But now here she was, grinding against this delicious angelic man with spiky hair and bedroom eyes. Grinding, as though he were someone she was dating in the 1990s! Was it because she was out of her element, away from Stockholm and the Fett Axel? Maybe she’d become ingrained in her ways there and seriously needed to bust out of her mold. But not even ten minutes into her edge play with this angelic CFO, and all her toys were out the window.
Then she really slipped up when she called him Ian. That was such a complete and utter no-no for an Über Domme as she had just styled herself.
“The other boys took out their cocks and wanked off.”
And Ian said that flirtatiously, as though he knew it turned Felicity on.
Standing straight, Felicity tweaked a nipple clothespin, happy to see Ian’s confident features crumble in pain. She pulled on the pin to indicate he should stand. “And how did it feel, knowing it excited the boys to watch your cock and balls being spanked?” To keep him on his toes in more ways than one, Felicity expertly undid his belt and yanked down his trousers and briefs below his knees. She stood back with hands on hips, admiring her handiwork. Yes, he looked sufficiently ridiculous, his hands bound behind his back, plastic clothespins dangling from his nipples, his long, thick cock bobbing in the air.
Long, thick cock…Felicity slapped the bobbing tool for good measure. From the counter she plucked an elastic band she had sometimes used to make ponytails with. Now she slapped the heavy cock again and waited for her answer, twining the elastic between her fingers.
She could tell it shamed Ian to answer. He looked down at her feet. “It turned me on even more. But I couldn’t let anyone know, so I protested.”
Slap. “Protest now.” She lifted Ian’s dick and skimmed the elastic band over the bulbous, uncut, shiny crown. The cock head was hot in her palm, and for the briefest of seconds, she smoothed the few drops of semen that seeped from the slit. Ian gasped, that lifting of the edges of the mouth she knew so well as intense pleasure. So she slapped his penis again, and again, and again.
“Ow! Stop!”
She wasn’t satisfied with the sincerity of his words. She roughly dragged the hair elastic up the length of his shaft. Ian’s cock was so plump, so attractively thick, that the elastic would serve as a satisfactory cock ring. Catching some pubic hairs in it added to the sadism, and next time when she spanked his cock, his cries rang true.
“What did the boys do? Did they come?”
“Yes! Ow, Jesus! They came!”
Felicity stood back with hands on hips, allowing the purpling cock to pulsate in midair while Ian hyperventilated. “Where?”
“What!” Ian glared at her. “What do you mean, where?”
“You smart-assed masochist! I mean where did they come? On the ground?” Slap.
“Ow! Bloody hell! No, not on the ground! They came on me!” He panted out of shame now, not even able to look at Felicity’s shoes. He looked back at the fireplace, and she thought she detected tears sheen his eyes.
Now was time to treat him tenderly. Moving in, she pressed her breasts to his beautiful chest and palmed his cock. She used the droplets of jism that trickled at the tip as a lubricant, and smoothed the shiny, hot crown in her palm. Ian relaxed noticeably, letting out the breath he’d been holding, and daring to look down at her once more. “They bukkaked all over you?” The image was tantalizing even to a seasoned Domme like Felicity. This poor horny lad. All he’d wanted was to watch a naked girl masturbate. The naughty girl had publicly shamed him in front of neighborhood boys who were his inferiors—and he had liked it.
Ian pouted. “What’s bukkake?”
“When more than one man comes on you, you perverse boy. Your brother’s girlfriend was right. You are a degenerate satyr. Did you like watching their penises spurt all over you?”
He dared to look at her chin. “Yes.”
She backed him up against the kitchen counter in order to grab a tube of lube she had brought from Sweden for her own use. She allowed him to see that she squirted a good palmful, building his anticipation. “You liked that you were able to make all of those dirty boys horny?”
“Yes.”
“You liked being an object of desire.”
“Yes. I liked watching them stroke their knobs, knowing that it was watching me that made them hard. After awhile I didn’t even hear the girl shouting her taunts anymore. They were pretending they were getting off watching me get my just desserts, and they were calling me a sick twat, too, but I could tell they were getting hot watching my balls and cock.”
Felicity was getting hot imagining the scene as well. She didn’t often become aroused with clients, which Ian essentially was, since she barely knew him. Maybe she was bored because it had been a few days since she’d had a session. Yet she’d always viewed it just as her occupation, not anything she would need, become addicted to, or even fond of. Yet right now, undeniably, a trickle of juice ran down her inner thigh. She shifted the weight on her feet to rub her labia together, spongy with titillation at Ian’s story.
“Ah.” To reward him, she gave his fat tool several swiveling squeezes. His reaction was immediate and gratifying. He became a marionette in her hand, falling back onto his elbows on the counter, his knees weakening. Oh, how Felicity loved being in control. She loved giving, and she loved taking away. “Did any of them get down and take your prick into their mouth?”
“No,” sighed Ian, “but I knew at least one of them wanted to. They kept elbowing each other, jesting, saying ‘get down and suck him, that’ll show him what a sick twat he is.’”
Felicity had seen many scenes like that. The pretense was that a blow job was somehow a punishment. It was easier for some giving the blow job if it made them feel they were dealing out a sadistic hand instead of pleasuring someone. She pumped and massaged Ian’s cock at the same time, spreading excess lube over his full balls, then sweeping her hand back up the shaft, and rotating her palm over the burgeoning glans. She felt the pulse of the urethral canal under her thumb, knowing he was edging ever closer to orgasm. “You’re right,” she cooed, “they really wanted to suck you themselves but were too embarrassed to admit it. Where on you did they come?”
At last Ian opened his eyes and looked at her as though drugged. “Where? Oh, some boys just came on my stomach, on my dick, but one boy insisted on aiming straight in my face.”
“And you liked it?”
Ian smiled dreamily. “I pretended I didn’t, of course. But it rather made it even more erotic.”
Felicity smiled, too. “Of course. You were a helpless victim with no control over what the boys were doing to you.” She said “to you” to play into the fantasy that Ian had been an innocent submissive during the scene. They both knew he had not been. She felt by the heartbeat in his pulsating cock that he was at the apex of stimulation. She had to adjust the momentum she’d built up, or he’d be ejaculating all over her borrowed dress. “So you would say that you’re bisexual?”
He had such beautiful aquamarine eyes. When she diddled with one of the clothespins, his nostrils flared and he flinched. “I don’t think so. It was just one event.”
Slap! The smacking sound of her palm against the oily penis resounded in the room. Ian jumped, his eyes widening with shock. Felicity knew this look well. He had forgotten she was a Dominatrix. “Ow! Felicity!”
“Mistress!”
“Mistress,” Ian agreed, glaring at her again.
He needed more smacking. The crack of her hand against his dick rang out sharply. “But you wished you could have sucked on Rowan O’Shea, right?” She thought of that doctor of biology she’d met at Brooke’s house. There had been an immediate, palpable friction between Ian and the good doctor who was a dead ringer for Tony “Iron Man” Stark. The air had absolutely crackled with electricity when the two men had shaken hands earlier. Ian was probably using The Iron Man as a replacement for his lost love Rowan, but Dr. Reznik had an even kinkier vibe than Ian. There were all sorts
of possibilities, and she had no doubt that Dr. Reznik would not hesitate to join them if asked.
Now she gripped Ian’s cock by the glans and slapped his balls. Ian winced. The twitching of his beautiful pectorals made the clothespins jump up and down, and another drip of juice trickled down Felicity’s inner thigh. “Yes, of course,” Ian gasped. “Of course I wanted to suck Rowan. Who the bloody hell wouldn’t? Wouldn’t you?”
Smack. Risking getting oil on the borrowed dress, Felicity jammed her knee between Ian’s. He submissively spread his feet farther apart, making himself more vulnerable to her ministrations. “You smart-ass! I’m the one asking the questions around here!” He leaned his torso even farther back against the counter, displaying his compliance.
She returned to stroking the beautifully meaty prick. This “tie and tease” was coming along nicely, although she wished it weren’t making her so horny as well. “Have you ever fantasized about being fucked by Rowan? Have him mount you like an animal, pound you hard?” She poured a fresh palmful of oil and applied it to his perineum, tickling the taut flesh and swirling her fingernail around the puckered anus.
“Maybe,” Ian gasped.
“There’s no ‘maybe,’” she said, pleasantly now. Felicity knew he couldn’t see her grab the carrot. She’d taken it from the lodge’s kitchen on a whim, because it looked about the right size for anal play.
Ian exhaled all at once. “Okay,” he admitted. “It’s crossed my mind. Mistress Felicity, please force an orgasm on me. Please. Does it work if I beg?”
“Perhaps,” she said flippantly, and slid the carrot up his rectum.
Ian uttered a long, strangled sound, his eyeballs rolling up in his skull. Felicity grinned impishly. She had achieved her goal. Ian Lawson was putty in her palms. It only took several thorough pumps of her fist while fucking him with the root vegetable for the ejaculate to explode with force from the tip of the engorged penis. She had to dodge out of the path of the jet, letting it arc harmlessly out over the carpet.
This was one of the most gratifying parts of Felicity’s job. She only ever satisfied the men she had come to know and like. Sometimes she’d show them special favor by “queening” them—sitting on their face, but not allowing them to lick her. She never allowed herself to orgasm because she wouldn’t allow herself to become that vulnerable with a client of the club. Since Brad’s death, Felicity had deadened off that part of herself that would become sexually aroused by another human being. If she did not become aroused, she would not love them. If she would not love them, she could not be hurt by their leaving.
But something happened while jacking the sexy CFO. As the spurts of seed lessened and began dribbling down her wrist, she was acutely aware of his bliss. The ecstatic smile at the corners of his luscious mouth told her that he was reveling in the sheer joy she was giving him. This melted a part of her for the first time in many years. Sure, most men enjoyed getting off with her. But Ian Lawson was thoroughly soaking in every nuance, every screw of the carrot up his anus, every slight stroke of her fingertips, as though he would never get the chance to enjoy her again. He was completely open and exposed. Ian Lawson didn’t have any sort of guard up, any sort of defenses. He had laid himself wide open to her. She could have done anything to him at that moment—could have tortured his cock and balls even more sadistically, dripped wax on him, cut him, anything—and Ian would have been completely vulnerable to it.
He trusted her.
This realization opened the floodgates of Felicity’s cold, steely heart. This dear, sweet accountant was putting his utter faith in her not to harm him, and that was a precious gift indeed. She had only seen this level of trust before in subs she’d had many scenes with before. Ian barely knew her, so his trust in her must be instinctual. She was incredibly flattered.
She brought him down gently, easing the carrot from him so slowly he probably didn’t even notice. She grabbed the stool and slid it under his ass as he gratefully eased himself onto it. The smile was permanently glued to his mouth. “Is that a forced orgasm?” he asked weakly.
Felicity sauntered to the kitchen to deposit the carrot in the trash and wash her hands. “I don’t think it counts, because I didn’t have to force very hard,” she said lightly. She returned to the living room where she’d seen some bottles of wine or other booze on a sideboard, and pondered them.
“Do you like wine?”
“I like it all right. Uh, red.”
Felicity plucked the cork from the bottle and poured two tumblers of the stuff. She carried Ian his glass but stood before him, considering. “I suppose I should untie your wrists,” she said, almost as an afterthought. His arms would hurt, would need massaging to get them back into their proper position. She put the wine down and started unknotting the clothesline. “You know, Ian”—she could call him Ian now that their scene was ending—”the sun has almost gone down. That was a long, exhausting lunch.”
“God, yes,” sighed Ian, experimentally stretching out one of his arms.
“Why don’t you just take a light nap in the bedroom? I have a lot of catching up to do with my sisters and their husbands I’ve never met. Except,” she added devilishly, “I do feel I know a lot about Rowan O’Shea.”
Ian stood now, shaking out both arms. He gave her a look that was both dark and amused. “Oh, you are a cruel, cruel woman.”
“You haven’t seen cruel yet,” she quipped, snatching a clothespin from his nipple.
After all. She couldn’t allow Ian to infiltrate her harsh exterior that easily. She felt fondly toward him, as one did toward a wayward puppy with no home, that was all. He had lost his idol and best friend, Rowan. He was drifting, searching, ready to love again.
She wasn’t quite that eager for it.
Chapter Six
Victor palmed the bursting glans of his cock.
The shower was just the thing he needed, the scalding hot water hitting his back. The wall of water rushed down his spine, cascading over the slope of his lower back and into the crack of his ass. He sighed deeply as the filth of the day washed down the drain. Wrestling that ornery ostrich past the dumpsters of Main Street’s back alleys had taken a lot out of him. The ostrich had kicked him more than once, and already a deeply purple and green bruise was blooming on his pectoral.
But once most of the avian sludge was sluiced from his limbs, his mind turned to more erotic matters. Running into that sultry Domme had been an unexpected pleasure. Victor had been known to indulge in a little bit of S&M play with random women since his divorce, but he always played the part of the Dom himself. He supposed that technically he was more of a “Service Top” in that he liked to give the sub what they wanted. He was a sensitive Dom, he supposed. But thinking of the Dominatrix whose job it was to whip men into line, he wondered what it would be like to wrestle for power with another overbearing control freak? Well, mild-mannered Ian Lawson was certainly finding out at that very moment.
He fantasized about that angelic CFO being bound by the redheaded Bettie Page look-alike. His cock was alert and stiff in an instant, and of course his hand went to it, soaping it up into a lather. Now that he was thoroughly clean, he lingered in the shower for purely sensual reasons, and he idly wondered what Felicity would look like in a jungle girl costume. As a wildlife biologist, this had been a fantasy of his for years, and Mistress Felicity perfectly fit his image of the spunky Dominatrix. He massaged the head of his prick while picturing her posing tall in the print bra and the miniscule skirt with the slit up the side. Her hourglass figure would support the bra free of gravity, and a riding crop in her hand completed the picture.
Jesus, he was instantly on the verge of orgasm, carried away with the scene. He had to back off and handle his balls, just let his prick bob there, pulsating and soapy. To change the scene in his head, his thoughts drifted to the shapely features of Ian Lawson. He imagined running his fingers through that soft yet spiky hair, parting his knees to allow Ian’s silky locks to brush against his se
nsitive inner thigh. Ian would nibble and lick at his thigh while his cock throbbed in anticipation of the warm sucking mouth closing in around it.
As a forward-thinking scientist, Victor had dabbled in bisexual scenes before, mainly since his expensive and acrimonious divorce. This usually consisted of “forcing” his partner to suck him off—he refused to play the submissive. He thought he remained basically a heterosexual man because he only allowed this to happen when he was thoroughly drunk and in need of a fast blow job. And the fact that he only allowed good-looking men to blow him. That kept him above any self-recriminating thoughts that perhaps he shouldn’t marry again because he might want another blow job from a man. Victor knew he wanted to marry again, and could be entirely satisfied within that marriage. The complicated part was finding the right woman to entice him...
Uh-oh. Envisioning Ian’s mouth sucking his penis was just as erotic as the image of Felicity as Bettie Page in a jungle girl costume. Victor felt the warning surge of semen up the length of his prick. He gasped, and turned to allow the hot water to sweep down his abdomen, pelting the ostrich bruise and taking his mind off sex for approximately seven seconds.
But his cock remained up like a hammer, and as he turned away from the spray to continue stroking his cock, he caught something from the corner of his eye.
A person peered through the crack in the bathroom door.
The delicious idea that it was Ian Lawson, returned to his suite from his session with the bondage queen, sent a perverse thrill fluttering through his abdomen. He would pretend he hadn’t seen the pair of eyes, the person holding his breath as he peeked at Victor’s nude body through the opaque shower door.
Two Sirs, with Love [McQueen Was My Valley 4] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 5