by Joey W. Hill
Jon didn’t speak to Marcie, just glanced at her with that familiar measuring look. She wouldn’t be acknowledged yet. Jon had turned her over to his submissive’s care and would determine her well-being from Ben. Her Master.
Or at least the one she wanted to call Master, so much she knew it was going to eventually slip from her lips. When she was feeling less vulnerable, she’d do it deliberately. Master, Master. Master. She wasn’t going to let him—
God, she was doing it again. But she couldn’t help it, damn it. She was unwilling to back down or give up, no matter if she had to sit on that pillow for the rest of her life. Except she hoped it wouldn’t come to that, because if she had to sit on it right now she might cry like a kindergartener.
“Marcie.” Rachel brought her back with a warm squeeze on her arm. “Come on. You’re caught in the zone. We need to get you grounded a bit better. Let’s check you out, all right?”
Rachel guided her up the open staircase, to the second level that held bedroom, home office, and a room with a massage table. In that room, there were clusters of lit candles that threw flickering light onto a tall stained-glass window with the design of a lotus blossom vine. A light installed behind it allowed the vibrant greens and browns to glow, even at night. Somewhere behind the array of delicate Japanese maples in the room, a flute piece was coming through a speaker system.
Okay, she’d definitely been expected. It embarrassed her, but Rachel was being her usual gentle but firm self, not allowing any of that nonsense.
“Let’s get your clothes off. No, honey, let me help. Your fingers are so cold and shaking.”
“I told Ben, I’m fine. I just—”
“You’re fine, but you need some help to stay that way.” She removed the sleeveless snug turtleneck. Marcie tried to help, to prove she didn’t need to be undressed like a child, but Rachel was right, because she fumbled over the zipper of the skirt. Rachel made a soft sound, brushed her hands away. As she stepped closer to reach around her to do that, her breasts pressed against Marcie’s.
She was wearing one of Jon’s soft worn T-shirts, jeans pulled on beneath it, suggesting the shirt had been a nightshirt until they received Ben’s call. It seemed a little early for wearing night clothes, but then she remembered Rachel was a 24/7. It was entirely possible that Jon preferred her naked in the house when it was just the two of them. The temperature in the house was more than comfortable for it.
The shirt smelled like a pleasing combination of Jon and his wife, and Rachel wore no bra under it. As a result, when Marcie felt the give of her generous breasts against her own, her nipples got hard again. Though her mind was logy, her body was still in an alert state, prepped for physical intimacy. Turning her face into Rachel’s thick blonde hair, she smelled her fragrant shampoo, the heat of her skin. She wanted to press her lips to the woman’s neck, taste her. Insanely enough, she did.
Rachel let out a sensual chuckle, pressed her hand to the side of Marcie’s face, allowing it a moment before she unhooked her bra, stepped back to slide it off Marcie’s arms, then turned her toward the massage table. “You are spinning, love. Let’s check your vitals first. Sit here on the table.”
She was vaguely aware of Rachel taking her pulse, checking her heart, making her breathe deep and then shallow as she did so. The woman wrapped a blood-pressure cuff on her, pumping it tight with calm efficiency. Marcie didn’t realize she’d zoned out until Rachel’s voice called her out of the fog. “Good. Vital signs are fine. I’m going to have you lie down now, check some other things, but I want you to start sipping on this.” She drew Marcie’s attention to a bottle with a flexible straw by the massage table. “It’ll taste a little odd, but it’s just a hydration mix. Salt, sugar, water and a little mint and some other things I put in to soothe the stomach and nerves.”
When she assumed that state, Rachel’s capable hands adjusted her legs so they were slightly spread. Marcie was completely naked now. The air touched her skin, made her shiver, though she knew it was warm in the room. “We’ll get a blanket on you in just a second. Oh love. You really pushed yourself over the limit, didn’t you? Let’s put an antiseptic salve on that broken and irritated skin right now, because we don’t want infection. Keep drinking now, small sips.”
When Jon’s wife rolled her over, she’d put a blissfully damp towel over a soft pad right under her backside so it wasn’t as uncomfortable as Marcie had anticipated. She smelled something fragrant and chemical at once, suggesting the damp pad was soaked with the salve.
“That will help for now. An additional healing balm will be added later. One of my own mixes. It has beeswax, aloe, some different extracts. Mixed with a bit of talcum.” Marcie heard the smile in the woman’s voice. “Smells wonderful and makes you feel like a pampered baby.”
Marcie floated. The smell of the antiseptic, the way Rachel had her laid out on the table, made her remember getting her nipples and her clit hood pierced. The pain had been excruciating, but throughout it, she’d imagined Ben there as if he’d ordered it, decorating the body that was his. That night, she’d gone home and looked in the mirror at the silver clit ring. Eventually, she’d bought two emerald beads for it, the color of Ben’s eyes. She’d worn them today, beads that teased her clit and labia when she moved. She wondered if Ben had noticed when he was caning her over his desk.
The night she’d purchased those beads, she’d fantasized about Ben tugging on the ring, attaching a tether to it. Her pussy had been so wet, making the ring and beads glisten even more.
Remembering, past and present coming together, her body reacted with a shocking contraction of arousal as she heard Ben’s voice. She cracked her eyelids to see him at the door. Rachel had covered her with a warm blanket, now that she was on her back, but his gaze still covered every exposed inch of skin with careful precision. “I called Cass, let her know she’s here for the night. How is she?”
“She’s going to be fine. Dehydration was the main worry, but she’s working on fluids now. The antiseptic will prevent infection, if she tends the area according to my instructions. In a little while she’ll feel much steadier. Then she’s all yours.”
She wished. Oh how she wished for that. On her side of things, it was already the truth.
* * * * *
She must have dozed off for a while, or floated around in that weird trance state, because when she focused again, she thought quite a bit of time had passed. She did feel steadier, but when she shifted, she winced. Sheesh, her muscles were sore. She probably needed to take a hot shower at some point.
Of course, with lucidity came a bunch of nervous feelings that compounded tenfold when she saw Ben sitting where she last remembered Rachel being. The woman had watched over her as she dozed, reading at one point, then peeling some carrots, a rhythmic, comforting clink-clink of noise from the peeler. Probably preparation for some meal she’d be cooking for Jon later. Though Jon could cook and sometimes did, Marcie had noticed at the group get-togethers it was always Rachel who brought Jon his plate or a refill on his drink, unless he specifically told her to stay seated so he or another could tend to it. Another of those many little clues she’d put together.
Rachel was an anticipatory sub, one who anticipated what her Master or his guests would need and took great pleasure in meeting those needs before they even voiced them. Some Masters allowed that; others required that a sub follow their direction exactly. She had a feeling Ben was a mix, depending on the situation, but she was a hundred percent certain what he truly wanted was a 24/7 relationship, no matter that he’d never committed to a woman in all the time she’d known him.
He hadn’t pursued a woman outside a club setting in the past couple years, but that only confirmed her opinion. All the intel she’d gathered said that Ben O’Callahan didn’t settle for anything less than exactly what he wanted. 24/7 subs—and the Doms who not only wanted them, but knew how to manage that type of relationship—were rare. Even those who said they wanted it often really didn’
t, because the reality of 24/7 was a whole different thing. But like Ben, she didn’t want anything less. Further, she didn’t want it from any Dom in the world except Ben. He could call it youthful idealism or fantasy all he wanted. She knew differently.
She met his gaze, couldn’t tell what was going on there, but she didn’t have to figure out how to ask. When he saw she was awake, he rose. As he drew back the blanket, exposing her body to him without any preamble, the air now felt warm.
“On the floor, on this mat here. Obeisance pose.” His voice was firm, but like the air, no longer cold. She hoped her hair looked okay. Her makeup had been ruined, but Rachel had cleaned her face with a warm cloth, so hopefully it wasn’t too bad. Personal appearance aside, he’d just given her a direct command. She found her limbs a little logy, but he gripped her elbow, helping her off the cot and into a kneeling position.
Knees folded, body leaning forward, elbows to the padded yoga mat, forehead down. Ass lifted off the heels, pushed into the air against the elbows so she was balanced. He made an approving noise at her understanding of the pose. She wished she could tell him she’d masturbated in this pose, imagining that it was his hand that had pushed a vibrator into her ass and pussy, commanding her to hold the pose until she came, shuddering and screaming into the pillow she put on her dorm room floor so her neighbors didn’t hear.
He took a seat on a short stool next to her, one knee crooked, the other leg stretched out comfortably alongside of her body. He was still wearing his slacks and dress shirt, but he’d rolled up the shirtsleeves. Before she went all the way down, her gaze had slid down his throat, over the light mat of dark hair revealed by the open collar. He had a cart next to him with cotton balls, gauze and an open jar of something that smelled wonderful. Rachel’s balm.
Marcie had assumed she’d be doing the care, but in thinking about it now, Rachel had never said that. Instead, Ben was handling it personally. Tears pressed against the back of her eyes once more. She wasn’t a crier, never had been, but for some reason, a whole backlog of the pesky things seemed to keep swelling up like a creek after a rainstorm. Shutting her eyes, she swallowed against the lump in her throat.
He had powerful hands, hands that were probably half again the size of hers. As he stroked her hair off her neck, spreading it forward on the floor around her shoulders, she made a questioning noise in her throat. He stilled. “What is it, Marcie?”
“Can I…would you put your hand under mine…sir?” Master was there, on the tip of her tongue, but she wanted this, wouldn’t provoke him right now.
Blissfully, he complied. Hers was flat on the mat, and he knelt beside her to slide his palm down, beneath hers. She curved her fingers over his knuckles, aligning them so she saw she’d been mostly right. Not half a size larger, but still much larger than her own. When cupping her breast, a hand like that would almost cover it, though not quite. Thank God she and Cass had inherited their mother’s generous bosom. Ben might be an ass man, but he had a healthy appreciation for breasts too. In those few days they’d shared office space, she’d seen him perusing hers more than once. Those demi-bras allowed a lot of attractive movement.
“Thank you, sir.”
He removed his hand without comment, but he gave her hair another stroke. Then he started tending to her. The balm stung a bit, telling her there was still antiseptic in the mix. However, she wasn’t sorry about that at all, because it had the benefit of him leaning forward, blowing gently on her buttocks where he applied it, soothing that burn and sending an erotic ripple through her, thinking of his mouth so close. Then came a light stroke of his fingers as he massaged it into her skin. It was uncomfortable, but bearable, as long as his touch was part of it.
Fluids had helped restore her, made her feel less thick-tongued and dizzy, and the shifting waves of arousal came back fast under his touch. The obeisance pose underscored complete submission to a Master’s desires, the genitals and anus open to whatever he wanted to do, the forehead to the ground making surrender clear.
She couldn’t help twitching, the slight lifts of her backside begging for more of that touch, for more, period. She was getting wet, she could feel it, and while she knew he’d call her a slut, it was how she reacted to him. She couldn’t bear it if he thought she was this way with everyone. But there was nothing she could say to prove otherwise. She had to show him, and in this moment, being still and letting him register the arousal was all she could do.
She thought she heard a muttered oath. But then his touch slid down the seam of her buttocks, and his thumb probed the lips of her pussy, coming away wet. She whimpered.
Candlelight, heat, silence. She wondered if Rachel and Jon had gone to bed, because she heard no noise at all beyond Ben’s breath and her own. Though she had no idea how long she’d been out of it, it had to be late.
Now both hands were cradling her buttocks, his thumbs parting them. His breath was there, a heated balm even better than the salve on the abraded parts. Then she nearly swallowed her leaping heart.
He put his mouth to the tight, puckered opening.
It should get better. It’s always a little harder for girls, at first. Find a guy who will take the time to make it good for you. Don’t settle for just lying there while he gets off in five minutes. The right guy will want you to feel pleasure as well, and even if he doesn’t know how to go about it, he’ll want to learn. Don’t be afraid to tell him and show him. He’s supposed to take care of you. Otherwise he deserves to have his dick tied in a knot.”
Ben, answer to Marcie when she told him about her first time
Chapter Six
Holy Mother of God, fuck, please, oooohhhh. Though she’d surely fantasized about this, there were some things electronics couldn’t duplicate. A heated, firm tongue licking around that rim, teasing the ultra-sensitive center, which contracted under the pressure, welcoming him in. But he taunted her with it, kept his tongue on the outside, tickling and stroking that ring of nerves. His fingers tightened just enough on her abused buttocks, making her flinch and convulse at once. Yes. More pain, more pleasure. She could take it all from him.
She tried her best to stay still, to be a good girl, but it really wasn’t her nature. She wanted to wiggle against his face, rub and squirm. She wanted that tongue. Those powerful fingers dug in, a warning, hard enough that a true lance of pain went through those broken areas.
“Keep still, or I’ll stop.” He spoke against her flesh. That combined threat and command stilled her more effectively than any physical pain.
But oh God, it was intense. She bit into the mat, her fingernails digging into the foam as that agile tongue made small circles among the tiny creases of her anus, touched that center point again and again. He put pressure there several times, making her think he was going to penetrate, but then he’d withdraw. Her whimpers became pleading cries. Her pussy was convulsing, warning her the very friction of the air could make her orgasm, his very proximity enough to push her over the edge.
“You won’t come.” Reading her body so well, he spoke sternly.
She nodded frantically, agreeing, though she had no idea how she could stop herself. He made her helpless. She knew he exulted in it, that this was his drug, making her every action and reaction a mindless, instinctive response to him.
His tongue pushed slowly inside that opening, going deep, moving, swirling, teasing, and she came apart. She didn’t come, but it was more intense than any climax she’d given herself. She screamed into the mat, her nails puncturing the foam and taking chunks out of it. Her thighs trembled, her toes curling hard as she struggled to stay still. His fingers bit into those welts, and the mixed sensations were so overwhelming she thought she might black out. She fought to stay in this moment forever.
He withdrew, then penetrated again, fucking her ass with his tongue. When it became too much, he would tease and play on the outside, then thrust back in again. Every time it was more overwhelming than the last. She knew there were other people in the hou
se, but she couldn’t stop making those wailing, crazed shrieks.
When he pulled back at last, sat on his heels, she was holding on to that cliff edge with every tense, quivering muscle. Those strong hands curled around her upper arms, lifted her onto her knees, turned her toward him. “Look at me, Marcie.”
His eyes were green fire, the flickering candles making love to the planes of his strong face. “Arms boxed at the small of your back, ass on your heels.”
She complied immediately. He took a seat on the stool, caging her between his thighs and the massage table. Taking her shoulders, he slid her closer with an effortless move that kept her in the same position. “Close your eyes.”
Oh the hell with that. She wanted to see, wanted to see him. But he wasn’t going to do anything else unless she obeyed. She shut them, swallowing back the petulant protest that came to her lips.
“Behave, little slut.” When she was in her teens, he’d called her brat, and now she heard a similar note of affection, though it had a new element to it, one that made hope bloom in her heart.
She heard him opening the slacks, adjusting himself, imagined his cock stretching out hard and thick so close to her face. She smelled him, heated skin, aroused male. She wondered if pre-cum was glistening on the slit. He wasn’t covering himself, because she didn’t detect the latex smell, hadn’t heard the crinkle of a foil package. Once she was old enough for Cass to answer her more brazen questions about Ben, she’d told Marcie how adamant he was about wearing protection with his club subs, and even then it was always ass fucking or blowjobs with them—if he allowed them to touch him at all.