I met his gaze and searched it. In those eyes I didn’t see a man who wanted to possess me in an exploitative way. Instead I saw a man who wanted to admire my body as one would admire a fine piece of art. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking, though. Maybe I wanted him to cherish me when all he really wanted was a sex toy.
But thoughts of Dad, how happy he’d been when we left him in the new care facility, surfaced. I took a deep breath and gave Dmitri a smile I hoped bluffed confidence. “No, I’m fine. Which would you like me to try on first?”
“Please, you choose.” He swept a hand over the lingerie pile and took a seat across from me.
I selected a tangerine bra and matching panties that left nothing to the imagination. Instantly I regretted my choice, but I chided myself for being such a wimp, steeled my resolve, and slipped off my sensible shoes. I started to hurriedly undress, but Dmitri stopped me.
“Take your time,” he said. “I enjoyed being teased, as much as I’ll enjoy teasing you later.”
I blushed so hard the heat crept into my ears, but I took my time peeling off the rest of my clothes. At times I had to look away from his ardent stare. It was predatory almost, but not in a creepy or cruel way. I swore passion and admiration shimmered in those emerald irises instead, but I was working entirely on assumption.
After what seemed an eternity, I stood naked before him. When I went to slip on the bra, he told me to wait a moment longer. The cool breeze from the store’s air conditioner swirled around me, raising goose bumps all over my skin. Instinct screamed at me to hide my bare breasts. My nipples tingled and puckered as they hardened, but I didn’t hug myself for fear I’d displease him. His unwavering stare grew even more intense, and my body responded by amping up the throbbing between my legs.
“Should I try it on now, Mr. Nich—I mean…” I shook my head at my mistake, feeling like such a naïve fool.
“It’s playtime now, Mistress,” he said, giving a kind but still desirous smile. “Where we’re on playtime, you refer to me as Master, and you are my Mistress.”
I nodded, swallowed hard to loosen my throat. “Should I try one on now, Master?”
He nodded, and I selected the panties first this time, sliding them up my legs, feeling his eyes follow my every movement. Next came the bra, but my klutziness picked this inopportune time to kick in. I couldn’t get the back clasp to work, and sweat beaded my brow as I fumbled with it.
“Here,” he said, rising from his chair. “Let me help you.”
With minimal effort, he turned me around and snapped the bra shut in seconds. I marveled at how a man with such large fingers could fasten one so fast. Most times I struggled with the damn tricky things. Then a lascivious thought entered my mind, You know what that means, Charlotte. He’s had an awful lot of practice.
His hands slowly glided down my back and my every nerve screamed with erotic fire. I tried not to react, for I remembered what he’d said earlier about my control, about reacting only when he allowed it during playtime. It was torture holding back the gasp of shock, of enjoyment. Soon his palms cupped my apple shaped bottom, and I had to close my eyes and bite my bottom lip to stop from crying out when he sensually squeezed and caressed each cheek.
“You are truly a work of art, Mistress.” His hands left me, and I felt disappointment and relief all at once. “Now, show me more.”
After two more changes, he left his chair once more and turned me so I directly stared into the mirror in front of me. I tried to quell the frantic rush of anxiety that made my heart hammer in my chest.
His fingers trailed over my collarbone then down my arm. “Do you see how lovely you are? Now, let me dress and undress you.” He kissed me just above my ear and continued in a whisper, “I’m going to tease and please you, but you can’t react, can’t come, until I tell you to. Is that acceptable, Mistress? If you grow uncomfortable, use our safe word.” He gave it to me again, and I simply nodded my approval. I was too focused on remembering to breathe to form a reply.
He held me in place, making me watch as his fingers inched down my belly then dipped beneath the hem of my sheer lace panties. I almost gasped as two touched the hood of my clitoris. When his pink tongue poked out and slithered in my ear, I had to close my eyes to maintain control.
“Open your eyes,” he commanded in a throaty voice. “I want you to watch everything.”
“Yes, Master.” When he slowly slipped the bra from my breasts, then teased my aching nipples with his thumb and index finger, I had to clench my teeth to keep from whimpering.
As he slid the panties off, his palms seemed to memorize, soak in, my every curve. The whole exercise was absolute torture, and after three more changes of lingerie passed in this manner, I was nearly mad from desire. My whole body burned with the need for release. My breath came ragged and I almost panted.
Finally, after another change, I could take it no longer. I blurted out, “Please, taste me, fuck me.”
A sharp slap was delivered to my ass. The stinging crack made me squeak. My gaze flew to his in the mirror. His nostrils flared and his face was carved with lust.
“That was very disobedient, Mistress. Now I’ll have to punish you.”
He spun me around and deposited me in a chair facing one of the mirrors. Next he used a pair of expensive nylons to tie my hands behind the chair’s back. Then he dipped to his knees and yanked my legs apart. “I’m going to eat your pussy like it’s my last meal. Don’t you dare come until I tell you to.”
Two fingers parted my wet slit, exploring every inch of tender flesh, but he avoided my clit and opening until I thought I would burst from the need to feel his tongue on the pulsing bead of flesh. Finally its cool, moist surface glided over my clit, and I hissed air between my teeth as it did so.
“Uh-huh, Mistress,” he admonished, shaking a finger at me, but his focus never left my cunt. “No reaction until I allow it.”
“Yes, Master,” I could barely whisper the words.
He lapped at every inch of my vagina, his tongue tracing the contours of my outer and inner labia before it returned to my clit. My nerves were taut wire that would soon snap. My chest heaved with the deep breaths I gulped in to control myself.
He used fingers instead of tongue on my clit next, watching me as he rolled the swollen bud between them. My eyelids fluttered, wanting so badly to close under this assault of pleasure, but I willed them open.
While still rolling and rubbing my clit, he held my pussy lips open with his other hand and licked the length of my cunt, poking his tongue in the hole as deep as he could and wriggling it inside of me. I thrashed in my bonds then, unable to hold back some form of release. But I didn’t make so much as a whimper. If this was punishment, I had to admit the torture was delicious.
“All right, Mistress. I’m going to let you come now, and then I’m going to fuck that pretty little cunt while you watch.”
His lips wrapped around my clit, while two fingers slipped deep inside of me, curling as they sought out my g-spot. I enjoyed a long, loud moan as his tongue flicked rapidly over my thrumming nub, then I worried another patron in the front of the store might hear me, so I struggled to lower my volume.
But there was no holding back the cries of ecstasy as he finger fucked me in a rhythm that changed up from slow and sensuous to fast and carnal. In time with this, his lips, tongue and teeth thoroughly devoured my clit. I soon let out a shrill scream, wrapping my legs around his massive shoulders on instinct as every muscle went rigid. The release was mind blowing in its intensity. I trembled as orgasm filled me with a cloud of bliss that left me drugged, satiated, and sluggish.
When I stilled and panted for air, he untied my wrists and commanded, “Give me your back and brace yourself on the chair.”
Finding balance on shaky legs, I did as I was told. Embarrassment almost threatened to overwhelm me when I spied my flushed face, my tousled hair, my sweat gleaming skin in one of the pewter mirrors. But I kept my eyes wide open as he quickl
y shoved his pants and underwear to his ankles. We were positioned so I had a great sideways view, and I watched his thick, purple cock slap against his shirttail as it popped from his boxer briefs.
He used its meaty head to massage the length of my now dripping slit. I tilted my head back and let out a long groan, happy for the release he allowed me. I was on birth control, since I’d taken this job as his mistress, so we were protected. And he showed me papers proving he was disease free. I, too, had taken tests to show I was clean.
I sighed as his plump cock plunged deep into my pussy. My inner walls gripped him tight and didn’t want to let him go. I begged him to fuck me furiously, and my wanton ways must’ve encouraged him, for he pumped so frantically I thought we’d topple the chair. I soon came hard a second time, squealing and writhing in the throes of another intense orgasm. He followed not long after, growling low in his throat as he shoved his cock into me to the root and spilled his seed.
***
How no other customers stumbled across our ardent sex session in the boutique, I’ll never know. I guessed it had something to do with Dmitri’s power and influence, plus the fact he seemed to know the boutique owner fairly well. I wondered if they’d ever been lovers, and the thought spiked jealousy through my heart, but I chided myself for being so foolish over a man who was simply my employer, not my committed partner.
We spent the rest of the day shopping for clothes, then he showed me to my new apartment. The place was so lavish I couldn’t believe it belonged to me. After we dropped off my many packages, we next headed to his home.
Lush, green grounds ensconced a palatial house made of light grey and black stone. It had a small, rounded tower that jutted from one end, and this was capped with a onion dome I’d often seen in pictures of Russian churches.
We rushed through the inside, and Dmitri promised to show me around the place better tomorrow, after breakfast. I guessed that meant I was staying the night. The thought both thrilled and terrified me.
He led me down a wide staircase carpeted in rich crimson, to the basement. We stopped in front of a black walnut door with a rounded top and antique hinges. It made me think of old Hammer films I’d enjoyed as a teenager.
He stopped me, gripped my shoulders. “Once we enter, playtime begins. I’ll give you time to grow familiar with the dungeon, though, and show you around. If you grow uncomfortable at anytime, use our safe word.”
I simply nodded and waited for him to open the door.
I almost gasped when I saw what was inside. The huge, round room was well lit, but there were no windows placed in its gray walls. These were lined with wooden pegs and shelves that displayed a massive collection of bdsm gear, or so I guessed, for I was unfamiliar with many of the items my gaze fell on. I saw black, shiny masks, whips, manacles. Dmitri placed a hand on my back and took me on a tour, pointing out various toys and identifying them: studded collars, collars with loops for leashes, ball gags. My head swam with the vast catalogue he introduced me to.
“Now, let me show you what we’ll be playing with today.” He led me to the center of the room, where thick tendrils of white and indigo rope hung from massive metal loops screwed into the ceiling. The top of these ropes were woven together like lattice. Their long coils hung down from this intricate design, making it look like a rope chandelier.
My hand flew to my throat and I plucked at my blouse, hoping I didn’t look as apprehensive as I felt. Dmitri must’ve noticed, for his lips quirked up at one side and he rubbed his palm up and down my back in what I took as a calming gesture.
“Tonight, not only will I be your master, I will be your Nawashi—rope artist. You will become my living sculpture.”
He led me into the center of the ropes. They smelled of sweet hay, and I inhaled deeply. “Hemp,” Dmitri explained, when I did so.
“It smells wonderful,” I said, then quickly added, “Am I still allowed to talk?”
Dmitri seemed gently amused by my concern I’d broken our playtime rules. “Yes, Mistress, you may speak. I won’t ever rob you of your voice. But once we engage in play, you may only react, only come, when I tell you it’s allowed.”
I had to look away from his intense gaze as I nodded.
“For your first dungeon experience, we’re going to do rope bondage. Is that acceptable, Mistress?”
“Certainly,” I croaked, hating how my voice betrayed me whenever he and I became intimate.
“Wonderful. Take your clothes off.”
He watched me as he began to strip. My fingers fumbled over the buttons on my blouse, and he was already unbuckling his belt while I was still working on my bra. Once I got to my skirt, though, things moved quicker, and I was naked a few seconds after he was. We folded our clothes and placed them on padded chairs that sat off to the side, then we met in the center of the rope construction once again.
Being this close to his nakedness elicited instant response. He was a fine specimen of maleness. Triangle shaped, with shoulders that had to be forty-five inches across. His hair gleamed, and strands fell over his forehead, brushed his golden cheeks. He had well developed pecs, with a deep cleft that led to an expansive rib cage and trim waist. His legs were powerful, corded columns. Staring at him, I felt that familiar heat returning to my pussy. My nipples tingled and hardened, and my hands shook as he held them while guiding my arms away from my torso.
“Playtime begins,” he said, taking a length of indigo rope and winding it just below my breasts. “You are allowed to ask questions, but I will explain the process to you as we go.” He tied knots just beneath my breasts, and the sensitive flesh tingled from the light sweep of his fingers. “This form of rope bondage comes from an old Japanese rope art practice known as Shibari. The erotic variation is known as Kinbaku, but in the West we have come to use the term Shibari to refer to erotic rope displays.”
He looped the ropes over my shoulders and walked behind me. I soaked in their texture. They were rough, itchy, but also soft and smooth. It was a strange combination that stroked my skin in a sensual way I enjoyed.
“Right now,” he continued, his touch sending sizzling stimuli up my spine, “I’m creating intricate patterns that will accentuate your beauty, the lushness of your curves, the shape of your breasts.” He came back around front to survey his work. The soft cables he’d strung above and below my breasts made them sit high on my chest, jutting out proudly. He tweaked and teased each nipple, watching my face for reaction. “The torso harness is complete. Put your arms behind your back.”
I obeyed. Once more he created tight links around my wrists, but this bondage wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything the coils pressed pleasantly into my flesh, seeming to relax me with their touch.
“Shibari was used in Japan between the 15th and 18th century. Samurai used it to respectfully restrain captives. It was considered dishonorable to physically or mentally hurt your captive, and this form of bondage was a sort of honor.” His hands urged my legs apart and I struggled not to gasp. His touch, the erotic sweep and pressure of the ropes across my flesh, was charging my body with lust and anticipation.
“Kinbaku developed later, in the 19th and 20th century,” he continued. “It is the true name for erotic rope art. Many rope artist also photograph their models after they’ve created an intricate display. I’m working on a pattern, now, that will accentuate the strength as well as the fragile nature of your body.”
Ropes and hands slithered up my inner thighs. I bit the tip of my tongue to keep from sighing loudly. Their braided tendrils parted my ass cheeks, teased my now throbbing pussy. I willed my eyes to stay wide open and not close under the pleasant torture. The cords encircled my hips, then he made another detailed knot in a flurry of fingers I found amazing. He drew the twisted material down to my knees. It pulled snug between my ass, pressing hard into my moist slit. I inhaled slow and deep to keep from moaning.
“Good Mistress,” he said, glancing up at me before his attention returned to the ropes. “Your control
is admirable.” He twined the coils just above my knees, knotted the length, then made another pair of loops halfway to my shins. More knots followed, his deft hands never faltering in their mission. “Lift your leg.”
I did so, and his huge hand clasped my ankles while he bound my legs apart and high up in the air.
“This form of rope art also incorporates elements of Shiatsu,” he continued with his explanation, which I found fascinating. “I’m placing the knots on specific pressure points to help you relax, to massage your muscles, and help you remain calm.”
I now hovered above the bare cement floor, my legs arched behind me and my torso arched forward. As he’d promised, I’d become a living sculpture, and also, as he’d promised, there was minimal pain. More a tightness that contrasted with the softer quality of the ropes. I almost felt like I swayed on a swing.
He stepped in front of me and admired his construction of flesh and fibers. “You look simply stunning. I must get a picture.” He moved to one of the tables built right into the dungeons’ walls and grabbed a camera. Soon he was back in front my me, snapping a photo. Next he moved to both sides and behind, still clicking away as he preserved this image.
He stood beside my shoulder and held the digital camera before my face. “See for yourself.” A side image of my bound form filled the preview screen.
“That’s wonderful,” I whispered. My breath was taken away by the photo. I appeared sultry yet vulnerable. Smooth, pale flesh squeezed through the ropes in a seductive configuration.
“It is,” he agreed proudly. “Now, Mistress.” His gaze went all molten passion. “Prepare to suck my cock.”
In all the time he’d been binding me, my focus had been on the ropes, his touch, and now as it centered on his cock—silk draped over hard steel—I swallowed and prepared to take the long, thick shaft in my mouth. There would be no controlling his thrusts, no touching his penis. My mouth and tongue would have to do all the work. The situation would be agonizing, being robbed of the feel of his flesh, but exhilarating in its challenge too.
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