WaitingforDessert

by Chastity Vicks

  Vivienne clamped her thighs around his head, riding the last trails of bliss as she pressed herself to him, holding on so tightly…until everything became too much, too intense and she pushed herself away, letting go of Ash’s hair and sitting back against his chest.

  He stared glassily up at her as his head lolled back against the pillow, his face wet with her juices and his mouth curled into a hazy, happy smile. Vivienne, one breast still free from her bra, leaned back on her hands, letting her pussy calm and the breath stop clutching in her throat.

  “Good boy,” she said again, watching Ash swell with pride and pleasure.

  She climbed carefully off him, her fingers skimming the smooth red rope of his harness, and snapped her bra and panties back into place. Moving to the nightstand, Vivienne picked up one of the small votive candles that had been flickering quietly, filling the room with their subtle fragrance. The flame warmed her palm as she cupped it, smiling placidly at Ash. He watched her, his cheeks pink and his lips parted, her wetness still smeared across his face as if it were a badge of honor.

  The rope held him securely and yet, despite his straining, stiff cock, he seemed relaxed, as if all the parts of him that found peace in his submission were somehow divorced from the tension that beat between his thighs.

  She loved to see that. The transformation—the chain of moments when he began to slip into his subspace, relinquishing his apprehension and replacing it with complete trust and an abandonment to sensation—was beautiful and precious. She could never get tired of seeing it or of knowing that he chose to share it with her.

  The candle wax smelled of peppermint. It was very pale green, but the drips that Vivienne let fall to Ash’s skin landed as near-transparent white. He hissed through his teeth as she gave him one, two, then three drops across his chest, peppering his pecs and the upper part of his torso with the hot little splashes of wax that landed like stars between the strands of red rope. His skin pinkened briefly with every contact, though that faded as fast as the brief bursts of pain, giving way to his euphoric purrs of pleasure.

  Once she had him sufficiently heightened, brought back to the brink by those wild sparks of delight, Vivienne set the candle down again.

  “I’m going to turn you over,” she said, her voice low and even. “Roll you over like a good little puppy, hmm?”

  Ash grinned blearily, a joy-roughened “Yes, Miss” slipping from his lips. He knew what was coming next. He would have prepared for it, as he did every weekend they were able to spend together, and Vivienne expected no less of him.

  She unfastened the ropes from the bedposts, motioned him to turn over and began to retie the burgundy cords, skimming her fingers down the backs of his hands and arms as she did so, her light touches confirming his comfort and sensitivity. Ash shivered, his hips flexing against the stimulation the soft coverlet provided, and Vivienne leaned over to smack his ass sharply with the flat of her hand.

  “I did not say you could come, sweetie.”

  He whimpered, nestling his face into the pillow and peering up at her with one narrowed eye.

  “Sorry, Miss,” he said, but the word held a little petulance and Vivienne arched an eyebrow.

  “Don’t you dare,” she reminded him.

  He nodded glumly, his arms spread out and his shoulders bunched, his head dipped a little as he rested his cheek against the pillow, pressing his lips together while he struggled for mastery over himself.

  Vivienne moved to the foot of the bed, retying his ankles before she picked the paddle up from the nightstand.

  “Ass up, puppy,” she prompted, and Ash immediately obeyed, drawing his legs as far in beneath him as he could, crouching up into the air, his pale cheeks bared and proud for her.

  The ropes at his ankles were pulled taut when he moved, cutting across the bed in tight red lines, and his back arched, his spine a delicious hollow that seemed to beg for a trailing touch. Vivienne paused, listening to the sound of his breathing in the room’s quiet.

  “M-Miss…?” Ash ventured. “Should…should I pick a number?”

  Vivienne tapped the black paddle gently against her hand, with just enough weight behind it that he would be able to hear its slap against her skin.

  “Hmm…no,” she said thoughtfully. “I don’t think so, sweetie.”

  Ash moaned softly—a tremulous sound of anticipation and apprehension—and she smiled, undeniably thrilled by tormenting him.

  Her first stroke was light—just a gentle thud against his ass. He rocked with it, gasping at the contact, but Vivienne gave him no time to recover. She brought the paddle down again, giving his ass a solid smack and then striking the other butt cheek with a swift, glancing backhand. Ash moaned, his ass tightening, and it was too pretty a picture not to hit again.

  Vivienne swung the paddle over and over, playing the strokes against his warming flesh, reveling in the little judders and jumps that each spank elicited. Ash pushed back against it after a while, the reddening skin of his butt evidently yielding a blossoming of pleasure deep inside him. She pushed him a little, bringing the hard black paddle down across his bottom in sharp, tough blows that brought more sparks of shock than titillation, and used the spanking to edge him back from the abyss. He wasn’t allowed to come until she said so…and she had no intention of letting him do it yet.

  With one last resounding thump of the paddle across his reddened rear, Vivienne abandoned Ash’s ass, moving to the nightstand to retrieve the dildo—a sculptured, textured symphony in shades of blue glass, with darker blue ribbons of color curling diagonally around its length—a bottle of lube and a pair of black prophylactic gloves from the drawer.

  Head down, ass up, he moaned into the pillow, groaning afresh at the sound of Vivienne snapping on the gloves. She squeezed a generous scoop of lube onto her black-clad fingers and eased them between his cheeks. She smiled at Ash’s hissing intake of breath and rubbed the pad of her forefinger around his pucker, which elicited another low moan. His pleasure made her pussy twitch and Vivienne eased her fingertip inside him, beginning the first slow, gentle strokes.

  Ash tugged at the ties binding his wrists, his back and shoulders bunching beneath the burgundy ropes. She took it slowly, letting his ease with her touch build until he was working back against her, eager for more, and only then did she let him have the first of the dildo. He swallowed its smooth weight and swelling ridges in just a few generous strokes, gasping as the cool glass filled him.

  Vivienne put her palm flat on his lower back, pressing down as she moved the toy back and forth, stoking Ash’s pleasure higher. He wouldn’t come from it, she knew from experience. Even as she sank the dildo deeper, its flared head nudging his prostate and transforming his gasps to low, hungry groans, he’d be too distracted by the feeling of being so full for his cock to explode, no matter how much she teased him.

  Vivienne fucked him with the smooth, slick glass until he cried out, pushing such raw, beautiful noises through his teeth that her cunt ached with shared desire. She owned his pleasure as she owned every other part of him, and the way he opened himself up—made bare his wants, his needs, his joy and his strength—filled her with proud satisfaction. He’d come so far since the first time they broached the bedroom together, when he was still stumbling over voicing his requests and she was still struggling to grant them.

  When she withdrew the toy, he moaned with disappointment—that same sense of loss and hunger that she understood so well—a deep and desperate need to be filled that beat within her core. Vivienne dropped the dildo to the nightstand, peeling off the lube-slicked gloves. She fumbled a little with the knots that bound him, her fingers clouded to clumsiness with her own desire.

  Ash made a small, hopeful noise as she unshackled his wrists, urging him to turn over once again. His face was red, that dark flush—almost as vibrant as the burgundy rope that encircled his chest—spilling down his jaw and neck. She didn’t bother to tie him to the bedposts again, instead allowing his tired arm
s to droop, falling to the coverlet above his head. His eyes seemed bathed with gold, warm and unfocused, and his hair was tousled to spikes. Vivienne wanted to grab it again, to feel its soft prickle against her palm as her nails scored his scalp, but she was too busy peeling off her bra, which she let drop to the floor, and the sopping-wet panties, which she balled up in her fist.

  “Open your mouth,” she commanded, her voice husky with barely repressed want.

  He obeyed, his bare, abused body laid out for her, the untied ropes still enveloping his wrists and ankles and his cock back to full, throbbing hardness. A pearl of pre-cum leaked from his tip, wetting the already glossy head. Vivienne clambered onto the bed, the mattress sagging beneath her knees, and folded her hand around his shaft. His hips bucked in response, a gasp rasping from his throat as she gave him a few short pumps and then stuffed her panties into his open, waiting mouth.

  Ash’s eyes rolled skyward then closed as he adjusted the screwed-up fabric between his lips. He let out a muffled groan around the panties as Vivienne climbed on top of him, teasing her slit with his cock. The slick, slow slide of the head against her clit made her catch her breath and she tightened her thighs around him as she sank home, savoring the sweet, unhurried engulfing of his flesh.

  He filled her comfortably, as if he’d been shaped just for her, and she felt him twitch within her, his face slackening around a whimper of pleasure, cheeks puffing out and her balled-up panties still in his mouth. Vivienne rolled her hips, letting a soft hiss of satisfaction slip between her teeth as Ash hit her sweet spot.

  She started to ride him in earnest, no longer content just to play and watch him squirm and moan. She wanted his cock, his heat, his hardness inside her, over and over until she was sated…because he owed her that. He was hers and this cock was hers, pumping and pulsing against the trembling, wet walls of her pussy.

  Vivienne felt him raise his thighs a little, using his feet to give himself leverage against the bed, his hips lifting to meet her movements. She stared down into his eyes, his expression a mix of concentration, bliss and some strange kind of innocence. She understood it…understood him. As she watched him lying there, his mouth full, with her scent and her taste overwhelming him and her juices still thick on his tongue, she knew that she possessed him completely. He jerked up into her, his cock a live, searing creature, and her pussy hugged him tight, drawing him in, taking every inch of pleasure he offered.

  He hadn’t even tried to raise his arms. His wrists were still encircled by the red ropes, their loose ends strewn over the pillow, and Vivienne suddenly regretted not retying them.

  She leaned forward as he pumped up into her, and grabbed the ropes in one hand while taking hold of his face in his other. Ash moaned around his damp panty gag and she squeezed his full cheeks between her fingers and thumb, planting a soft kiss on his forehead before she sat up again. Vivienne reared back into the driving, rhythmic joy of his cock plunging within her and tugged at the ropes she held, forcing his bound wrists up between them. Ash groaned desperately, begging without words for her permission, but she wasn’t ready to give it.

  Vivienne jerked the smooth burgundy rope, pulling her boy’s bound hands toward her and gazing into those wide hazel eyes as she drew him up, pliant and yet so strong, so vital. She reached down to rub her clit as their union grew more frenetic and the pounding of wet, hungry flesh filled the room. Her gardenia perfume—and the scent of the candles whose wax still hung in splintered layers on Ash’s chest—was a sweet echo beneath the sweet musk of sex and need.

  As the pleasure beat in waves along her whole length, Vivienne arched her back, pressing hard on her clit. She couldn’t hold back, couldn’t deny the throbbing, dizzying beat that tipped her over the edge, spiraling into that ineffable nothingness as Ash fucked her or she fucked him, her cunt full and quivering with every thrust of his cock.

  He was so close, his eyes wide and his jaw clamped on her balled-up panties as she came—hard, loud and long—shivering and bucking in his lap, with his bound wrists clutched tightly to her. Stars spotted Vivienne’s vision as she rocked back, loosening her grip on her fistful of rope.

  “Come for me,” she whispered, just in time, letting Ash slide from her pussy and stroking his slick shaft as he cried out in thankful ecstasy around his gag, letting the thick, pale jets of his pleasure paint her mound.

  They stayed like that for a moment, panting and spent, until Vivienne pulled the panties from Ash’s mouth and wiped his come from her pussy, tossing the wet, stained garment to the floor when she was done.

  She glanced at him, taking in his glassy, flushed expression, his face washed clean of thought or worry, and smiled.

  “You can help me do the preparation,” she said, “but you’re leaving before the guests arrive.”

  Ash just blinked and nodded. She suspected he’d forgotten there was even supposed to be a dinner party.

  Chapter Five

  They didn’t talk about it much after that. As far as Vivienne was concerned, she had laid down her rules and Ash could abide by them. There seemed to be some slight current of lingering uncertainty, however, and she got the feeling that in some way she hadn’t intended she might have hurt him.

  He didn’t say anything outright and they spent the rest of the weekend as they would normally have done—indulging everything that the dry days and the distance between them precluded—which meant there wasn’t much time left for chitchat.

  When he left before dawn on Monday morning, she didn’t get up to wave him off but she lay in the warm cocoon of her bed, her heart clenched on a familiar cold pang of loss.

  Ash emailed later that day. Of course he knew better than to try to play her with any kind of passive-aggressive bullshit, but he did specifically address her plans.

  It would be my pleasure to do anything you wish me to do, Miss. I can’t pretend I wouldn’t like to sit beside you or smile as you tell people who I am, but I understand.

  Perhaps, sometime, I will be permitted to stay.

  Until then, I will gladly, happily, do whatever you ask.

  Obediently yours, Ash x

  His words were sweet and respectful but Vivienne still boiled with suppressed irritation. She closed the email and scowled at the office wall, all the more annoyed by the fact she was busy and couldn’t spare the time to dwell on the problem.

  She pushed that twisted little knot of concern and frustration from her mind, shelving it—and the dinner party, and Ash and every single damn aspect of her personal life—until the day was over and she found herself driving home with the radio on loud, muttering obscenities at the traffic. It was raining and the sky’s darkening grayness seemed to make everything press down on her, as if it were an inescapable weight.

  It wasn’t fair. She knew why she felt this way and it was pure selfishness, but wasn’t she allowed that? Was it not her prerogative to make the rules and make sure they stayed set?

  Vivienne grumped about it to herself, carrying on a low-grade internal mumble of ire as she let herself in, her pantyhose clinging clammily to her calves, still wet with the inevitable splash-back from the office parking lot’s potholes. She wanted to call Ash. Despite the promises she’d made to herself and all those attempts to keep herself focused during the day, she hadn’t been able to help thinking about him. She wanted to call him, have him strip naked and sit on a chair in front of his webcam, stroking himself off for her. She wanted to watch him touch himself while she recited all the delicious things she’d like to do to his bound, captive body into the microphone, and she wanted to own his orgasm, making him walk that perilous edge of ecstasy until just a word from her made him fall.

  She didn’t, however.

  Instead, Vivienne went to her kitchen and cast a wistful glance at the vase of stargazer lilies as she pulled celery, onions, garlic, bacon and a couple of cooked baked potatoes out of the fridge. She scowled to herself as she chopped and peeled, then threw the veggies and bacon into an oiled, heavy p
an while she poured milk, a little yogurt and a spoonful of flour into a glass jug, then whisked the hell out of it for a minute or two. That made her feel a little better, but not much.

  Vivienne poured the milk into the pan, added the crumbly potato pieces and a handful of grated cheese, and left everything to simmer slowly while she grabbed herself a soup bowl and a hunk of crusty bread torn from the loaf in her breadbox and set them neatly on the kitchen counter. Upstairs, she stripped out of her sleek professional clothes, shivering as she peeled the pantyhose from her chilled legs and slipped into a comfy pair of yoga pants and a baggy sweatshirt that had long since lost its shape but hugged her like an old friend.

  She thrust her feet into her leather slippers and padded back downstairs in time to haul her soup off the stove. Bowl cupped in her hands, she settled at the kitchen table, casting a glance at the vase of stargazer lilies beneath the window. The blooms had barely begun to wilt.

  Part of her wanted to revoke her decision, to spare Ash the sting of rejection, and maybe she even liked the idea of admitting to him as a nonnegotiable part of her life. Vivienne considered that as she ate her hot, creamy, comfort-food soup and demolished the crusty bread.

  She had changed the sheets that morning, stripping and remaking the bed after she rose from it, alone—the same way she stripped and remade her life without him every Monday morning.

  Sometimes, if he was leaving on the Sunday due to a particularly early start the next day, the laundry was Ash’s job. She would sit cross-legged in the chair in the corner of her bedroom and watch him work his way through the chores, usually in nothing but his birthday suit…or his underwear if she was feeling charitable. He would clean, tidy, wash and put away, and she would smile for days afterward because the marks of his service stayed on the house.

  More often though he lingered until the last minute. He chose to remain with her, even if it meant early starts and a long trek home in the predawn dark, and Vivienne didn’t mind that at all…but she did hate changing the bed herself. Tonight when she slipped under the covers they would smell of detergent and synthetic freesias, but they would not smell of him, or the perfume she wore when she was with him or the mess that they made together.