by Eden Bradley
“I don’t want to, Duff,” she said, with no need to consider it. He was right—she was right there with him, and nothing in her wanted to run anymore. Not now. Now, in this moment, she would be his. And she would glory in it.
With his hands on her shoulders, pressing just hard enough for her to feel his absolute authority over her, he guided her to the padded table, then helped her up onto it, pressing her back until she was lying flat. With his fierce gaze on hers, he drew one arm over her head, leaned in to place a soft kiss on her wrist, then buckled it into the leather cuff. Straightening up, he watched her for what seemed like a long while before he moved around the table, cuffing her other wrist, then drawing her ankles to the edges of the table to fasten them into the leather shackles. She was shaking a little all over, but it was mostly excitement, the keen edge of exquisite desire and the anticipation of what was to come.
Standing over her, he looked down at her once more, and placing his big hand in the center of her chest, he exerted the slightest pressure, his sharp gaze boring into hers. His expression was both shadow and light, meltingly soft and edged in glittering glass, gold and silver and the black of his heavy lashes. She didn’t know what to make of what might be going on in his head. But she felt drawn in, drowning in the unexplained intensity. There was something so primal in his eyes, she should have been afraid. And she was—except that nothing within her wanted to escape. Instead, she wanted the fear, craved it.
“Are you ready, princess? We’ll start out easy, until I have a chance to read how you respond to the wand. I need to make sure I can read you. Then it will be my great pleasure to bring you pain—such beautiful pain. We’ll both love it, won’t we?”
She opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out. She felt paralyzed, but in the most wonderful, excruciating way.
“I have to turn my back to you to get the equipment going, but I’m right here, lovely girl.”
He moved away then, and she turned her head and saw him fit a slender glass tube with a flat, disk-shaped tip into the end of the violet wand, which really did look a bit wandlike—it was a thick plastic shaft that was perhaps eight or ten inches long, with the cord coming out of one end, and the glass tube protruding from the other. He switched it on, and she heard the low buzz, saw the glass tube gleam with a narrow beam of purple light. As he moved it toward her, she couldn’t help that her breath caught in her throat, tight with nerves.
“Does it scare you? Yes? I like that it does. Here, see how gentle it can be.” He touched the flat end of the glass tube to her arm and she jumped, then realized it only tickled.
“It’s not bad, right? Right. For now. But truthfully, it’s turned down quite low at the moment.” He ran the glass up her arm, then over her stomach, which tickled even more, and she let out a small gasp. “But we have a long way to go tonight. Oh, yes, a very long way.”
Did he know what these subtle threats did to her head? Of course he did. So did she, when she was topping. But she could barely think about that. She had slipped all too easily into bottom mode, and there was no climbing back out of it. Not now. Never with him.
He paused to turn the power up, and she steeled herself, but the tickle only turned into a bright humming against her flesh.
“See? It doesn’t hurt at all, does it? Unless I hold the tube the slightest distance from your skin so the current can arc.”
“Oh!”
“Hurts a bit, yeah? Tell me what it feels like to you.”
“It’s sort of like . . . being flicked with a rubber band.”
He turned up the power a little more before touching the wand to her arm again. “And now?”
“Ah . . . it stings.”
“But you like sting, or so you told me.”
“I do. Oh, I can smell . . . What is it?”
“Ozone. I do love that smell. When we’re done you’ll be able to smell it all over your skin, and so will I. But let’s try something else.”
He switched the wand off and pulled the glass tube out, exchanging it for one with a pointed tip. “This one will focus the sensation over a much smaller area, so the current, and therefore the sting, will be more concentrated.”
He turned the wand on and swept a hand over her stomach, making her shiver. Then he touched the glass tip there, and she yelped.
“Ah!”
He grinned, his dimples flashing, and pleasure washed over her—even more when he bent and kissed the spot where the wand had stung her skin.
“Oh, you like that. Your nipples are hard, and I can see it in your eyes. Let’s see if we can really get you a good rush of endorphins, shall we?”
Before she had a chance to think, he touched the wand to the tip of one nipple, and pain lanced through her.
“Fuck, Duff!”
Immediately he had his hand there, cupping her breast, his touch bringing her pleasure in the wake of the pain.
“Soon enough, lovely girl. Soon enough. But I need to hurt you a bit more first. You need it, too. Yeah, don’t worry about a thing. I know what you need, and I’ll give it to you. That is my first concern. You’re in my hands now. All you have to do is lie there, princess. Lie there and take it.”
She watched in a combination of fascination and dread as he turned up the dial on the humming instrument. Then he began to sort of tap her skin with it, drawing it back before quickly touching her again. And it created a breathless sort of zapping, like a series of tiny bee stings, punctuated by a sweep of his smooth palm over her skin that had her system pinging back and forth between pain and pleasure, until the pain was pleasure.
She knew this was how it worked, but it seemed like an epiphany to her—that this could happen to her. That she could trust him so implicitly, yet still be afraid. Oh, it was a beautiful mind-fuck—one she wanted more of.
He paused to lean in close, to whisper against her mouth, “How are we doing? Are you good?”
“Yes,” she answered, her voice a breathy pant. “Yes, I’m good.”
“Yeah, you are. You’re fucking gorgeous. Responsive as hell. It’s like you’re dancing on the table. Dancing in your bonds. You have no idea how much I love to see it. How hard it makes me.” He slipped a hand between her spread thighs, and his fingers slipped in her juices. “It makes you hot, too. Oh, yeah, that’s the really good part.”
He started to stroke her there, and even though she was afraid he’d stick the damn wand between her legs—which she couldn’t believe a part of her actually wanted—her body responded like crazy, her hips arching into his touch.
“Do you need me to get you off, princess? It feels like you do. And I could almost be happy to stand here and stroke your hot little pussy all night, you feel so damn good. Almost. But I have work to do yet, don’t I?”
When he pulled his hand away, a small sob escaped her, but it only made him smile.
“Goddamn it, Duff,” she muttered between teeth clenched against pleasure and helplessness.
He chuckled. “It’s nice to be wanted,” he teased before dropping his tone. “Do you want me, Layla?”
She ground her jaw tight, trying to defy him, but he only grabbed her face in a hard, punishing grip.
“Do you want me?” he demanded, his tone stern.
Her body melted, her defiance diffusing beneath his command.
“How do you always know exactly what I need?” she asked, her voice low, raspy with desire.
“That’s my job, isn’t it? I happen to very good at my job.”
He bent and kissed her, and she was only vaguely aware of the low buzzing of the wand as his lips and tongue explored her mouth, making her thighs tighten up, fighting her bonds, needing to press them together to relieve the ache between them.
“Now,” he murmured against her lips, “let’s see what else I can find to amuse myself with.”
Straightening up, he s
witched the instrument off, and she watched as he pulled the glass tube out and replaced it with a heavy cord, one end with a metal tube that he plugged into the wand. The other end was a flat rectangle of metal, which he tucked into the waistband of his jeans.
“This is a contact pad,” he explained. “And I am now the conductor of the electrical current. Which means I’ll feel it, too, as it runs through my fingers, but I don’t mind.”
Switching the wand on once more, he ran his fingertips over her stomach, and it tickled and hurt at the same time. She swore she saw sparks flying from his fingers. When he reached up to run his fingers through her hair, her whole scalp tingled—it was titillating and oddly relaxing at the same time, and she couldn’t help but squirm. He turned the intensity up and the tickling sensation and the release of endorphins made her giggle.
“Are you finding electricity funny, princess?”
“No. Well, not funny, but . . . Hey!” She yelped and laughed when he feathered his fingers through her hair again. “I don’t mean to giggle like this, and I feel like a fool, but it’s an amazing feeling. I can’t help it.”
“Have you never laughed while playing before? Such a shame. Know you can laugh with me, Layla. And a fool isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It was Jonathan Swift who said, ‘I wonder what fool it was that first invented kissing.’ A fine fool, indeed, yes? Yes.”
He grinned at her as he took one finger and let it dance down the center of her chest, so the sparks flew and sensation was a series of tiny snapping shocks. Then he let his fingers flutter over the curve of her breast and she groaned, knowing from the desire and amusement on his face that her nipple was next. He drew his hand back, then extended one finger and moved in slowly while she held her breath. When he touched his fingertip to her nipple, the shock was sharp, and she yelped again.
“Fuck!”
He laughed. “What’s wrong, princess? It doesn’t tickle anymore?”
“It does but . . . God, Duff, you are so mean.”
“Aw. That hurts my feelings—it really does. I think I’ll have to punish you for that cruel remark.”
She held her breath as he started to torture her nipples with his dancing, electrified fingertips. Quick, sharp jolts of pain poured through her, along with desire. When her brain released more of the lovely chemicals in response to the pain, it was in a flooding rush, and her entire body went slack.
He backed off, letting her ride it out, then leaned in to kiss her once more. She didn’t realize he’d switched off the wand and set it down until his hand was between her thighs, his fingers pressing inside her. He was pumping into her, catching her G-spot. Pleasure rose in mere seconds, and she was on the verge of climax, panting into his mouth.
When he reached up with his free hand to pinch her nipple, she couldn’t hold back—she came in a dizzying torrent, her body arching up off the table, her mouth latching onto his as pleasure knifed into her in sharp waves that seemed to carry some leftover sensation of sparking, electric tingles.
Her orgasm began to subside, but he wasn’t having it. He kept working her with his hand, and pressure built once more, quickly taking her up and over the edge as she came so hard her face went numb. And before the sensation had a chance to fade, he started in again.
“Duff,” she panted. “I don’t think . . . I can’t.”
“You can. And you will,” he said, his tone low and threatening in the most lovely way, heavy with the Scottish accent.
“Oh . . .”
Pressure built, twined with pleasure, and it was like a snake weaving its way through her system. She thought she was too worn-out, too overstimulated. But it was Duff, and she wanted to come for him again, wanted to be rendered helpless in this way. And soon pleasure spiraled and dove, and she dove with it, crashing through the clouds of sensation that threatened to envelop her. Even as she was coming she knew she was completely out of her head. But all she could do was groan, then yell.
“Ah, Jesus fuck! Duffffff!”
“Again,” he ordered.
She let out a sob, but he was relentless, his hand pumping into her, his warm, wet mouth going to her nipple, bringing new sensation. And something about the sweet liquid heat allowed her body to release whatever tenuous threads held it back, and suddenly she was coming again. Or still. All she could do was shiver under his touch, drink him in as he kissed her hard. And come until he decided it was enough.
• • •
DUFF PUMPED HIS hand into her. He couldn’t get enough—enough of her cries as she came, the sensation of her hot pussy clenching around his fingers, how she drenched his hand over and over. He couldn’t get enough of her gorgeously glazed eyes, the flush in her cheeks, the way her body moved so sinuously within the restraints. He was hard as iron, hot and eager to be inside her. He just needed to make her come a few dozen times—or as many times as he could stand before climbing on top of her and pushing his way in. Lord, she was beautiful. Her face. Her curving body. Her submission. Even more beautiful knowing how hard-won it was, how difficult for her to go there. It felt like the gift he knew it was.
“Come on, my lovely girl. You’re going to come for me again, as many times as I want you to. Until you’re so sore the coming itself hurts. Until you scream your throat raw. Then I’m going to be inside you, and you’re going to come again for me, around my cock. Oh, yeah. Come on, Layla.”
He thrust into her, his curved fingers stroking at her G-spot, and she was so thoroughly wet inside he could barely keep his aim straight. Using his other hand, he spread the lips of her sex wide, and began a rhythmic tapping on her swollen clit. She was pink and glistening and, good Lord, simply looking at her made his cock twitch. He jabbed harder, deeper, and when she tried to close her eyes, her face awash with languid pleasure, he ordered her, “No, princess. You look at me. See my face when you come. Know it’s me that makes you come so hard.”
Her lashes fluttered; then she focused on his face, her green eyes enormous, glossy. She bit her lip as the contractions started inside her once more, and he had to fight down his own spiraling desire. A low groan started in her throat, then rose in tone and volume, until she was crying out, yelling, then screaming as he continued to work her mercilessly. But the moment was as much without mercy for him—it was all he could do to keep his fingers buried deep inside her when he wanted—needed unbearably—to bury his dick inside her to the hilt.
She was still trembling when he pulled his hand from her, her hips undulating on the table as he yanked his shirt off, his jeans down. They caught on his boots and he swore as he kicked them off. Grabbing a condom from the table, he sheathed his swollen cock and climbed onto the table on top of her. He paused for one excruciating moment, watching as she writhed in her cuffs, at the wanton, hungry expression on her lovely face, before he opened her with his hand and plowed into her.
He groaned. “Ah . . .”
“Oh! Yes, Duff.”
He could feel that she was still coming, and it was nearly his undoing. He had to pause, to force a long breath into his lungs.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asked her through gritted teeth, not really needing an answer. “How you challenge my self-control? Like no other woman. Christ, you’re like no other woman I’ve known.” Angling his hips, he thrust into her, making her gasp. “No other woman makes me feel like this—harder than I’ve ever been in my life. Like I need to devour you. Fucking need to. So badly it makes my teeth ache not to bite into your skin.”
He thrust again, then again and again, and he couldn’t have uttered another sensible word if his life had depended on it. No, he was nothing but sensation. Aching, soaring, shattering sensation. He had to reach down and squeeze the base of his cock to keep from coming too soon. He needed to wait, had to have some time to kiss her while he was inside her body.
He attacked her lovely mouth—there was no other word for it. He
was too damn hungry for her. And she was all soft, honeyed flesh beneath him, surrounding his throbbing, rigid shaft. She was a part of him at that moment, and he didn’t know what the fuck was happening. But it was far too good to stop.
When he pulled his mouth away—only because he was about to come—she sighed quietly, her breath warm on his face as she whispered his name.
“Duff. Oh, yes. Yes, yes . . . yes . . .”
Her hips were rising to join his, despite being bound, and her sleek little pussy felt so good. He ramped up the pace, pounding into her. As his climax blasted through him he felt her coming, too, her pussy clenching him so hard it was painful. But he welcomed it. His body emptied into her as his brain emptied of all thought—empty of everything but her name.
Layla.
“Ah, Christ, woman.”
His body shook—pleasure was an earthquake that tore through him, threatening to tear him apart. And as soon as it started to ease off, it began again as her body clenched his hard flesh.
“Ah! Fuck! Layla . . . Yeah!”
He couldn’t stop surging into her, and he had to kiss her again. Had to.
He lowered his mouth to hers. Fisted a hand in her hair, and he felt something release in her body, as if some final boundary had been crossed. And knew that for him, it had.
Something is different with her. Has been from the start. But now . . .
But now what? But Lord, he couldn’t think. Her little body was so baby soft beneath him, her skin like silk against his. And the gorgeous flesh of her full breasts against his chest might make him come all over again.
In fact, he was growing hard once more. But he’d need another condom. He kissed her again, then tore himself away, somehow managed to climb off her, off the table, and, discarding the used condom, he unbuckled her less carefully than he should.