He nods eagerly.
“Undress me, Jordan.” As he takes a step towards me, I add, “and romance me while you do it. A good boy knows exactly what I mean and what I want when I say this.” He nods, waiting for me to give him permission. So I do. “Come here. Undress me as best as you can. And remember: only do what I ask.” More vigorous nodding. “Nothing more. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Then begin,” I say.
Jordan’s response is instant. The moment my permission is granted, he’s right there, taking me out of my clothing. But his feet are the only things that move quickly. His hands and fingers are the opposite. They move slowly in and around the straps of my corset, massaging them off my shoulders. Down my arms.
I shiver, moaning as he matches his lips to the touch of his fingers. As he moves the shoulder straps down my arms and off, he’s bathing those arms in affection. Butterfly-soft kisses. Kisses almost too soft for a mouth that swears and gives people attitude.
I love the attention. Small, appreciative moans sound in my throat. They surprise me. He continues to move the corset off me little by little, showering each bit of progress with more kisses.
Before I know it, the corset is down off my breasts, and now moving past my stomach and over my hips. But even here, Jordan doesn’t leave my body alone. He keeps his mouth on my skin, tracing and petting me with his lips, his tongue.
By the time he has the corset completely off me (holding up my feet and kissing them), I’m floating. I can’t believe he’s got me so riled up, just from kisses. Kisses! And when most guys can’t even get me this excited with a few fingers shoved in my pussy.
I’m so taken by all of the stimulation, all of the warm and fuzzy electrical signals traveling up through my body and into my clit, that I don’t even notice my thong’s been taken down. Or that Jordan has started to taste me with his tongue.
An action that is definitely not just undressing me.
Quickly, I snap out of my dazed reverie, and take Jordan by his hair and pull him away from my bush. Not roughly, but enough for him to realize he’s in trouble.
“No, no, no,” I say, “you don’t get to taste my pussy until you prove you can be a good boy, Jordan.”
Chapter 12 – Jordan
Damn it. My first misstep. I'm an idiot. I tasted her — or tried to — before she gave me permission. As her fingers curl into my hair and she reprimands me — says only good boys get to taste her there — I’m unbelievably hard. Harder than I’ve ever been. Dripping.
And I only get harder as she drags me by my hair over to a wall near the bed and tells me to face it, palms out. I can’t describe what I’m feeling at this moment except to say I’ve never been equally so short of breath and so full of desire as I am right now. I can’t breathe. My heart’s racing and my dick is rock hard and ready.
Bianca holds the flog again. Even being forced to see its shadow on the wall is ridiculously exciting. That I’m about to be flogged — that’s even more exciting.
She’s coming my way. “Boys who want to be good need to take punishment,” she says. She saunters up to me, thoughtfully striking her hand with the ends of the flog. “And they need to take that punishment well.” I shiver. My entire body tightens with anticipation. An odd sense of joy at the thought of getting a punishment, though I never thought I was the type who would enjoy that kind of thing until now.
She sighs, stepping right in line with my back. “A boy who can take his punishment well,” she murmurs, as if answering the question she can hear in my head, and undoubtedly one she’s answered countless times before, “is a boy who doesn’t complain or cry needlessly. Say he isn’t up for what I can dish out unless it’s a true limit.”
“Yes Mistress,” I say, knowing exactly what she means. The kind of guy like Paul. Or maybe Alex. Someone who may not be able to take what they’ve earned because they don’t think it’s fair; they don’t think it’s “right” for them to be in this position, because they are “the man” and should be in control, anyway. The kind of guy that wants punishment from his Mistress on his terms, not hers.
“Remember that you can tell me ‘red' at any time, and I will stop, even if this is punishment,” Bianca says. “But I’ll be watching. Making sure you get what you deserve, even so.” A pause. “Are you ready to be a good boy and take what I have to give you?”
“Yes,” I say, shakily. “I’m ready to be a good boy.”
I shiver again, feeling Bianca’s finger trace its way down the center of my back, followed by the feathery tails of the flogger. Under this attention, my cock twitches. Gets stiffer, even though I didn’t think that was possible considering my dick feels about ready to burst. Pop, without even being stroked.
Right as the clinching sensation in my dick gets so strong I fear I might pass out, the flog makes contact with my back. A second later, I hear it. It’s a thudding noise. Somehow, the heavy, masked sound doesn’t quite go with the light, almost bubbly sting on my skin.
But to my surprise, I adore the sensation. The slow burn growing on my skin. Almost a similar burn to drinking alcohol, but more than that. Vulnerable. Electrified, but not painful.
Bianca’s voice floats into my ears. It’s much like the sound of the flog. Muted, but crackling. Gentle. “Are you alright, Jordan? Should I keep going?”
I nod, unable to speak. But it’s not because I’m too uncomfortable. It’s because I’m in a zone I’ve never been in before. Meditative. Contemplative. Speechless.
With my consent given, Bianca brings the flog down on my back again. This slap lands close to the other: in the middle of my back. It, like the first one, is dull sounding and brings with it a spicy, delightful tingle. One that seems to marry and merge with the previous strike, putting them both on surround sound.
Just as I sink into those sensations, I’m whipped again. Now the sting is more pronounced. More full-bodied, but still not painful. Warm. Prickly. Sharp in places, but not awful. Not torture.
From the other side of my back, the flog comes slowly down on me again. This strike has me breathing deeper. I’m so aware of every inch of skin on the middle of my back, I could probably count the cells. Even so — even with the intensified awareness — I don’t want her to stop. I never want her to stop.
I’m beginning to look forward to the next strike. Anticipate the next sting. Which comes shortly after, making my balls suck in.
That strike was a little quicker than the last. It was also further up my back. Around my shoulder blades, upper back area.
I groan. That surprises me. I hardly ever make any noise during regular sex.
But what surprises me more than the groan itself is the quality of it. That it sounds happy. Satisfied. Deep-seated.
In response to my vocalization, Bianca moans right before whipping me from left to right all the way across my upper and middle back. As she goes along each area, she gradually increases the speed of the flog. By the time she’s worked her way from my shoulders to my spine and back again, her speed has gone from slow and methodical, to rapid and energized. In each stroke, I’m aware of Bianca’s love of being in control. Her joy.
I lean into the wall, sucking in my breath and letting it out slowly. I know it sounds weird, but even while she’s flogging me, I taste her. Savor her. As I do, my back and shoulders rise eagerly to meet her attentions. Heat floods every part of me and zeroes in on my cock.
Still fully erect, my dick begins to drip under the most recent licks of the suede on my back and shoulders. The way the tails swish and crisscross across me is addictive like the most powerful drug in the world. Even as my skin burns and itches under all that punishment.
Punishment I’m not expecting to stop suddenly, but it does. And that’s because Bianca decides to run her hands over her handiwork. Her nails through each hot area. She drags her nails all the way down my back. My body bows, and I present myself to her. The dull pain at her touch chills my skin and raises every ha
ir. At my ass, she dares to scratch. Leave her mark on me.
I shiver excitedly under this but say nothing or move. I keep my hands planted to the wall, though they want to wrap around my engorged cock and stroke until I come.
Soon Bianca’s nails leave my body, and the flog returns. Unlike the first time she brought it down on my back, she doesn’t spend so much time in her “slow” setting. She quickly ramps the speed up, as she once again crisscrosses her way up and down the top and middle of my back, always stopping before my hips or ass.
Speed is not the only thing she increases. She also increases the strength behind each smack. It’s not done to hurt me. Bruise me or anything like that. It’s to make me feel the presence of those tails more, though they are still raining down on me with heavy thuds.
Again, I savor the pain as pleasure. As nothing more than ripples going through me. Radiating in and out of me like a fun electrical current.
Again, the moment I moan, Bianca echoes me in some way. Soon, I feel like I’m floating in the middle of a flogging frenzy. A suede devil’s paradise where Bianca is ruler. I submit completely to these feelings, knowing I would never trade places with any other man.
“You’re such a good boy,” Bianca whispers from over the continual slapping sounds that have become my personal meditation, “you’re my good, good boy Jordan.” Hearing this, my cock trembles. Oozes thick, warm pre-cum.
I groan into this, thinking, Yes, I am! I am your good boy! I love being your good boy, Bianca. Nothing has made me happier.
And I know nothing has ever been truer.
I have never been happier or more fulfilled than I am right now. Right at this moment.
I don’t want it to stop.
But it does in the next moment.
But not before Bianca reminds me again that I’m her good boy. The best she’s ever had.
Chapter 13 – Bianca
When I finally end Jordan’s punishment session, I’m breathless in front of my work. In front of the swaths of beautiful red and blushing skin on his back. Which is now exquisitely bright and flushed from my efforts. His back now somehow appears bigger. Stronger. More muscular, despite still resting in a submissive position with his hands against the wall.
The sight of his whip-warmed skin, turns me on more than I’ve ever been in my life. I can’t take my eyes off him. I can’t stop studying every inch. Remembering each stroke I gave him, I imagine how his back and shoulders must feel. Hot. Maybe a little numb, but delightfully “woken up” — sensitive. Aware of each change in the air. Each object around him.
My clit clenches at this. Throbs and twitches at this, as if I was the one being flogged, not Jordan. Biting my lip, I watch as he keeps his impeccable position. Not once has he faltered. Not even one tremor has entered his arms, and they’ve been holding him up against the wall for at least twenty-five minutes.
Wetness floods my folds and trickles down my inner thighs in thick, stringy streams. And he never asked me to stop. My breath goes shallow with excitement. With adoration for him. Not once! Not even when I gave him slaps with the flog that were fast and hard enough to maybe take him to that point. I reach up to Jordan’s back and begin to caress his beautiful blush.
As my hands come down on him (probably feeling colder and more intense than anything he’s ever experienced), he flinches. He trembles but doesn’t move. Doesn’t make any sound of discomfort. He just forces out a breath. Slowly. Deliberately. And, by the sound of it, through his teeth.
But no, I think, enjoying the heat beneath my fingertips. He took it all. Everything I had for him, without issue. Without complaint. Without resistance. My fingers continue their journey over Jordan’s back, savoring my patchwork masterpiece. Even by grazing the flog marks, I hear and feel the phantom crack of the flog’s tails. It firecrackers through my mind in a somersault of color and sensation. One that ends up squarely on the head of my puffy clit and drips out of my drooling lips. When I asked for a good boy, that’s exactly what I got. The best boy I’ve ever had. The most well-behaved.
I caress Jordan’s back and ass, taking that moment to glance at the front of his body to admire his substantial and stiff cock. The flared head is shiny from leaking fluid, but that makes it even more appetizing. Thicker and lengthier.
Time to reward him, I think, and time to satisfy my hunger. I’m done playing with my food.
Wordlessly, I turn him around from the wall. For a moment, his eyes look a little glazed over. A little distant, but then they focus on me totally and completely. Drink me in, as if he’s just remembered I’m here and where he is. There’s a tenderness in his eyes, as if I mean the world to him, as well as deep, insatiable hunger.
I guide him over to the bed. I sit down on the edge of the mattress and spread my legs wide before guiding him to kneel. Once in front of me like a knight ready to serve his Queen, I give Jordan the only command I know I need to give. “Show me what a good boy you can be.”
To my deep satisfaction, he goes right to work. He buries his face and mouth in my pussy. In the thick carpet of pubic hair outlining my velvety pink folds. As he licks and teases my lips and clitoris, I clutch his hair. Run my fingers through it. Some of the ways I move, it’s like I’m giving him instructions through touch.
Or at least that’s the way it seems.
Jordan’s mouth and tongue take cues from my touch. His fluttering, erratic patterns quickly drive me wild. Quickly drink pleasure and sensitivity out of me, like he’s turned from a man into a hummingbird. The way his tongue collapses in such a way so he can lick the tip of my clit and its elusive sides makes me think he’s not human, but some kind of magical creature.
I groan deeply. It’s almost a growl with how low the sound rumbles in my throat, but it’s hungry. Intense. After all, I feel like my lips and clit are being bathed in warm soda water. That’s the best way I can describe the bubbling, almost “fizzy” way his tongue feels on me. With this alone I’m dizzy. Almost about to give him a shot of juice straight from the source, but it doesn’t compare to what’s happening now.
Jordan’s fingers entering my sopping wet and greedy hole. Knowing I don't need any more foreplay, because that's what the whipping was for, he slides three in. The minute those three fingers are inside, my pussy sucks them up. Tries to crush them with how hard they grip every inch of his fingers. Every bit of jewelry he wears. Far from being painful, it adds a delicious texture. A nuance to the in and out movement now taking place.
Slow at first, and then faster, faster, faster. Soon his fingers and his mouth move at the same glorious and punishing speed. One brushes circles around and up and down my clit; the other pumps my pussy hard and fast. Joyfully and happily, I release my nectar with each twist of his fingers. Each thrust.
Oh, my God, I think, throwing my head back. Some droplets of my impending release dribble from my depths and into his mouth, it’s never been like this before. Never when masturbating, and never with anyone else. They’ve never made me feel what he’s making me feel. I let out a shaking cry as the pressure in my bladder and vagina build. I’ve felt nothing this intense before. The exact moment I think this, a huge wave of pleasure rolls through me. My pussy lips tighten around Jordan’s fingers. My legs follow suit, clamping down on him. I feel like I’m about to go off like a bottle rocket. And when I do, I’ll shoot straight out of this solar system.
“Oh, God! God!” I scream.
My legs tighten more. Coming closer, closer, closer. But Jordan still doesn’t abort his mission, he continues to lick and finger me. He's even beginning to suck off my clit directly, which is almost more than I can handle. I scream. I moan. I thrash. It won't be long.
My screams rise and fall in the tempo and volume. “Jordan! Jordan!” Saying his name seems to be the only thing that’ll keep me present. Here long enough to feel the fuse that’s burning all throughout my body.
Shots of smaller, fleeting pleasure tumble through my head and down to my pelvis.
�
�Good boy, good boy,” I cry to him, feeling my eyes literally watering and my clitoral bubble pop. “Such a good boy.”
Jordan hums at this. I can’t be sure what he says. Or even if he says anything, but to my swollen and about-to-burst clit, it sounds like, “Always for you, my lady.”
His words explode in my mind and my orgasm follows behind. It’s quick in its rise but lasting in its release.
From the moment I surrender — fall away from the iron cables of tension that have plagued my pussy for the last few hours — it’s one continuous stream. One continuous wave of pleasure, jerking, spasming and shuttering its way through me. In an attempt to anchor myself, I grab onto Jordan’s hair.
It helps some, but I’m still quivering so much, I can barely keep myself on the mattress. It’s only because Jordan’s kneeling before me I don’t end up on the floor or leaving a puddle on the carpet.
Jordan gets it all, making a sound of surprise when I don’t just release my tensions but a pool of cum as well. He doesn’t wait to be told. He laps the evidence of my orgasm up from my lips and thighs. Gently and eagerly he moves, and it’s those feelings — those gentle flicks of his tongue — that bring me back to myself. Out of the orbit he sent me to.
When I’ve come back to myself enough to remember I’m supposed to be his domme, I direct him out from between my legs and onto his feet again. As I expected, Jordan’s face is deeply flushed with excitement, as well as the lower levels of oxygen from when I was squeezing on him. But, despite the feverish look he has to him, he seems eager to keep going.
His bright amorous eyes beg me for more instruction.
His cock begs me, though more subtly. Still erect after so long, it looks flushed in the same way his upper and middle back are. The head shines intensely now, looking fatter, plumper than it did earlier.
I lie back and open my legs to him to encourage him to tease me with his eager tip, which he does. Readily, but tenderly.
Four Billionaires for St. Patrick's Day Page 64