When he stepped away, she saw Megan and Ryder in front of her again and tried to ground herself with her breathing. The stage lights shone brightly upon her, making the rest of the room too dark to make out the figures of those present. She remained hyperaware of being watched. In her therapy sessions, she’d been taught to lightly stroke her wedding band with her thumb. In these restraints, she could still manage that and did so.
Don’t be embarrassed.
Trust him.
So what if he liked to show off her body a little bit. She smiled. While no exhibitionist by any means, she found herself stressing less about who watched and more about what Damián had in mind.
After tying her arms where he wanted them, he walked out of sight behind her. She couldn’t see him from this position but heard the rustling of something. What could he possibly need other than the remote?
As if on cue, the massagers in the back of the chair began to roll up and down her spine. She hadn’t expected it to feel like an actual massage, but moaned as she let the machine work its magic, giving in to the sensations fully.
Again, she became aware that he’d left her exposed for all in the room to see, but she kept her gaze down, refusing to look in Megan and Ryder’s direction. Still, her cheeks flamed with embarrassment.
My Dom thinks I’m beautiful, even this pregnant. That’s all that matters.
With the edge wearing off her need to come, she decided to give herself over to her Dom wholeheartedly.
Damián came into her field of vision again to stand between her and the Wilsons carrying a small tube and squeezing a cream or liquid into his hand. Lube? But she still wore her thong. He warmed the liquid between his palms. Savannah kept her eyes downcast, submitting to him as she awaited his instructions or gestures, but she felt his gaze warming her insides as well.
He surprised her by kneeling at the foot of the chair and gently massaging the warmed oil into her feet, ankles, and shins. Her skin tingled, whether from the massage or moisturizing oil or the friction of his hands on her skin. Excitement bubbled up inside her again. Was he planning a full-body massage in addition to what the chair could do? Her apprehensions about the rest of the evening ebbed away.
“So soft. Silky.” She didn’t know if he meant the oil or her legs but decided it was the latter. While he loved her breasts, he was also a leg man.
“Thank you, Sir.” Keeping her skin moisturized at Denver’s elevation wasn’t easy, but she appreciated that her efforts had been noticed. No doubt the oil would help in that regard, too.
He applied more of the herbal-smelling oil to his hands and began working up to her knees and thighs. Her breathing grew shallower as he ignited another fire in her core the closer he came to her pussy. He teased her as his hands moved closer to her mound and then moved away, over and over again.
Please, Sir! Don’t make me wait any longer!
But she remembered her discipline and merely let him continue his torturous ministrations. She closed her eyes and tried to control her breathing. Suddenly, the chair began massaging her scalp. Nothing better than a scalp massage. Between his hands on her legs and the stimulation at the back of her head, she nearly came on the spot.
You don’t have permission to come.
Damián’s words from her training days came back to her. In some ways, she felt like they were starting over. In others, they’d taken an enormous leap forward in their dynamic tonight.
Still, she groaned her frustration as he continued to tease her by slowly massaging oil into her inner thighs, coming ever so close to her almost-bare pussy then retreating again. Suddenly, her arms and calves were being squeezed by the pads of the chair, holding her in place. An image of something she didn’t recognize pulled her out of the scene. Something white and shiny was all she remembered from the flashback. Panic. Her desire to have an orgasm warred with a need to tell Damián she was freaking out.
Instead, she took a deep breath and tried to rationalize her reaction. She’d been in arm restraints plenty of times, all the way back to the beginning of her Top/bottom relationship with Damián. Why were they making her lose it now?
But her breathing became more rapid and shallow as the chair squeezed her arms and legs again. Perspiration broke out on her forehead, causing her to shiver even though she wasn’t cold.
“Savita, are you okay?”
Tell him.
“I’m fine, Sir.”
No! Be honest!
“Where are you?”
“In the club’s great room.” She couldn’t have said where she’d been in that momentary flashback anyway. It had been too quick.
If she used her slowdown word, would that mean he wouldn’t allow her to come? God, I need release. But the third time the massage chair’s pads inflated, she couldn’t stand it anymore. She needed to be released from this chair.
“Guacamole, Sir!” She needed to slow this down.
Damián stood and moved immediately to her side. “What’s going on, bebé?”
“I don’t know, Sir. I was in the zone and loving the massage you were giving me. Then the chair started squeezing my arms and legs, and I saw a flash of white that caused me to break out in a sweat.”
“White?”
“That’s the only thing I saw. Just a bunch of shiny, white something or other.”
He picked up the remote and pushed a couple of buttons. The pressure of the pads on her arms and legs ceased immediately. “Deep breaths.” He took a towel and wiped the sweat from her forehead, staring into her eyes as if assessing her condition. “Better?”
“Much. Thank you, Sir.”
He tucked the towel into the waistband of his leathers and leaned in front of her face so that only she could hear. “Thank you for using your slowdown word, querida. I know that wasn’t easy for you, but I had no way of knowing that the squeezing of your arms and legs would be a trigger until you told me.”
“I didn’t know, either, until it happened.”
“Now that we can both trust each other to be honest, would you like to continue with this scene if I stop the massage chair from squeezing your arms and legs?”
She smiled. “Very much, Sir. That’s when I first became uncomfortable. Until then, I was loving what you were doing.”
“Bueno. But no one said anything about the goal tonight being to make you comfortable, savita.”
Her excitement left her breathless.
“Ready to continue?”
“Yes, Sir.” She beamed at him, happy that he hadn’t taken everything away because she’d used her slowdown word. Once they zeroed in on the element that freaked her out, he just eliminated it from his scene and was ready to move on.
With a devilish grin, Damián pulled out a pocketknife, opened it, and slipped the back side of it against her skin and under the string of her thong—first the left side then the right. So much for the sexy thong she’d bought for him. He yanked the scrap of material between her thighs and tugged the triangle away. The string at the back slid between her ass cheeks, creating yet another layer of sexual arousal. He tossed the thong on the floor.
He walked behind her again and returned carrying a shiny, hot-pink ball about the size of one used in billiards. He playfully tossed it between his hands, coating it with the massage oil as much as teasing her with the possibilities of what he had planned. No way was that going to fit into her vagina, even if she was about to pass a small bowling ball through there come January.
Leaning on the arm of the chair, he bent down and kissed her, slow and deep, as he wedged the ball between the juncture of her thighs and pussy. It fit snuggly, but he pressed it against her clit as if to ensure it was in the perfect spot, then stood up, and walked away.
“Ready to ride, bebé?”
Ride what? The ball? Or the chair?
The back and seat of the chair pulsated to life, now firing on all cylinders. Her eyes rolled back as she gave in to the bombardment of sensations, unable to focus on any particular spot
until the ball started pulsating between her legs, becoming the center of her universe.
“Oh!”
Her tiny bundle of nerves, which had been on the brink of orgasm since the whipping, sent jolts of electricity down her legs, up to her breasts, and all over her body.
Her breaths came out in hissing little pants, much as if she were practicing her Lamaze childbirth breathing. If he’d turned off the machine right now, she’d have come out of the chair, ropes or not, and demanded he finish her off.
As if she wasn’t being stimulated enough, Damián took a bullet vibe and ran it lightly over her left nipple. Overload! By the time he reached the right one, she was a goner.
“Please, Sir, permission to come!”
“Not yet.”
She groaned. Her pussy ached, feeling empty and desperately needing to be filled by his cock. But Damián wouldn’t make love to her with an audience. At least, he’d never done so before. She couldn’t wait to get him home but hoped he’d give her something now. She desperately needed to get off.
Apparently in no hurry whatsoever, he bent down and took her other nipple between his lips. His teeth bit down on it. Hard. She arched her back out of the chair toward him. She couldn’t hold out much longer under this barrage of sensations. Her body began shaking with her effort to stave off the orgasm more than from the pulsing of the chair and vibes. Sweat broke out on her upper lip.
“Come for me the first time, savita.”
Did that mean there would be more? God, I hope so.
He pulled the ball-shaped vibrator off her clit then pressed it against her bundle of nerves again. Back and forth, he played with her as waves of pleasure coursed through her body from her head to her legs. The pressure kept building until she could no longer hold back. Mewling cries of joy and ecstasy filled the room—and probably could be heard down the hallway in the theme rooms, too—but she didn’t care. Wave after wave of euphoria flowed through her. She didn’t want the ride to end, but all too soon, she came back to earth. The vibrating ball was gone and the chair was once again on a gentle setting. She took several breaths as Damián gave her another deep kiss.
“Sir?” she asked when she stopped to breathe.
“¿Sí, querida?”
“I think I know what you can get me for Christmas.”
He chuckled deep in his chest. “I’ll have a talk with Santa about whether you’ve been naughty or nice.”
“I’m going to guess you prefer naughty.”
He chuckled. “You know it.” He stood. “Now, relax for me again, bebé.”
She felt like a wet noodle after her earth-shattering orgasm. How much more relaxed could she be? She hadn’t realized how stressed she was until she’d sunk into this chair.
“We aren’t finished.”
“We aren’t?” The Dom stare he gave her was worthy of the best, and she cast her eyes downward again. “I’m ready, Sir.”
When he went to work removing the ropes from her arms, she wondered what he had in mind next. The chair’s vibrations ceased as he went behind her to ready whatever else he had in mind. She became aware of Ryder and Megan again, having totally shut them out for the last part of that scene. She blocked them from her mind again, not wanting to ruin what had been an incredible scene so far.
What more did Damián have in store for her? She hadn’t heard what he had planned, but so loved when he surprised her. She’d come a long way.
Suddenly, the smell of something burning assaulted her nose. Fireplay? No, she definitely smelled candle wax. Savannah smiled. She’d seen Marc and Angelina playing with wax in the club before, but it would be a first for her and Damián. This should be fun. Unless he’d simply lit candles to set the mood.
But Damián returned carrying two candles—one pink and one black. Two of her favorite colors. Would they sting? Burn? Turn her on? Freak her out—in a bad way? She held her breath in anticipation.
“I want you to hold perfectly still, bebé.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He held the pink candle about fifteen inches above her left ankle and let the first bead descend onto her pale skin. Savannah gasped but maintained her position. While hot upon impact, the heat quickly dissipated as the wax trailed over her ankle until it cooled and set. Not too bad. While she hadn’t been able to gauge the impact of the first drop, now she was ready. He held the other candle about eighteen inches above the same spot. The first droplet of black wax landed beside the pink, directly on her skin. “Oh!” This time she jumped a little but quickly moved back into position. The black was hotter than the pink one and didn’t cool as quickly, either.
Seeing the two colors intermingling around her ankle reminded Savannah of her and Damián coming together, white-hot passion—a little pain mixed with a lot of pleasure. Is that why he chose those colors?
Holding the candles over her other ankle, the black one once again higher than the pink, he tipped them and the wax hit her ankle at almost the same time. He’d definitely been practicing. But then, he’d always been able to hit his marks.
When they splattered against her skin, she moaned, but the pain was less this time. Perhaps she’d mentally prepared herself better for it. Forever wanting to keep her off guard, though, he started flicking the candles at her much like Father Martine might sprinkle holy water, splashing wax onto her feet, ankles, and shins.
“Oh, God!” She jumped, raising her foot several inches into the air, which only brought her leg closer to him at the exact wrong moment. As the next drop of molten black wax dripped onto her skin, she squealed. “Oh dear Lord!” Apparently, he’d positioned the black one higher so that it could cool more before striking her tender skin, but she’d negated the distance by moving.
“Sorry about that, bebé, but hold still. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Remembering to remain focused and in control, she willed herself to stay within the confines of the chair. In rapid succession, he let the black and pink candles alternately drop wax onto one ankle and shin until he’d nearly covered it before alternating between the two candles, each splat dropping to a beat of the throbbing music.
“Sir?”
“Yes, savita?”
“I would love to have a photo of the wax, if that’s okay.”
“Certainly. Let’s wait until it’s finished.”
As he continued to splatter her with the pink and black wax, all thoughts drifted away. Mesmerized, she watched the colors intermingle and become one with her skin. With most of the wax concentrated on her ankles, it felt as if he were fashioning wax cuffs on her. As the wax thickened, her body lightened to where she almost floated away.
Damián stopped abruptly, blew out the candles, and withdrew behind the chair again. Pulled out of her semi-trance, she flexed her feet, but the hard wax wouldn’t allow for much movement. She admired the patterns.
He returned with two white candles in hand. Apparently, her artiste wasn’t finished with her yet. Good. A giggle of anticipation bubbled up inside her. She was enjoying this. So many new ways to play tonight.
The flames on the two candles burned brightly. Would they burn hot like the black one or milder even than the pink? He waited until they’d built up some melted wax near the flames before using movements like someone playing maracas might do.
The white flecks splattered on her shins and over the black and pink ankle “cuffs.” The room began to fade away as more white wax splashed onto her feet this time. Savannah’s heart pounded. She tried to fill her lungs with air. In strobe-like effect, her mind flashed between the droplets of wax and shiny gobs of sticky, wet semen. She swallowed hard to keep the bile down. Just like before when the chair squeezed her arms, all she could see was white, only now she realized it was a dress. Her arms and legs began trembling as more droplets fell on her legs. She could no longer tell if she saw wax or cum at this point. Her grasp on reality loosened, and sweat broke out on her forehead and upper lip.
Her gaze went to the many pairs of legs surr
ounding her. Men in suits. She didn’t remember a time where she’d been with more than two men at once, but there had to be half a dozen here. She refused to glance up at them, but clearly, they were jacking off onto her feet—and the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen.
Oh, God. I’m going to be sick.
Chapter Twelve
Damián grinned seeing and hearing how much Savannah loved the kiss of the wax. This would definitely be something they’d do again, during and after her pregnancy. While he’d had to limit his palette to her lower legs and feet during her pregnancy, one day he’d paint her breasts and belly, too.
Wanting Ryder and Megan to see what he was doing, Damián moved to stand beside Savannah while continuing to flick wax from the white, lowest temperature candles he’d be using tonight. The micro burner’s butane flame on the table behind her burned hot and ready for more, much like he did. His new toy made it easier for him to change colors rapidly without striking matches. He planned on having candle wax flying fast and furious for the next five minutes or so, after seeing how she took so well to wax play.
While the pink and black candles he’d burned earlier symbolized the two of them, these white ones epitomized Savannah’s sweet innocence. He came in closer, knowing these wouldn’t hurt as much as the black one had. He’d underestimated how hot that one would be at first.
Standing at the base of her feet, he dripped the wax onto the makeshift cuffs he’d made around her ankles, smiling. Damián continued to focus on the dripping wax. Savannah’s toes curled away from him. Wanting to see the pleasure on her face, he glanced up but noticed she had a white-knuckled grip on the armrests. Her body was ramrod straight as her gaze remained glued on the dripping wax. The expression on her face was filled with nothing short of horror.
The fuck?
What happened to her giggle just a few minutes ago? He uprighted both candles. Flashback? Had someone tortured her with wax, too? Dios, was anything safe for them to do? Right now, he needed to bring her back. “Savannah, where are you?”
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