“It will be.” He reached over and fondled my breast in that way that said, “This is mine and I can play with it anytime I want,” and a shudder of desire rolled through me.
My mouth suddenly dry, I swallowed. “May I touch you, Sir?” I asked, suddenly wanting to feel his hard length under my palm.
“Very soon, pet.” He stroked the hair on the back of my head. “It won’t be long until we’re home.”
Oh, he was such a devil, knowing that would only amp up my lust. I crossed my legs to try to relieve some of the pressure I was feeling.
“Don’t you dare make yourself come. You know better than that, don’t you?”
“Yes, Sir.” I pouted the rest of the drive.
When we got to Quentin’s cabin, he carried my bag for me, and I carried the two sacks of groceries.
After we unpacked everything and he gave me a welcome-back kiss that left me weak in the knees, I asked what I could do to help.
“Why don’t you make the salad? I’m going to go start the fire on the grill, and I’ll be right back.”
I opened the cabinet where he kept the cutting board and grabbed a knife from the block on the counter. I’d been here enough to know where things were almost as well as I knew my own kitchen. During his so-called bout with the flu (I was convinced it was the common cold), I’d made a big pot of soup for him and several casseroles for his freezer.
Cracking open the freezer door, I was pleased to see they were no longer there. That meant he must have eaten them, and it gave me a warm feeling to know that I’d fed him on several occasions even though I’d been miles away.
Quentin came back inside and I felt the cool of the night breeze waft across the room as he closed the door behind him. He joined me at the counter and smacked me on the bottom playfully before getting to work prepping the potatoes to go in the oven.
It was nice working side by side with him. There was a sense of domesticity that I must have been craving because at that moment, I couldn’t have been happier.
A few minutes later, I’d chopped all the tomatoes and hearts of palm and tossed them in the salad and Quentin popped the potatoes into the oven. I handed him some spices and he set up the steaks to marinate.
“I’m going to go get some wood to start a fire in here,” Quentin said and kissed my cheek on his way out the door.
I beamed at the courtly gesture. There was definitely a sweetheart of a man in there somewhere, and I loved when he behaved so affectionately.
A few minutes later he kicked open the door with an armful of wood.
“Can I help?” I asked, scurrying over.
“Just open and close the door for me. I have another couple of loads to get.” He dumped the logs in a container next to the fireplace and went back to get more.
I opened the door for him, and shut it behind him. The temperature was definitely dropping with the sun going down, and I ran my hands over my upper arms, trying to ward off a chill.
Sitting back on the couch, I watched Quentin build the fire. I loved watching him work. Whether it was watching him compose music or doing simple tasks like this, I took great pleasure in being near him and basking in his presence.
A few minutes later the fire was crackling and he turned toward me. Shaking the dirt off his hands, he gave me a slow appraisal from head to toe. I shifted in my seat, his hawk-eyed stare making me a little uncomfortable.
He moved into the kitchen where I heard the water from the sink running. The dancing yellow and orange flames mesmerized me, and it took a concerted effort to drag my eyes away when he called my name.
“Yes?” I asked just in time to see him heading out the door with a plate that held our steaks.
“Time to get this party started. I’m going to throw these on the fire. When I get back, I want you on your knees, hands behind your back.” He stepped out of the door, then poked his head back inside as if it were an afterthought. “Oh, and I want you naked.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Naked? As cold as it was getting?
I made a face but decided that since he was outside and didn’t tell me where to kneel, I’d do it in front of the fire.
It only took a minute to strip down and settle onto my knees on the rug. Quentin had an angelically soft alpaca rug in front of his fireplace that I loved to lie on, so that made it more comfortable. My back was close enough to the fireplace that the heat emanating from it would keep me warm enough.
When Quentin came back inside and saw me kneeling on the rug in my birthday suit, I could see a smile playing about his lips, one he never let come all the way to fruition. He set the plate on a counter and strode toward me with purpose.
“I’ve been hard for you ever since you got off that plane, but I wanted to wait and let you satisfy me with that wicked little mouth of yours.”
He stood before me and started to unzip his pants. A whip of outside air hit my body and my nipples hardened into tight little buds. He leaned down and pinched one of them and stretched it toward him far enough to elicit a shriek from me.
“Open that mouth,” he growled, his cock springing through his open fly.
I parted my lips and dropped my jaw, my breasts aching for him to touch them again, my pussy dripping.
Eagerly, I worked my tongue around the spongy mushroom head, paying special attention to the frenulum underneath. My eyes must have closed as I dreamily took him deeper into my mouth because his hand tapped my cheek, making my eyes fly open again.
He pointed at his watch. “You have ten minutes to make me come.”
I furrowed my brow, questions in my eyes.
“If it takes you too long, I’ll burn the steaks and then you will be in for quite a punishment.”
With an evil grin, he took both hands and pushed himself to the back of my throat, making me choke.
I couldn’t believe I’d been thinking how sweet this man was only minutes ago.
My eyes watered, but I tried to focus on what I knew he liked. With my ex-husband I used to worry about scraping his cock with my teeth, but oddly, Quentin liked it. So I swirled my tongue the way he loved and tried to cup my lips around him as he moved in and out, in and out of my mouth.
Maybe because of the time constraints, maybe not, but he fucked my mouth at a rapid pace, and I was starting to drool when his watch beeped.
He pulled out and started for the door, his erection leading the way. “Time to flip.”
It all happened so fast that it took me a minute to process what was happening. Oh crap. If he had to go flip the steaks that would dampen his arousal and all that work I’d just done would go to waste. I’d have to start all over again trying to make him come.
The thought was depressing, and I must have looked it because when he came back inside, he shook his head. “What’s that look? That’s certainly not going to get me off—you with that sourpuss.”
With an attempt to wipe that look off my face, I said brightly, “Sorry, Sir. May I please finish sucking your cock?”
“That’s more like it.” And he shoved his dick back in my mouth.
I worked his cock as best I could. Each thrust that hit the back of my throat made me moan with pleasure. Over the time we’d been together he’d trained me to love that feeling almost as much as if he were stroking my pussy. I knew the outcome of this game was ultimately up to him, not me, so I put that out of my mind and gave myself over to the sensations that overtook my body.
Quentin clasped both sides of my head, and I could feel the beginnings of the muscle convulsions at the base of his penis at the exact same time the alarm went off.
I prayed he wouldn’t just stop, and thank God he didn’t. Instead he kept fucking my face and shot his load down my throat, only giving me a chance to taste a few drops of him.
“Good girl.”
He withdrew and went outside to get the steaks. I wondered with trepidation if they’d burned. “Can you take the potatoes out of the oven, pet?”
“Yes, Sir.�
��
I hopped up on wobbly legs and went to perform the requested task.
“Go ahead and fix your potato the way you like.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I got the butter and sour cream out of the refrigerator and started doctoring one of the potatoes. “Would you like me to fix yours, too?”
“Yes, please.”
His hand rested on the back of my neck and he squeezed gently. An affectionate gesture, one that sent a little thrill down my spine. When we were apart I craved his touch so much. Now I reveled in it.
“All done.”
“Good. Remember when I said I had a special dinner planned?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to request that you put on a show for me during dinner.”
My hands started to feel clammy. “A show? What kind of show?”
“Well, first I’m going to have you jump up here.” He patted the kitchen table.
“But I’m naked. You want me to get up on the table?”
“That’s right.”
I cringed. “Isn’t that somewhat unsanitary?”
He shrugged. “I’ve dined on that juicy pussy of yours on more than one occasion, and I’m no worse for wear.”
I hesitated. This sounded like a bizarre plan, but I wanted to please him so I took the hand he offered me and climbed onto the bare table one knee at a time.
“Good. Now, I’ll sit here, at the head of the table.” He pointed to his chair. “And you sit on your rear end facing me here in the middle.”
I swiveled to face his chair and crossed my legs Indian-style.
“Ah-ah-ah!” he corrected. “Plant the bottoms of your feet on the table. Open wide.” His voice had taken on a menacing tone and I could feel my pussy come alive.
I swallowed and spread my legs, feeling terribly exposed. As many times as he’d inspected and played with my pussy, it seemed hard to believe he could still make me so embarrassed. If that was his goal, he was definitely reaching it.
“Very nice. Now you will choose one food item—salad, steak, or the potato—and while I enjoy my meal, you will make a show of pleasuring yourself using it. Dinner theater for me. When you are finished, I will give you a grade. The rest of the night’s activities will be based on how you score.”
“What will you be judging me on?” While I did want this information, I was also stalling, wracking my brain how I would use the foods he mentioned to play with myself.
Really, I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me. I’d never masturbated in front of Quentin. I’d masturbated for him more times than I could count, but he’d never forced me to do this before.
The intimacy of it was stifling. Maybe if I just thought of it like some sort of bizarre performance…
“Originality. Enthusiasm. And how hard you make my cock.”
O-o-o-kay. I had no idea what I could do with an already mashed-up potato. With a steak, I guess I could rub it all over me like a caveman but that seemed more ridiculous than sexy. That left the salad. Lettuce is decidedly unsexy, but I could do something with the dressing, and then I had a brilliant thought if Quentin would give me a little leeway.
“If I pick salad, can I use a whole cucumber? I saw one in the fridge.” I crossed my fingers.
“Smart girl. Very observant. Yes, you may.”
I sighed with relief, curious if he’d been planning that eventuality all along.
He brought over the salad bowl and set it between my legs, tweaking my nipple before he went to the refrigerator and bent down to retrieve the cucumber from the crisper drawer, giving me a great view of his delectable ass as he did.
“Can you please get the salad dressing, too, while you’re in there?”
“Sure.” He winked as he brought the items to me. “I’m going to really enjoy this meal.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
As Quentin served himself a plate, and before I had to get busy “performing” for him, I asked him the question I’d been dying to ask for the last ten minutes.
“What about the steaks? Did they burn?” He’d come in my mouth at the same moment the timer went off for the steaks. I had no idea whether he would consider that I’d met the time challenge or not. I needed to know, because if he wasn’t going to give me credit for that I wanted to be preparing myself for a punishment.
“That was a close one, wasn’t it, pet?”
He was enjoying keeping me on edge.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Since you did perform your task simultaneously as the alarm went off, the only fair thing to me seems to be to see if you made me burn the steaks with your performance.”
“Yes, Sir.” What else could I say? He was in full-on Dom mode tonight.
Quentin wore a look of bright-eyed anticipation when he brought his plate to the table. He went back for a drink, a napkin, and some silverware before he sat down and pulled his chair up to the table where I obscenely displayed my naked body for him.
I was hoping he’d cut into his meat first so that we could finally get a verdict on my punishment status, but he speared a few leaves of lettuce instead. “Go ahead. Entertain me. Let me see all the sluttish moves you perform for me when you’re at home all alone in Texas. In private.” He leaned forward and gave me an intense stare. “Show Daddy.”
I felt my eyes widen, but I gulped then managed a feeble, “Yes, Sir.”
The cucumber sat atop the bed of greens and creativity was the last thing I could muster. So much for my score on originality. Instead I picked it up and rolled it horizontally down my thigh until it came to the V of my legs. Then I held it in my fist the way I would a dildo. MC had taught me plenty of things to do with that. Most importantly he liked it buried in my pussy.
First, I rubbed it up and down the length of my sex. I closed my eyes because that was what I was used to. That was my default setting as I started feeling aroused. But Quentin had trained me to keep steady eye contact when we were together. I’m not sure if that was why I opened my eyes or if I was curious to see his face in this unusual scene, but when I did, I caught my breath.
The hungry look in his eyes as he chewed his food made him look as carnivorous as his Paleolithic brother. I could see that he was hungry, not just for the food before him, but also for me.
It was a rush to behold his desire and know that the gusto with which he attacked his food was equal to the way he wanted to devour every inch of me. It would be more fun to keep my eyes open and enjoy how my little display was affecting him.
Encouraged by his reaction, I slid the cucumber inside me. Pulled it out and pushed it in little by little. Every bit of progress eliciting a moan.
“That’s a good girl. Such a little whore. That’s it,” he ordered between bites. “Fuck that cunt. Fuck it harder. Make it gush for me.”
At his insistence I ramped up the speed and gyrated a bit more to let him see how much I was enjoying myself, my inhibitions having fallen away.
Licking my lips, I poured a dollop of salad dressing on my breast.
His pupils dilated, and he swallowed whatever he was chewing on.
Taking my index finger, I swiped up the rich, white creamy substance and touched it to my tongue. Licking it off, I repeated the process with my other breast. Then I stopped long enough to fuck myself with a long, sensuous thrust of the cucumber.
“That’s so fucking hot. I want to see more. Put more on those nipples. I want to see you try to lick it off yourself.”
Lick it off myself? I had big breasts, but I didn’t see how that would be possible.
“Do it,” he snarled. Just then it registered that he’d been cutting and chewing his steak. I wanted to ask about how it was, but right after he gave me an order didn’t seem the best time to bring up my possible punishment.
I applied a generous plop of salad dressing to one of my nipples. It was cold, making my skin pucker to a taut point. Not sure how it was going to work, I lifted my breast from underneath, aiming it toward my mouth. To my gre
at surprise it came closer than I expected it to.
“Stretch yourself, girl. You can do it.”
For a moment I forgot everything else in the room, and I focused on this obscene action he wanted me to try. I’d never imagined a woman could touch her breast to her mouth any more than a man could suck his cock. But he was right. It was almost within reach.
Stretching my skin as far as it would go and sticking my tongue out as far as I could…I did it! Finally, after numerous attempts, I slicked my tongue against the end of my nipple enough to taste Ranch dressing.
“Bravo! Now suck it. Suck yourself, you filthy whore.”
I seriously doubted that was possible, but I couldn’t stop trying to please him now.
Only the tip of my nipple was reachable if I craned my neck as far as humanly possible, but if I strained hard enough I could capture it with my lips. After a few tries, I was able to suck on the very tip of my nipple for a few brief seconds before my breast slipped away again.
The sensation was quite unique, like nothing I’d felt before. It put me in the odd position of being both the giver and the receiver of the pleasure. As a receiver it felt nice. The experience of being the giver was nice, too, but it was almost confused by feeling the result of what I did. Overall, the best part about it was the lust I could see it was inspiring in my Master. I played it for all it was worth, fucking him with my eyes while I suckled myself, and I could see my score rising by the minute.
It only took a few licks of my second breast for him to finish his last bite and knock everything on the table to the floor. His plate and silverware clanked onto the hardwood floor, lettuce went flying.
“The salad!”
“Fuck the salad,” he said, stripping off his clothes in record time. “Give me that fucking cucumber.” He reached between my legs, grabbed the inserted vegetable and pulled it out of me.
I gave a little shriek at the suddenness of it all, but he shut me up by taking a bite off the end of the cucumber.
Damn. If that was what he was going to do to any foreign cock I shoved up in there… Well, it gave me a new sense that he just might possibly harbor some jealousy after all.
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