by Simone Leigh
Scooping out an ice cube, holding it between fingers, he delicately traces the outline of the nipple he was holding. I judder and gasp as the nipple crinkles tight, rosy and hard against my Celtic ivory skin.
Retrieving the nipple with his teeth, playing the hard bud with his tongue, he works the other nipple with the ice, chuckling to himself, as I quiver and whimper under his touch.
Then, slowly…. slowly…. he traces a glacial line with the cube over my sun heated skin, down through the valley of my breasts, over my navel and stomach, through my fiery red curls, down and in.
I yelp and wriggle, but he pins me. Michael is a strong man, broad shouldered and fit, and I am no match for him when he exerts his strength, unable to move except to writhe and quiver in his grip. He circles my clit with the ice cube, frigid water dribbling between my folds, meeting with hot juices as my core convulses, gushing.
Moaning loudly now, I shake, my hips bucking, as he slips the ice ever further inwards. My pussy clenches as he winds it around, inside my entrance.
“Ready to play?” he whispers, his erection pressing hard against my thigh.
“Oh God, yes. Get inside me.”
“Patience, Charlotte. All good things come to she who waits…”
He moves, to kneel between my legs, parting my thighs. Casting around for a moment, he picks up a towel, folds it up small and pushes it under my hips, raising me, arching my spine.
For a minute, he looks down at me, hand flat over the vee of my legs, gauging my reaction as he thumbs my clit. His smile fades, his expression becoming intense. “I don’t think you know how beautiful you look like that.” he says. “I know that all you want, right now, is for me to fuck you.”
I don’t reply. It doesn’t seem necessary. Instead, I arch further, parting my thighs as widely as I can. Staring up into his deeply blue eyes, I whisper, “Please.”
His smile returns, and he dips his head between my thighs, opening his mouth over my wet and swollen sex. My head flings back and, breath broken as I moan, I stroke his hair while his tongue sweeps spirals through my entrance, plunging deep inside me,
A shadow falls across me, blocking the sun; my Master. Michael looks up briefly. “Didn’t hear you come back.” Then, he returns his attention to my melting pussy.
“You were occupied…. Don’t stop for me.” says my Master. “I’m happy to watch the show.” There is the clink of ice, and the glug of a drink being poured.
Michael raises his head again. “Why don’t you use some of that ice at the top end. I’m busy down here.”
“Now there’s an idea.” My Master, elegant, still wearing his business suit, sits alongside me on my beach towel. Dipping his fingers in the iced water, he holds them there for a few seconds, then coming close to me, holding my eyes, outlines my parted lips with chilled fingertips. He doesn’t smile, but he has that smile behind his eyes, where I can’t see it; but I know it’s there. His eyes, dark and intense, follow the line of his fingers as he trails a chilled line down my chin, my neck, to the hollow of my throat, and down to my heaving chest.
Panting violently now, my control is slipping. My Master dips his fingers into the ice again, then starts rolling a nipple between them. “Tell me,” he murmurs to me, “Would you prefer to come by Michael licking you out, or by fucking you with his cock?”
My hips buck, my pussy clenches, and climax takes me.
Michael makes a grab for my hips, anchoring himself to me as he plunges his tongue inside me. Wailing, I thrash out, instinctively trying to hold on to something, which turns out to be my Master’s jacket.
He tightens his grip on my nipple, pinching and nipping it, sending jolts of pain/pleasure skipping down to my already pulsating cunt.
He chuckles as I jerk and quiver, trying to snatch breath from the air, as my body vibrates in orgasm.
As my climax abates, Michael sits up, wiping his mouth. “Before you do that on another occasion,” he says, dryly, to my Master, “Give a man some warning, eh?”
My Master sits back, enjoying his joke, sipping his drink. “Well, as the bearer of good news, I thought that you might both enjoy a small celebration.”
Recovering my voice as my breathing slows to normality, “What news is that, Master?”
“You have an interview,” he says, “with Richard Haswell.”
I sit bolt upright.
“With Richard Haswell? I’d assumed it would be with someone in the Personnel Department?”
“Normally yes, but you have an interview with the man himself. If you impress him, you’ll have the very best of training for whatever you decide to do, and the academic side of things will be completely funded.”
My Master tosses me some brochures. “This is what the company is putting out by way of publicity right now. You might want to familiarise yourself with it. You’re seeing him two pm tomorrow. Anyway, I’ve got you the interview. The rest is up to you.”
I read the brochures, cover to cover, and then again. I’m excited. Very excited. At last, a chance to do what I want to do without having to raise money by….
Without having to.
____________________________________
The following day, tidily dressed in a crisply pressed white blouse, knee length black shirt and inch heeled court shoes, I alternate between excitement and nerves. My Master drives me to the office. “Good luck.” he says, giving me a peck on the cheek, and squeezing my hand.
Checking in the bathroom that my long hair, rebellious at the best of times, has not escaped the multitude of pins keeping it firmly under control, I present myself at Reception.
“I have an appointment with Mr Haswell. I’m….”
I stall….
What am I called?
“Ah yes, Charlotte Conners isn’t it? Mr Haswell said to send you right in.” The receptionist waves me towards the door.
I tap.
“Come in.”
Richard Haswell is sitting on a low seat overlooking a vast cityscape. Wall to wall windows give a bird’s eye view of most of the City, drawing the eye over the river and beyond, to where I know his city renovation project is ongoing.
He stands, smiling, holding out his hand to shake. “Good afternoon, Charlotte. Nice to meet you properly at last. Do take a seat.”
I arrange myself demurely on the seat, crossing my legs at the ankles, hands clasped on my lap.
“Coffee?”
“Thank you. Yes, white.”
As he pours, he continues, “James is enthusiastic in his praise of you. He tells me you have not had a good start in life, but nonetheless are highly motivated and achieving very good academic grades.”
“I’m pleased with them, yes.”
He flips open a folder. “Straight As, except for a B in fluid dynamics? Pretty good.”
I nod.
“So, tell me about yourself. You are seeking training in our Student Engineer Program? Forgive me, but you don’t look like classic ‘Engineer’ material”
“I was doing Physics, but I was already having second thoughts about it….”
“What second thoughts?”
“Not the course itself. I loved that. More about where it was taking me, what I want to do later. Then, when I was out in your Reception a few weeks ago….” For a moment, my throat tightens at the memory of that day. I fight it down and continue. “…. I saw your cityscape model, your plans for that area, and suddenly, I knew what I wanted to do. I want to be part of that, rebuilding that part of town, turning into something beautiful….”
I dry up. “Um, sorry if that sounds a bit silly…”
Haswell doesn’t exactly smile, but I think he is pleased. “No. No, it doesn’t sound silly at all. I understand exactly what you are talking about. That is, at least in part, the reason I am doing the work. The other part is of course, that it is making me a great deal of money…. What do you know about my company, Charlotte?”
We talk for some time. I can’t decide if I am making the
right impression or not.
Finally, he says, “Charlotte, here are my cards on the table. Frankly, I’m not sure what to make of you, but the fact that you come with such glowing support from James, whom I regard highly, does carry weight. If it suits you, I’m going to give you a trial week, perhaps two weeks, with us. Think of it as a very long interview. During that week, you can sit in on meetings, visit our sites, see how we work…. Meanwhile, we can get to know you, and decide if we would be a good fit for each other. How does that sound?”
“It sounds great. Um, when would you like me to start?”
“No time like the present. How about tomorrow?”
“I’ll be here, Sir.”
___________________________________
We are Celebrating, the three of us.
We enter the Club. I am on Michael’s left arm, my Master’s right. We circulate; chatting, sipping drinks, enjoying the atmosphere.
Wearing my beautiful black, halter-neck dress, I know that I look good and, safely between my two Lovers, enjoy drawing the eyes of the men around us, and sometimes the women. With my tall, dark, saturnine Master, and my golden-haired, blue-eyed Lover, we make a handsome trio, and I am becoming blasé about other guests angling for invites into our group.
No invites are forthcoming.
“Tonight,” says my Master, “we are doing things a little differently.”
“In what way, Master?”
“This time, Michael is taking the lead. He will be your Master for the evening.”
I turn to Michael. “I thought you didn’t like… you know… doing things to me?”
Michael says nothing, simply looking down at me, smiling. I wonder what is in the bag he carries.
My Master leans in close to me. “There’s more than one way to skin a cat, Charlotte.” He nods to Michael. “Be with you in a minute.” And he walks off across the room.
I’m a bit startled by this, but Michael gives me a gentle tug on the arm. “Come on, he’ll be back soon.”
In the Dungeon Room, Michael places me centrally, under an overhanging brass ring. He cuffs my wrists; wide leather restraints that fit snugly, containing my arms almost to the elbow.
As he clicks the cuffs closed, he leans in, kissing me softly. “I’ve been looking forward to this. It gave me a few ideas, playing with you by the pool the other day….”
“What are we doing tonight?”
He smiles again. “Spoilers.” he whispers.
Simply having Michael speak to me like this, already, is loosening me inside, warming me, and in the close air of the Club, I am beginning to perspire.
My Master arrives, carrying a tray; a bottle of wine, chilling in a bucket, with glasses, and a cup, steaming slightly. He sips from it, then offers me some.
“Coffee?”
“Mmm, no thanks.”
“Wine?”
“No, thanks. I’ve had enough to drink.”
He pours a glass of wine, passing it to Michael. Michael seems to enjoy it, taking a large mouthful, swishing it around his mouth, then taking another mouthful.
The two seem in no hurry. My Master fishes candles from Michael’s bag, placing them around the room, lighting them, to cast a golden glow over the room. Then, turning off the main lights, he leans back against the padded horse, sipping his coffee. Michael loops a rope through the brass ring, and then around my cuffs.
“Time to play Charlotte.” And he draws on the rope, pulling my arms firmly upwards, over my head. “Can you stand comfortably?” he murmurs.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
He glances out towards the viewing windows, where faces are gathering, looking in. Some are clearly visible; others, simple pairs of eyes, reflect whitely, in the fade-to-dark at the back of the room.
“Warm in here isn’t it.” says Michael. Standing in front of me, he strips off his shirt, then his shoes, locking eyes with me as he does so: my beautiful man, my Lover; bare chested, broad shouldered, with a scattering of golden hair that traces to a fine line below his belt. I see the eyes of the women looking in and know that they envy me.
And the eyes of the men are on me.
Michael goes to the rack of ‘tools’, making a show of choosing. Picking one out, a flogger, he tosses it across the room to my Master who, still sipping at his drink, catches it mid-air, one handedly, then dangles it, the tails trailing suggestively, watching me as I follow his movements.
This ‘show’ is giving me tingles. Are they deliberately making me wait?
Of course they are….
Michael, pausing for another mouthful of the wine, pulls something from the pocket of his black jeans; a silk scarf, in a fine filmy fabric. Brilliantly red, matching the bright lipstick I am wearing, it shimmers and glimmers in the candlelight. He tugs at it a couple of times, snapping it tight as though testing its strength, then, with a glance at my Master, eye-points him over to me.
Putting down the cup, my Master also removes his shirt and shoes, then strolls over, snapping the flogger a couple of times as he does so.
Watching all this, hand-bound, I am trembling, and fully dressed though I am, a warm trickle escapes my heating core, soaking my panties.
They haven’t even touched me yet….
Standing very close to me, holding me tight at waist and shoulder, the flogger in his hand trailing tails down the naked skin of my back, my Master inhales. “Ah, there’s my Girl. Wet already. You smell wonderful.”
My hips, pressed tight against his, feeling his erection hard against me, quiver at his words. He backs away from me, with that non-smiling smile of his, allowing the leather tresses to trail over my shoulder as he moves.
The faces beyond, pale against the darkness, seem mesmerised by the performance. There is not a sound, only the gaze of a hundred eyes on me.
Michael, stepping behind, curves his arms around me, running hands over the flatness of my stomach, up through the curve of hip and waist, over the roundness of my heavy breasts. The eyes follow his every movement, as he displays me to them.
The beautiful dress sparkles and shimmers as it ripples under his hands before, fingers rising to the nape of my neck, he unbuttons the halter; the two tiny buttons which are all that hold the dress on me.
Pressing himself close to me, he slips down the halter so that it dangles from my waist, leaving me bare breasted to the crowd,
Still behind me, he binds my eyes with the scarf, pulling it taut over my face. “Not too tight?” he asks.
“No, it’s fine.”
The gossamer fabric does not quite block my vision; golden light penetrates the red gauze, bathing my eyes in a fiery mist. Although I can see no details, there is a hazy shadow to one side of me, which I know is my Master, silhouetted against candlelight.
My nipples crinkling in the sudden coolth as the halter falls away, there is a movement in front of me, a wash of warm air.
With a yelp, I arch back against Michael as icy wetness laves my left nipple. It rubs briefly around and over my breast, before moving to my right nipple. Again, I yelp.
Michael chuckles behind me. “A chilled wine glass, wet with condensation.” he whispers close by my ear.
Abruptly, heat encases my left nipple, the right still being stroked with ice.
And now I moan; blind, writhing against my bound wrists, Michael’s arm wrapped around my waist to support me.
The heat moves to my other nipple. hot and moist, sucking. “Your Master,” murmurs Michael, “suckling on you after warming his mouth.”
Ah.… the coffee….
And Michael’s voice, always deeply rich, masculine, is now even more so; my other senses intensified in my blindness.
The heat leaves me. The cold too. Michael is no longer behind me, and for long moments I hang, suspended in my almost-dark, only the glimmer of the candles penetrating my blindfold.
Then, again from behind, my dress is eased down from my waist, puddling at my feet. My ankle is grasped, lifting my foot, and then t
he other, as the dress is pulled away from me. Now I am naked, save for scant, black lace panties.
How do I look to them? The Watchers? My pale skin, golden in the glimmer-light, my nipples, rosy buds; my long red hair, a waterfall of flame, cascading to my waist.
Cool fingers glide inside the lace, sliding it away…. the red at my loins turned to glistening ruby, in the shimmer of the candles, moistening in the heat of my core.
Quivering, tensed…. I wait…….
The smoothness of soft velvet over my skin: my breasts, my belly, my thighs…. the tails of the flogger? Then a sharp pang as the tails lick past my nipples. I cry out, as pleasure/pain stabs down through me. The tails kiss by my nipples again, touching only the nipple, not my breast: wielded by a maestro; my Master surely?
Again…. nothing….
I drift in a glowing crimson-gold limbo.
Heat on my thighs, warm breath washing over my skin. I shiver, hot juices trickling from my warm pussy.
Fingers ease my ankles apart, the air now close and hot, over the vee of my legs.
My clit pulses as ice glances over it and I scream.
Icy fingers draw slowly between my legs, parting folds, circling my clit and then….
Gone.
To be replaced by lips, hot over my bud, a scarlet heat that mouths, burning over me, and is gone.
Shaking and shuddering now, weak-kneed, my pussy is pulsing. Hanging with most of my weight on my wrists as I pant, my lungs heave, and I whimper uncontrollably.
There is the briefest of glancing touches over my nipples again, ice swiping across breast and areola, the cold freezing my skin, but oh, so fleetingly. The searing heat of the mouth replaces it, sucking briefly, before it too, is gone.
I moan my arousal, and my growing need to be fucked.
My cunt is afire. Chilled fingers probe inside me and, hips bucking, I gush scalding juices.
“Oh God, fuck me, one of you, please.”
There are twin chuckles and my Master, with his voice like wild silk, says, “You’ll have to ask more nicely than that….”
“Please…. Please, I want you inside me. Please.”
The chilled fingers (whose?) enter me again, this time rubbing against my sweet spot (Ah…. Michael… his forte…), and my knees give entirely. Dropping, my weight on my wrists, the cuffs clasp me tightly, preventing me from falling.