“Lower your head down, arms at your sides,” he said quietly. I obeyed quickly, my forehead on the duvet, as he bent my arms at the elbow so my wrists were by my shoulders. I watched out of the corner of my eye as he buckled another, slightly narrower cuff above my left elbow. I looked, wondering why this one had only two rings attached, as I felt him do the same to my right arm. He tugged on my arm a bit and I heard a metallic clink. I turned my head and saw he had used a large carabiner to connect the cuff on my arm to the cuff on my leg. I felt a ball of excitement in the pit of my stomach as he attached my left elbow and leg the same way. I waited, tense with anticipation.
“I wanted you like this — naked, bound, at my disposal — when I first met you,’ he said quietly. What felt like fringe caressed my skin and I knew he was dragging that wicked looking whip over my ass. “From the moment I shook your hand.” His fingers caressed my sex lightly, making me sigh. “I was looking forward to getting back to the office and working with you that day, but I was kept away.” He slipped his fingers between my pussy lips and began making circles around my clit. I tried to shift, to open myself to him more, but couldn’t move. “I was quite cross with Ian for that.” His tone sounded almost conversational. Anyone hearing him and not in the room would never guess he had one hand in my cunt and the other using a flogger to tickle my ass. “That’s why I proposed we work together. Ian had let slip over lunch how you wanted to go after them, and I jumped on it. I couldn’t get your eyes, your blush, your delectable little ass out of my mind.”
“Oh god, that feels so good,” I moaned, lifting my head off the bed as his fingers massaged my clit. “Please don’t stop.” I could feel my body tense from my toes to my scalp, I was already so close to coming. Malcolm gave my clit a slight pinch then withdrew both his hand and his whip. “No…please,” I nearly sobbed as he stepped back.
“Not yet.” I heard a whoosh and felt a gentle push of air on my skin as he brought the flogger down across my ass. I heard it hit with a snap and suddenly my ass felt like it was being sprayed with needles of fire — millions of them. I howled, more from surprise than pain, and I felt the flogger connect with the tops of my thighs.
“The entire time we worked together, I would find myself picturing you like this,” he continued, punctuating his story by whipping me. He didn’t even sound out of breath and I realized he was holding back, he could be hitting much, much harder. “Your ass striped, in the air, cunt wet-” the flogger came down again on my ass “-cuntdripping, unable to move, to get away.” He struck me four times, criss-crossing down my lower back to my thighs.
And a funny thing happened. The pain didn’t go away, but it seemed to…change. I don’t know why, or how, or even at what point it changed. Or I changed. It was like my body stopped treating the pain as something bad, and changed into something good. Very, very good.
I had to bite my tongue against begging him to do it more. Do it harder.
He must have sensed something, some change in my stance or my breathing or the angle of my hips, because he stopped the whip.
“I would look at you, picturing you bound and writhing on my cock, and you would stop whatever you were doing or saying, as if you could read my mind.”
He ran his hand over my skin, the sweat from his palm stinging slightly against the welts he’d raised. I shivered, moaning deep in my chest as I pressed my forehead down on the bed. I felt that sting in every nerve, every sinew, every vein, follicle, cell and corpuscle.
“Could you?” he continued quietly. “Could you read my mind? Did you know I was thinking dirty, lascivious thoughts?”
“No.”
“No? I don’t believe you,” he teased, dragging the flogger across my skin. “Why else would you stop what you were doing or saying?”
“I didn’t,” I panted. “I…I hoped you were thinking about me. But I didn’t know.”
“Thinking what about you?” He slapped the knots at the ends of the ribbons lightly against the welts on my thighs, and I nearly came.
Dammit! He knew exactly what I meant. “About fucking me. I hoped you were thinking about fucking me.” I lifted my head and looked back at Malcolm, surprised to see he was still dressed. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me,” I begged.
“Not yet.” I heard him moving behind me and strained as best I could, but I couldn’t see him or what he was doing. I put my head back down; my thighs and back were starting to ache from the tension of keeping it up.
“Your thighs are wet and sticky,” he said, suddenly behind me again. I felt his finger run along the inside of my thigh. I nodded, looking back between my legs to see his cock staring back at me. The head was swollen, a dark red that was almost purple, and oozing slightly. I smiled to myself at the knowledge he was as affected as I was.
“What got you so wet, poppit?” he asked, suddenly sliding two fingers inside me.
“You, sir.” I breathed, smiling secretly again. I knew what he wanted to hear. He would have to work to get it out of me.
He pulled his fingers out of me, sliding them down to make circles around my clit. “How?” He was being as obtuse as I was and I could hear the smile in his voice. He started running his fingers from my clit to my anus, audibly smearing around my wetness. I caved (I know, I’d make a pathetic spy); he made me feel so good.
“Your whip, sir.”
He used his left hand to lightly pinch along the raised welts on my skin, every pinch and caress sending urgent messages to my pussy, while his right hand kept up the travels from my clit to my ass and back. I was so wet it sounded like he was splashing about a shallow puddle. I began gyrating my hips slightly — so close, maddeningly close, to coming. “Very good, poppit. Now tell me what you want.”
“I want…I want ….” I stopped moving, concentrating on feeling, trying to help my orgasm along. I could feel the sweat rolling off my back, stomach and breasts as my toes began to curl and I leaned my hips back as much as possible, trying to force more pressure from his fingers.
“Want…what?” he asked, stopping his teasing torment and resting his hands on the outside of my thighs. Bastard.
“Please… please sir…”
“Tell me.” I looked back at him, my want, my need, written plainly in my eyes. “Tell me,” he repeated. I bit my tongue, putting my head back down on the bed. If he wanted to wait until I beg to have an orgasm, he’s going to have a long one, I thought.
Suddenly, I felt his tongue lightly flicking over my asshole, and my entire body tensed again. I could feel the moisture in his breath as his tongue swirled around my anus. I’d never felt anything so deliciously dirty before. My breath caught in my throat as Malcolm dragged the flat of his tongue the length of my ass. All I could do was moan “Please” with every lap of his tongue. It was wildly erotic, the ultimate tease, leaving me dripping, wanting, pushing me tantalizingly close — right to the edge of orgasm but totally unable to achieve it. He danced his fingertips lightly along my stripes, combining them with his tongue to make me insane. To make me beg.
Bastard.
“Please. I want to come,” I moaned. “Make me come. Please.” Malcolm groaned against me, but his fingers and tongue kept up their torture until I was reduced to a whining, incoherent bundle of sexual need. I think it took about 10 seconds.
I felt him climb on the bed behind me and nudge me forward a bit with his thighs. He ran his hands up and down my back as he centered himself behind me. I felt the tip of his cock at my opening and I stilled, knowing it was left to him to fuck me, not the other way around.
“What do you want?”
“Please, sir, fuck me. Make me come.”
He moved his hands to my hips and slammed in to me, holding me against him. I felt him hit at my cervix and I was lost, shattering to a million pieces in the most intense orgasm I’d ever felt. Wave after wave of soul-scorching pleasure came at me, each one pulling me back together before shattering me anew, from
a million pieces to a billion to a trillion. (I am not doing it justice, I know, but I am doing my best. Just imagine the best feeling you’ve ever had — EVER — and then multiply by the largest factor you can think of. It was like that. Only more so.)When Malcolm grabbed my hair in his fist and pulled I realized — vaguely — that he was coming, jerking his hips into me as if he needed to get deeper, to get his balls in with his dick.
“What are you?” he asked as the nails of his left hand dug into my shoulder. His voice was a growl, a sinister and breathless sound.
I didn’t even have to think. I knew what he wanted to hear, what I wanted to say. “I’m your whore. I’m your dirty little slut whore. Please don’t stop fucking me, don’t stop fucking your whore.” I rambled, I babbled, I moaned, I cried and I came. And came. I remember thinking at the time I could die a happy girl, because I would never be able feel anything so intensely pleasurable again. (I was wrong on that one. So sue me.)
When I finally quieted, catching my breath, Malcolm laid across my back, his cock limp but still inside me. I could feel him panting and wanted to lift my head, but I didn’t even have the strength to do that.
“Oh poppit,” he breathed. “That was beautiful.” He righted himself as he ran his hands up and down my sides and I sighed. “Beautiful.” He pulled out and I whined involuntarily as I felt him move away from me. He removed the carabiners and cuffs, and tossed them on the floor.
“You’re going to feel a bit stiff when you move.” He helped me to lay prone on the bed, my back and my knees popping loudly, and started to gently massage my back. His hands knead the muscles along my spine, moving down slowly, releasing any tension that remained. I purred, content, as I felt him bend over and kiss first my left then my right shoulder blade. His hands continued down and he massaged my hips and legs, placing little kisses on the back of each knee.
When he was satisfied I wasn’t going to end up in a ball of cramped muscle, he lay down next to me. I turned my face to him, languid from my orgasm and Malcolm’s massage, and smiled at him.
“Hungry?” he asked, smoothing my hair from my face.
“Not really,” I said after a moment’s thought. “Just thirsty.”
“Of course,” he said, turning towards the night stand. He turned back with a glass of water. I propped myself up on my elbows and he handed it to me.
“Thank you,” I said, after I drained the glass in one long drink. I handed it back to him and plopped back down on the bed, giggling.
“What?” he asked, smiling at me.
“I feel a little drunk.”
“Come, let’s have a bath,” he said, sliding off the bed and holding his hands out to me. I rolled towards him, giggling at my own silliness, and sat up. I put my hands in his and let him pull me off the bed. He steadied me on my feet before putting his arms around me and — finally! — kissing me deeply. I put my arms around his neck and tried to make that kiss last forever.
“I’ve been waiting all evening for you to do that,” I said when I finally let him end the kiss.
“I know, poppit.” He removed my arms from his neck and took my wrist, leading me to the bathroom. I leaned on the sink and watched as he got the tub ready, pouring some scented bath salts — lavender — and swirling them a bit to make them bubble. It was about a quarter full when he stepped in and sat down, leaning against the back, and signaled for me to join him. I did, hissing a bit at the way the hot water bit at my cold feet. He guided me down to sit between his legs.
“Ow ow ow ow ow,” I said quietly, as the hot soapy water made my welts sting.
“It goes away,” he said, pulling me back to lean against him.
The sting faded — rather quickly — and I relaxed into him as the water rose around us. He turned off the tap when the water reached about nipple height and we just sat in silence for a bit. For my part, I still felt giddy, almost high, and I wanted to hold on to that feeling a bit longer. I had never had an experience — sexual or not — that left me feeling so very complete. I sat in the tub, leaning back against Malcolm with his arms around my midsection, with what must have been the goofiest smile in history on my face. I couldn’t help it.
“Alright, poppit?”
“Oh, yes. Indeed. I feel wonderful.”
“Wonderful?”
“Yes…I mean, not physically, you know…in my soul, you know. I’ve never felt this…this good…in my soul before.”
“Ah, yes, I understand.” He kissed along my shoulder, his hands moving to rub the underside of my breasts. “And physically?”
“I feel utterly spent.” I closed my eyes, leaning my head back. “Like I used up my personal orgasm allotment and will never come again,” I said with a giggle. I knew I was throwing down the gauntlet. I also knew he would pick it up.
“Impossible,” Malcolm whispered in my ear. He moved his right hand between my legs and started gently massaging my clit. I raised my knees and let them fall open as much as I could to give him freer access. He used his left hand to stroke and caress my breasts, occasionally tweaking my nipples. He kissed my neck as I began to moan quietly. “Let me prove it to you, poppit.” He began to alternate caresses on my clit with light pinches, and I began to pant. I didn’t think he could play me so well, but I was wrong.
Happily wrong.
“Oh god,” I sighed as his teeth started to nibble at my neck. He made it so effortless, so easy, I was already on the edge.
“That’s it. Come. I want you to come again.” I cried out a little and shuddered as I came again in his arms.
We remained in the tub until the water turned cold and then made our way to bed. We lay awake, facing each other and holding hands, for a long time, talking quietly into the wee hours of the morning. I woke up to Malcolm caressing my face tenderly, and when I looked at him and smiled, he moved on top of me, kissing me deeply — morning breath be damned — and slipping effortlessly inside me.
We made love, tender, generous love, that morning. I mean, he did lace his fingers in mine and pin my hands above my head, but even that seemed sweet. We kissed the entire time, swallowing each other’s murmurs and moans when we came, laying entwined for a while after. When he rolled off me to make coffee, I grabbed his pillow and held it to my face, breathing deeply.
It occurred to me at that time I was falling for him.
Feck, I thought, silently groaning, not what I wanted to happen.
“Do you know what this is?” Malcolm asked, interrupting me. It was a Friday morning in late July, and I was sitting in a chair in front of his desk, going over the lost ad contracts for the last quarter. I had come in to invite him to dinner with my family – my brother and his family were going to be visiting from Portland – but got a bit sidetracked. (Ok, I lost my nerve. It happens.) I looked up to find him holding up an oddly shaped pink rod, about an inch or so long, with a wire coming out one end and two half-moon shaped flanges on either side.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “What is it?”
“It’s called an ‘Oyster’.” He held it out to me and I took it. The pink plastic was soft and smooth, it felt almost greasy.
“New client?” I asked, handing it back to him.
“No.” He looked at me and gave me his slow and wicked smile. Knowing what that smile usually meant, I felt my stomach clench involuntarily at it in a Pavlovian response-one of many he was capable of producing in me.
“What is it?” I asked again, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Come here, poppit,” he said, leaning back in his big leather chair and motioning me to him.
“Luna could come in at any moment, Malcolm,” I said in a half-hearted protest as I stood up and moved to stand in front of him.
He smiled and reached past my left hip, buzzing his assistant.
“Yes, Mr. White?” Luna asked, her voice soft but nasal.
“Please see to it that Ms Williams and I are not disturbed, Luna.”
“Yes, Mr. White.”
�
�Thank you.” Malcolm leaned back in his chair again and looked up at me. “Any further protests?” He grabbed the hem of my skirt and started raising it up.
“We’re at work,” I said softly as Malcolm continued to raise my skirt, gathering the fabric as he went.
“I am well aware of where we are,” he said, tucking the front of my skirt in to my waistband. He caressed me over my panties, running his hand down over my crotch and between my legs.
“We agreed…” I began.
“I made no promises,” he said, caressing my thigh and smiling at me. “Spread your legs a bit.”
I obeyed, as I always did, even at work. I had laid down the ground rule of keeping our involvement out of the office, but thus far it had been more of a guideline. It seemed one of Malcolm’s favorite past times was teasing me, and one of his favorite ways of teasing me was getting me turned on just to the point of distraction and then backing off. He never impeded my ability to do my job, but he came amazingly close to it. Every time.
I gasped a bit as he reached inside my panties, placing the pink rod against my lips. I felt his fingers brush along my skin and smiled, my eyes on his. He removed his hand and I felt him smooth my panties down, pressing that pink thing in to me.
“This is made by a very reputable English company,” Malcolm said, smiling at me with pride.
“It’s from England?”
“Yes.”
“Did you wash it after you last used it?” I teased, smiling at him. After I had refused to let him insert a plug in my ass on the grounds that I didn’t know where it had been before me, he had explained to me that every implement he used to touch my body was brand new. He had, in fact, indignantly sworn it, and I had enjoyed teasing him about it ever since.
“Keep making those accusations and I will be forced to punish you,” he said, smiling at me darkly, looking into my eyes. There was nothing more I wanted at that moment than to be punished. Nothing. I was so tempted to tease him more, but time and place restricted me. He took a small white gadget, about the size of an old pager, and clipped it to the waistband of my garter before attaching the cord from the thing he placed in my panties. He untucked my skirt and smoothed it over my thighs before rising from his chair. There was a slight bulge at my waist, but it was covered by my blouse.
Ecstasy Rises (Darker Ecstasy Book 2) Page 6