by L. DuBois
Then he folded down the blanket, exposing her upper back. She smelled sandalwood a second before he began to rub her back with warm, oiled hands. His fingers slid over her skin in sweeping circles.
She had her arms tucked down along her sides, but he lifted the blanket enough to reach under and grab her elbows, shifting her arms so that there was space for him to sweep his fingers along her sides, the tips just brushing the sides of her breasts.
Then he folded the blanket down again, exposing her lower back. He worked more oil into her skin, the smell of sandalwood strong and masculine. When his fingers dipped under the blanket, caressing the top of her ass, Cali sighed in sweet anticipation.
He didn’t spend long on her lower back, but rather than keep going south, lifting the blanket to expose her ass, he drew the blanket and sheet back up to her shoulders, the fabric clinging a little to her oiled skin.
Before she could wonder if the massage was done, he’d raised the covering off her feet. His thumbs dug into the arches, and she groaned in pleasure, a sound that kept going as he worked his way up to her calves, gently dragging his knuckles over the muscles there.
When he folded the blanket up to expose her thighs, he also repositioned her legs, spreading them so her ankles were more than shoulder width apart. She tensed in anticipation, taking shallow breaths.
But he didn’t touch the wet, needy flesh between her thighs.
He worked her legs with something approaching the pressure of a deep tissue massage, unlike the more delicate touches he’d used on her top half. It made sense that he’d be more confident working these muscles than the smaller, delicate and easily tweaked muscles of the back. Whatever the reason, the pleasure-pain of having the muscles—which were tight and tender thanks to her time on the exam table—kneaded distracted her from her arousal.
Made her forget that her legs were spread, leaving her sex vulnerable.
Zidan’s fingers squeezed her inner thigh, just above the knee, then they slid up, smooth and slick with oil.
This time, he didn’t stop.
One finger stroked the seam of her pussy lips. Cali barely had time to gasp before that finger swiped through again, this time touching her more intimately, his finger sliding easily over her inner labia and clit.
This time, her groan was of mingled relief and need.
“I’m going to massage every part of you,” he murmured, somehow making it sound like a threat.
One finger circled her clit, and Cali raised her hips slightly, wanting a firmer touch.
“No, lower your hips. I expect you to relax.” He coupled the words with a firm hand on her ass, pressing her down.
“Every part?” she asked. It wasn’t really a question. She wanted him to talk to her. The massage had been too quiet up until now. She’d always liked the sound of his voice, and loved the deep tone he used when he was in his mental “top space.”
But rather than answer with words, his fingertips glanced over her labia, and then one finger thrust into her. Cali arched back, her head and shoulders lifting as a spike of sweet pleasure shot through her.
It felt so good to be full, to have part of him inside her, filling her. Connecting them in this intimate, primal way.
Then his finger curled, hitting her g-spot, and Cali flopped back down on the massage table. The noises she made were nearly animalistic. She should have been embarrassed by them—these weren’t the pretty whimpers, moans, and shrieks of pleasure people considered sexy. She grunted, then hissed air out from between her teeth. Muttered “fuck” in a guttural voice as his finger continued its relentless massage of her inner walls.
When Zidan flipped the blanket up, exposing her ass, she was briefly distracted by the wash of cold air on her warm skin. Then his warm hand settled on her butt, patting her gently, almost as if he was rewarding her. A pat that said “good girl” as clearly as words could have.
“Your pussy is tight on my finger. Trying to keep me in?”
“Yes, Sir,” she grunted.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying your massage.” His voice was deep, but rough now too. She liked to hear that. It meant he enjoyed touching her as much as she enjoyed being touched.
“You deserve a bit of a reward, so I will finish your massage before I punish you.”
“Punish?” Her butt clenched as she tensed with both alarm and desire.
The hand that had patted her ass now massaged the tension from her glutes. His knuckles dug into first one butt cheek and then the other, forcing the muscles to relax.
When she did, the reward was another pat, all while his curled finger was buried deep inside her, continuing to stimulate her just enough to make her feel needy and submissive, but not enough to push her towards orgasm.
They’d experimented with tantric sex once, long ago. They hadn’t managed to get the results they should have. Instead, for her it had become prolonged, low-grade arousal that made Cali needy, and in turn even more sexually submissive.
Thinking of their past caused her to tense, but there was also an underlying sense of nostalgia.
Both feelings were quickly wiped away when he pulled his finger from her pussy, giving her clit a couple firm presses on the way out.
There was a pause, then he slipped the blanket off her body. A shiver raised goosebumps on her arms and hardened her nipples where they were pressed to the table.
“Turn over.”
Cali rolled onto her back, liking the way her oiled skin slid against the smooth material of the table. Normally, massage tables had sheets over them, but this was much better. The slick slide of her flesh reminded Cali of what her labia felt like when she stroked them as she masturbated—a smooth, wet glide both sensual and wanton.
Rolling over also meant that her hard nipples were now exposed, the tight tips defenseless and accessible for whatever he might want to do to them.
She hoped he would do something.
Rather than drape the blanket over her, he folded it in half, sliding the middle portion under her head and shoulders to both pad and raise them while the remainder of the blanket draped down from the headrest.
Now Cali could watch as he poured oil onto his hands, rubbing them together and coating not just his palms, but each finger. He’d rolled up his sleeves, and his forearms were so damn sexy.
Starting at her ankles, Zidan smoothed oil up her legs in one long pass of his hands. His thumbs, turned in, bumped her sex when his palms reached the top of her thighs. She licked her lower lip in anticipation, but he retreated.
Zidan poured a little more oil into his palm, and then, with a considering look at her, he poured a thin line of scented oil from her belly button up to her chest.
“You’ll keep your hands down, your legs slightly spread. If you move, I will be very disappointed.”
If he’d threatened to restrain her, she might have purposefully shifted position. After the medical scene, the massage seemed lacking in stimulus. Not that she wasn’t enjoying it, but the pressure of some padded cuffs would be nice.
Her lips quirked in a wry, self-deprecating smile. No, she wouldn’t have deliberately disobeyed to get restrained. The threat of disappointing him when they were in a BDSM scene really was a threat, because unlike restraints or a spanking, disappointing him truly hadn’t been…wasn’t…something she ever wanted to do.
Zidan rubbed his hands together and then set them on her belly. Though his touch was firm she twitched a little in response to the tickly feeling. His thumbs swiped through the trail of oil.
When the curved edge of his flat hand—thumb to index finger—settled against the underside of her right breast she had to fight to remain still. She wanted to arch her back, offer herself to him. Pleasure, pain, whatever he wanted to do to her, give to her, she’d allow it. Welcome it.
Her sex was pulsing in time with her heartbeat. Her ass still throbbed from being worked with the plugs.
And Zidan didn’t move. He held perfectly still, his right hand nestled be
low her breast, his left cupping the curve of her waist.
He was waiting, or making her wait. She wasn’t sure which. She wasn’t sure what he wanted. It could have been a test to see if she could follow his order and remain still, or if impatience, arousal, need, would get the better of her. He could be waiting for her to beg. Maybe he wanted her to beg him to hurt her—a sign of exactly how submissive and masochistic she was.
Cali glanced up at him through her lashes. His face, so intense and familiar, held no clues. He met her gaze, and it only took a moment before she looked away, focusing on his shoulder, his muscled forearm.
Another minute, maybe more, passed.
Zidan let out a soft chuckle. “Well done, Princess. I know that had to be hard. I think you deserve a little reward.”
His hand fully cupped her breast, thumb swiping over her nipple. A long low buzz of pleasure shot through her, and Cali moaned low in the back of her throat.
Zidan swirled his hand in a circle around her breast, coating it in oil.
“Such lovely tits. I’ve always enjoyed them.” Now he cupped that one breast with both hands, one on the top, the other on the underside so his fingers and thumbs overlapped. He squeezed gently then raised his hands, her oil-slick tit sliding through his firm hold, jiggling when it slipped from between his tightened fingers.
He did it again, this time squeezing the base of her breast tighter, making it stick up from her torso. Again lifted his hands, her flesh slipping between his slick palms.
Then he worked her nipple.
First, he poured a drop of oil directly onto the dark-pink flesh. Straight from the bottle it was cold, and her areola drew in tight. When she shivered, his gaze shifted to her face.
“Cold?” He thumbed the tight nipple.
“The oil is, Sir.”
“It will warm up.” His voice deepened. “Unless you want me to heat your skin for you.”
Another shiver. Of fear. And desire. Because she knew exactly how he’d heat her skin—impact play. Taking a crop, or even just his hand, and spank her nipple. It would hurt. Not in the precise, biting way the clamps had, but with a warm, spreading heat.
“Whatever pleases you, Sir.”
That was a lie, because as much as she wanted to please him, she also had wants of her own. She was not so service-based that her pleasure came only from submitting her will to that of a good Dom.
But though she wanted things—pleasure, pain—she didn’t know what she wanted right now. So she’d do what she was trained to do, what she’d come to rely on. She’d trust her Dom, and submit.
Zidan glanced at her, those dark eyes so deep. Holding so many secrets.
He held his hand over her breast, the tip of her nipple barely grazing the center of his palm.
When she took a breath, her nipple brushed his hand, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from arching up into his hand and forcing greater contact.
He lowered his palm, flattening her nipple and curving his fingers and thumb around the top and sides of her breasts. He squeezed, kneading her tit while his palm warmed her nipple. In comparison her other tit felt cold and unloved, and she had time to wonder if the contrast was deliberate before he placed his index and middle fingers on either side of her nipple in a V.
His fingers slid together, pinching, lifting as he had her whole breast so her nipple was stretched before being pulled between the hard edges of his fingers.
“Do you like that?”
“Yes, Sir.” The s sounds were a hard hiss of pleasure.
“And I like playing with you like this. Taking my time.”
Her pussy clenched in response to those words. There was nothing quite as pleasurable as being wanted. As knowing he enjoyed playing with her, that he wanted to touch her as much as she needed his touch.
No, not his touch. A touch.
Finally he switched to her other breast, giving it the same treatment as the first.
Oil-slicked hands swirled over her tit. Fingers tightened and lifted, first her whole breast, then just the nipple. The oil meant that her flesh slid more easily from his grasp, so in turn he pinched harder, pulled higher.
And when she couldn’t stop from arching up into his hands, both alleviating some of the pain-infused-tension and begging for more, his hands slid away from her breasts, down her ribs to her waist.
He was moving faster now, his breathing measured but heavy. His hands skimmed the outsides of her legs. He cupped her feet, pressed his thumbs into her arches, then slid his hands up the insides of her spread legs. When he reached the apex of her thighs, his thumbs slid between her labia, rubbing softly as he also spread them, exposing her hot, wet core.
Then his hands were moving again, sliding up her belly with a firm pressure that kept it from being ticklish, and over her breasts, twirling her nipples which slipped easily through his fingers. Further up, his fingers detoured to her shoulders as he followed the lines of her collarbone and then reversed to stroke up her neck. When a thumb passed over her lips she licked him, tasting the oil, and the faintest hint of her own arousal.
Zidan made a noise of pain and…need.
Cali opened her eyes, which had drifted closed. She watched as he made his way back down to her feet, massaging and pleasuring her. His attention was on her, his focus complete. She had only to look at him to know that, to know he wasn’t thinking about his day, or what he had to do after.
He was focused.
And he was near the edge of his own control.
She could see it in the way his breathing was no longer measured and even, but stuttered. In the way a flush rode high on his cheeks, and at the base of his neck.
His fingers started up again, and this time when he massaged her pussy, one finger centered on her clit.
She arched into his hands, an automatic response to the sudden intense stimulus. She met his gaze, and she wished she were on her knees before him, his cock in her mouth. She wished that he would allow her to pleasure him the way he was pleasuring her.
Back to her breasts, his hands moving faster, his fingers harder on her nipples, sharp spikes of pain as they were cruelly pinched. When he cupped her face, she turned her head, taking three of his fingers into her mouth and sucking hard.
Zidan stilled, then added a fourth finger, stretching her lips, making her gag and suck.
His other hand reached under her head and collapsed the head and face rest so it, and the blanket dropped down out of the way.
Cali’s head fell back, his fingers sliding from her mouth. She stared, upside down, at the wall, panting and swallowing. When she started to lift her head, Zidan grabbed her by the jaw.
“No. Open your mouth.”
Cali watched, mouth obediently open, as he undid his pants. His cock was turgid, the veins standing out, the head damp with pre-come.
Dick held in one fist, he stepped up, angling the head. She stuck out her tongue, prepared to lick and suck to get him ready.
That wasn’t what her Dom had planned. She had only a moment to swipe her tongue along the fat tip before he shoved his cock into her mouth.
He went deep, hitting the back of her mouth and sliding into her throat. She gagged and nearly raised her hands to push him back. She wasn’t ready to take his cock so deep. It was too much. It was too big.
And she was going to take it, because he wasn’t going to give her a choice. Her Dom, her master wanted to fuck her face, her throat, and she was going to be a good little sub and take it.
Cali dug her fingertips into the table, her toes curled, and she rubbed his cock with her tongue as best she could.
He withdrew, not all the way, but enough that Cali took a breath and swallowed before he thrust in again.
All she could see was a little slice of wall visible between his thighs, which nearly touched her forehead as he sank in deep enough that the tip of his cock was in her throat.
The feel of him inside her—so hard and in need—was as arousing as it was fri
ghtening. He controlled her body, her pleasure, her pain, and now her very breath.
He withdrew again, rewarding her with a soft stroke of his fingers up her throat and along her jaw.
“Deep breath,” he warned, and then he thrust in again.
But this time he also leaned forward, one hand sliding down her belly and hip to her upper thigh. And when he pulled back, his hands passed over her pussy, the heel of his hands spreading her labia, his oil-slicked palm caressing her inner lips and clit.
Then he withdrew, his hand sliding up to her breast. She panted around his dick, catching her breath.
“Deep breath,” he said again, accompanying the order with a hard slap to her breast.
She jumped, gasping even as he thrust in, stopping the breath in her throat.
They found a rhythm then. While he thrust in he also massaged her pussy, his hand passing over her in a broad, flat caress that tightened the muscles in her belly.
When he withdrew, and while she caught her breath, he slapped her breasts, stopping when she started to work the head of his cock. Then he thrust in again, teaching her the rhythm he wanted.
He punished her with spanks to her breasts for those moments she needed to herself just after he withdrew. The punishment stopped once she engaged in the action of the blowjob, and when his cock was deep in her throat he massaged her pussy.
It was glorious and overwhelming, the pressure and fullness in her mouth and throat coupled with the smooth, slick pleasure of his fingers on her pussy, now constantly using the two-fingered caress to rub her clit. All that was punctuated by the hard, punishing slaps to her nipples, which ached from the earlier play.
Her body tightened in pleasure when he stroked her, her ass clenching too, the tender flesh reminding her of the way he’d worked her with the huge plugs.
Once more he filled her. This time two fingers nestled against her vulva, spreading it so her clit fitted in the valley between his fingers.
He rubbed up and down, stimulating the tip and sides of her clit at the same time.