by Dae, Harlem
Suddenly she treated the left buttock to the same hard whack. Again I jumped—it seemed as though I was rushing to imagine the sensation, the skin on my bum tingling and warm.
His head snapped up, and he drew one hand, though pressed onto the floor, into a fist.
That had hurt. Zara had put all her strength into the blow, and with what, about nine, ten, tails to strike his flesh, it was a lot of strips of agony to cope with.
But now she was squatting behind him, smoothing a palm over the blushed buttocks. Caressing sweeps of her hand rubbing away the pain. He shoved backwards onto her touch and hung his head low. She manoeuvred him slightly so his arse was angled directly towards my window.
I nibbled my bottom lip, tried to create a little more space for my cock by shifting the crotch of my jeans.
Zara handled this big brute like he was an object, a slave, something to toy with.
Why was he allowing it?
Getting paid, I supposed. To be in the show. No wonder he wore a hood; he must be mortified that a slip of a girl could beat him and keep him on his hands and knees.
I let out a shaky breath. Wondered why the thought of being in his position made my stomach clench and my bollocks retract. It wasn’t like I would ever be kneeling before her, bare-arsed and submissive.
I shoved my hand through my hair; my brow was a little sweaty. When would Zara get those hot-pants off and put the dildo to good use? Would she make her victim pleasure her?
A glut of something scarily like jealousy filled my stomach. I didn’t want this big, hooded man to touch her. Okay, so she wasn’t mine, but still. This thing, whatever it was, was something we were doing together. She’d asked me to be exclusive to her for a month—surely it worked both ways.
I rubbed my hand down my cheek, stubble scratching my palm. My breath caught in my throat, and if my arse cheeks had been clenched before, now they were tight enough to crush a beer can.
Fucking hell.
Because the dildo, it seemed, wasn’t for Zara’s pussy, it was for Hooded Man’s arse.
I hadn’t seen that coming.
Zara was moving the black tip around the outside of his puckered hole. I was sure I had the best view in the house, if that’s what you could call seeing another bloke’s arsehole buggered—not really my thing.
The first inch of the dildo disappeared as she stretched him open and then she began to move it in and out. I could make out every expansion and contraction, see his balls quivering, his body tensing.
Oh, God, my bollocks were boiling and my arsehole had clamped tighter. Zara was sliding the long dildo—or was it a butt plug?—almost out and then back in a little further each time. Her fingers, with long red nails, held it firm and steady, and her other hand, still soothing his buttock, stretched the curve of skin to improve her and my view of the penetration.
I stared at the scene. His head was still hanging down. I couldn’t make out his cock now but every muscle in his body appeared tense, his ribs expanding and deflating as he took short, sharp breaths.
Zara was fucking him with the toy, going so deep now it practically disappeared from view on each slide inwards. He was rocking forwards and backwards, his rhythm matching hers, clearly enjoying being touched deep inside.
I blinked, several times, my eyeballs dry. I’d been staring wide-eyed. What must be going through his mind, allowing a woman into his arse like that? He was obviously comfortable with it, though—more than comfortable, he was having a great time.
Shit, I was so hard. I needed to stroke my cock, yank out a quick climax so I’d feel calmer.
Fleetingly I considered masturbating but pushed that idea away and kept my hands firmly gripping the arms of the chair. I wouldn’t get off watching a bloke being so rudely handled by Zara—that was just too fucking weird.
Zara stood, leaving the plug in place. It was barely visible. Just a strip of black that prevented it from disappearing entirely into his body and sat against the groove of his arse cheeks.
She re-claimed the flogger, stooped then grabbed his hood in her fist, raising his still-covered face.
“You’re mine,” she said. Her voice was a little tinny through the slats above the window, but the force behind her statement hadn’t been weakened. She’d said it with absolute conviction, her tone harsh, possessive. “All mine.”
He didn’t move. “Yes, Mistress.”
“Kiss my fucking feet.” She released his head, and he dropped instantly to lavish the long, pointed toes of her boots with kisses and licks through the mouth slit of the hood.
“Jesus, he’s got it bad,” I muttered. “Prick.”
“Now get up.” Zara stepped back, leaving the man with his pink tongue peeking through the mouth hole.
Again he didn’t move.
She whacked the flogger against her leg in a menacing, impatient way. He remained on his hands and knees, as though stunned that she’d given him so little time to adore her feet.
She brought the flogger down, this time on his shoulder. Hard.
He scrabbled to his feet, his thick cock a deep mauve, the veins standing proud. The bead of pre-cum had transferred to his abdomen, sitting tackily in his dark belly hairs.
I squirmed, wishing my own erection wasn’t having to suffer the pain of being encased.
Zara turned him to face me, directly, and caught my gaze. Again I tilted my chin, wore my best passive, nonchalant expression. This wasn’t getting to me. She wasn’t teaching me anything new.
She copied me, her slender neck regal, her movements precise as she stepped behind her hooded slave. Reaching for his arms, she crossed them in front of his body, encasing him in her long-limbed embrace. She tucked in tight to his back and pressed her lips to his hood, right next to his ear, her heels making her tall enough to do this and certainly able to continue staring at me.
Not once did she break our eye contact; she barely blinked, neither did I.
It took a great deal of effort not to stare at the aroused man before me. I’d never actually seen a bloke so hard, or, if I was honest, with such a bloody big dick.
But I managed not to. I returned Zara’s gaze, hoping she wouldn’t notice that damn muscle flickering in my cheek again.
She began to whisper. Soft words that didn’t make it through the window slats. Just a constant little drone of seduction straight into the ear of her captive.
Damn.
What was she saying?
When I looked at her again, she’d shut her eyes, blocked me out. It was just her and him now. I could almost see him folding into her arms, his thick, meaty shoulders resting against her, his body melting backwards.
I finally allowed my gaze to travel his body. His feet were hip width apart, his knees locked as if he needed that security to stay standing. His cock was twitching, the slit pointing directly at me. He was fully erect, almost bursting with blood. The sight was quite shocking.
Still she kept on whispering, her red lips grazing the black hood, her long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks.
I shoved at my groin, hoping a bit of manhandling would reduce my hard-on.
It didn’t.
He was trembling now, his skin shiny with sweat. He’d dug his fingers tight into his biceps. Zara kept her arms around him, holding him together in his acute state of arousal. On and on she spoke, the muffled, whispered words maddeningly indiscernible to me.
Suddenly he jerked forward—not out of her embrace, it was just his hips canting. A great arc of cum shot towards me, and his long, pleasure-soaked groan filtered through the slats.
I held my breath, desire whipping through my groin.
Another ribbon of cum followed the first, slapping wetly onto the floor.
Still Zara spoke, held him, squeezed him.
One of his knees gave way. He quickly righted himself as a final, shorter string of pearly fluid left his cock. He was panting, his chest rising and falling rapidly against Zara’s arms, the muscles in his belly clearly defin
ed.
Finally she stopped spilling her devilish words into his mind. She raised her head and stared straight at me, her eyes sharp, her mouth tipped in a cocky grin.
Fuck.
I’d come in my pants.
Chapter Eight
I’d got to him, just as I knew I would. If I wasn’t mistaken, that flicker in his cheek and the slight grimace that he’d tried so hard to hide were side effects of him coming. I’d watched him throughout for telltale signs that he’d been wanking—shoulder bobbing, cheeks flushing—and yes, he’d gone red-faced, but other than that had remained completely still. So he hadn’t wanted me to know. Interesting.
Carlos breathed deeply under his hood, his exhalations loud and rasping as he stood in front of me facing the viewing windows. I imagined his face pouring with sweat as it tended to do when he participated in shows wearing the hood. This had been the first time I’d made him come with words—me doing something different—and I’d found it very enjoyable. I thought about whether that was because it had turned me on or that my sole aim had been to torment Victor. I couldn’t deny the latter had been a major turn on, knowing he watched, knowing he’d never seen anything like it in his life before.
How had he felt seeing a man taking something up his arse? Seeing him come all over the floor with no physical stimulation? I had no idea; he hadn’t given anything away with his facial expressions except that he was in control and what he had seen was your everyday event. I’d have to work harder in the future to elicit a reaction from him, to have him admitting, if only with the lift of an eyebrow or the slight parting of his lips, that he’d been shocked.
I revelled in the prospect of persuading Victor to admit to his emotions and reactions.
Shoving at Carlos’ back so he pitched forward in surprise, I snapped, “Get the fuck out of here, slave.”
Carlos turned around and stumbled towards the door at the rear, hands out, careening blindly. I watched him in my peripheral to make sure he didn’t stagger into a wall and, once he’d left the room, I breathed easier. I was alone, and a surge of pure dominance filled me. This was my show now, and Victor was about to get another hard-on if I had my way.
I eased my hot-pants over my hips and arse, letting them sail down my legs. Once they reached my ankles, I stepped out with one foot then lifted the other, the shorts dangling off the tip of my boot. I flicked my leg, and the hot-pants streaked through the air, smacking into Victor’s viewing window then hitting the floor.
He jolted.
“It’s a shame you can’t sniff them,” I said, holding back a smile and staring right at him. “Smell my cunt juices on the gusset.”
He flinched, but I’d only just caught sight of it. Oh, he was good, doing so well.
“Or lick the gusset. Taste me,” I said. “You’d like to taste me, wouldn’t you?”
Groans from other customers filtered into the room, but I wasn’t interested in those. Tonight their pleasure wasn’t my concern—only Victor’s.
“Yes, you’d like to taste me. I wonder,” I said, raising my hand to press a finger to my bottom lip, “if I said ‘Lick my cunt’ you’d turn me down now.”
More groans, but Victor’s lips were firmly sealed and I couldn’t discern whether his moan had been among the others.
“Would you?” I asked. “Turn me down? Who would deny themselves the chance to sup at my sopping pussy?”
“Not me, Mistress,” someone whispered, their voice filtering towards me.
I ignored him. Jabbed my fingers into my cunt and finger-fucked myself. Jerked my hips, widened my legs and exposed my wet flesh. “You hear that? Hear the noise of my juices?” I nodded. “Yes, you can, can’t you? Oh, yes…”
I closed my eyes, drawing my fingers out and using their tips to frig my clit. With two fingers of my other hand, I spread my lower lips apart, opening myself wide, flaunting my plump and ready pussy. Something he couldn’t have right now. Something I needed him to want with such urgency he’d take me up on the very first offer I’d thrown his way any time I asked.
Lick my cunt.
I rubbed on, opening my eyes to stare at him, keeping a smile of satisfaction at bay. I had to stay composed, in role, showing him what he should expect if he deigned to fuck me. And he would, I’d make sure of it.
As the month wore on I planned to broaden his horizons beyond the pastel pink-and-peach palette it had been before he’d met me, taking him to deep purples, navy blues and the pitch blackness of pure sin. And on the other side of that blackness was a place that might look much like Hell, with debauchery and wantonness, people playing devil’s advocate, luring innocents into the hotter, steamier corners of the world. Oh yes, I’d paint him a red-and-orange picture that came alive, flickering like flames, enticing him, holding him spellbound and eager to learn more. To touch, explore, and drown in coming.
My thoughts set me off, and I rubbed myself harder, almost at the brink. I looked at Victor through half-lowered lashes, dashing my tongue out to lick lips I wished he was licking. The fact that I was being watched by several men melted away and it became just me and Victor, my journey to orgasm a private viewing just for him. My pelvis bucked of its own accord. Pleasure ripped through my body, radiating from my clit and undulating to every nerve ending, fizzling there before making a return trip. My clit felt as though it was going to explode. All my synapses fired at once, an almost unbearable feeling, but I rode it out, sucking in a deep breath through clenched teeth.
Victor lifted a hand, bunching it into a fist over his mouth as though he was coughing politely. I was too far gone to smile, to laugh at any arousal he was trying to hide, and fondled myself faster. My breaths came out as stuttered gasps edged with soft moans. His torso jerked in time with my hips, and as the burn of true orgasm finally crested, I knew he was coming with me. Satisfaction from him spurting twice in such a short space of time coupled with satisfaction of a sexual kind, and I was lost to the frenetic movement of my fingertips. I bit my bottom lip and glared at him while my body shuddered. I dared him with my eyes to deny his cock throbbed, ached mercilessly from what he was seeing, and the look he gave me in return said he wouldn’t be able to if he tried. He closed his eyes, his lips forming a thin, tight line, and shivered.
The room filled with grunts and groans in varying pitches, and I wondered, as my orgasm receded, how Victor felt to know several people had climaxed all at the same time. Did he feel dirty? Or had it liberated him, to share this experience with unseen strangers? And how did he feel about me now, after seeing what I did for a living?
Why did I care?
I didn’t.
My cunt zinged with aftershocks. I lowered my pelvis and removed my hand, lifting it to slide my wet fingers into my mouth and suck off my juices. More moans, a strangled cry, a man coming right up to his window and pressing his palm to it as though he was touching me. Still I stared at Victor, unwilling to look away first. It was a battle of wills as I drew my legs together and dropped my hand from my mouth to let it dangle by my side. He blinked—once, twice—and took his fist away from his face. A small smile formed, one that could have been him being pleased at finding release, but I preferred to think of it as a victory on my part, that he was acknowledging that yes, I’d taught him something and he’d enjoyed learning.
He glanced away briefly, and that was enough for me. I strode towards the window and pressed my corset-covered tits to the glass, licking the pane as though I French kissed his mouth. He stood and walked the two paces it took to reach me and, in one of the boldest moves I’d ever seen him perform, he licked too.
I had him.
Right where I wanted him.
After I’d showered and changed out of my corset into a sweater and my fluffy jacket, I headed for the foyer and stopped short in the doorway. Victor sat behind the desk, no receptionist in sight. He had one ankle balanced on his opposing knee and swivelled the chair as he stared at the front door lost in thought. One elbow dug into the armrest, and
he brushed his lips back and forth over the length of his index finger. I wondered what was going through his mind. Was he trying to work out how to call off our month-long adventure? Did he have such huge regrets that he contemplated telling me to leave him the hell alone? His narrowed eyes and flushed cheeks made me think he did, and it was with quite a hefty dose of surprise that I realised I didn’t want him to end it.
Not until the agreed time.
Slapping on a grin, I flounced fully into the room.
“Ready?” I asked.
He shook his head, coming out of his daze, and stared at me as if it were the first time he’d seen me in his life. He frowned, blinked, then jolted, seeming to become fully aware of his surroundings. “Sorry, miles away.”
“Everything all right?” I asked, going for the normal, breezy approach.
“Um, yeah. I was just…” He lowered his hand to his lap and gave a barely there smile.
I knew what he ‘was just’ doing all right. He was just thinking about what the hell he’d got himself into since he’d met me. He was just thinking about Julie, me and Carlos, although I wouldn’t be telling him that the man who was in charge of keeping an eye on his car had, in fact, been having a butt plug shoved up his arse while said car owner was staining his trousers with hopefully the best ejaculation he’d ever had. He’d find that out shortly.
“Never mind,” he said, standing and putting on a smile as fake as mine.
He walked around the desk and joined me, and without saying another word I opened the front door and went out into the cold of Eden Street. He followed and stood beside me, glancing up and down.
“Uh, where’s Carlos?” he asked, looking worried.
“He’ll be here in a minute, don’t get your pants in a wad. And they are in a wad, aren’t they? You know, taken off, bunched into a soggy ball, now sitting in your jeans pocket if that bulge is anything to go by.”