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by Shandi Boyes

  I run my fingers over the brand-new leather chaise, appreciating the coolness of its material on my overheated skin, as my wide eyes take in the rest of the room. Marcus watches me from the doorway but remains completely quiet. He is studying my response as eagerly as I am assessing his newly-formed playroom.

  I recognize the Saint Andrew's cross mounted on my right from my research into the BDSM lifestyle, but there is a wooden table-like contraption sitting on my left that I've never seen before. It has a black leather cushioned top, and four leather encased nooks positioned in place by adjustable nubs. It's a sturdy contraption that looks like it could take the weight of three individuals, but its odd angle and the position of the nooks gives the indication it's only designed for one.

  “What's that?” I ask Marcus, curiosity in my tone.

  My pulse quickens when he pushes off his feet and saunters into the room. His dominance is as prominent as ever, vibrating out of him in invisible waves.

  “It's a gift I had made for you.”

  I can’t stop my smile, so I set it free. “You didn’t make this one?”

  “No,” Marcus answers. “My specialty is chains, not wood.” His reply has a hint of playfulness to it, a rarity I didn’t expect while standing in his playroom.

  He stops beside me before connecting his massively dilated eyes with mine. "It's a spanking bench. Your torso lays over the top, and your feet and hands are supported by the footrests."

  You’d think my first reaction would be panic that he had a spanking bench made for me. It isn’t. My insides clench in exhilaration.

  Endeavoring to rein in my seemingly unquenchable desires when it comes to this man, I move to the various floggers hanging on the sidewall. The excitement tingling in my core turns uncontrollable when my eyes lock in on a black riding crop identical to the one Marcus used on me last week. My knees curve inwards as my pupils dilate.

  “How did you get this done in such a short period of time?” I query, my high tone exposing my aroused state.

  I am more turned on than shocked. I’m not surprised Marcus had a playroom installed. I am thrilled. I’m just stunned at how quickly it was formed. I guess for people with money, patience is not a requirement?

  Marcus commences answering my question with a shrug of his shoulders. “Chains moves the location of its parties every week. This was a minor request for my playroom designer.”

  My eyes snap to his. “There are playroom designers?”

  Marcus nods as his eyes drift around the room. “Because your questionnaire was vague, I asked Clarice to supply a broad range of toys. Once I believe you're ready, we will work out which ones you prefer and remove the ones you don’t.”

  My thighs tremble as my knees crash together, hoping to ease the mad throb building between my legs. I am sweating profusely, my body frantically perspiring to cool my skyrocketing temperature.

  I shift my eyes back to what should be seen as a wall of pain, but for some reason, my demented brain is seeing it as a wall of pleasure. Sexual curiosity is eating me alive. I don’t just want to know the names of the toys presented in front of me; I want to know what they feel like as well.

  Remembering Marcus’s request to show him the real Cleo, the one no one else gets to see, I turn my eyes to Marcus and say, “Can we start that experimenting now?”

  Marcus’s eyes bore into mine, assessing my soul from the inside out. It's a long, heart-strangling stare. The excitement making my skin a sticky mess eases when I spot the indecisiveness in his eyes.

  “I’m fine,” I mumble, not appreciating the silent interrogation his eyes are relaying. Yes, he knows my body better than anyone before him, but that's second to me. If I say I am fine, I am fine!

  Not speaking, Marcus curls his clammy hand around mine and paces to the door we only entered mere minutes ago. Shamefully, I pout, hating that my assurance wasn't potent enough to squelch his concerns. I thought the desire displayed in my eyes would have been the most significant indication of how badly I want this. Although I am a little unnerved about tiptoeing into the BDSM lifestyle again, my excitement easily overpowers my anxiety.

  “You requested to see the real Cleo. I’m trying to show you that. I can’t do that if you defy my every move,” I partially quote, using his own words against him.

  The efforts of my heaving lungs turn calamitous when Marcus stops just outside the door. He cranks his neck to me, his stare the most thigh-quakingly delicious scowl I’ve ever been given. After running his eyes over my disappointed face, he releases his grip on the handle so he can run it over his clipped afro.

  "That woman I was in your playroom is me. I've never felt more invigorated and free as I was that morning." Although my body is pleading for his dominance to be unleashed, my words come straight from my heart, as every one I spoke was true. "The man you are in this room is a part of you, Marcus. This is your domain. The one place you feel most comfortable. Share that with me. Let me in. Be my Master."

  My breathing turns labored when his eyes lock and hold with mine. His pupils fill his cornea, making his alluring green eyes darker than usual, and the rigid line of his jaw is pulled taut. His gaze is spine-tingling, and it switches my heart rate from a leisured cantor to a gallop.

  There he is. The man I’ve fantasized about every night the past nine weeks: Master Chains.

  28

  I pant, incredibly aroused when Marcus moves to close his playroom door, trapping us inside. I forget to breathe when he spins on his heels and slowly prowls back to me. He is mere feet from me, but it feels like the sun swings from the east to the west by the time he is within reaching distance of me.

  My nostrils pump when he lifts his hand to tug my elastic out of my hair, freeing my dark locks from their tight restraints. As my hair falls to my shoulders, he grips the hem of my shirt and pulls it over my head. He draws in a sharp breath between his teeth when he discovers I am braless underneath. My nipples bud, pleased to have secured the utmost devotion of his alluring eyes. He stares at me for mere seconds, but it feels like hours. His attentive gaze makes me feel devoted and cherished. It also makes me squirm on the spot.

  My plain black running shorts are next to go, pulled down my shuddering thighs without any hindrance. He folds them neatly before placing them on a cabinet at the side of the room. I stand still, frozen in a trance when he begins removing his clothing.

  “Jesus Christ,” I mutter under my breath, incapable of not reacting to the splendid sight in front of me.

  Marcus's muscles are pulled taut from the rigorous activities he undertook earlier, meaning each bump, curve, and plane carved into his mouthwatering body is on full display. His cock is also thick and jutted, but that isn't the most appealing part of his package. It's the dominance beaming from his heavy-hooded gaze. He truly is a Master—pushing my race to climax into the forefront of my mind by doing something as innocuous as undressing.

  After gathering something from a set of drawers on his right, he moves back in front of me. I’m tempted to discover what he is holding in his hands, but I can’t force my eyes away from his. He has me locked in a trance, drunk on lust.

  “What's your safe word, Cleo?” he prompts, peering into my eyes.

  I cough to clear the tumbleweeds in my throat before replying, “Pineapple.”

  "Say it again."

  “Pineapple,” I repeat more forcefully.

  Marcus pauses, soundlessly building the suspense, flaunting his powerful aura in an impressive way. He hasn't even touched me, and I'm the wettest I've ever been. My core won't stop crunching in anticipation as my body begs for him to lose control—to act so reckless, he can't hold back his desires.

  I don't know how much time passes gazing into his eyes before he commands me to kneel. His voice is thick and demanding but with a guttural quality from our delay in conversation. Eager to follow his demand, I lower myself onto my knees. The plush carpet hugs my gravel-scraped skin, making what would usually be a painful stance less ac
hy.

  “Kneeling is a mark of respect for your Master. Any time you wish to enter my playroom, you must kneel first,” Marcus advises me.

  When I lift my eyes from the ground, my breathing shallows to a ragged pant. I am face to face with Marcus’s primed cock. My first instinct is to reach out and touch him, but I suppress my desires—barely—knowing I handed my powers to him the instant I entered this room.

  “Do you understand, Cleo?” Marcus questions, put off by my silence.

  I lick my lips before nodding, advising I understand his request.

  “You're also not to wear any clothes or have your hair pulled up in any way.” He carefully clasps my chain link pendant between his thumb and index finger. “And you're to wear this pendant at all times, in and out of this room. It's your collar—a symbol to everyone in our community that you are mine. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” I reply, nodding, my mind too dazed by his admission to form a better response.

  If my necklace is a symbol of our relationship, does that mean he wanted me to be his before he discovered our sexual compatibility? And before he had our contract drafted?

  My internal deliberation is interrupted when something smooth and cold is placed under my chin to lift my head. My knees scrape the carpet when I discover what it is: an exact replica of the black riding crop Marcus used on me in the sex swing—although a little more compact.

  My core spasms when my eyes meet Marcus's. His gaze is dominant, primitive and robust.

  “Yes, what?” he questions, his deep timbre sending a chill of anticipation down my spine.

  “Yes, Master Chains,” I correct, my words barely a whisper since they were forced through the lust curled around my throat.

  Marcus’s lips crimp in the corners as he moves the riding crop away from my chin. He trails it down my thrusting chest, weaving it like a snake through a sandy desert before stopping just above my pubic bone.

  “Spread your knees wider,” he requests while running the tip of the riding crop between the folds of my quaking pussy.

  When I do as instructed, he awards my obedience with an ideally placed smack on my aching clit. I close my eyes and call out, loving the painful stimulation awakening every inch of my body. Marcus waits for the fiery warmth engulfing me to calm before taking a step closer to me, propelling his glorious cock into my peripheral vision.

  “Put your hands on the balls of your feet, then lean back until your backside is resting on your hands.” The deep rasp of his voice is felt all the way to the tips of my toes.

  I sigh softly, disheartened I’m moving away from an object I've been dying to taste in my mouth for months. I don't know if Marcus believes my skills in giving head are lacking, or he doesn't like having his cock sucked, but if he keeps denying my request to taste him in my mouth, he’ll never discover I have no gag reflex. Don't ask how I found I have no gag reflex; it's a story only those closest to me know—AKA Lexi.

  My disappointment doesn’t linger for long. Only as long as it takes Marcus to say, “You're going to suck my dick, Cleo, but if at any time you remove your hands, I will withdraw contact, and you will be punished.”

  Pleasure clusters in my core, ecstatic I’m finally going to taste him. I don’t care I can’t touch him. Tasting him will be worth the sacrifice. I lick my lips in anticipation as Marcus runs his hand down his cock, stroking it in a slow and tantalizing pace.

  After gathering a bead of pre-cum from his swollen knob, he runs his thumb over the cut in my lip, using his arousal to loosen up the tightness of the small scar forming there.

  “If you feel pain at any time, tell me.” His tone ensures I cannot mistake his comment as a suggestion. It was a demand.

  I nod, my eyes arrested on his glorious cock inching toward me.

  “Are you ready?” he asks, his tone gruff.

  I lick my lips. “Please,” I pant.

  When he gives me permission, my tongue delves out to lick the bead of salty -goodness glistening on his tip. Marcus’s lips part, and he sharply draws in a breath when I suck him into my mouth for the first time. The appreciative moan escaping my lips vibrates his knob when he slowly inches into my mouth. My god—he tastes good. Salty, manly and virile. The perfect combination to drive me wild.

  “Open wider, Cleo,” Marcus instructs, his hooded gaze heating my face.

  The corners of my mouth burn when I part my lips more.

  “Good girl.”

  Since my hands are tucked under my backside, Marcus must control the pace of our exchange. He guides his cock in and out of my mouth as my tongue works on his swollen crown. I suck, lick and graze my teeth over his impressive shaft. When his groans turn gruffer from my tongue running along the dense vein nourishing his cock, I give it more attention with every pump he does.

  Sweat beads at my temples as he increases the rocking of his hips. I suck ravenously as he feeds his cock into my greedy mouth. I run my tongue over the sensitive slit, lapping up every morsel of his arousal while peering up at him, coaxing him to lose control.

  “Ah. Yes. Just like that,” he praises, enticing me even more.

  The riding crop drops to the floor with a clatter when he clutches the back of my head. I purr loudly when his painful grip sends a pleasurable tingle racing down my spine. He uses my hair to control his grinds. He pumps in and out of my mouth at a speed fast enough that he thickens with every thrust, but not too fast he loses complete control.

  "You’re enjoying this,” he mutters, weaving his fingers through my hair to tighten his grip. “On your knees, servicing your Master.”

  “Yes. Oh, god. Yes,” I moan in reply. “I’ve been wanting this for weeks. Months.” I peer up at him, my eyelids heavy with lust. “Years.”

  Air hissing through his teeth is the only reply he gives me. I lavish his cock with attention, worshiping the heavy feeling of him in my mouth. My erotic purrs vibrate on his taut flesh, my excitement at unraveling him unable to be contained. I graze my teeth over his crown as my tongue works on the vein feeding his magnificent erection. I want him unraveled, to be completely mindless.

  “You don’t just want to suck my cock. You want me at your complete mercy, so you feel like you have control, that you have the power,” Marcus grunts as his pumps into my mouth quicken.

  I answer him by increasing the power of my sucks. I do love doing this to him, satisfying him with my mouth; I also cherish how uncontrolled I can make him. Seeing how restrained he is when pleasing me is an exhilarating experience, but the sight of him standing above me, feeding his glorious cock into my mouth is just as exhilarating. I adore the way his lips part when I run my teeth over the plush crown of his cock, and how the veins in his neck thrum when I enhance the pressure of my sucks. I love that I can make him so reckless, his sexual hunger is finally placed first.

  Reading the response from my forthright eyes, Marcus says, “That will never happen, Cleo. Power play isn’t about one partner having more power than the other. It's like ballroom dancing. Both partners have an essential role to play to give the best performance. Both are as important as the other.”

  His thumb tracks the hollow in my cheek from my greedy sucks. “Contrary to what you believe, you're naturally submissive. You love being dominated; you crave giving pleasure, and you relish the idea of being punished. But instead of trusting me to take care of you, you continually defy me in the hope you will force me to dominate you.”

  My knees drag across the carpet as my pussy pulses with desire. I can’t deny what he said as every word was factual.

  “Disobedience may get you punished, Cleo, but not in the way you're hoping. Pain during pleasure is much more enticing than pain solely from being punished.”

  I whimper when he draws his cock all the way out of my mouth. My insides sigh in disappointment, devastated at the hollow and empty feeling in my mouth.

  He peers down at me, his eyes blazing with lust. “Punishment comes in many forms, Cleo. Not all of it is painful. Like
now. Your disobedience will only award you with disappointment. Your constant need to goad me is why you can’t touch me tonight. It's why I am fucking your mouth at my pace, in my desired position, in my playroom.”

  A sensual moan purrs out my mouth before I can stop it. Sexy dominance beams out of him in invisible waves, but that wasn’t the sole cause for my shameful moan. It was what his eyes were relaying. He might have said, “My. My. My.” But his eyes were conveying, “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

  “Do you understand what I am saying, Cleo? From now on, your disobedience will only award you with disappointment.”

  I glance up at him, my hunger for him unconcealed in my hankering eyes. “Yes, I understand, Master Chains.”

  His lips curl in a heart-stuttering smirk. “Good girl,” he murmurs, bringing his cock back to within reaching distance.

  I run my lip down the length of him, continuing with my mission to unravel him, to have my name torn from his mouth as his warm cum spurts onto my tongue. My cheeks hollow painfully when I suck down hard. Marcus’s grunts turn feral as his efforts to contain his excitement come undone. He grinds into my mouth so profoundly the crown of his cock hits the back of my tonsils. The veins in his clenched jaw throb when he realizes I have no gag reflex.

  “Just as I imagined—if not better,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

  Before I have the chance to register its arrival, his orgasm takes me by surprise. My eyes widen when cum rockets out of his cock at a faster rate than I can swallow it.

  “Take it all, Cleo. Do not spill one drop. Don’t stop until you suck me dry.”

  My eyes widen as I frantically gulp the salty goodness pumping out of him in thick, hot spurts. He tastes so good. Brackish, manly, and 100% Marcus. I moan, exulted I am finally tasting him in my mouth, but struggle to reel in my unbridled hankering.

  Marcus’s feral grunts make me needy and hot, while the sting of him pulling my hair rushes my need to climax to the forefront of my mind. My mind dangerously spirals out of control as an endless stream of possibilities floods me. I squeeze my thighs together, vainly trying to quell the frantic pulse making my sex a sultry mess. Nothing works. My rampant horniness is too wild to contain.