by Leigh, Mara
Ignoring the burning and tightening in his balls, he continued to vary the sources of stimulation, alternating the feather, his hands, the stiff leather. Her body kept moving, trying to anticipate and hint what she wanted. Her lips parted; her breaths quickened. She was turned on, but still holding back.
What would it take to make Deana forget herself, forget everything around her and surrender to pleasure, surrender to him?
This was going to be a challenge. She was so tightly wound, so used to getting her way, so used to men who followed her every command. And the preliminaries were over. It was time to really begin.
***
Deana’s imagination swirled. She should have asked more questions when he’d given her the chance. He was all business again, and not knowing what he was doing, or what was going on, was so hard. Still, compared to yesterday, giving up control was easy.
Other than him leading her around like a dog, events had progressed in much the same way, and she was going along with it, doing as she was told like a good little girl. She suspected she could wriggle out of the silk gag he’d just put in her mouth, or at least be understood through it, but she knew from yesterday that asking him for anything was the most direct route to denial.
Something tickled her belly and she jumped, her entire body airborne for an instant.
“Relax,” he barked, as if such things could be done on command.
Something silky-soft—not his fingers—traced circles around her belly button, over her breasts, along her collarbones, and then danced lower, teasing the sensitive skin just above her crazy underwear.
She shifted. One of the beads found her asshole and slipped inside. A soft moan escaped through her gag and the soft tickler disappeared. Damn. She’d been starting to enjoy that. Apparently he planned to withhold anything she liked.
Two could play at that game. She’d hide her reactions to encourage him to do the things she most liked.
His hands fell onto her breasts. She sucked in a sharp breath, and her body abandoned her plan, arching into his touch. Encasing her breasts, his palms and fingers were hot and slick as if coated by oil, and his kneading became more urgent—pulling up, pinching, igniting hot sparks. Each time he squeezed a nipple, the sharp stab shot down to echo in a contracting pang deep between her legs.
Like jazz improvisation out of control, his touch alternated between soft and hard, concentrating on one breast then the other in an indiscernible pattern until she grew wetter, hotter, more ready to be fucked, licked, sucked.
What she wouldn’t give to have his face between her legs.
His hand vacated one breast to concentrate pleasure in the other, but then he pinched the neglected nipple, hard. She bucked. The pinch continued and suddenly her right nipple surged in an equally intense pain that raced through her body in waves, ebbing and flowing, churning her arousal. His hands moved lower, stroking her arms, her torso, her thighs, then his tongue lapped her belly button, probing inside. Still, the acute pinching continued.
Unless someone else had entered the picture, or he had four hands, he’d put clips on her nipples.
She shifted and felt a sharp tug. Those chains. He’d fastened the nipple clamps to the chains hanging from her bra straps. With her arms stretched above her head, there wasn’t much slack. Every time she moved, the clips tugged.
He flicked her sex with that stiff strap again. Heat soared through her, and she jerked. The nipple clamps pulled. Damn.
“Relax, Deana. Relax. Let me make you feel good. I won’t hurt you—much.” His voice rumbled against her belly, his mouth and tongue so close to where she wanted. Go lower. Suck my clit. Fuck me. Please.
His lips moved to her ear. “The clips can be loosened. If they’re too tight, you know what to say.”
“Pudding,” she whispered, afraid that he’d end things again. But the pinch lessened somewhat, and the pain was instantly replaced by searing pleasure. Every nerve ending in her breasts fired and sparked and burned as the less intense pain morphed and transformed into bliss. She twisted her butt against the fur, feeling so hungry, so empty, so desperate to be filled.
His hands disappeared, and she gasped in protest.
Pounding dance music filled the room, and then his hands landed on her body again, caressing, stroking, kneading in a highly erotic massage. A scent—citrus, spicy—penetrated her nose as his clever hands continued to explore and coax the tension from her still-on-high-alert muscles.
He interspersed his massage with intermittent flicks of pain to her sex and nipples, licks of pleasure to her belly and thighs. She sighed and stretched in her confinement, and the burning need between her legs intensified. When would he fuck her? At least touch her clit?
Forget control. Forget pride. At this point she’d beg if she thought it might work. But it wouldn’t. He’d made that abundantly clear. So she concentrated on his hands, trying to guess where they’d land next, how hard or soft they’d touch, whether they’d stroke or squeeze.
But it was as if his hands knew how to keep her off guard, which parts of her to fondle or pinch or spank, exactly when to spark more pain to mingle with the stinging and burning in her nipples, her crotch.
She needed his cock—now.
The strap struck again. She moaned. And then finally his fingers were where she most wanted—stroking, teasing, stimulating the nerves the leather strikes had awoken. His finger slid through her crevice, teasing her entrance, circling, dipping, but refusing to dive.
Her aching need surged, pressing against her from the inside and begging for release.
He slipped the cloth gag from her mouth.
“Fuck me,” she said, hoping that she had permission to speak. She lifted her hips, hoping to force his fingers inside, better yet to find his cock. “Please.”
“Is your pussy wet?” he asked.
“Can’t you tell?” She could feel his breath on her sex, his fingers parting her, examining, pinching, stroking, driving her so crazy that she’d almost forgotten the humiliating position he had her in. She hadn’t forgotten, but no longer cared.
“Say it.” His breath traveled over her belly. He flicked her nipple clips and squeezed her sex with the other hand. Hard.
She arched off the table. The beads slid and she circled her hips, hoping to coax one nearer her clit.
“Say it,” he commanded.
“I’m wet,” she replied.
The strap flicked between her legs—the sound wet, the feeling hot.
Her pelvis shot up, inviting more—more pleasure, more pain, more of whatever he’d offer. He pressed the beads into her labia. Rubbing. Pinching. Burning. Building an ache like she’d never known.
“Where are you wet?”
“Down there.” She bit her lip. Her pussy, as he’d crudely called it, was dripping and had never been so desperate for penetration. Fuck me. Please fuck me. Ram that beautiful cock inside me.
“Your pussy,” he said. “Say it.”
The strap struck again, and sparks of sensation shot from her sex to the tips of her fingers, the soles of her feet, the roots of her hair.
“Maybe you prefer the word cunt?” he asked, coldly.
She hated those crude words and never used them. The strap flicked again, then he patted her with it, tapping an infuriating, glorious rhythm on the sensitive, burning folds of skin. The sensations rippled out, ebbing and flowing and rising to an ever more intoxicating crescendo.
She could no longer distinguish pleasure from pain and her inner walls clenched, craving the satisfaction only penetration could provide. She twisted her hips as the beads slid against her.
“Say it.” Thwap.
“Yes, goddamn it. Yes. My pussy. My pussy is wet.”
His fingers slipped along her crevice, then slid inside, frustratingly shallow.
“Fuck me. Please fuck me.”
He pulled his hand back, and she swore he growled.
Something cold and wet dripped onto her belly. He pulled back t
he leather triangle of the thong and teased her clit with what felt like the tip of an ice cube. She sucked in a sharp breath as the hard edge of the ice flicked and scraped and teased. She’d prefer hot-and-hard to cold-and-wet, but anything pressing there was a welcome relief.
He traced the ice through her slit. Shivers and sparks and goosebumps scrambled over her skin, dancing and tormenting and heightening her need. The combination of the cold with the burning sting was soothing and stimulating at once. She writhed in pleasure, almost swinging from her restraints. Each movement tugged the nipple clips, sending new sparks of pain and pleasure shooting through her.
He plunged the ice cube inside. She gasped. Crap, it was long. Like some kind of perverted icicle. And as he worked the frozen rod inside her, her entire body felt on fire in contrast to the cold. Had there been peppers in the oil he’d used on her skin?
Leaving the ice melting inside her, his hot slick fingers kneaded and explored, caressing every inch of her body except the part that most ached to be touched. She no longer cared if he ever fucked her, as long as his hands never left her body. She tried to track where he was, sense his heat, his musky scent, forecast what he’d do to her next, but prediction proved elusive.
The heel of his hand landed over her mound and pressed down, pushing the peak of the leather triangle into her clit as his fingers cupped her, provoking her entrance with their frustratingly subtle movement. Water from the melting ice cube dripped, mixing with her hot juices and trailing down to her asshole, still clasping the bead. The pressure was so welcome, so frustratingly close to what she desperately needed.
He drew the remaining ice out and traced it over the hot, stinging skin of her ass.
“You’ve been good,” he said. “Obedient. Would you like a reward?”
His finger slipped under the leather vee at the front of her thong, parting the skin over her clit.
“Oh, shit, yes. Lick me. Eat me.”
He growled and scraped her swollen nib with his nail. She gasped and nearly exploded as she pressed her pelvis up, wanting to guide him, to show him just the right pressure and speed. But his hand was devious, unrelenting. His finger and thumb brushed and rubbed and flicked her clit, making her buck and churn.
“Here’s your treat.” Something slipped under the edge of the thong. Something hard. Not his tongue.
But her disappointment evaporated instantly as a buzz filled her ears and intense vibrations zapped her swollen bud. Her body lurched, pressing up into what must be a small, flat vibrator trapped between the leather and her clit. Yes. This would work. She could grind against that clever device until she came.
But as soon as the vibrations started, they stopped.
“More. Please.” She bit her lip.
“Who’s in control, Deana?”
“You are. You.”
His lips pressed into her inner thigh, his tongue making small circles, driving every nerve ending to concentrate under its tip. “Surrender, Deana. Give me control. Don’t think of anything but your pleasure.”
The vibrator buzzed. Oh, god, yes. She raised her hips. But when she dropped her ass, she bucked back up. He’d put something beneath her—something pebbled that bit into her sensitive, well-spanked flesh—a huge contrast to the fur. She tested it again. “What is that?”
“Relax. You might enjoy it.”
Just as she was about to object, his fingers plunged into her wetness—one, then two, then three—plunging, stretching, stroking her inner walls, then easing out to tease her entrance before penetrating deeply again—and again.
She was going to come. Yes. Yes. Almost there.
But his hot, wet, thick fingers slipped out to trace over her pussy. They rubbed the beads and stroked the screaming nerve endings of her opening, teasing and circling—eradicating all effects of the ice.
All thoughts vanished, too. She had no idea how much time had passed when his fingers dove deeply again. She bit back a moan and realized her ass was gyrating over what must be a sheet of rubber, or soft plastic, with hundreds of tiny spiked fingers, dancing and grinding and pinching her sensitive skin. Each small movement yielded explosive sensations as pain and pleasure melded together to concentrate deep in her sex.
The vibrator buzzed. Her head tipped back, arching her throat high, as his hand stroked her neck, soft, but firm.
She squeezed her muscles around his fingers inside her, pulsing at just the right rhythm to get her where she wanted, needed, to go. But the infernal vibrator wouldn’t cooperate. It turned on and off in an unpredictable pattern. If he’d just leave it on for a few more seconds, if his fingers would time their g-spot strikes to coincide, if he’d plunge deep with all his fingers at just the right moment . . . But no. Every time she moved the right way against that devilishly useful contraption, every time she figured out a plan to get herself off, he foiled her plan.
Never had she been so close, yet so far. Never had her need, her hunger, burned this long, built this high. Any second her mind, her entire body, would surely explode.
Chapter Four
* * *
Rex closed his eyes. The sight of this woman, her steaming hot pussy, her flushed skin, her lush lips were fucking distracting, not to mention her ass rubbing hungrily against the pebbled pad. With her legs raised and her torso unrestrained, she could control the pressure from the rubber pad and let its spiky fingers stimulate her, without risking real pain.
And she seemed to like it. Her cunt clenched around his fingers in a practiced sensual rhythm.
This woman knew her body, knew how to get herself off, but he couldn’t—he wouldn’t—let her take control. He knew what she wanted and he wanted that, too. But even if he wanted to fuck her, even if he wanted to pound his cock into that sweet swollen pussy, even if he wanted to release her strong legs and feel them wrapped tightly around his back, feel her heels pressed into his ass as he rode them both over the edge—he wouldn’t do that. At least not before she fully gave up control.
His cock throbbed but he fought to regain his focus. Jizz beaded at the head of his too-ready erection. It was hard to say who was closer, him or the client. It was like he was some amateur or on his first job, not his last. He rarely got hard when working, unless penetration or visuals were required, but Deana’s fiery reactions had total command of his cock.
Still stroking and probing her hot, slick folds, he glanced to the collection of dildos on the table. The fact that he was finger fucking her was further evidence that he’d lost it. He withdrew his hand to select one of the toys. Its seven-inch length and solid girth curved up to a round tip designed to maximize g-spot stimulation. As he coated the silicone faux-cock with warming lube, he zapped her clit with a few short bursts of the vibrator. She sure didn’t need more lubrication, but the heat in the jelly would warm the dildo.
Turning back to her, he clenched his teeth. He had to keep it together. Her ass rose and he noticed one of the thong’s beads had lodged in the pucker of her pretty asshole. He scraped the bead with his finger and her body arched in response. Nice.
Setting aside the dildo, he lubed a small butt plug and tugged on the thong’s string to release the captive bead. Her breath caught and he eased the small plug inside.
“Ah, oh.” She pulled against her restraints.
“How does that feel, Deana?” He kept his finger over the plug’s end to keep her tight asshole from pushing it out.
“I, oh, ah.” Her hips twisted. “I’ve never. Oh.”
“Shall we try something bigger?” He pressed two fingers into her hot cunt as he asked, and she clenched around him.
Taking that for a yes—or at least not a no—he removed the butt plug and slowly worked a longer and thicker one inside, pumping it in and out until her tight ass took it, barely resisting. Once it was in to the hilt, he slid the thong’s beads back over to hold the plug in place.
Her cheeks glowed bright red, her entire body bloomed, and he knew it was time. He slid the dildo inside her cunt,
and she moaned with pleasure. His cock broadcasted its jealousy, throbbing and aching and pounding painfully with blood.
He worked the dildo slowly, knowing that its girth would be rubbing her inner walls against the butt plug, as her juices oozed and mingled with the lube. The scent drove him crazy. He withdrew the rod to the edge, circled and probed her entrance a few times. Then, just as he felt sure she was getting used to the gentler play, he rammed it in hard. She pressed up to meet him, crying out in delight.
Gritting his teeth, he continued to work the stiff tool, dragging its rounded head against her walls, scraping her g-spot, enjoying watching her so much he might come without even touching his cock.
Grabbing the remote, he jacked the music’s volume and then upped the speed of the dildo to match. He reached to tug on the chain holding her nipple clip, and his cock bounced against her thigh. He moaned. Fuck.
He slipped a finger inside her lush mouth and she sucked, lapping its length with her tongue, pulling with such power the suction mirrored in his prick and tightened his balls.
Unable to take it, he pulled his finger from her mouth and cupped the back of her raised head as she crested the edge of her climax. Even if he couldn’t control his own cock, he was finally controlling her. He was the maestro, conducting her body’s reactions, never quite letting her reach the end. Not when she wanted.
Her body thrashed, fully flushed, fully his, but the satisfaction of a job well done wasn’t enough. Not with Deana. He wanted her. He wanted to take her over the edge without toys and tools. He wanted to feel her come while he was buried inside her.
His cock grazed her ass again, and a sound rumbled, deep in his throat.
Fuck this. Fuck his job. He’d already quit.