She started to get up, so he released her hair and put those hands to good use and helped her stand.
“What do you think I should do with you?”
His complexion had started to fade back to normal, his acute embarrassment fading. “I suppose you’re going to punish me.”
“What does that mean to you?”
“The hell if I know.”
She pursed her lips, as if she had to think very hard about the best way to teach him a lesson. “I’ll be back in a moment. You stand here and think about what you’ve done.”
She actually meant that. She wanted him to think about putting himself into her hands. Trusting her enough to let her experiment with toys, even ones they already knew they’d discard like the pony gear. Letting her deliberately lure him into release, so that she could explore something new and different with him. Whether he was going to continue to put that trust in her, even if she came back with something potentially scary for a newbie submissive. Let alone a man who might not be a true submissive at all.
Rummaging around in the bedside drawer, she made a great show of looking for just the right equipment. She even pulled a box out from beneath the bed and sorted through several items. By the time she came back to him, sweat had started to drip down his forehead. Even better…
His erection had returned. And he knew it. Standing there stark naked in her living room, waiting for her punishment, he’d gotten turned on again.
The white rope was hopefully not a surprise after their first night. Though this time, she fully intended to put it to good use. “Put your hands behind your back, soldier boy.”
He widened his stance and put his wrists in the small of his back, almost like he was standing at attention for inspection. That could be fun. Loosening the hank of rope so she had a good amount in either hand, she started with his wrists. Then criss crossed the rope around his waist, up his chest, around his arms and shoulders. She used up the rope, ending with a loose wrap around his neck that did little to restrain or constrict his breathing—but acted as a reminder of exactly what she was doing to him. Then she stepped back and surveyed her work.
Muscles strained against the rope. Instinctively testing her skill, how firmly he was restrained and exploring his options for escape. A combat soldier had probably been prepped at least in training about what to do if captured. The way he stared at her now, eyes dark, body braced, made her think about all sorts of role playing they could do. “Are you a spy sent to gather intel on me? Or maybe you’re just a poor soldier boy caught on the wrong side of the lines.”
Refusing to play along, at least for now, he replied back with a question of his own. “What are you going to do to me now that you have me tied up?”
She sat back down on the couch and picked up her glass of wine. His surprise, and yes, disappointment, made her lips quirk with amusement. “I haven’t decided yet. You’re just too pretty to look at. I want to enjoy the scenery first.”
He moved his shoulders and arms, testing the rope, trying to decide if he could work himself free. She doubted it. She wasn’t a Shibari expert, but she’d been around bondage most of her adult life. The rope was the perfect weight to be strong yet flexible, soft yet tough enough to hold even a two-hundred-pound veteran in place. Without his legs bound, he could still think about fleeing, though running away wasn’t in his DNA. She hadn’t wanted to make him feel completely helpless this first time. He needed something to fight, and leaving his legs free would give him the feeling that he had a chance.
“Next time, I want your hands in front of you.”
His eyes narrowed. “Next time?”
She smiled and sipped her wine. “You think I’m going to be satisfied with tying you up only once? I was nice this time. I didn’t even tie your cock up. Looks like he’s missing out on the entertainment.”
He twisted his wrists and blew out a disgusted breath. “I feel ridiculous standing here like this.”
She laughed softly. “That’s the point, sugar. Dominants like nothing better than tying up their subs and then making them feel ridiculous. I’ve seen them require a sub to fetch a newspaper and slippers with their teeth because their hands were tied up, just like you are now. Why do you think I left your legs free?”
“I’ve got better suggestions of things I could do with my mouth than play fetch like a dog.”
“Do you, now. Hmmm.” She let him stew a bit, as if she truly had to think about it. “I suppose you could try and undress me with your teeth.”
It was a trap. He had to know it. But he came toward her anyway and gingerly lowered himself to the floor in front of her. On his knees, arms bound, he hesitated. As if only just now realizing exactly where he was. What he was doing. She watched his face, loving the way his eyes darkened. His cock rose up hard and stiff, despite the moment of clarity. Though he wasn’t the kind of man to be lead around by his dick. He could actually stop now. Before he went too far. Before he had to decide how low he’d go for her. Because going on his knees with his hands tied behind his back must be pretty low in his mind.
She waited patiently, making sure not to hold her breath or try to sway him either way with body language. She didn’t open her thighs to lure him in. Just stared back, evenly, waiting to see what he’d choose. She wanted him to make the conscious decision to play the game with her. Otherwise, it was no game. He might as well go home and delete her number from his phone.
He looked at her, tracing the lines of her body, lingering on her breasts. She hadn’t dressed up for him, even knowing he’d come back after making an appearance at work. Simple jeans and T-shirt. What she always wore at home. He hadn’t asked to see her in any of the BDSM dress-up outfits she kept for going to the club. This was her. The real her. Take it or leave it.
Though he sure did make an incredible sight with all that muscle bulging beneath the ropes.
“May I put my mouth on you, Mal?”
She pulled her gaze back up to his. “I like that you asked me first, sugar. That’s real sweet. And yeah, I’d love your mouth on me.”
In a million years, he’d never have dreamed that playing with the Mistress of Dallas would be like this. She made it fun, not scary or humiliating. But more, she made it his choice.
Deep down, he’d assumed she’d trick him into shit he didn’t want to do. Or try and force him. Maybe she’d torture him with desire until he’d do anything she asked just to get some relief. But Mal wasn’t about that. At all.
No, she just sat there, looking at him, waiting until he decided whether he’d play along or not. And he wanted to play, if that meant he got to put his mouth on her. Got to touch her. Got to stay. Here. With her.
Even on his knees.
That was a small price to pay to feel like this again.
No, that was a lie. He’d never felt like this. He’d slept with plenty of women in his day, but had never been this vulnerable. Raw. Open. Trusting. No one had looked at him with solemn golden-brown eyes and weighed his worth solely by his willingness to allow her to control the pace.
He took a knee-step closer to her, and now she opened her thighs to him. Sitting back against the cushions of the couch, wine in one hand, her pose casual and relaxed… she might have been settling down for a movie night. Not inviting him to try and get her clothes off with nothing but his teeth.
Of course he wouldn’t be able to accomplish it. Not completely. Her jeans were painted on with loving detail against every gorgeous curve. Even with his hands, he might have had to gain some assistance from her to shimmy them down. But it would certainly be fun to play along for awhile.
Bending lower, he kissed her denim-clad knee. She probably couldn’t feel much through her jeans, but he trailed his mouth higher, daring to grip her thigh teasingly with his teeth. Not a bite, exactly, but squeezing and massaging with his jaws as he worked his way up to her crotch. She didn’t shift or move restlessly against the couch, even when he nudged his face firmly against the vee of her thighs. He tried to lick sugg
estively, but again, the thick denim didn’t allow much friction or saliva to pass through. He crawled closer and nipped at the hem of her shirt, tugging it up a bit. It took some work to get the material to cooperate. Enough that he was starting to sweat, his knees ached, and his back muscles burned. But he didn’t mind. Not when he finally got his lips on the tender skin of her stomach.
He scooted closer and allowed the weight of his head and shoulders to rest against her lap, taking some of the strain off his back, with his face under her shirt. Her fingers stroked over his forehead, across his skull, and he closed his eyes. He’d thought the Mistress of Dallas would smell like latex, or at least leather. But all he smelled was warm, sweet woman.
“Giving up already?” she asked lightly.
“No, ma’am.” He kept his mouth against her skin, letting his lips caress her since his hands could not. “Just drinking you in.”
She sat up away from the cushion a moment, her hands tugging her shirt up and over her head. “I’ll make it a little easier for you.”
His breath sighed out. Trailing soft kisses up her belly, between her breasts, he tongued the lacy edge of her bra. “I don’t suppose you’d help me out by taking this off too.”
“Not yet, soldier boy. At least give it some effort first.”
He leaned more against her, unable to brace himself on his hands so he could lift himself up. The rope cut into his arms and chest, a constant reminder of his inability to touch her. Because he kept instinctively trying to do so. His fingers burned to trace the swells of her breasts, to flip open the bra so he could lick and suck her nipples. Instead, he had to be satisfied with nuzzling, mouthing her hardened nipples through the lace. And the more prominent her nipples became, the more his inability to touch her goaded.
He began to hate that material keeping his mouth off her flesh. Twisting his wrists as much as he could, he fought a moment, desperate to get that fucking bra off, and then groaned with frustration.
“Ah, there’s the sound I was looking for.”
Mal, damn her, sounded completely amused by his struggle. She would be, naturally. He turned his face up a bit, but without a stiff neck, he couldn’t even glare up at her. Her hands stroked over his head and down his shoulders, feeling the strain, the sweat, and she let out a soft, pleased little sound that almost made him thrash desperately like a fish on the beach trying to fling itself back into the lake.
That sound should be pouring from her lips while he licked her pussy. Not because he was tied up and unable to do what he wanted.
As soon as he thought it, he knew why she loved these games. Because it had nothing to do with what he wanted.
“Are you all tied up in knots yet, sugar?”
“You know I am.”
She shifted beneath him and his heart raced with hope. Only to be dashed to bits when she pushed on his chest. He sat back on his heels and glared up at her. Hopefully it was a glare, not a pout. That would kill him. Her eyes gleamed, heavy lidded and hot with desire, but she laughed softly, telling him exactly what kind of look he must have given her.
Shit. He bit back the words he wanted to say. Please, Mal, give me something.
“If you ask me nicely, next time I’ll wear my favorite stilettos. That way I can put you where I want you with a little prod of my shoe.”
The idea should have send alarm zinging through him. There was something so degrading about the idea. A woman stepping on him, maybe. Implying that he was at her feet. But the thought of how terrific Mal’s long legs would look in high heels almost made him drool like a dog.
“Foot or shoe fetish?”
He managed to shake his head despite the lust hammering through him. “Just thinking about your legs.”
She pulled one foot up on the couch and started to untie her shoe. “Darn. I was looking forward to having you kiss my feet.”
His thoughts tangled up, thick and heavy and slow. Probably because all the blood in his body had headed south. If she was taking her shoes off, maybe her pants would be next.
“No objection? I figured a big tough cop like you would quake at the thought of kissing a woman’s feet.”
He managed to shrug, though it made the rope burn across his skin. “As long as I get to make my way up those killer legs I don’t think I’d care.”
“Good to know. But I’m funny about certain things, likely because I don’t like sweaty or smelly feet much. If I’m fresh out of the bath, I’ll consider it. Feet are just too gross.”
He stared at her a moment, trying to get his brain to work. She didn’t like feet. But asked about a foot fetish. Did that mean… “What if I did want to suck your toes? Right now?”
She flashed a grin at him as she tossed her shoe aside and worked on the other. “I’d go take a bath first.”
That just seemed so… wrong. She was the Mistress. She ought to get whatever the hell she wanted. Certainly not do things she didn’t like. “That’s fucked up. Isn’t it?”
She tossed that shoe aside and stood, her hands going to the button on her jeans. “Is it? If two people care for each other, don’t they want them taken care of?”
Hypnotized by the slow movements of her fingers as she opened the fly and began to peel the denim down her thighs, he could barely string two words together. “I take care. Of you. Not the other way around.”
She stepped out of her jeans but left her panties on. Black lace, matching the bra. “That’s real sweet, sugar, but there’s more to being a Domme than getting my rocks off.”
Turning, she headed toward her bedroom. Well, he guessed that’s where she was going. She didn’t say and after a few steps, he couldn’t see her any longer. He waited a moment, trying to get his sluggish brain to work. She hadn’t told him to stay or follow. Was this a test? Was he supposed to wait here until she came back? Did he want to be a good soldier boy, as she’d called him? Or a bad, bad boy who broke the rules? What if she came back with something else to try on him? That bridle had been one thing. Fun. Easy. But he’d watched enough of her shows to know that she could bring out contraptions that might make him flee for the door without worrying about his pants.
“Aren’t you coming to bed, sugar?”
That made him scramble to his feet. Well, he tried, but it was damned hard to stand up when he couldn’t use his hands for leverage. He finally had to brace his chin on the arm of the couch and push up to his feet. “Fuck.”
“Yeah, sugar, that’s the general plan.”
She’d been moved many times over the course of her years as a Mistress, but Colby had managed to set off about half a dozen earthquakes tonight alone.
First, the pony gear. Trusting her enough to try it out, letting her experiment in a safe environment. He could have refused, and then she could have embarrassed herself on the show, not understanding how the most basic equipment would work or look or feel for the sub involved. Then he’d allowed her to take his hands and arms away. For a man used to protecting others, that was no small thing.
Then he’d been concerned about putting her kink above his. An unselfish lover, after many a previous sub who’d only cared about getting their own rocks off.
Just when she couldn’t imagine him doing anything more to please her, he’d waited on his knees. Waiting for her command.
So to reward him, she stripped off her panties and bra and laid down on her bed, thighs parted, making a fine display as he entered the room.
His eyes locked onto her pussy and he let out a growl. “I thought I was going to strip those panties off with my teeth.”
“You took too long.” She kept her tone light, but didn’t try to hide her desire. “Do you want the order? Or do you want to get down to business?”
He immediately came to the side of the bed, but hesitated. “Are you going to untie me first?”
“Now that’s a silly question, sugar.”
“Humph.” He stared at her a moment, trying to decide the best way to get into bed without face planting. Even thoug
h that’s exactly what she wanted. His face. Planted in her pussy.
She let out a little sigh, and trailed her fingers down her stomach, letting her eyelids flutter. Though she refused to shut her eyes. She wouldn’t miss a moment of his reaction as she slipped her fingers between her thighs. He quivered, all his senses going on high alert.
In her experience, nothing hurried a man along quicker than seeing his woman get down to pleasuring herself because he was too slow.
He mostly fell on her. Unable to catch himself—he evidently decided to plow in head first. To play with him, she pushed on his lips with her fingers, keeping him from getting his tongue fully on her. His rumbling growl of frustrated desire curled her toes.
Such a fantastic man. She’d never had a submissive so dedicated to service, without wanting anything specific from her. He didn’t want to role play, he wasn’t into any specific kink that she’d identified so far.
He wanted her. Her control, her touch, and hopefully her love.
Because she was falling in love with this man. Every single time he humbled himself for her, she fell a little bit harder.
He splayed his tongue wide and moved his head back and forth, using his whole face to pleasure her. Since he was in such an uncomfortable position, she didn’t hold back. She’d been wet since he walked in the door, and the games they’d played tonight had her engines purring. With both hands, she held his head, making sure he didn’t strain his neck too hard, and let the pleasure pour through her.
Breathing hard, she pushed him back upright, helping him get his knees under him. His cheat heaved and his skin was damp with sweat. She reached under her pillow and grabbed a condom she’d stashed earlier for easy retrieval. She couldn’t begin to count the number of times she’d slid latex over a hard cock, but tonight, her fingers shook. Maybe it was the need burning in his eyes. The way his shoulders and neck corded, straining to free himself in vain so he could touch her.
“Mal,” he whispered raggedly. His cock surged in her hand, thick and hard and urgent, as if he hadn’t just come a few minutes ago. “Untie me. Please.”
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