by Joey W. Hill
“You’re beautiful.”
“Mistress.”
Lauren looked over at Marcus, startled by the serious, slightly stern tone. He squatted behind her, and cocked his head. “You should call her Mistress, Josh. As long as she holds the cards, that’s what she is to you, until she gives you permission to do otherwise.”
It was another step, and she waited, seeing if Josh would take it. She was fascinated by the myriad of thoughts moving behind his eyes. It was even more intriguing to see that Marcus’s words affected him in a manner she could discern. His erection, already noticeably swelling behind his zipper when she had removed the top, was now full and tight, straining against the constriction of the wet jean shorts.
Her eyes lifted back to his face, and the flush on his neck. He swallowed. “You’re beautiful, Mistress.”
It was the most natural thing in the world to reach out and fondle his jaw, and push a lock of his hair back behind his ear, which of course made an interesting spectacle of her breasts before his avid gaze. She could almost see saliva gathering in the corners of his mouth with the desire to taste them.
“My swimsuit, Josh,” she reminded him gently. “I’m waiting.”
He tore his gaze away and put his hands to the waistband. He was able to easily slide his fingers over her bare hipbones and slide the clothes over her backside. He could have let them drop to the sand unaided at a certain point, but he took them down, a smart man who took advantage of the opportunity. He managed a light brush of her clitoris through the crotch of the damp swimsuit, smoothed his palms down her slim thighs and calves, caressed her ankles, even the bottom of her feet as she stepped out of the shorts, aided by Marcus’s steadying hold on her waist.
His eyes lifted, taking a leisurely amount of time. His gaze was a warmer caress on her body than the wind at her back. When his face did rise to where she could see his expression, she was jolted by the combination of fierce hunger and pleading submission there. It almost broke her. Almost. It would have if Marcus had not been there, a steady third party influence that helped her get a grip.
She wanted to twist the rubber band a bit tighter. Balanced equally with the lust in her own body was the desire to prolong his, to draw it out to the point of explosion. What would it be like to get him so visually excited that she could whisper softly, “Come for me”, and watch his body explode without any stimulation other than her cool command?
God, the idea sent a flood into the channel between her legs and made them tremble beneath his hands. She needed to lie down, now, before her need trickled down over his fingers and gave her away.
When she bent her knees to do just that, he guided her down to her back, his hands at once caressing and protective.
Despite feminist protestations of self-sufficiency, she could still be melted by a man who obviously considered it a point of honor to protect a woman, keep her from harm. The gesture of respect and care, coming while she was completely stripped, added a level of eroticism to it that weighted her down. She was unable to do more than just lay still, reclined under their attention and intent. She was content to watch the fire in Josh’s eyes flare as Marcus scooped wet sand and ocean water into his palm and let it slide through his knuckles, just over her abdomen.
The impact of the first small crescent of sand was cold, and quivered through her, sweeping down her shoulders and raising goosebumps across her breasts. She remained still, watching Marcus. His brow furrowed in concentration as he increased the flow of sand to build up the dripcastle, covering her navel. He moved upward, increasing its coverage along her rib cage. Some of it slid down her waist in tiny rivulets of earth and ocean. Most stayed where he placed it, rough turrets of gleaming wet sand, a castle wrought by nothing but the movement of his fingers and the inclination of the sand and water itself as it came in contact with her flesh. There were flecks of glitter in the sand, so the sun made his creation gleam amid the hills and slopes of her body.
“May Josh play, m’lady?” Marcus asked absently, “Or must he just watch?”
Lauren pulled her gaze from his hands and looked over at the intent eyes the color of doves that were devouring every slight movement of her body in reaction to the sand. “He may play.”
Josh reached over her, slipped his hand into the bucket. She watched his long brown fingers emerge, covered with dripping earth and sea water, and then hover over her hips. Her stomach drew in with her breath as he began to construct his own annex of the castle along the inside of her left hipbone.
“Your panting is ruining my work, my dear,” Marcus whispered, as he leaned in and pretended to brush some sand from her temple. “Just close your eyes and relax. Let us enjoy you and this beautiful body of yours.”
Lauren smiled and dipped her head in acknowledgment. She took one last deep breath, using it to pull the tension from her muscles and relax. She settled her head into the indentation of soft sand behind her, and closed her eyes behind the sunglasses. It took some effort, but she was a Mistress after all, and knew the rewards of control. She was just out of practice. She shifted her focus to the lazy flow of sand and water across her skin, rather than the eroticism of how it was being placed there.
The sun warmed her where the damp sand did not cover, and because of the contrast, she felt every new addition to the foundation of her body. When her eyes opened to slits, Marcus was building a crescent of turrets along the undercurve of her breasts, trailing water down her sternum. Josh worked his way across to the other hipbone, and formed a triangular city, the three corners being her hipbones and her shaved mound. She knew, with his head bent close in concentration on his work, he must be able to smell her arousal, and see the cold slide of sand and salt water over her swollen clitoris. Her thighs trembled once, but for what reason, or for all reasons, she did not know.
She watched how Josh’s hand moved, his fingers twitching in the same gesture they would have made if he were manipulating the labia in tortuous friction against the clitoris. His range moved from one thigh, back to the other, wrist dipping and twisting as gracefully as a dancer. Each passage across the channel of her thighs received a touch from the medium in his hands. She was so mesmerized by his intense concentration that she barely noticed when Marcus sat back to watch with her.
The cool touch of wet sand, its soft plop of impact against her enervated skin, began to set off a spasmodic reaction. Her muscles leaped at each touch, despite her willing them not to move. The sand’s impact acted upon them like the charge of a small electrode.
The desire to part her thighs was beginning to climb into her belly. She wanted to let the cool waterfall patter upon her slick parts, but at the same time she did not want to interrupt his concentration. She was absorbed by his intent expression, the tension of his bottom lip, caught in his teeth. It stretched his skin across his face, further defined the high cheekbones, the straight nose.
He was so beautiful, so gentle, and yet at the same time he contained a dangerous, explosive sexual power. She felt like stirring the water, to see if she could tease the beast to lunging for her.
“You need a better view of what he’s doing,” Marcus said. “Here.” He moved behind her and lifted her up by the shoulders, sliding his knees and thighs under her shoulder blades. It propped her up in a shallow, comfortable angle that did not disturb the work he had done on her abdomen and breasts, but permitted her a three dimensional view of Josh’s efforts.
It was not a castle, as she had thought. Josh’s work had produced thin spirals that curled along her thighs and pubic bone in intricate, non-touching designs that reminded her of a henna paste. His artistry had a Celtic flavor, twining, curling, and flaring. He had framed her sex as the central piece of his design, and the continuous touch of water had kept the clitoral lips glistening and erect, and made it appear as if a delicate, half-open flower bulb was the centerpiece of the work
He had not spoken or even looked at her face since he had placed his hand in the bucket, but Lauren did not fee
l ignored. His awareness of her was as immediate as the touch of the sand and sea. He was paying silent homage to her, wooing her, worshipping her and her sex with his artwork.
He stopped, staring at his work. She swallowed, but before she could speak, he leaned forward and placed his warm lips against the cold ones of her pussy. She felt the electrical charge of the contact jolt to her toes and prickle the hair on her skull, though he merely laid his mouth against her skin. The kiss was as chaste and reverent as any laid by a knight upon the pale knuckles of his chosen lady.
His eyelids lifted, but his lips stayed upon her as he met her gaze. As she watched him, he moved his mouth into a slow, sucking kiss, drawing the clitoris into his teeth, holding it up so she could see it. He flicked his tongue over it. Once, twice, three times. Her body arched, and a strangled moan came from her. He stopped, let it slide from the grasp of his teeth, and then breathed on her, the heat of his mouth washing over her quivering clit.
Lauren’s hands gripped Marcus’s knees. She could well imagine that tongue inserting itself in her vagina, the broad part of it unfurling and giving her pussy a long, slow, and thorough lick from back to top. She moaned as his breath rippled over her again, pounding the image into her mind, and she caught hold of her land sliding control with her fingernails, cutting into Marcus’s flesh.
“Stand up,” she managed.
Now the bitter fight for control shifted. Her tension increased, seeing in his expression a struggle with the powerful desire to override her command and simply plunge his mouth into her. He could take control and lead her where he wanted to go. They both knew it. At this moment, with his mouth on her, she had no power to stop him.
Perhaps Marcus might have spoken, and helped her take back the reins, but this moment was between the two of them, and she had the right to make the call. Lauren’s breath clogged in her throat and while she could not say what hung in the balance, she knew it was important, a vital moment on which everything else might pivot.
Josh’s eyes shifted away at last, his broad shoulders rising and falling in one shuddering breath that, thankfully, was no longer directly over her clitoris. Otherwise, the force of it might have pushed her to orgasm.
Lauren drew a slow, steadying breath of her own as he got to his feet. The leg openings of his cut off shorts had pulled up, exposing his thighs almost to where they joined to his hips, due to the size of his stiff cock. She could see the shadowed curve of one testicle behind the pale fringe.
“Take them off,” she murmured. “And make yourself come. Finish your sculpture.”
Marcus’s hands convulsed against her shoulders, and she knew she had pleased them both. She felt her strength of will return, despite the strident pulse of need from between her thighs. She channeled it in the way she had once known how to do automatically, and used the power of the lust to drive them all.
“Do it, Josh,” she whispered. “I want to see you do it over me. You can’t imagine how much it makes me want you to fuck me.”
His neck and chest were flushed in embarrassment, his eyes shifting like a nervous animal’s. He gave her a half glance, a strangled chuckle. “Well, I’d be happy to do that, Mistress.”
“I know you would. I can see you would.” Her gaze roamed downward, caressed him with a heated glance that made him groan. “But it’s not time yet, and you must obey me, mustn’t you?”
Her eyes lifted back to his face, her brow arched. She knew the look she was giving him. There was a mixture of tenderness, and implacable sternness that clearly said, you will do what I say, and you will trust me.
The look was successful only if it was genuine, and if the foundation to trust the Mistress had been firmly planted in the sub. In the real world, it was too soon to establish a moment as intimate as this. Lauren was going on faith, and the extraordinary strength of the attraction she had felt between them from the beginning. Whether it was the fantastical setting, Marcus’s facilitation, or something else, something too good to hope for or think about at this moment, it did not matter. Some moments were spoiled by analysis. She simply held his gaze, waiting.
Josh swallowed, nodded, and unbuttoned the jeans. He slid them down over his hips. His cock bounced free of the restraint of his clothes, enormous in its torment, full to bursting. Lauren shivered at just a thought of what a hot stream from it would feel like on her skin. His gaze followed the quiver, resting on her open pussy and she parted her thighs slightly, giving him more.
“Fuck yourself for me, Josh,” she said. “Use your hand and imagine it’s my pussy stroking you. But,” his gaze flicked back up at her sharp tone, “You better ask my permission before you come.”
God, she could barely breathe from the erotic sensation of her power over him. The surf roared and sparkled behind Josh, silhouetting his naked, tanned body. The miles of white sand stretched around them, and the palm trees rustled like feathers over skin. His long hair fluttered over his broad shoulders. His mouth was tight with craven need for her, and horrible shyness. He was so…everything.
She tilted her hips, so his uncertain eye was drawn again to how much she wanted him, cherished him. She wanted to see him spurt over her in a moment of wild absorption, lacing the beautiful sculpture he had done on her pelvis with further proof of his devotion to her.
“Come closer, down on your knees,” she commanded, and spread her thighs to let him fit between them, giving his avid gaze a full view. “No, don’t put your ass on your heels. I want you standing on your knees as long as they’ll hold you.” A wicked grin crossed her face, though the corners of her lips trembled with something more feral.
He had gorgeous thighs, muscular from outdoor work. His right calf had a serpent dragon coiled from ankle to knee. From the tender joining crease of pelvis to mid-thigh, a tattoo of a sword had been stenciled. The jeweled hilt was drawn just below his hipbone. A latticework of ivy and pale gold flowers twined around the blade, and at its point the greenery twined into a tight vee that curled up into a dime-sized upright pentagram, a symbol of the elements and protection, which anchored the work on the inside of the thigh, just below the heavy nest of testicles.
Once again, though the work was beautiful, she wondered at the artist who had not recognized perfection when it was plain before their eyes, needing nothing to adorn it. Her lips curved. If it were up to her, and at least for this weekend, it seemed to be, she would have him walk around naked all the time to admire.
He had a fine silken triangle of dark sable around his standing cock that she would dearly love to run her fingers through. But later. For now, she held herself still, and watched.
Marcus had slid out his legs on either side of her so now she was cradled between his thighs. She felt his blatant, impressive reaction pressed against her lower back. Lauren reached up a hand and pressed it to his jaw, and smiled at the absent brush of lips against her pulse, with a hint of teeth, but her eyes did not leave Josh. She was sure his did not, either.
“You let him touch you easy enough,” Josh growled, desperation behind the snarl. “When I could touch you and mean it.”
His words shot pure fire through her vitals, but she kept her expression cruelly bland. “Put your eyes on my pussy, Josh,” she said. “Don’t take your eyes off it. I want you to watch it grow wetter with every stroke of your hand on yourself, watch it drip on the sand, all for you.”
He groaned. She knew he was not aware that his hand began to rub his shaft as she spoke, primitive instincts overriding the mind’s embarrassment. She knew because he jerked, startled, when he realized it, but at her encouraging murmur, his hand settled to its work. That loose curl of fingers that showed how well men knew their bodies, just as women knew their own, the right pressure to stimulate themselves to orgasm. The pressure up his length that pushed the loose skin forward, creating friction against the velvet steel beneath. It worked his hips forward and made his breath quicken, get more harsh. Clear fluid collected on the tip of his cock and a drop fell, landing on the s
and design, then another, this one landing on her clit, a tiny kiss that made the flesh quiver.
Marcus’s hands moved, cupped the outside of her breasts, pushing them together so the drip castle he created tumbled in on itself. He spread the sand across her skin, rubbing the grit gently into her nipples, the rough texture stiffening them further. Josh’s eyes flicked up to them, his tongue coming out to wet his lips.
“Stop,” she snapped, albeit a bit breathlessly.
His hand froze on his cock, quivering with its longing to continue, his body vibrating. He was so close; she could feel it like a heavy haze in the air, the stillness before an explosion.
“Where is your gaze supposed to be, Josh?”
He dropped his attention to its proper place, while beads of sweat rolled down his shoulders.
“Tell me.”
“Your pussy,” he said hoarsely.
“You disobeyed me, Josh.” A soft smile curved her face as Marcus continued to knead, cup and lift her breasts like water. She allowed herself a little mewl of pleasure at the sensation and wiggled her ass in the sand. She chuckled softly at the rumble of frustration, almost a whimper, from her submissive. “If you don’t do it again, I will forgive you and let you continue. Will you do it again?”
“No, Mistress. Fuck it, no.” There was a primitive fervency in his voice that made it rough as gravel. “You’re just so beautiful.”
“Then you are forgiven,” she purred. “Continue. And I don’t need to remind you that you need to ask before you let that bad boy go over.”
“No, Mistress.”
“Then keep going. You are the beautiful one, Josh,” she added quietly, with fierce sincerity as she watched his intent features, the renewed movement of his hand. “You cannot imagine how watching you do this makes me feel. You’d drown in how wet I am. I’m adding to your sculpture already, aren’t I?”
His head bobbed once, a jerk, and his breath hitched.