by Natalie Dae
The mattress either side of me sprang up, and I had a second or two to wonder what he was doing while he still feasted on my cunt. Then my nipples were dragged south, where he’d perhaps took hold of the chains and pulled them down in the middle.
I screamed again. Loud. Long. Shrill.
The pain was superb. Utterly and without a doubt superb.
More, Sir. Give me more.
He gave it, setting up a steady rhythm—tug, release, tug, release, kissing my cunt harder—until I forgot to breathe. All I could think about was what he was doing and how it felt. Utterly painful on my nipples—I love it, love, it, keep doing that. Pleasurable but not pleasurable enough on my pussy—harder, kiss me harder, suck my clit, suck it, suck it, suck it.
I finally caved in to instinct and lifted my hips, giving my nipples some respite as the chains must have slackened a bit, and shoving my wet slit against his face as I’d wanted to. I saw it in my mind, him down there between my forced-open legs, still in his suit, for all the world looking like he was merely eating lunch. While I, I was displayed as his feast, not only my body bared but my soul too. He had all of me, that man, yet with one word—sugar, you might need to say it tonight—I could take it all away.
“Talk to me,” he said into my folds then continued with his kissing assault.
“I can’t…say much…Sir.”
He flattened his tongue and laved upwards, one drawn-out movement that had enough pressure to bring me off if he did the same again. Except he stopped, tongue flat over my clit, and I was sure he could feel it throbbing. The muscles in my back and legs strained. I longed to lower myself to the bed, but knew if I did my nipples would be yanked again and my cunt would lose that closer connection with his mouth. I stayed where I was.
“It’s just,” I said, “I can’t find…the words, Sir.”
He took his mouth away. Gave the chains a harder tug. “Try.”
I cried out, thrashing my head from side to side as darts of unadulterated pleasure-pain ripped through my breasts. My head went empty, and it felt as though I’d begun to float. No, I didn’t want subspace, not now, not right this minute. I fought it, wanted to be wholly present when he licked my cunt again. Wanted to feel every swish of his tongue.
When he went back to shorter, lighter yanks on the chain, I found myself retreating from entering that place I go to when the pain borders on being too much. I was back where I wanted to be, on the bed and not in my head, body and all it could feel present, my mind sharp again. The incessant pulls on my nipples suddenly didn’t hurt anymore, becoming something that was just happening, my hard buds at last desensitized, the movement producing nothing but a dull ache.
“I’m… I want more, Sir. I need you to make me come.”
Instead of telling me I’d come when he saw fit and not before, he devoured my cunt this time, licking hard, flicking everywhere at once, it seemed. My lips were already open for him, my hole gaping, but he must have let the chains go, for now he spread my lips even wider with his fingers. He exerted pressure, the kind I’d been after all along, and wreaked havoc on my cunt with his mouth, sucking, licking, sucking, until the build-up of my orgasm grew. It crashed on me, in me, over me, sweeping me up and away, plundering through me until my lower half humped his face of its own accord and the pleasure seemed to want to rip me in half.
I gloried in the sensations, seeing myself again in my head as I must appear on the bed, chained, trussed up, displayed just for him. Someone to be used by him—only him. Someone who was on the verge of blacking out because the bliss was so intense. That talented tongue of his flashed about in all directions, always coming back to whip over my clit to ensure a fresh wave of pleasure radiated from it. It went on and on, that licking, that orgasm, wringing me out, my cum squirting and him lapping it up. I was vaguely aware of the rubber restraints grazing my wrists, of the ankle manacles digging into my skin, of those awful, hideous-yet-magnificent nipple clamps grinding their teeth.
I could smell my juices, the scent heady and thick, and wanted to open my eyes just a bit so I could catch a glimpse of his face, glistening, wet. But I didn’t—he loved to watch me come, see my face contorting, my hair sticking to my face as I thrashed about.
At last, after what seemed like an age, the sensations ebbed. I lowered my arse to the bed, sorry for the loss of contact with his mouth, even sorrier as my nipples were stretched again, the harsh pain returning. Mercifully, he must have unhooked the chains—the relief on my nipples was instant, but then another sharp pain on both of them had me screaming so hard I produced no sound. He’d removed the clamps—always the worst part by far—but immediately massaged my tits with his palms to ease the burning.
“Good girl,” he said. “That’s it. Breathe. Come all the way down now.”
I did as he’d asked, letting my body sink, relaxing my muscles and concentrating on drawing air in then letting it out. My throat was sore, dry. My cunt was the opposite, so sodden I knew his lips had to still be wet.
He continued rubbing my breasts. “You’re all right, you’re always all right with me, my precious girl.”
I nodded, chest rising and falling at a steadier pace now. Every so often my body jerked with aftershocks. I swallowed, easing the aridity in my throat, circling my hands to try to give my wrists some relief. Scrunched my toes. I ached all over, in a good way, and wondered if I’d have the strength to walk out of here by the time he was finally done.
“Open your eyes,” he said.
I did, blinking at what seemed overly harsh light from the chandelier. The spots of illumination looked like they were dancing. His face appeared, blotting out everything else, and he looked down at me, not a shred of concern on his face. He knew my limits better than I knew them myself. His expression was one of love mixed with him being proud that I had handled things so well, that I hadn’t needed to escape to subspace.
“You did wonderfully,” he said then kissed me.
I tasted myself. Enjoyed it. Swallowed. Allowed him to kiss my mouth in the same way he’d kissed my cunt. He lowered himself on top of me, pressed his hard cock to my slit, the material of his trousers rasping over the flesh there. He reached up to free first one wrist, then the other, kissing me all the while. I left my arms where they were, and he took one of my hands, guiding it downwards, letting me know he wanted my touch on him. I obliged, smoothing up and down his back, wishing his suit jacket wasn’t between me and the glory of his skin.
He broke the kiss and brushed the wayward hair off my face. “Ten minutes. Ten minutes until we begin again.”
He got up, took the clamps and chains over to the sink then dropped them inside. I watched him clean them in some solution or other, then dry them on the table top, taking this rest period to gear myself up for another round. He’d be thinking of what was going to happen next—if he hadn’t already thought about it before he’d arrived here—and I wondered what was going through that beautiful, clever mind of his.
“Don’t think about it,” he said, glancing at me over his shoulder. “Just wait. Take the time to balance yourself. There’s plenty of time for thinking when you go home. When you’re hanging from your ceiling manacles.”
Chapter Four
He came to the foot of the bed, kneeling to release my ankles then turning the key to shorten the bar. He stood, returned it to the table, then leaned on it with his hands, looking down at the floor. I had the idea to ask if he was okay but didn’t, keeping my mouth firmly shut as usual. If he asked me to speak I would, but I sensed he needed a moment to gather himself. Or maybe he was just fine-tuning his next steps.
He turned to face me, and as I was lying down, I decided my gaze was sufficiently lowered and I could ogle him. There was a wet patch on his fly from where he’d pressed his cock into my slit, and I smiled, wondering if he wouldn’t wash that off when he got home either.
I’d remained where I’d been since he’d secured me to the bed and had no energy to move now. But if he ordere
d me to adopt a new position I would. Obeying him without question, regardless of how tired I felt, would always be the case with me. I couldn’t imagine going against his wishes. If he thought I was able to cope with more, then he’d be right. He always was.
“I’m not going to give you any more pain in this scene,” he said, walking to stand at the foot of the bed between my still-splayed legs. “I want to take it to the next level.”
The next level? What was there left to do but ramp the intensity up every week, pushing me closer to my limit? I frowned. He smiled.
“The next level in our relationship,” he said.
I wasn’t sure what to think, and I wanted to ask him what he’d meant but again stayed silent. If he wanted to explain, he would. If he thought I didn’t need to know until he showed me, then that’s how it would be. I didn’t need to press, to try to cajole information out of him. I’d learnt right from the start that I’d get it eventually. When he was ready.
I waited for him to order me to get up on my knees, turn around and present him with my arse so he could strike it harder than he had before. Or for me to get off the bed, sink to my knees on the red tiles and suck his cock.
He didn’t. Instead, he stared at me, or maybe stared into the middle distance, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t have the energy to move let alone think anymore so I let my mind drift while he studied me, or studied whatever he could see floating in the air in front of him. My eyes glazed as I waited, and almost drifted shut, exhaustion threatening to claim me. I’d never fallen asleep here, but then again, I’d never had such an intense experience as the one I’d just had. Yes, he’d been intent during our other times here, on making sure each new experience of pain had an extra layer, more intense than the last, the strength of it gradual, going up by increments. Yet tonight, my God, tonight he’d gone for it, doubling the agony of the week before.
“Let me help you farther up the bed,” he said, climbing on so he was at my side.
I didn’t protest by looking at him indignantly, as though he’d been rude to have suggested I was too tired to move. That fact that I was didn’t come into it. I let him slide his arms beneath me, then he lifted me up and shifted me so my whole body was on the bed. He rested next to me on his side, then gathered me into his arms, something he’d never done before. I snuggled into him, my heart flip-flopping along with my stomach, and told myself to just let things happen as they would, as he wanted them to.
“You know,” he said, stroking my hair, “I knew one day I’d want to make love to you. That this relationship we have would go beyond us just meeting to scene. That being with you once a week, teaching you, knowing you were my sub even when I wasn’t with you, wouldn’t be enough.”
I held my breath.
“So tonight, after you’ve been such a good, good girl, I want to kiss you, touch you, fuck you in a different way. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I thought I did but didn’t dare to hope that he was putting out feelers to see if I’d be willing to not only be his once-a-week sub but someone he was willing to share more of his life with. I loved him—loved him, loved him—even without the tenderness, the day-to-day living, the sharing of our lives. I couldn’t begin to imagine what it would feel like to see more of him, different sides of him, to be a proper couple.
“No, I’m not sure I do know what you’re saying,” I said. “I know what I want you to mean, but my want and what you actually intend would be two totally different things, I think.”
“What do you want from me?” he asked, then kissed the top of my head so gently it made me want to cry.
I blinked several times then took a deep breath. Let it go. Opened my mouth to speak. Closed it again. Thought for a moment, hoping he didn’t take my hesitation as me working out how to tell him to fuck the hell off. That I’d signed a contract to meet him here once a week, and that contract didn’t include seeing him at any other time.
“I…I don’t think I ought to tell you that, Sir. It might spoil things. You might not want what I want. And even though I have dreams, an ideal situation, I’m happy to take whatever you’ll give me. I think it might be best if you didn’t know what I want.”
“What if I wanted to give you everything?” He held me closer, tighter. “What if I told you I could no longer stand to be away from you for six days a week. What if I said that I’d fallen in love with you months ago and that one of the reasons I haven’t told you how deep my feelings for you go until now was because I was afraid you’d reject me. What if I told you all those things. What would you say?”
I couldn’t see for tears. They spilled over, rolling over the bridge of my nose then across my cheek and down, where their journey ended on his jacket lapel. If he told me all those things I thought I’d be the happiest woman alive. If he told me all those things I’d say he could tell me more. I should tell him that, but my damn throat had closed and I couldn’t get any words out.
He lifted my chin with his finger. Stared at me, his face devoid of expression. Had he taken my silence to mean I’d rebuffed his offer? Had he schooled his face to show me nothing of his feelings so I didn’t feel pressured to answer the way he wanted me to? I opened my mouth, closed it, opened it, and his features softened in his understanding.
“Too much too soon?” he asked. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“No, Sir,” I said, the word loud and sharp in my desperation to get it out. “No. It’s the right time, the perfect time.”
He smiled but didn’t show his teeth. It didn’t quite extend to his eyes either, and I thought he might be guarding his emotions.
“What would you say then, pet, to all those things?”
“That I wanted the same, that I felt the same. That I could never tell you before because I’d never been invited to share my feelings.”
His heartbeat thundered in my ear, its pace competing with mine, which had sped up as I’d spoken.
“I’m stopping this scene,” he said. “Stop being my sub and tell me whatever you want. I’m inviting you now, to tell me your feelings. To show them to me. Don’t wait for my instruction. Just do what you want.”
I rose up onto one elbow, reticent at first to lift my hand and place it on his cheek. But I did it and smiled, loving the contrast of our skin, how his was so dark against the whiteness of my hand. I’d dreamed of doing this very thing, just touching him because I felt like it, and now I had, I found the emotions inside me overwhelming. My eyes brimmed again at the beauty of what I’d done, a simple act many took for granted, one I’d been denied for months. I could touch when told to but not before. I moved my thumb across his cheek, back and forth, and stared into his eyes.
“Show me,” he said. “Go on, show me.”
Energy seeped into me, the strength being drawn from the bubble of hope growing in my chest. I sat up, then pushed him onto his back, straddled him and stared down at him while he stared up at me. I loosened the knot of his tie, pulled it free of his shirt collar. Unbuttoned his shirt, peeling the fronts back to reveal his muscular chest. Placed my hands on it, his skin warming my palms, a delicious thrill going through me. My whole body heated, and I smiled, smoothing my hands over him. I reached out to take his hand, urged him up so I could remove his top clothing and discard them on the bed beside us. I pushed him to the bed then leaned down to kiss him, brushing his lips, barely, staring into his eyes to try to convey what he meant to me. It seemed he understood, the crinkles beside his eyes bunching as I felt him smile, properly, beneath my lips. He cupped my arse, let me direct our kiss—soft, undemanding, special little pecks—all the while looking up at me.
“What would you say,” he said against my mouth, “if I told you to go further, to take what you wanted, when you wanted it?”
I pulled away and reared back, shuffled down his legs so I had access to his fly. I drew his zip down, pulled his cock out then moved back up his body. Reached down to hold him at his base, positioning him at my entrance. Sank down, watc
hed him as he surged deep inside, stretching me, making me complete in a different way to how he had before. I moved slowly, relishing the smooth glide, the way his eyes were drifting closed, the way he reached out to hold my hips and help me find a rhythm.
I rode him gently, my clit grinding against him every time I went down, every time he filled me to bursting. I circled my hips, the gyrations ensuring my clit got more pressure, and a sweet, sweet tide rose, sweeping through me, hot yet tender. I dipped my head to kiss him as I came, his cock throbbing, his cum flooding me. He groaned, and I took it away, swallowed it so a part of him went inside me, the part that told me how much he was enjoying this very different kind of sex. He jerked his hips, sending his cock deeper, and I bit his lower lip, panting as the last tendrils of my orgasm floated through me. My cunt was hot from his cum, and the brief thought of how different this was went through my mind.
I’d expected a harsh, relentless fucking tonight—expected it because that’s all we’d ever done. But this? No, I’d not expected this. Dreamt of it, yes. Oh, yes.
“What would you say,” he said, “if I told you that was the most sensual fuck I’ve ever had? That I’ve never allowed a woman to make love to me—or allowed myself to make love to a woman?”
“I’d say I wasn’t surprised, Sir,” I whispered, lowering to rest on his chest. “I’d say you might not have found the right one before.”
“I’d agree.” He rolled us so that he was on top of me, his semi-hard cock still lodged inside. “And I’d say that very shortly I was going to make love to a woman for the first time. Take her without restraints, without orders, and hope that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with me—as my sub and my wife.”
I sucked in a breath, his words erasing the ones that had been sitting on my tongue before he’d spoken.