “More.”

“Slave girls do not give orders. Spread your legs, but don’t stop dancing. Now, are you wet yet?”

She was going to tell him to check himself, like she had before, but she knew better this time. Besides, his one hand was braced against the bedpost and the other hand was already sweeping down over her abdomen, across her belly where he paused to look at the ring she’d pasted there, then inside the elastic waistband of her low-slung harem pants until he reached her wetness. One, two, three strokes of his finger in her slickness where her clitoris felt the size of a marble and she swooned into an orgasm that had her knees buckling and her breasts arching outward.

Luckily, he was able to catch her with his hands at her waist. “Good girl,” he said against her ear. “What would the slave girl like now? To be spanked, or fucked?”

“Both,” she said.

“Good answer,” he said, but he pinched her buttock for her sauciness. Then he undid her handcuffs.

She was about to take off her harem attire and follow him to the bed where he’d already shucked his briefs, but he said, “Oh, no, I have more plans for that outfit. Don’t you dare take it off yet.”

“Yes, master,” she said.

And he grinned.