Making Over Maris

by Sabrina York

  “Would you like to try it now?”

  “Now?” A squeak. Anxiety whipped through him. His pulse thrummed. “Don’t you want dessert?”

  Something simmered in her eyes. All traces of apprehension burned away. Burned away by a scalding lust. “No, Jack. Maybe later. I think it’s time for the quiz, don’t you?”

  The breath whooshed from him. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?” She tipped her head to the side.

  “Okay. Yes.”

  She smiled and stood. God, she looked hot in that skintight suit. “Get the book.”

  He leaped to his feet and sprinted into the living room, grabbed the book from the coffee table and headed for the bedroom.

  Her chuckle stopped him.

  She strolled over to the foyer and picked up her bag. It clanked ominously. “I think we’ll do this downstairs.”

  His heart plunged. “Downstairs?”

  “You did say that was your playroom, didn’t you?”

  He swallowed. God. The timbre of her voice when she said that… “Okay.”

  He led the way, excitement and maybe a trickle of fear flooding him.

  She paused at the bottom of the stairs, surveying the room. It was a large, comfortable den the length of the house, outfitted with a media center on one side and his workout equipment on the other. “Over here, I think.” She headed to the right and dropped her bag on the bench.

  He followed, uncertain. What would she—

  “Strip.”

  Oh God. His belly lurched.

  He should have tanned.

  All of a sudden he wished he’d had a glass of wine with dinner. Maybe six.

  “Come on, Jack. Don’t hesitate. It will only annoy me.”

  He turned to the sofa where Ding was spread out, watching them with inscrutable eyes. It was…unnerving. “Um. Sara?”

  “What?”

  Jack flushed. “Can we put the cat out?”

  Sara glanced over at Ding. Who blinked. She burbled a laugh. “Yeah. That might be best.”

  Jack handed her the book and picked up the cat. He opened the slider and dropped Ding onto the patio. Naturally, the tabby glared at him before flouncing off to hunt in the foliage on the hill.

  Still, Jack closed the curtains. Because seriously. This was nerve-racking enough without an easily offended witness.

  He turned and faced Sara. “W-where were we?”

  She crossed her arms over those slinky latex-covered breasts and tapped her toe. “I think I ordered you to strip. And you hesitated.”

  Her expression made him eep. He quickly ripped off his sweater. And the linen shirt beneath.

  Her eyes fixed on his bare chest. “Continue.”

  “My pants?”

  “Of course your pants.”

  Holy hell.

  He divested himself of his slacks and his briefs and stood there, trying not to cover his junk. She wouldn’t like it if he did that. He was fairly certain.

  She walked around him, checking him out. That it was Sara, dressed in a latex catsuit and six-inch heels, nearly unmanned him. He trembled before her.

  “You’re hard.” She stroked his cock. He groaned. The warmth of her hand, the tight grip, felt so fucking good. “Did you play with yourself last night as you looked at that book?” She stood close to him; the scent of her perfume, mixed with her arousal, made him lightheaded. Her hand moved up and down, measuring his erection.

  “Y-yes.”

  “Hmm. Did I say you could do that?” Her grip tightened. He clenched his teeth as exquisite pleasure assailed every nerve.

  “N-no.”

  She smacked his behind, only a small slap but he flinched as heat and exhilaration flared. He’d ached for this. Ached for it. And now it was happening. With Sara, for Christ’s sake.

  She smacked him again. “Well don’t do it again.”

  “Don’t—what?” Hell, he jacked off two or three times a day.

  “Sorry, sweetie. No more playing with yourself. Not without express permission.” He groaned and she smacked him again. “And don’t get pissy.”

  “I’m not getting—”

  Another smack. It sent a sharp thrill through him. “And don’t interrupt. Now kneel. It’s time for our quiz.”

  She went to the bench to riffle through her bag. Jack tried not to watch. But even as his excitement rose, so did his trepidation.

  He had always fantasized about something like this but also worried that it was only a fantasy. What manly man really wanted to be bossed around by a—oh God.

  She came toward him with a blindfold in her hand.

  “What-what’s that for?”

  She set it over his eyes. He was encased in darkness. “I don’t want you to cheat.”

  “Cheat?”

  “I’m going to ask you questions about the book and I don’t want you to peek.”

  He lifted the corner of the blindfold. “I don’t cheat.”

  She glared at him but he saw the light of humor glinting there as well. “Do I need to tie your hands?”

  Oh dear God. Yes. Please. “No.”

  “Hold them behind your back.” She readjusted the blindfold. “And no peeking.”

  “I’m not peeking.”

  “Are you ready for your first question? And remember, you don’t want to get one wrong.” This, she said in an ominous treble that made him drool.

  “Yes.”

  “I think you need to call me Mistress. Don’t you, Jack? You are kneeling before me naked, after all.”

  Heat scored him. His cock lurched. He nearly lost consciousness as the blood rushed into his groin. “Yes…Mistress.”

  God. He’d never said those words out loud. Had no idea how it would affect him. But it did. Drove home that this was actually happening. A phenomenal warmth, a peace, a freedom cloaked him.

  Also, it made his cock weepy. An impatient drop oozed from the tip.

  He heard her going through the bag again. The clinking set him on edge. She found what she was hunting for and came back to his side. Something cold touched his nipple. He winced.

  “Do you know what this is, Jack?”

  “No.”

  The smack—not her hand this time—surprised him, although it shouldn’t have. He’d forgotten to show respect. “No Mistress.”

  “It’s a paddle.” She rubbed it over his ass. “It has these metal studs.” She gave him another spank but only to test his resiliency. “I’m going to swat your behind every time you get a question wrong. Are you ready to begin?”

  “Yes Mistress.” Yes. Oh, hell yes.

  “All right. Now, let’s see.” He heard her flipping through the pages. “Page thirty-five, what color are Mistress Monique’s boots?”

  “Red.” That was an easy one. He loved those boots.

  “Correct,” she grunted. “Okay. Page seventy-five. A slave is being punished. What position is he in?”

  Ah. Page seventy-five. “On his hands and knees. He’s wearing a leather harness. His wrists are attached to his collar with a—”

  “Fine!” She was silent for a moment. He could only imagine she was pouting. He was rocking this quiz. “Here. Page ninety. How many welts—”

  “Five.”

  She flicked through the pages. “Mmm. Here on page one hundred sixteen—”

  “Saint Andrew’s cross. Twelve visible bolts. Probability of a total of twenty-four as it’s only a half shot. Two manacles, one at the top of each arm. And in the background six candles arranged in a—”

  Sara snapped the book shut. “Damn it, Jack!”

  “You did tell me to study.” He was, if nothing else, diligent.

  She growled. He heard her flipping through the pages. Then silence. “What year was this book originally published?”

  “What?” Panic flared. He never paid any attention to that kind of stuff. He only looked at the pictures.

  “Wrong answer.” The enthusiasm with which she smacked his ass was concerning. And exciting. “W
hat year?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Another smack. Heat flooded his ass. He flinched even as an odd contentment trickled through him. This was… God. “Sara.” He groaned her name as another smack fell.

  “Quiet, Jack. Don’t make me gag you. I did bring the gag, didn’t I?” Thankfully the question was rhetorical. “Shall we continue?”

  “Yes Mistress.” The word slipped out much easier now. He shuddered at what that meant.

  “Since you have apparently memorized every page of this book, I’m sure you know what’s happening on page seventeen?”

  Oh Lord. Another shudder as that image screamed through his brain. “Yes.”

  The paddle fell. The sting was delicious. The burn sublime. He loved it. Loved it. Fucking loved it.

  “Yes Mistress,” she snarled.

  “Yes. Mistress.”

  “Would you like me to do that to you?”

  Would he? “Y-yes Mistress.”

  He flinched as she stroked his cock with something cold and slick. The desire to explode nearly overtook him as he realized it was her boot. Her slinky, latex, fucking boot. Touching his cock. His mouth watered.

  “You’re very hard, aren’t you?” She knelt beside him and her hand replaced the boot. She thumbed at the tip of his swollen member. Nudged at the little eye. He shivered. “What’s this? A drop of dew? Do you want to come, Jack?”

  “Yes Mistress.”

  “Ah. Of course you do. But you won’t, will you?”

  “I-I won’t?”

  “No.”

  He stiffened, groaned as her hot mouth enclosed him. She lapped and sucked, drawing insanity upon him. He clenched his balls to hold back the aching stream of jizz clamoring to escape. Delight and anguish twined in his gut.

  She released him with a plop. “Bend over.”

  He hesitated. Because he knew what she intended.

  “Bend over.” She raked her fingers through his hair and pressed his head down until his nose scraped the carpet. He quivered. Quaked. Waited. Patiently.

  But not too patiently. Anticipation racked him.

  It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for. Maybe she’d already had it laid out.

  Something wet pressed against his asshole. Lube. Followed by something cold and slick. It was all he could do not to squawk. Because he knew what it was. Page seventeen was one of his favorites. It showed a man bent over on himself with a large vibrator wedged up his ass—

  He did make a noise as she pushed the rod in, some feral, guttural groan. Thank God it wasn’t an enormous vibrator like the one in the photo but still the invasion was unnerving. It filled him uncomfortably and pressed against a tender spot, sending frissons of elusive pleasure dancing through him.

  He nearly lurched away when she turned it on but he didn’t. He locked his muscles and held himself in place. As the tormenting tool kicked into gear, a responding buzz echoed in his head. Delight skewered him. Waves of love, absolute adoration for his Mistress, for Sara, bubbled through his soul.

  “Do you like that?” Her whisper danced over his ear.

  “Yes Mistress.”

  “I knew you would.” She tweaked a nipple. He hissed. “Kneel up.”

  He hesitated, didn’t think he had the strength, not with his hands behind his back. Not with those delirious sensations rocking him from stem to stern. He could barely move. Had trouble remembering to draw a breath.

  “Kneel up, Jack.” She put her hand on his shoulder and levered him back into position. “Do you want to come?”

  “Oh, yes Mistress.”

  She chuckled. “Too bad. You need to hold it in. Because I have plans for that cock later. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” He left off the “Mistress” on purpose and was disappointed when she missed his deliberate sedition.

  But not for long.

  She distracted him with a soft tickling sensation over his shoulder. “Do you know what this is?”

  “No.”

  This time she did smack him. But not with the paddle. With a flogger. Multiple trails scored his skin simultaneously. He could tell it was a small one but that didn’t diminish the sting. A shot of pure carnal lust raged through him. She smacked his ass again. And again. And again, from different angles, finding new flesh to score. Heat rose with each lash. The sensations curling through him, the score of each flail, the throbbing in his ass, the ache of his cock—it was all almost too much.

  A familiar pressure built within him. He tried to force it back down, control it. Ride it.

  She’d told him not to come. She had plans for his cock and holy crap he really wanted to know what those plans were.

  But when the flogger landed directly on his cock with no warning and no-holds-barred, he lost it.

  He came.

  Exploded.

  Erupted.

  Bliss cascaded as jet after jet of burning cum flooded from him.

  And all the while, she whipped his cock. Whipped it into a frenzy.

  It was fucking sublime.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It took Jack awhile to recover—that orgasm had been magnificent. He loved that she held him and stroked him as he did. At some point she removed the blindfold. He didn’t even notice.

  When he finally lifted his head and met her gaze, they shared a moment. It was unlike anything he’d ever known. Like a Vulcan mind-meld.

  She stroked his cheek, thumbed away an errant tear. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” He kissed her. He couldn’t not. She was so goddamn beautiful. “But…”

  She sat back. “But what?”

  “Can we take the vibrator out?” Yeah. That buzzing in his backdoor was off-putting.

  Her cheeks pooched out as she thought about it and then, to his horror, she shook her head. “I think not.”

  “What?”

  She laughed at the look on his face. “It’s staying in there for a while.”

  “Sara…”

  “Ah, ah, ah.” She laid a finger over his lips. “Remember the gag.”

  Though he was utterly drained, excitement danced through him. He clamped his lips together. “Mumph.”

  “Did you enjoy your climax, Jack?” This she whispered into his ear, taking the opportunity to nibble the lobe.

  He shuddered at the recollection, an aftereffect of the soul-shattering pleasure. He’d never known anything like that. And that it was with Sara made it even more amazing. He wanted to crumble before her and kiss her feet, so profound was his gratitude. “Holy fuck, yes.”

  “I’m glad. But I told you not to come, didn’t I?” Her voice was gentle but wrapped in a thread of steel. He shivered. “You realize what that means, don’t you?”

  He shook his head, although he did. He knew.

  “More punishment.” She sighed and stood, placing her hands on her hips. He stared up at her. She was glorious. A glorious, beautiful Domme. In shiny black latex. And he was so in love with her it hurt. “I’m beginning to think you may like punishment, Jack.” She headed for the couch on the other side of the room but paused, shooting a glance over her shoulder. “Come along.” He began to stand but she clucked her tongue. “On your knees, slave.”

  Holy hell.

  He followed her as she commanded, crawling over to the couch. She sat and patted her thigh. He edged closer. “Good boy. Do you know what you’re going to do now?”

  He shook his head.

  “You’re going to make me come. And until you do…” She bent over and fiddled with the vibrator in his ass. He winced as her movements made it bobble and then flinched as it kicked into a higher gear, one that set his teeth on edge.

  And then it stopped.

  And started.

  And stopped again.

  Ah hell. He hated random settings.

  “Until you make me come, that puppy is staying right where it is.”

  The vibrator went into a fiendish frenzy, followed by a low, dull throb and then a series of shar
p, short bursts, making his nerves ping with delight and confusion and annoyance. He growled at the base of his throat.

  Sara chuckled. She fiddled with the zipper of her catsuit. “Help me get out of this.”

  Jack gently tugged at the shoulders of the tight suit. He worked her arms free and then became distracted because her breasts popped out. They were damp with sweat and covered with a light sheen of oil.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I had to oil up to get in it.”

  “You look beautiful.” He cupped her breasts and worked the nipples with his tongue as she shimmied the suit down her torso. He grabbed it at her waist and peeled it all the way off and, oh yeah, she was naked.

  That she’d been naked beneath the latex—all through dinner—made his cock stir again. The vibrator wasn’t helping. It was still working away in his ass in random combinations that disturbed his calm in a rather intriguing way.

  And then something else disturbed his calm. Sara kicked off the last of the suit and spread her legs. Wide.

  Ah. Heaven.

  He came closer, drawn in by the glistening dew of her slit. But then he paused. Glanced up at her. “May I?”

  She tipped her head to the side and a pleased expression flitted across her face. Contentment dribbled through him. She tugged him closer. “You absolutely may.”

  He skated his palms up her slick, silky thighs and opened her with his thumbs. He dipped his head and drew in her scent. Lust skewered him.

  Sara.

  He tasted her, licking her slit with slow, soft strokes. He wanted to please her. Make her clench and come. He wanted to give her what she’d given him.

  He wanted to worship her.

  So he did.

  He took his time, exploring and teasing and laving at the dampness, the ambrosia seeping from her. She wriggled, tightening her muscles, his cue to proceed.

  He found her clit and wrapped his tongue around it, his lips. He sucked and tugged and nibbled and nipped until she was cooing and squirming beneath his relentless ministrations.

  Satisfaction, powerful, peaceful satisfaction coursed through his veins with every lap, every stroke. He was pleasing her. He could live like this. Spend every minute of his life with his head buried in her lap.

  “Ah Jack.” She fisted his hair and put her feet up on the couch and arched into him. This opened her. Opened her beautifully.