by Nia Farrell
He fisted her hair and forced her to look at him. His lips were pressed tightly together. The determined set to his mouth and the intensity on his face that made her breath catch in her chest.
“What do you say?”
“Please, Sir?”
“Sweet words, falling from those lips. I have dreamed of them since last week, counting the hours until I could feel them wrapped around my cock. Open, princess. Let me in. I’ll take your mouth to start. Yeesss.”
Breath hissed between his teeth as he pushed past her lips and felt the tongue she pressed against his length, teasing the tip, curling around the crown, delving into its slit to lap up the salty tang of pre-cum. “More,” he growled, and shoved himself in deeper, pressing against her palate as she opened wide, challenged by his size to keep her teeth away and control her gag reflex. She managed to lift her chin, changing the angle just enough to take him further down her throat. He fucked her mouth, not caring about the saliva that dripped onto the floor, or the tears that sprung from her eyes at the intensity of it all.
“You are mine, princess.” He growled at her, hips churning, cock plunging, his hand fisted in her hair. “Mine and no one else’s. If you don’t know it…if you don’t feel it, you will by the end of the night.”
Oh, God.
He drew back slowly, and lunged forward, giving her just enough time to breath between strokes. Each thrust made her breasts jiggle. Every movement only added to the pain. Her clamped nipples. Her jute-abraded clit. She could feel the ropes, soaking wet between her legs. She felt moisture run down the seam where her thigh met her torso and suspected it was dripping on the floor too.
She felt him swell, incredibly larger, thrust down her throat, impossibly deeper. Bare skin, slick with spittle, hot as a poker, fucking her mouth until he was right on the edge of conflagration.
He pulled out at the last minute and exploded on her chin, her neck, her chest, painting her with ropes of cum, marking her as his. He swiped a finger and lifted it to her lips so she could taste him, hand-feeding her his seed.
He adjusted the ropes, changed her legs. Bending one knee so that her heel was by her buttocks, he lashed her doubled leg with her calf pressed tightly to her thigh. “It wasn’t your fault,” he told her. “You were young. Innocent. Afraid of being judged. Afraid of what might happen if you told. Those boys used you. Abused you. They are the ones to blame, not you.”
“But how many other women got hurt because I didn’t tell?” she sobbed. “If I’d said something, they might have been stopped.”
“If they hurt anyone else, princess, then they are the ones to blame. There’s no guarantee the law would have done anything. Sad, but true, if it was simply your word against theirs. With no witnesses to come forth and support your claim, you chose an easier path, and who can blame you, dear heart? You survived. You carried on. Eventually you found help. Now we must find a way to free you from the shackles you still wear. Will you try for me, princess? Let me at least hear you say that it was not your fault.”
Elly felt his hand, stroking her seam, putting pressure on the ropes that belted her hips. Breath hissed between her teeth, and she felt an orgasm building, with no idea where it came from, except it was born of her pride and his punishment. “It wasn’t.” She forced the words between clenched teeth. “It wasn’t. My. Fault.”
He slapped her sex and she exploded, her body spasming as she jerked against the ropes. He loosened one knot and her jute girdle gave way to his questing fingers, then his massive condom-covered cock, stretching her opening, squeezing inside, forging deeper with each flex of his pelvis, until he was nearly seated, with his crown knocking on the door of her womb and his testicles tapping her clit. He adjusted the ropes, dropped her bent knee down, then brought it forward to her chest and secured it.
Then he fucked her. A hot, hard, dirty fuck. No holding back. No apologies. He possessed her. There was no other word to describe it. He gave her everything he had and took everything she had to give, then did it all again. One orgasm rolled into two, then three, even without fingering her clit. Just from the snap of his hips, the grip of his hands, and the length and girth of his cock slamming into her. When she thought she couldn’t take any more, he slid out and left her…but only for a moment. The next thing she felt was a lubed finger, then two, then three, then the slickened head of his erection, pressing against her sphincter.
He pushed inside, gaining entrance. “So tight,” he groaned. “Be my good girl, princess, and let me in. There. There. Yeesss. That’s it. Do you feel me, princess? Can you feel how much I want you? I’ve been hard all week, thinking of you. Of this. Dreaming of your mouth. Your pussy. Your arse. Mine.”
He plunged deep and held himself there, grasping her waist and pulling her hips to keep her tight against his body. “You have no idea what you do to me, princess.” He pulled out slowly, then tunneled back inside, each move deliberate, aimed more toward pleasure than the pinch of pain she felt from his size alone. “I haven’t taken a sub in years. Wasn’t looking for one, and there you were. So beautiful. So curious. So eager and willing to learn. Suddenly all I could think of was what I could show you, what I could teach you. What we could do together. What we can be.”
Elly thought about the scene they’d watched and felt the panic rise in her throat. “No sharing,” she cried. “Tonight…the ball….”
“No sharing,” he grated. “You are mine. Mine.”
He poured himself into his condom with a shout, holding her hips tight against him as he filled it, emptying the last spurt of semen into her depths. “Princess. My sweet girl. Let’s set you free, hmm?”
Amazingly, that’s what it felt like he was doing, as length after length of rope was undone. At one point, he lowered her to the floor, where the rest came off, leaving behind the most beautiful patterns in her skin.
“Do you have your camera?” she asked. She couldn’t imagine him not having one ready at all times.
Seated on the floor, he gathered her in his arms and kissed her forehead. “Somewhere,” he murmured. “I just want to hold you right now. We shall have plenty of other opportunities to photograph you. The future is ours, is it not?”
He made her believe that it was, strange as it seemed. She had met him just a few weeks ago, but it felt like she’d known him a lifetime.
Elly smiled. “Ours,” she agreed, “but you still owe me, Sir, and I’m calling in my debt.”
“Are you?” He cocked a brow. “And what am I to pay? What currency is your coin of the realm, hmm? Dinner? A concert? A scented bath and a deep tissue massage?”
She touched his lips with her fingers, tracing their shape. “A kiss,” she whispered, meeting his gaze and holding it. “Do you think you can give me that?”
“Can I?” He looked perplexed, as if he didn’t truly know the answer.
“If it’s too soon, I understand. Kissing is pretty intimate.” Like having him balls deep in her throat and pussy and ass weren’t? “I just…you’re claiming that I’m yours. If I agree…if I recognize that…if I’m going to commit to whatever this is between us…the start of a relationship or whatever, I think I need to know if we’re compatible, that’s all.”
“Eleanor,” he sighed. “Only you would question compatibility after what we just shared. Very well. Come claim your kiss. Make it count, else you may not get another for some time. We shall need to address your tendency to top from the—”
She thrust ten fingers in his thick, dark hair, angled her head, and kissed him. And, oh God, the man kissed like he made love, possessing every inch of her mouth, her teeth, her tongue. Pulling back, he bit her lower lip and tugged on it, taking control, plunging his tongue into her mouth to tangle with hers, stroking it as intimately as he had possessed her body, and as skillfully as when he’d made her climax.
“Wow.” She was very nearly rendered speechless. “I didn’t know,” she said. “Just…wow. In the videos, you never…not on the mouth, anyway.”
“Can’t we just keep it simple for now?” she asked. “Do the normal getting-to-know-you things that couples do? And just so you know where I stand, when a date starts out vanilla, it doesn’t have to stay that way. I kind of like getting tied up by you. It’s almost as if the ropes are extensions of your arms, wrapping around me, holding me. More than restrained, I feel…safe. Safe and sound, if that makes sense.”
“Yes, princess.” He traced the line of pearls in her hair and fingered the curls that had taken an hour to make and arrange. “That’s what I want you to feel. Safe. Desired. Adored. What would you say if I told you, had I the power, I would make you queen of my heart and share my kingdom with you?”
Elly went still, wondering if she’d heard him right. What he said…the way he’d said it, it wasn’t really a rhetorical question, was it?
“Piers—”
“Shush now, sweet Eleanor.” He tightened his hold and nuzzled her hair. “Yes, yes. I know that you fear it’s too soon, but I have been waiting for you, my dear. Some months ago, we had a ménage honeymoon with us, two husbands and their submissive wife—who just happened to be a psychic medium. She told me you were coming. I was skeptical, of course, but I do try to keep my mind open to possibilities. The first time I met you, I knew you were the one. You, with your tender heart and your kind soul. You, who wanted to learn about the lifestyle so that you can help others who might benefit from it. You’ve watched the videos, hmm?”
She nodded. Feeling him smile against the top of her head made her want to snuggle against him and never leave.
“There are infinite paths to pleasure,” he said. “The challenge is learning what you like and finding someone you can trust to explore the possibilities with you. I want you to trust what you feel when we are together. Recognize the bond already forming between us. Envision the future that we will create. Believe in us, as I do.”
She wanted to. God, did she want to. “I’d like to,” she answered honestly. “But I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around how this is supposed to work, when I don’t know if I can be submissive. I mean, sure, I’ve had no trouble playing bottom to your top, but I work. I volunteer. I lead meetings and guide people through their challenges. What if I never manage to fully submit to you? What if being a bottom isn’t enough?”
He pressed his lips against her crown chakra and stroked her biceps, rubbing gently. “We will discuss it and decide how best to proceed. You do know that I can command a submissive without engaging in sexual relations, hmm? It’s not unheard of for Dominants and submissives to have such real life relationships, some of them quite long-term. If you ever sense I need more than you’re comfortable giving, Replay offers a safe space in which to flex my Dominant muscles. Regardless of play, you can believe that you’ll be the sole beneficiary for the sexual expression of my desires.”
“I’m afraid,” she whispered.
“Of phantoms,” he assured her. “Fear of the unknown is always greater than fear of the known. I would encourage you to watch. See for yourself that I have nothing to hide. And,” he said meaningfully, “if you’re there, we won’t have to wait to get home. I can carry you upstairs and ravish you most thoroughly.”
Ducking his head, he bit her neck. Elly squealed and pushed against his shoulders. “Not fair!”
“All is fair in love and war,” he hummed, licking away the hurt. “How did I survive this long, I wonder, without knowing your taste? The fragrance of your skin? The silk of your copper hair? The myriad shades of emotions expressed in your beautiful gray eyes? The feel of your heat squeezing my length, until I want nothing more than to lose myself in you, again and again and again? I fear that you have spoiled me for other women, Eleanor. Now that I’ve found you, none other will do but you. Say what you will. I cannot let you go.”
“Then don’t,” she whispered, tracing his bottom lip with her thumb. “I’ve never met anyone like you. The way you command me. What you demand of me. The way you make me feel when I’m with you. Beautiful. Safe. Cherished. I’ve never ached for anyone the way I’ve hurt for you this past week. I felt empty, like I was missing a piece of myself. Nothing helped. It got so bad, twice, that I reached for my vibrator. Both times I turned it off and dropped it back in the drawer. You hadn’t told me not to, but it was like your voice was inside my head, telling me that my pleasure was yours to give. Yours.”
“Mine,” he said.
And she was.
His.
Epilogue
“And how are you tonight, my dear?”
Eleanor paused inside the front entrance with one hand on her low back, the other on the gravid curve of her belly. “Tired,” she admitted, blowing out softly. “Today was rough.”
She could not speak about it, of course. All he could do was to be here for her, providing the support she deserved and the safe haven they needed, for himself, his wife, and their unborn child.
“Dinner is almost ready,” he said. “The table is set. There’s time enough to slip off your shoes and let me give you a foot massage.”
She eyed him suspiciously, struggling to not smile. “You are so bad, tempting me when you know it won’t stop there.”
Piers scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the living room. “I am counting on it. How else had you planned to spend our anniversary, hmm? A year ago today, you walked into my office and told me that I could fold you up like origami. It was an offer I could not refuse, and a challenge of which I shall never tire.”
“Thank God,” she sighed against his neck. “Any messages?”
He smiled at the routine that they had so quickly settled into, once he’d talked her into moving in with him. Dinner, telephone messages, important correspondence, general mail. Dishes in the dishwasher, bodies in the shower or tub, then most nights, it would be back to Replay for them both. Early on, she had begun performing some of the psychological evaluations, and her observational skills had proven invaluable in helping him analyze and implement additions to Replay’s offerings. Every room at the resort was booked for their first Steampunk scenario, and the Viking and Highland raids had proven to be top draws, luring back repeat guests.
“Yes,” he said. “We are invited to attend Micheil MacDonald and Rowena Campbell’s open house. Once his daughter is abed and the regular guests have gone, there will be an after-party tour of their dungeon. I asked if the event was black tie. Micheil, great dry Scotsman that he is, said that natural jute was ‘guid eno’ and to dress vanilla, with little Alexis around.”
“Ohh.” Eleanor groaned at Micheil’s poor pun. As far as dressing vanilla, all too soon, they would have the same challenges: how to live the lifestyle as a kinky couple while creating a nurturing environment for their children and maintaining the sense of normalcy for their family. “Please tell me the ropes are optional. I don’t think he really wants to see this trussed up.”
“And why not?” he growled lightly. “You are ravishing, with those ripe curves and exquisite skin, aglow with the light of love made manifest.”
“Mmm, so romantic.” She stroked his jaw and tapped his chin. “But these ripe curves of mine make it harder to bend, the bigger I get. As if you don’t have enough to worry with, figuring out new rope patterns to try.”
With his original documentary on BDSM finally finished, he’d begun his second on kinbaku for couples. Honour Bound was a project close to bo
th their hearts. So far they’d filmed one segment every weekend, with Eleanor serving as his beautiful bondage model, the patterns ever changing as her pregnancy progressed.
“Yes, well.” Piers settled her on one end of the sofa and sat with her feet in his lap. Slipping off her sensible flats and trouser socks that she’d worn with a pair of slacks and matching blazer, he picked up one foot and started to work the soreness from the ball, her heel, her elegant arch.
“Oh, God.” She hissed and moaned, yielding to his ministrations. “Ooh, yes. There.”
He returned to the sore spot he’d hit and worked it over. When he was satisfied, he treated her other foot with the same consideration.
“Thank you, Sir.”
He cocked a brow at the appellation, silently questioning.
She licked her lips and caught the bottom one between her teeth.
His princess was ready to play.
Piers turned off the oven and cracked open the door. The beef roast and vegetables would finish cooking and stay warm, tented in foil as they were. He doubted play would progress to the point that they’d have to reheat.
Then again, one never knew.
In their bedroom, he undressed his lady, taking off her jacket, unfastening her maternity slacks, sliding them over the gravid curve of her belly, catching the waistband of her panties as he passed over her hips, letting both garments fall to the floor and pool at her feet. He unbuttoned the satiny blouse she wore and slipped it from her shoulders. It fell from her fingertips, drifting onto the floor behind her.
Piers traced the top edge of her brassiere from left to right, taking no little satisfaction in the gooseflesh that dimpled her porcelain skin. So responsive. So beautiful. So perfect. Eleanor was truly the queen of his heart.
She whimpered in her need, rubbing herself against him. Where once he’d had disdain for vanilla, he had discovered a strange liking for it…in small, intermittent doses, of course, and typically served with a twist. Like designing new rope patterns for pregnancy, he was challenged by how to make it better than good. More interesting than boring. To keep it fresh rather than settle for routine.