But for now, she needed to come. She had to come or her body would burst into flame, consumed by lust for this man she’d tried so hard to keep compartmentalized in her brain, for this man who had been the only man to slip past the thicket of barbed-wire surrounding her broken heart.
Bending down, she kissed Owen and he kissed her back, moaning against her lips. They drove their tongues into each other’s mouths, biting and sucking as if trying to consume each other. As Sylvie gyrated against Owen’s body, she reached behind his head and knotted her fingers in his hair, pulling it hard.
She felt the orgasm rising, la petite morte opening its arms to enfold her in its embrace. She realized tears were streaking down her cheeks and her entire body was shaking. She ground her hips against him, arching her back as he thrust upward to meet her.
“Oh god, oh yes, oh please, oh no,” she babbled, before realizing she was speaking French. No matter, he understood by her body’s movement, the clenching of her muscles, the heat rising over her chest, the tremble in her loins.
She let her head fall back as wave after wave of shuddering tremors tore through her body. Owen was bucking beneath her, the tendons standing out on his neck, his eyes closed tight, his grip on the bars loosening. A sheen of sweat covered his body and wet the curling hair beneath his arms. She could feel his hard cock pulsing inside her.
When she could catch her breath, Sylvie took Owen’s face in her hands and said in a soft, teasing voice, “Oh dear. I do believe my very naughty sub boy has come without permission. Is that correct, slave Owen?”
Owen’s eyes slowly opened, staring unfocused in her direction. As he took in her words, a surge of color moved over his cheeks. He nodded and swallowed, the apple at his throat bobbing. “I’m sorry,” he began.
She stopped him with two fingers pressed against his lips. “Shh, it’s okay. If you are to be my lover, you will learn self-control, I assure you. I will teach you.” She grinned playfully, lifting one eyebrow.
“And anyway, now I get to punish you.”
~*~
Her hand on the base of Owen’s shaft, Sylvie lifted herself carefully off him, causing his sheathed cock to slide from the tight grip of her perfect cunt. While the idea of a punishment excited the submissive in Owen, he wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.
Slipping the used condom off, Owen tied the top and let it fall to the floor beside the bed, hoping Sylvie didn’t mind, making a mental note to retrieve it later and find a trashcan. She lay beside him on the bed, her smooth, curvaceous body loose and relaxed, her coppery hair fanned out on the pillow around her face.
There was a flush of post-orgasmic pink over her chest and throat. Her breasts, which he’d so often admired when hidden beneath silk, velvet and leather during their sessions, were even lovelier bare. Her nipples were dark pink against smooth, white skin. Her waist was long and tapered, flaring out into feminine hips that bracketed the downy curls of her pubic hair.
Unable to resist her feminine lure, Owen reached for Sylvie, pulling her into his arms. She pressed her cheek against his chest, her arms tight around him. Owen stroked her back and her soft hair, holding her close. Gently, he kneaded the muscles of her shoulders and neck until he felt her body ease and slowly uncoil.
He felt he could stay in this moment forever, with this lovely, sexy woman nestled against him. He felt a sense of peace he hadn't experienced since he was a child, and he leaned into the quiet. He was glad Sylvie didn’t feel the need to speak just then—their connection transcending the need to talk. It was as if the silence had its own language, a dialect only they knew.
He had loved the rough, violent way she’d straddled him, taking control as she fucked him. He needed the pain, the twist of the nipples, the sudden, sharp strike when she’d slapped his face. He’d reveled in his position beneath her, his cock as hard as the iron bars he was forced to grip, no matter what she did to him. It was the fire of passion in her eyes as much as the physical pleasure of her hot cunt gripping his cock that had sent him over the edge.
But now he sensed the fragility of this woman he held in his arms. An overwhelming tenderness moved through Owen, its pull as strong and deep as the fiery lust that had fueled their lovemaking a moment before. He realized his cock was hard again, caught between their bodies. Her breasts were soft against him, but he could feel her nipples poking insistently against his chest.
Gently disentangling himself from her embrace, Owen pushed her flat onto her back. Sylvie didn’t resist. She watched him as he reached into the drawer where she kept her condoms, glancing at her as he did so to make sure this was okay. Sylvie gave a small nod, one corner of her mouth lifting in a half smile. Finding what he was looking for, Owen quickly tore away the protective wrapping and rolled the condom over his cock.
He draped himself over the naked woman, a part of him still stunned that this was actually happening. Her thighs fell open as he nudged the head of his cock against the hot, sticky wetness of her swollen cunt. He couldn’t stop the groan of pleasure as her vaginal muscles pulled him into her, gripping his cock in a tight, velvet embrace.
He lifted himself over her so he could watch her face as he moved inside her. She was watching him too, those clear green eyes searching his. As he thrust inside her, she bit her lip. He moved again, swiveling his hips until she released her lip from her small, white teeth. Her mouth parted, forming an O as her eyes fluttered shut.
It was thrilling to make love to this beautiful, powerful woman—this woman whom he called Mistress Sylvie while in her dungeon, this woman who knew his deepest sexual secrets, this woman who could have had any man in the world, but had chosen, at least for this moment, Owen.
He stroked her from the inside out, focused solely on her pleasure. Sliding one hand between their bodies, he sought the small, hard button of her clit with his fingers. He rubbed lightly while still twisting his hips and thrusting deep inside her wetness until Sylvie’s small, breathy cries modulated into something deeper and more primal.
As before, she began to chant in a rapid patter of French. He recognized the oui and the non but not much else, at least not the specific words. It didn’t matter what she was saying—the language was clear. He didn’t stop touching and fucking her until her voice rose in a small, sweet squeal as her body trembled like a leaf beneath him, her cunt clamping down hard in a series of climaxes as she gripped his back, her fingers digging into his back in her passion.
Only then did he permit himself his own release, riding along the crested wave of her series of orgasms, holding her tight to keep from flying off into space.
He realized he must have dozed for a second, or a minute, maybe longer? He started to lift himself from her but Sylvie clutched him. “Stay,” she commanded. “Just like that. Don’t move.” He eased himself back down, covering her body with his, arranging himself so he could rest his face beside hers on the pillow. He could feel the beat of their hearts tapping against one another as their sweat-slicked skin slowly cooled.
Finally he pulled away, not wanting his sheathed cock to soften while still inside her, and she let him go. He slipped off the second condom, knotted it and dropped it somewhere near the first on the floor. The sheets were tangled near the bottom of the bed and Owen reached for them, pulling them over their naked bodies.
They lay again for a time in the silence. Owen’s mind drifted back to the moments before the phone call, before the wonderful Chloé from France had somehow known to order Sylvie to kiss him.
What had Sylvie said before she started to cry?
I can’t give that to you. I can’t take that risk again.
Owen knew there were three sides to every story when it came to relationships, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to kill whoever had made Sylvie afraid to love again. By the same token, he was glad the bastard had been so stupid as to let this amazing woman slip from his grasp. Now he, Owen, might actually have a chance, a chance for something more than a weekly session circumscribed by a
professional relationship.
Unless this was just a one-time fluke, a momentary lowering of Mistress Sylvie’s defenses before the shields were raised again. Perhaps she still loved this mystery man who had made her nearly send Owen away. Maybe it was one of those on-again, off-again relationships, and by next week she would be happily back in the bastard’s arms, Owen once again relegated to the dungeon sessions. The thought tore at something inside Owen, because he knew he could never go back to being just another client, another slot in Mistress Sylvie’s busy schedule.
“Who is he?” Owen blurted, the words slipping out before he realized he was speaking.
Fuck. Why did I say that? It’s too soon. I have no right to demand explanations, not now, not yet.
“What? Did you say something?” Sylvie’s voice was sleepy and content.
Glad for the chance to take back the words, not wanting to upset Sylvie or the new delicate balance of their relationship, Owen recanted. “No. Nothing.” He reached for the lamp beside the bed, flicking the room into darkness. Sylvie was lying on her side, her back to him. Owen reached for her and she nestled against his chest, her ass snuggled into his groin. He wrapped himself around her, cupping her soft, full breasts in his hands. Sylvie’s sigh reminded him of the deep, throaty purr of a cat and he smiled into the darkness.
Closing his eyes, he drifted away.
~*~
Cloud-filtered shafts of soft light moved across the room. Sylvie yawned and stretched, startled to find someone beside her in the bed. For a moment her sleep-clogged brain thought it was Jacques. In that split second an alternate past was created, the real past wiped out. Jacques had never left, but instead lay sleeping peacefully beside her in their bed.
But as she came fully awake, she saw not the ginger curls of her old lover, but the sun-splashed straight brown hair of a different man, whose back was smooth and tan, no hint of the spray of golden freckles that had dappled Jacques’ skin.
Owen.
Sylvie reached out, lightly touching Owen’s warm skin. He was snoring softly, a comforting sound that made her smile. Owen was so different from Jacques, at once eager and serious, unsure of himself where Jacques was certain. His passion in that first kiss last night had ignited her own, but it was his tenderness that had left her undone.
Pushing back the covers, Sylvie slipped quietly from the bed, moving past the pile of their clothing that had been ripped off during their eager excitement for one another. She went into the bathroom, running the water in the sink to warm it while she peed. She could smell Owen on her skin and feel the memory of him in the tenderness at her sex.
After washing her face and brushing out the tangles in her hair, she returned to the bedroom. Owen was awake, his arms behind his head, the sheets covering the lower half of his body. Where Jacques’ chest had been smooth and hairless, Owen had a V of light brown hair curling down his sternum. He smiled at Sylvie and held out his arms.
Sylvie curled in beside her new lover, nuzzling against him. Owen kissed the top of her head. “Did you sleep well?”
“Like a stone,” she said, realizing with some surprise this was true. She felt rested and energized, happiness lightening her body so that, if she hadn't been cocooned in Owen’s arms, she might have floated from the bed like a balloon. “And you?”
“Like a log.” Owen laughed. “Between us we could build a dam.”
“I’m sorry?” Though Sylvie was fluent in English, she still missed some of the humor. Looking into Owen’s face, Sylvie asked, “A damn? How do you build a damn?”
Owen laughed again. His eyes were at once bright and warm. “Never mind. Just kiss me.”
This time the lovemaking was slow and sweet. Sylvie made no effort, nor did she feel any particular desire, to assert her natural dominance. She just reveled in the feel of his body against hers. His beard was rough, scratching against her cheeks and chin as they kissed but Sylvie didn’t care.
“I want to taste you,” Owen whispered. He moved his lips in butterfly soft kisses down her bare body as he slid down until he was between her legs.
A strong hand on either thigh, Owen began to kiss and lick at the swollen folds of Sylvie’s cunt, circling her throbbing clit in a delicious tease. “Mon dieu,” Sylvie murmured, surrendering to the hot, sweet heat of his touch. She let her fingers entwine in his hair, gripping tightly.
It wasn’t long before she felt the tide of a powerful orgasm rising beneath Owen’s skillful kiss. As he lapped at her pulsing clit, she felt him slide a finger into her wetness and the combined sensation sent her cresting along the wave of a powerful climax. She heard someone calling Owen’s name as if from a distance, muted by the roaring of her blood and the pounding of her heart, and realized it was she.
She must have blacked out for a second or two because Owen had somehow sidled up beside her and was stroking the hair from her face. “Shh,” he soothed. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.” He took her into his arms, holding her close until the trembling in her body eased and she sagged against him, drifting in a sweet haze of post-orgasmic bliss.
After a while Sylvie opened her eyes again, turning in Owen’s arms as she reached for his cock, which she found was hard and fully erect. The sheets on which they lay were damp and twisted, the covers on the floor. “Come with me, Owen. We will shower.”
He followed her into the bathroom. While he peed noisily into the toilet, Sylvie ran the shower water. She couldn’t help but smile at the masculine sound. It had been a long time since she’d let a man stay the night. When the water was hot she stepped inside the large stall, beckoning Owen to join her.
“Wow,” Owen said, nodding toward the huge, claw-footed bathtub. “That’s pretty incredible.”
Sylvie nodded her agreement. “You shall have a bath one day, but not today. I have other ideas this morning.” She grinned mischievously and stared pointedly at Owen’s bobbing erection. He climbed into the stall and she pulled the glass door closed.
They soaped each other’s bodies, washing away the sweat and sex. Sylvie allowed Owen to wash her hair. His fingers were at once soothing and strong as they massaged her scalp, but she had something else in mind. Positioning Owen so the hot spray pummeled his back while shielding her, she knelt in front of him, taking his cock into her hands.
“You will ask permission before you come,” she said in a voice she knew brooked no disobedience. She actually felt his cock jerk at her words, hardening even as his face softened into a submissive expression.
“Yes, Mistress,” he breathed.
Sylvie lowered her mouth over the warm, silky skin of his wet cock, while gently cupping the heavy balls beneath. Owen groaned as she took him in deep, using her throat muscles to mimic the feeling of a cunt wrapped tight around him. She slid back, using her tongue to tickle and tease him, and her lips to create friction against his rigid shaft.
It wasn’t long before Owen was trembling and groaning. “Oh, god. Oh, yes, oh, please, Mistress. Please, may I come?”
Sylvie pulled away just long enough to reply that he could. Then she took him deep again, feeling the pulse of his climax and the tightening in his balls as he released his seed far back in her throat.
Letting his still-hard cock fall from her lips, Sylvie leaned back on her haunches a moment, looking up at her sexy boy, pleased he’d remembered to ask permission. He reached down for her and she let him pull her up and into his arms. They stood in an embrace for several long moments, letting the hot water sluice over them as the steam billowed around them.
After their shower Sylvie wrapped herself in her favorite thick terrycloth robe. She brushed her wet hair back and left Owen to dress while she went to the kitchen to make some breakfast. She pulled some croissants from the freezer and warmed them in the oven while she made coffee.
It wasn’t long before Owen appeared in the doorway. “That smells wonderful.”
“Help yourself to coffee.” Sylvie smiled at Owen, who moved toward the counter and poured
himself a cup, adding some cream and a teaspoon of sugar.
“Can I get yours too?” he asked.
“Yes, just a little cream, no sugar,” she said, thinking suddenly about beginnings, when everything is so new and yet to discover—even the little things, like how your lover takes his coffee.
She set the croissants on the table, along with some butter and a pot of apricot preserves. Owen took a croissant and pulled it open, releasing a buttery cloud of steam. He took a big bite and closed his eyes in appreciation. “Delicious,” he exclaimed.
Sylvie smiled and sipped her coffee, feeling an ease she hadn't felt in years. She glanced at the clock. It was after ten already and she had an appointment in the dungeon at noon. She thought briefly of canceling, thinking how lovely it would be to spend a lazy day in the arms of her new lover, but Owen, following her gaze toward the clock, said, “I didn’t realize it was so late. I’m supposed to be across town in less than an hour to meet some contractors on a new office building I’m working on.” He paused a moment before adding, “But I could always cancel.”
“No, that’s okay. I have some appointments too.” Sylvie reached for Owen’s hand, which rested lightly on the table. “I should be free by the evening, though.”
Owen nodded. “Evening would be great!” He grinned, the pure happiness radiating from him warming Sylvie and making her smile back. Owen ate a second croissant before pushing away from the table. Sylvie pushed back too, rising as he did.
It felt so natural to step into his arms. He held her a long moment before leaning down to kiss her lightly on the lips. “I can’t tell you, Sylvie, what last night meant to me. I hope it’s the first of many.”
“Yes,” she whispered, “Me too.”
She walked him down the stairs to the front door. He kissed her again and she took his face in her hands, kissing each of his cheeks before letting him go.
She was upstairs dressing when she heard the front door buzzer on the intercom. Had Owen forgotten something? His wallet, perhaps? She glanced toward the heap of sheets on the floor as she moved toward the intercom and depressed the button.
The Story of Owen: One Man's Submissive Journey Page 11