Chapter Sixteen
“Now the jeans, Ashley. Go slowly. I’ll let you use those hands for now, but you’re going to learn how to do it with your teeth. Eventually.”
Ashley closed her eyes, swallowing, feeling as if her heart might pound its way out of her chest.
Her shaking fingers worked open the buttons of his fly, and her mouth dried at the heavy cock outlined by his underwear. She reached around, smoothing her palms over the hard, compact buttocks, the power of those muscles like electricity under her hands.
“What are you doing?” His growl froze her in place, her hands on that gorgeous ass. Her eyes met his, those gray eyes flashing, cold back in their depths. “You don’t touch me unless I give you permission. Finish it.”
The jeans bunched at his feet, and his big hand squeezed her shoulder as she helped pull his feet from the body-warmed clothing.
“Fold them neatly, then lay them by the shirt. You will do this exactly as I say. Fail, and you’ll regret it.”
She obeyed, the feeling of menial service at once degrading and yet almost a relief. Specific instructions to obey were actually better at this point; she felt so far out to sea that anything concrete, easy to understand, was helpful.
When she returned to find him leaning against the shower wall in nothing but boxer briefs, she actually put her hand to her mouth, sure drool was about to spill out. Such a beautiful man.
He pointed to the floor. “On your knees, at my feet.” His jaw clenched. “This is where you’ll be unless I tell you otherwise.”
Kneeling once more, in a position that was becoming frighteningly familiar, she looked up at him. “Parker, pl—”
His big hand pressed to her lips. “Unless you’re giving up, I don’t want to hear it.” His head tilted. “Are you?”
For the hundredth time today, the word was at her lips. So close.
She shook her head, her eyes stinging.
No, don’t do it. Show him you can do this.
His piercing gaze pinned her to the tile, studying her the way a scientist might his helpless test subject. His specimen for an experiment. Finally, he crossed his arms over that magnificent chest. “Do you need a gag?”
Even as her blush flooded up her neck, the roots of her hair almost tingling with it, she knew what it was. What she needed.
No choice, no more.
She nodded, inhaling a shaky breath, dropping her gaze to his feet.
His hand caressed the heat of her cheeks, almost making her jump.
“Stay on your knees.” His toe nudged her knee. “Spread them, and put your palms on your thighs.”
The grip of her fingers on her own flesh felt almost like it was that of another person, the strength desperate, the digits digging into her thighs almost painfully.
Parker left her alone, the door swinging shut behind her.
It was these moments that she’d rapidly come to dread, to want to avoid at all costs.
Alone.
In just a matter of weeks, she’d apparently lost all ability to enjoy her own company. To be alone, and be okay with it.
But that wasn’t completely true. There was more to it than that, if she was honest with herself. Him.
Them.
Wondering what they did when she wasn’t around, what they thought. Did they think of her at all? Would Parker fight the urge to pick up the phone just to hear her voice?
She’d driven by the house more than once during the middle of the day, an excuse already made up in case she actually saw them.
Stalker much?
A part of her would be elated if Parker did that with her, drove by her own workplace. Just to see if she was there, just to be near her. She wondered if she was ready for men in white coats to escort her to the booby hatch.
“Back straight, girl.”
His voice snapped her back to reality, and she obeyed, not even thinking about it, her breasts shaking as she pushed her shoulders back.
A hand smoothed over the locks of hair at her forehead. “Good, good. I want you to start doing these things on your own though. If I have to remind you all the time, we’re going to have to start using some … reinforcement.”
Her nipples hardened at the word. An image flashed in her mind of him holding her fast with a fistful of her long hair, forcing her to look down as his big palm slapped the vulnerable globes of her breasts back and forth, her tears dripping down onto the reddened slopes.
He stood before her again, and she inhaled his scent, his body close enough that she wanted to reach and touch him. Just one kiss of her fingers on his skin.
A connection.
“But this should help you, girl.” The inky straps of the gag dripped from his fist like asps, the ball of the gag a black sphere of menace in his palm. “Open your mouth.”
Staring at the gag, she froze, her muscles locked in a paroxysm of fear. Hadn’t she asked? Agreed to this? Her desperate gaze met his, looking for something.
Would he really do this to her?
The glint in his eyes told her all. “You’re thinking again, girl. You need to stop. Let go. This is happening. You’re mine, and I want this for you. Accept it — and open that mouth.”
Trembling, she obeyed, feeling as if the hinge of her jaw might actually groan, so tense was her entire body.
“Wider. Don’t make me force you.” His smile made her blood run cold, but her pussy moisten. “You won’t like it — but I definitely will.”
The rubber of the gag pressed cold and bitter against her tongue, forcing it down and back. The taste wasn’t awful, but it was … off. She scrunched her face, looking up at him as he pushed the rubber fully between her teeth. The ovoid shape pressed too far back, the bulk of it just teasing her gag reflex.
“Just visualize relaxing your throat and your tongue. The urge to gag will subside.”
It worked, though the hard gag was a remorseless presence in the back of her mouth, threatening.
“You’ll get used to it — or you won’t. Doesn’t matter to me, either way. The gag isn’t supposed to be fun.” His smile made her actually move her tongue against the rubber, and for one surreal moment she was actually thankful for the enforced silencing of her speech. The words on her tongue would have only gotten her in more trouble.
The straps cinched tighter, the stiff leather biting into the corners of her mouth, making her whine softly.
“Hurting?” His fingers tested the tightness of the straps, tracing the corner of her mouth.
She nodded, hoping her eyes conveyed the forlorn look she was going for.
He frowned. “Hurting a lot?”
Did she tell the truth or what would likely get the hated gag from between her teeth? In her heart, she knew they weren’t the same answer. It was so much harder, to choose. To actively cooperate in relieving herself of her freedoms, or even those things that made her a person such as speech. Having it forced upon her was almost … easier.
Shaking her head, a desperate last hope bloomed within her at the pensive look in Parker’s haunting gray eyes. “Good, not too much then. A little pain won’t kill you.” Then his smile beamed, the white, perfect teeth all beautiful malevolence. “It’s tough, isn’t it? Discovering what it really means to obey? You’re learning it now, aren’t you Ashley?”
The corners of her eyes stung, and she looked away, chewing the hard rubber, trying to assuage the unabating tension in her spread jaws.
His fingers eased over the gag, pushing on it gently, then testing the straps. A lock of her hair was caught under the leather of a strap at the back of her head, the sting minor, but continuous. Searching his face, she thought better of protesting it, suspecting he might enjoy her discomfort.
And she wasn’t sure how she’d react to that.
You mean other than with a wet pussy? You’re not fooling anyone.
Parker crouched in front of her, his gaze searching her face. Long fingers clasped her chin. “Normally, you won’t be gagged for this — I lik
e that warm mouth free for other things. But I think for right now anyway, you need it. It’s merciful, really.” He smiled at her again. “That sharp tongue of yours would’ve gotten your big bottom in more trouble than it’s already in.”
He patted her cheek, then rose. “Now, the rest of it, girl.”
Her teeth clamped on the rubber stoppering her mouth, and she eased fingers over his waist, enjoying the tactile feel of his warm flesh under her hands. He was hard, and though she wanted to rip his underwear down, she knew he wanted this done slowly, even reverently.
Easing the underwear down, she felt her eyes go wide at seeing his hard cock, finally. So close. The gag frustrated her in more than one way, because she ached to feel the throbbing heat of him on her tongue, to taste the salty tang of his precome.
Her gaze flitted up to his, and she hoped her eyes could convey her deep need, her desire. One of his dark eyebrows lifted, the corner of his mouth quirking. “Time enough for that later. You aren’t here to do what you want. You’re here to take care of me.” His hand grasped her cheeks, squeezing. “And that’s just what you’re going to do, Ashley.”
Nodding, she dropped her gaze back to the heavy cock straining under the waistband of his underwear. She pulled it the rest of the way down, his erection springing up to sway within inches of her lips. Lips that had no hope of tasting his flesh anytime soon. It was almost too cruel to bear.
“You know what to do. Fold them and lay them over the jeans.”
She barely managed to pull her gaze from the magnificent cock waiting for her, but she knew the quicker she obeyed, the quicker she might actually get to touch it. Finally feel him against her skin, taking her, joining with her in that closeness that only making love provided.
Soon!
“Turn on the water, and make sure it’s nice and hot. Then kneel to the side and wait for instructions.”
Trying to shake the image of how ridiculous she must look, kneeling on the tile, naked, gagged, proved more difficult than following his orders. Her predicament became much more tolerable as she watched the water sluice down the angles of his body, the muscles gleaming under the warm light, steam lending a visual softness to him that made her want to trace every inch of that virile body with her tongue.
“Over here. Kneel at my feet until I have use for you.” He pointed down as if she were an animal, being trained to follow its owner’s commands.
Is that so far removed from what you’re becoming here, Ashley?
That thought had a more complicated answer than she even knew how to address, the layers to it so contradictory and mysterious, she wasn’t sure she’d ever fully understand it.
But she knew one thing: she liked this. She liked serving him, staring at that hard body, waiting with keyed-up nerves and trembling body for that next order, that next chance to lay her hands on him.
Parker may have thought of her as his. A possession. But it was at that moment that she realized there was some reciprocity there. It wasn’t just a one way transaction.
He was hers too. Her Sir.
“Get under the water. I want to see that body wet.” His eyes sparkled in the moist, heated air, and he moved back a step, allowing her room.
Gasping, she let the hot water pour over her, the temperature quite a bit hotter than she found comfortable, forcing a whine from behind her gag.
“If it’s too hot, you know what to do.” The words were laced with much more weight than his offhand delivery might have indicated. “Otherwise, get completely wet. The hair, too.”
Though at first it felt like it was only a degree or two from scalding her, she did acclimate to it quickly and soon she was soaked. She looked up at him as the spray pounded down on her scalp, the sensation at once harsh and exquisite.
“The tits.” His erection, water dripping from the swollen head, jerked at his words. “Present your tits.”
Kneeling up straighter, she cupped them in her hands, huddling them together, the water collecting in the deep cleavage and cascading down the rounded slopes. Absurdly, even under the relentless assault of the hot water, she could feel the blush rising.
“You’ll outgrow that modesty, girl.” His hand smoothed over the hair plastered to her skull. “That blush is cute though, I have to admit.”
Not having the courage to meet his eyes, knowing instinctively the mirth she’d see dancing within those liquid depths, she dropped her gaze to his cock, which pointed at her as if a weapon. Something hard tapped against her skull and she peered up.
He held a bottle of soap. “Use this and wash me — but you’re not to use your hands.”
She thought this was coming, but she wasn’t entirely sure how the hell she was going to do it. Her questioning gaze met his. “You’ll use those clever hands of yours for the rest of my body, but they won’t wash my cock today. Want to guess what will?”
Ashley gulped, the warm shower water seeping onto her tongue from the corners of her gagged mouth.
“You’re holding them, girl. Now get to work. You’ve got five minutes.” The bottle of body wash bounced onto the pillow of her breasts, and she dropped them to catch it.
He merely watched her as she looked at the bottle, then back up to him.
Jesus, he’s not making anything easy is he?
But she knew as she worked suds up the broad planes of his chest that that was what she wanted. Never easy, with him.
Easy wasn’t what Ashley was looking for.
The hard length of his erection brushed her thighs, her belly as she worked, and ignoring it was impossible, especially when she wanted to fall upon it like a starving wolf on fresh meat. She tried to rub against it any chance she got, but his warning growl each time kept her (mostly) in line.
The experience of being able to touch every part of his body with her hands was like nothing else, and she knew she’d be looking forward to their next shower as soon as this one was done.
He barked at her to rub harder, go slower, be more thorough. She listened and obeyed, thinking that she might just do any fucking thing he told her in order to keep touching him for one second longer.
Then when every part of him but his genitals had been lovingly washed, and Ashley’s heart thudded in her chest, she stood before him once more, shamelessly staring at that which was the part of him she longed to touch most.
“On your knees, Ashley. I shouldn’t have to tell you this.” His hand clapped her hip in a sharp, wet blow, and she yelped, sinking to the tile. His cock glistened with water, beads of it caught in the wiry nest of pubic hair.
“Soap up your tits. Lots of it.”
The mortification of being instructed how to do this should have paralyzed her. Instead, it made her thankful that the water masked how wet her cunt was, for she thought it certain she’d be dripping down her thighs otherwise. Once suds dripped from her nipples, a cloud of bubbles bridging the inner slopes of her cleavage she looked up at him once more.
“Those tits are mine, girl. Mine.” His fingers clasped each turgid nipple in a cruel grasp, squeezing hard. She panted behind her gag as the pain flared, the sensation her womb clench, her clit ache. “And you’re going to wash my cock with them. Get moving.”
She cradled the heavy shaft in the cleavage of her breasts, working it back and forth with her soft flesh, her nipples so hard it almost hurt. She leaned in closer, pressing her flesh against the large sack of his scrotum, working the lather into his genitals. Risking a reprimand, she used her fingers to gently angle his cock out so that she could run a soapy nipple back and forth along the sensitive spot just under the head, making his whole body tremble.
Chancing a glance up at him, she met eyes that smoldered with fires of lust, the feeling palpable that his self-control hung on the same knife edge that hers did. As much as she wanted to suck him, to have him throw her to the floor and fuck her senseless, she knew then that he wanted it even more.
Perhaps submissives weren’t the only ones who sacrificed after all? Did be
ing in charge hold its own sort of torment for the Dom?
“Enough,” he said, the strain evident in his voice. “Rinse me off now.”
She obeyed, momentarily missing the feel of her soft, vulnerable breasts surrounding the hot steel of his shaft. As she finished washing him, she heard the whir of the motor above, her gaze snapping upward. Before she could verbalize an incoherent protest behind the gag, he’d snatched up her wrists in his hands, clapping them in the manacles once more.
The whirring began again, and as her arms raised, she prepared to rise to her feet again, resigned to being stretched up like a side of beef once more. But his heavy hand at her shoulder stayed her on her knees. Once her arms stretched fully overhead the motor silenced, and his hand whispered over the straps holding in the hated gag. The water shut off, plunging the enclosure into a steamy silence punctuated only by the sound of dripping water and the rush of blood in her own ears.
He tipped her head back so that she met his eyes once more, his smile a contradictory mix of warm and predatory. “You did very well, girl. Very obedient. Do you think you can keep doing what you’re told?”
A hand wrapped itself in the wet mass of her hair, forcing her gaze down again, and holding her head tight. “Good. Now, do you think you’ll remember everything I’ve instructed you in here today? For next time you attend my shower?”
Looking down she knew she wouldn’t, couldn’t. It had been too much, too heated — and overwhelming surge of sensation or experience that she was sure would scramble her memory into near incoherence. She shook her head, knowing what that admission meant.
“At least you’re honest.” A hand caressed the wet cheeks, traced the strap leading to the hated gag. “But if I know you’re trying, doing your best, I’ll be happy with you.”
Trent Evans Page 19