Sinfully Mastered: Naughty Nookie

by Akeroyd, Serena

It’s hardly the most graceful of ascents, especially as I spoil it by almost falling over when I’m finally standing and Nate has to reach out to steady me. But hell, it’s a wonder I can do anything with joints turned to mush.

  Belong. Possession.

  I swear to God, I could find release from the way he talks alone.

  He steps behind me, standing so close his clothes brush against me. With my legs spread slightly, the ridge of his clothed erection nudges me where I need it most. I bite back a moan, because I know I shouldn’t be enjoying this. His words and next actions compound that thought process.

  “It’s time we started to disassociate this…” The flat of his hand smacks down on my pussy. Surprised, my hips duck down and away from the firing line only for him to let loose a smack on my ass that has me shooting up on to tiptoe. “…from this.”

  “That’s a big word, Sir.” I hiss as he does it again. “Disassociate, I mean.”

  He chuckles. “Need a dictionary?” He lets loose another slap and each subsequent one filters each word he says, “I’d. Have. Thought. With. Your. Smarts. You’d. Understand. The. Word. Disassociate.”

  “I do, Sir. I do.”

  “So, why were you being fresh with me?”

  “I don’t know, Sir.”

  “Maybe we need to add another lesson to tonight’s roster. But first things first.”

  He steps away and from the corner of my eye, I watch as he heads over to the cupboard we store the stuff in. Inwardly, I snort at that. The stuff. So innocent. Innocuous. Ha.

  He slides open the drawers and from each carefully organized one, pulls something out. I have to store and clean each item; it’s one of my duties.

  Sir returns with a fistful of stuff in his hand. I make out cuffs, a blindfold, the gag, and something that has my left eye twitching nervously: a butt plug. Used to his cock, having something up my ass isn’t all that discomforting. He’s fucking wide. Wider than any butt plug I’ve ever bought, but he’s about seven inches long and even if he fucks me hard, he never really shoves it all in there. The thing in his hand is a bit smaller but from the determined look on his face… it’s all going in.

  When he’s a foot away from me, I stare straight ahead and firm my grip on the foot board. Beside me, he drops the majority of his toys but within seconds, I can feel the coldness of the lube at the pucker of my butt. There’s no play, no little rub to tease me and get me hot; he’s very matter of fact about it all, and in no time, the even chillier butt plug is there, demanding entrance.

  Now, it’s pretty thick, but not in comparison to Sir’s dick. My ass swallows the plug with no difficulty, but as he continues, sending inch after inch deep inside, my hips jerk up and the muscles in my belly do a Mexican wave.

  A low moan escapes me but it does me no good. The instant I wiggle my hips, he does something he’s never done before. He grabs a handful of my hair and tugs. My scalp burns at the site and he doesn’t stop until I have no choice but to move with his hand or lose it. He brings me all the way up until my back is flat against his chest, and I’m relying on his grip on my hair to steady me. He jerks his hand making me cry out at the sting, and then, he moves so that his fingers are about my throat. Eyes widening, I suck in a lungful of air and over the pounding of my heart, it’s difficult to hear him as he whispers, “Do you need to say something, Marina?”

  It doesn’t escape my notice that he’s using my real name. That means I’ve displeased him. The thought has me biting my lip and quickly shaking my head. “No, Sir. Nothing.”

  He hums under his breath and loosens his grip about my throat. I don’t understand how such an aggressive act can make me do anything but run from the room, screaming. Instead, this weird emptiness overtakes my mind. Think too many Ibuprofen—like the whole packet downed with a half-bottle of vodka—to get rid of a headache. I don’t feel dizzy or sick, just slightly, zoned.

  Weird.

  My scalp still stings, but like my butt, the burn is manageable and easy to acclimate.

  “Close your legs.”

  I do as bid; and the instant I’m standing at a regular angle, he shoves the few remaining inches of the plug deep inside. A low hiss wends its way through the room, and for a second, through that empty abyss of my brain, where there are no thoughts of anything but Him, dizziness sneaks in. Feeling woozy, I stagger a little, but the instant I do, he grabs me again and holds me to him.

  He hums under his breath as he presses his fingers to my belly and makes soothing circles with the digits. How long we stood there like that, I’m not really sure but it was long enough for my pulse to return to the beat of: Nate; Sir; Him; Submit; Nate; Sir; Him; Surrender.

  His lips brush against my cheek and he steps back, leaving me to stand alone. It’s strange how isolated that makes me feel, until I realize he’s at my side again and the loneliness disappears.

  I blink at him, feeling a little dumb as he looks at me, some of the stuff he intends to use on me for punishment in his hand. He holds them out and says, “Take them.”

  Complying, I grab hold of all the cuffs and the gag, but he retains the blindfold. Lifting it, he pulls the elastic over my head and arranges the silk against my eyes. The shift from light to dark has the butterflies in my belly bolting, and they do a little jiggle as he leads me to the bed and helps me sit on the side. Something that earns him a low groan as the butt plug shuffles around deep inside. It’s with relief that he pushes against my shoulders and I move with him until my back presses into the mattress.

  He grabs each leg by the ankle and spreads them so far apart that I’m basically doing the splits. A faint trail of air on my inner thighs has my fingers curling into the sheet and then biting down against the fabric as he licks from clit to ass in one go.

  My stomach muscles protest and a cry bursts free from me.

  “Don’t come,” he orders, his words vibrating against my pussy. The slight buzz from his words has my back arching as he gets to work on my clit. He suckles and pulls and tugs and bites. Every single move a calculated attempt to make me disobey his command.

  His mouth is buried in my cunt. Licking and slurping up my juices, nibbling the tender flesh and generally driving me fucking insane. I force my hips down into the mattress, arching my pussy away from his ravenous lips, but he just slaps my thigh. I cry out as stinging pleasure cascades through me. My eyes cross from the sting combined with his mouth. If an orgasm is a bridge, that move just propelled me three-quarters of the way up the path.

  My arms flail up over my head, battering down against the sheets, hammering the bed in my need to escape his tongue. My legs twist and flail, trying to free myself but to no avail. It’s endless. Lick after lick. Suck after suck. He plays with my clit, teasing it, nibbling it. Then he sucks on my pussy lips, tangling each one with his tongue. That torturous muscle rides down to the entrance of my body, rimming the nerve-drenched slit until I can’t help but scream with over-sensitivity. He fucks me with his tongue, slurping away as he thrusts in and out. He pulls back, once again open-kissing my clit and sucking down hard, before trailing down, down to rim my ass.

  Sobs burst free from me, there’s no way I can contain them.

  “Please. Please, Sir. Let me cum. Please, please…” The litany escapes me, as my body freezes with the tension of withholding the cluster of sensations that will hurl me toward orgasm. It’s ironic, something that every woman is dying to experience, I have to hold back.

  “No,” he grunts, his tongue fucking me again as my hips buck and writhe beneath him.

  He doesn’t even come up for air.

  My upper body wriggles and squirms, wanting to do something, anything to be free from this torment, wanting more than anything for pleasure to be at the end of this punishment. But the very fact I know he won’t let me cum is enough to make me crave it all the more.

  My harsh, gasped out begs won’t change his mind. The instant he touched his lips to my pussy, I knew this would be an exercise in torture. It’s wo
rse than I imagined.

  And then, he stops.

  My sobbing breaths reverberate around the room, as do my whimpers and mewls of need. His own breathing is harsh, fast. I feel his wavy hair against my inner thighs and I try to snap my legs shut, but his grip is tighter than a manacle. Expecting him to return to my cunt, what he does, shocks the fuck out of me.

  His mouth settles close to the tendon of my inner thigh and he bites. He bites hard. A howl escapes me as the dull pain flickers throughout my body, odd tingles surrounding the epicenter of the bite. He ignores me and goes to the opposite side. I grab a pillow and shove it over my face as he anoints the area with another bite. My hoarse shout is somewhat muffled by the pillow, but he grabs it and throws it down. A gentle thud tells me it hits the floor.

  The mattress bounces as I feel him settle close to me. He’s on all fours; I can feel the mattress quivering at the points of contact. He isn’t touching me but that predatory crouch above me has my body aching to submit to him.

  Panting, I flinch as his head swoops down to my throat. Not being able to see him, I only sensed the whoosh of air as it brushed past me. I relax, when he starts to nuzzle the skin there. Sucking it against his teeth so I’ll have a hickey in the morning. It’s almost pleasurable. Tingles shoot down my spine at the lovely sensation, but he blindsides me. His teeth bite down here as well and the scorching pain causes me to cry out again. He anoints the other side but with no foreplay until tears of pain wet my eyes.

  Nate crawls back down the bed, leaving me there, my hard pants filling the room with sound.

  Need is writhing through my system like his bites are venomous. My pussy is aching, dying for his cock. The agony of those four bites should have zapped my arousal away. As it is, they’ve turbo-charged it. It sucks being a masochist.

  I want to plead, beg, but I know there’s no use. He won’t let me cum until he wants me to.

  I hear steps, then feel the brush of his hand as he tugs at the blindfold. He pulls it off and leaves me to blink at the sudden burst of light against my eyeballs. My lashes are damp and my vision is blurry, but I suck in a breath, when his head lowers again to brush kisses against my eyelids. I quiver at the tender act..

  His lips trace down over my nose, across my cheekbone and toward my ear. There, he whispers, “Good girl. Now we know who you belong to. Get dressed. Something high-necked. It’s time for supper.”

  My eyelids clench down in a physical rejection of his words. I’ve never felt less hungry in my life. But do I say that? No. I just roll over and curl into a ball. For a second, I remain in the fetal position. I don’t know why. It isn’t comfortable. My boobs are pressed against my knees, the tips—pouting buds desperate for his touch—chafe against the knobbled joints.

  The need for his touch burns brightly inside me. My pussy feels like a furnace, glowing with the heat of my arousal. When I clench my inner thighs together, the pain of the bites is augmented, and somehow, that pain enhances my arousal.

  I try to control the emotions flooding me but it’s impossible. A hand trails down the ridges of my spine and I shudder, before rolling on to my knees and climbing off the bed.

  Woodenly, my body aching with desire and my butt feeling overloaded with the toy, I hobble over to the closet. There’s no way I can walk any differently with my ass stuffed the way it is. Just the idea of walking over to the mess makes me cringe inside, because I’ll have to walk normally or people will comment. Talk about humiliation.

  “A dress, princess.”

  His words intrude my thoughts.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Opening the closet door, I pick out one of the dresses we selected in Sheridan. South Main Street has enough stores to provide amply for what the locals require, but the selection is hardly like what’s available in New York. As it is, my new wardrobe is not the elegant attire I’m used to, but it’s ample for my needs. That isn’t to say the instant I can get my stuff moved over, I won’t leap into my old clothes. If Sir approves, that is.

  For a second, the old Marina battles with the new one.

  That one thought, if Sir approves, had her coming up and spluttering for air. I’m getting used to her popping up every now and then. I guess I can’t just accept all of what Nate says, blindly. I’m too smart for that. I’ve been taught to question and debate; otherwise, it’s difficult to learn anything new. But once she pops up, it isn’t too hard to win her over.

  I like this life. It’s alien to me. Christ, talk about understatement of the year. But I do. At times, I can’t believe it, and this just happens to be one of those instances. How can I go from being free to make my own choices, to having the most basic decisions decided for me?

  There are times when I feel suffocated by this. Choking for air, as old Marina battles with me, trying to make me see the light of day. But she was my shadow. And Nate, my Sir, is the only illumination in my life. It’s the only way I can think of this. To have gone from darkness, pitch black nothingness; to this incredible play of light…it’s astounding. Mesmerizing.

  He’s there. Constantly. Be it physically or mentally. He pushes me to take more than I’d ever thought possible, he embraces me harder than anyone ever has. I’m surrounded by him and until now, I’ve never realized how alone I’ve been all these years. He takes the pressure of everyday decisions away from me and the relief from that load makes me feel like I can walk on air.

  How can I feel so free yet find it so difficult to express myself in the studio?

  Did I need to feel oppressed to create?

  Was art my way of venting my submissiveness?

  I don’t have all the answers, because I don’t know all the questions. All I do know is that I’ve never felt more at peace with myself than I have during these last weeks under Nate’s careful guidance.

  Sucking in a breath, I pull out a simple daisy-yellow dress. A high mandarin collar that comes down to a tight, skin-fitting bodice before flaring out into a pleated skirt.

  The very fact I’ll be wearing no panties makes a mockery of the rather conservative dress.

  In fact, all of the clothes he picked for me were like this. Covering more than they showed, but still, in some way sexy. In this instance, the way the dress cups my boobs is a dream. I look like a good girl with killer tits.

  The thought makes me grin as I tug the dress overhead. As I look down, the gold shields surrounding my nipples create slight bumps under the fabric and just seeing them has my eyelashes fluttering in reaction. Slipping into some silver ballet pumps I’d brought from New York, because flats are the only option with this monster shoved up my ass, I’m ready to go.

  Well, that’s a lie. I’m not. But I am.

  If that makes sense.

  I take a few seconds to roll my hips, to try and get used to the butt plug. Each roll causes me to suck in a breath. Nate must have heard me, because he steps closer to me and studies me with a cocked brow.

  “You’re not trying to get yourself off, are you, Marina?”

  I’m trying to think of him as Nate, when I know I’ll be stepping outside in a few seconds. The last thing I want to do is call him Sir in front of other people. In this instance, I can’t. “No, Sir. Just trying to get used to walking with the plug, that’s all.”

  He nods and says, “You can lean on me.”

  Taking the hand he holds out, I cling to his arm and together we walk out of the room and head toward the mess. Going down the stairs is a nightmare, worse than I thought as the monster shuffles inside me. My nails are digging into his forearm as we take each step and with each hissed breath, Nate watches me from the corner of his eye. When we make it outside to flat land, I release a relieved breath and after the agony of the stairs, find walking normally a damned sight easier.

  The yard is empty but the mess isn’t. Over the weeks, we’ve taken an unspoken reservation of a table close to one of the fireplaces. There are ten in the mess and the hearths are the most popular seating areas. Especially come winter.


  Our table is close to the fire, but tucked away in an almost secluded spot. Or as secluded as the mess gets.

  When seated, my back is to the room and Nate watches over the hall like a Lord of old. His eyes roaming over all he surveys...

  The thought makes me shudder, because I’m a part of his fiefdom, like an ancient Lord. I’m his to command, and it’s my duty to obey. Fuck, the thought shouldn’t make my pussy quiver, but Christ, you try to keep your thoughts clean with a huge butt plug shoved up your ass and when your clit feels like it’s ready to walk out on strike.

  Sucking in a breath, trying to breathe through my need, I nod a silent thanks as Nate pulls out my chair for me. I’m grateful, oh, so fucking grateful that my face isn’t visible to the rest of the room. If they could see the twist of my features, the faint sheen of sweat on my brow as I try to sit comfortably, they’d wonder what the hell was wrong with me.

  My teeth clench down on my bottom lip as I squirm around, making it worse in an attempt to make it better. When Nate takes a seat, eyes me from across the table and mutters, “Sit still.” Only then do I put a stop to my fidgeting.

  “This isn’t conducive to my eating a big meal, you know.”

  His lips twitch at my snarky comment. “I know.”

  I huff out a breath. “I thought the idea was to encourage me to eat?”

  “It is. We’re looking at this proactively.” His earnestness immediately sets me on edge. I narrow my eyes at him and wait for him to speak. “For every minute you can sit there with the plug in, I’ll owe you a debt of orgasms.”

  I snort at the statement, but a grin twists my lips. “Seriously?”

  It’s strange. Without really talking about it, we’re not Dom or sub here in the mess. It would be too hard; the walls have ears. So for him to talk about this, here, is a bit, well, a lot unexpected.

  “Seriously.”

  “So if I can sit here for twenty-three minutes, you owe me twenty-three orgasms? When I want them?”

  It’s his turn to snort. “No. You can’t have them when you’re being punished. But otherwise, we’ll work through the number, and I doubt you’ll make it to twenty-three. Maybe five... if you’re lucky.”