by Grant, Livia
There was a fucking condom on that stool. You saw it.
And all these people were watching.
No. Don’t do that. That’s not what he said.
Violet screwed her nagging thoughts down tight and tried to focus on what she was feeling, like her Dom had told her to do.
There were fingers sliding over her mound. The latex was warming to her skin, and he massaged in slow circles until she felt the rubbery material go smearing against her pussy, her own arousal lubricating the movements.
And then she felt him tug at the zipper pull.
Cool air painted a widening line between her legs as he revealed humid flesh. She’d already been stark naked for the man, but not while bent over. Not splayed like a damn doctor visit. He unzipped the suit all the way to the crack of her ass, and somehow it made her feel more exposed than just standing around with her clothes completely off. All the focus was right there, a spotlight on her humming cunt, saying, ‘Everyone look. Look at this dirty girl right here. Look how wet she is for this stranger.’
At the barest touch of gloved fingers to her exposed flesh, a shudder of breath left her throat.
Forked digits traced the swell of her lips, and Violet tried to keep her knees locked. It was the lightest touch, like the guy made watches in his free time, or repaired the wings on bumblebees, or something. By the time he brought a single fingertip to pet the peaking ruffle of her inner lips, her guts had tensed to the point that a begging whine squeezed out through her teeth.
The fingers burrowed, one-two, her wet center swallowing him up at the barest push.
“Sir!”
It wasn’t a complaint. Violet tried to keep her knees locked, and some clubgoer off to her left called out a low, masculine, “Yeeaah.”
Watching. They’re watching.
He began to explore. To twist the fingers in and out, nitrile gliding smooth along her walls, as though he were prepping her. Stretching her. The medical exam feel of it was off the charts, but as her wrists jerked, involuntary, against the restraint plank, Violet wallowed in what it really was.
This man had her locked into place. He could stuff whatever he wanted into her pussy right now, unless she decided to scream out ‘red.’ His fingers felt way too good for that, though. Violet bit her lower lip and let her spine bow, tilting her hips up, shameless.
He pulled out to rub circles around her clit, and the fucking pillory wouldn’t let her back up onto his hand any further! Even in heels, she stood on tiptoe so she could please—please!—get more of it, but her Dom for the night only gave her just enough to make her strain backwards.
When he lifted his touch away, Violet was panting. The cincher made her feel every breath, and her head turned at the sound of his steps traveling. His footfalls made a complete circle around her, with a slight pause where she remembered the stool standing, off to her left.
Something smooth brushed over her pussy that was not his fingertips. A light touch. Not a heavy object. It gave against her body, rather than the other way around, like a heavy fabric.
Like leather.
There had been a flogger on the stool. The wide falls caressed her bare flesh now, almost as gentle as the first touch of his hand. Violet’s thighs flexed.
Her Dom introduced the leather to first one of her upturned cheeks, and then the other, a casual fwap against muscle, nothing serious yet. Still, her breath came through her mouth.
And then, the first real kiss of the instrument.
He didn’t start with anything vicious. Almost a lazy-feeling stroke to her right cheek. The impact told her this flogger was more ‘thud’ than ‘sting’, though with the latex intervening, her judgment of that second one might be clouded. A matching stroke landed on the opposite side and, from the placement, Violet guessed he had to be standing square behind her.
She exhaled. He kept the falls coming, alternating sides in such a symmetrical way it made her wish she was also in the audience so she could watch his technique. He wasn’t ramping up the intensity yet, but with the steady rhythm, her backside was already warming, even inside the catsuit.
A stroke right up the middle had her sucking in air. It wasn’t real pain, yet, she’d just been falling into the pattern. Relaxing into what he gave her, when—swap!—the falls met her exposed lips.
Now he was warming her there. The slaps kept coming, not too heavy, but one immediately following the last, until her pussy was humming, and her hands balled into fists on the other side of the plank.
Violet somehow both jerked in her restraints and melted at the same time when the leather ceased, and his fingers returned. They dipped and she felt puffy around him. Heated.
“Wet,” he said, and slipped two gloved fingers inside. He explored her with a different kind of stroke, and Violet could feel a thumb and pinky splayed on either side of her ass. She pushed herself against him as much as the pillory allowed, but he took his fingers back anyway.
That slick touch found her clit, instead.
“Nnnh! Sir!”
God they would see a slut, straining backward. Aching for the way he was smearing his fingertips in circles, enflaming her nerves. An eyeless thing; a glossy, woman-shaped sex toy that made so many noises.
Easy. Easy. Doesn’t matter what they see.
The sticky dessert of his touch went away too soon, though. The flogger came back, and it was time to take her medicine again. Mister M was being more serious, now. She didn’t get a sense of a spray of individual falls meeting her ass, anymore—the strokes had become solid, singular impacts, back to back to back, and they were starting to make her skin smart.
And during a normal flogging? With a bare ass in the air? The cheeks could rest and cool between impact. Not under latex. Oh, no. The material clung and shifted over heating skin, a constant reminder of the way he was lighting her up like a Christmas tree.
Except the one part of her that wasn’t under latex, just now.
One of the new, firmer strokes snapped straight over her mound, and Violet yipped in surprise. Another one came, and another, and she found she could absolutely stand on her toes, even in spike heels. Just when she started to squirm under the blows, his fingers took over again.
Her breath could not keep up with what he was doing. Fingertips curved toward the floor and began to plunge in and out, a thumb to circle with no mercy at her clit. Another hand palmed one of her buzzing cheeks to keep her spread, and the back of Violet’s head rocked from side to side, blind against the restraint plank while he worked her.
A stranger’s voice hooted from off to the left, and her Dom wouldn’t be able to know her whimper was both for what he was doing, and for the bitter zing of fear wiggling down her back.
It felt so good. So good, but oh God, these people. They were all around. Fucking watching. Sneering, probably, at how pathetic she was. Just whoring herself for some strange man while h—
“Fuck!”
Falls replaced fingers, the strongest blow yet, right across her singing cunt. It was enough, for a moment, to snap her out of her bullshit. All that was Brian in her head, and he wasn’t here. It was Mister M laying the leather down on her ass, now. Mister M making her grind her teeth, because he’d stopped playing and started making her jump.
Now, she was letting out an audible grunt with every stroke. He was not even fucking kidding, and Violet’s fingers alternated splaying and making fists. Her knees worked at staying locked while the rhythm slowed, and each pass of the flogger became more intense. By the time he switched to fingers again, a ragged cry left her throat.
He said something back there, but it was too low with the noise from the club and the latex to understand more than a murmur. How many now? Two? Three fingers worked her, and Violet’s moan was for too many things.
His knuckles ground against swollen lips, and her entire ass was humming from the flogger, but there were voices—not his—approaching the stage. He crooked those fingers inside her, and Violet wanted to stamp a foot.
Male laughter—not his—bubbling up from nearby.
Watching you. No. No!
Her Dom’s palm on her tailbone, holding her in place, while his other hand made her toes curl.
“Sir! Please!”
Footsteps—not his—mounting the stage. A new pair of voices bouncing above her.
Violet whipped her head back and forth, blind and scrambling.
No.
Where were they? Coming up here?
He filled her pussy with fingers, and it felt like another restraint.
Another trap.
Footsteps. Voices.
Not again! No!
“Yellow, Sir.”
It came out such a pitiful, low whine.
“Mm?” Fingers churned between her legs.
“Yellow, fucking YELLOW!”
Chapter 4
Violet
She was panting when the words burst out of her, full volume, in a panic at not being heard. Her body clamped down, ready to buck off his touch, but now there was nothing there.
“Is everything alright, Miss Payne?” His voice was near her head, now, as though he bent down.
“I said I didn’t want to be fucking shared!”
Violet yanked her wrists against the plank, tears welling hot against the back of the blindfold.
Just safe word. You’re a mess. You can’t handle this.
She bit into her lower lip, regret for the scene she was making instant.
Metal clattered in a growing bubble of quiet, and there was nothing pressing into the back of her skull, either. A hand was holding hers, lifting. Guiding her to stand. Fingers moved quick at her temple, picking apart a buckle, peeling back latex.
Violet cringed and blinked into the bright lights above the pillory, unsteady on her feet as Mister M came into view.
“Have a seat, Miss Payne.”
She scanned the jumble of people and lights, her world nearly upside down as he guided her to sit on the stool. Her entire outfit creaked on the way down, and the man came down with her to take a knee. Just to the side of the platform, Garreth hovered, eyes hard on her and her Dom.
The fuck is happening?
Her knees came together, ankles wide apart, arms crossing over her chest to hug herself. She turned the heat of her face from the watching club members. Mister M touched fingertips to the top of her foot, just where the latex ended and skin peeked out.
“Miss Payne, why do you believe I intended to share you?” His voice was oh-so-calm and rational. Violet wanted to kick him.
“I heard footsteps.” She frowned, hating the way her eyes stung. “On the stage. They were right on top of us.”
His brow furrowed, assimilating information. “Do you see that couple over there?” The Dom angled his head rather than point, and Violet followed his line of sight. There was a man and a collared woman in close conversation near the stage, her eyes down and his fingers tracing out a line on her collarbone.
Violet nodded, blinking wetness she didn’t want to swipe away with a hand and get mascara everywhere. She inhaled, working to slow her heart, just sitting on the dumb stool with her pussy weirdly out while she tried not to melt down in front of her Dom.
“They stepped up past us,” he said, way too reasonable, “to get something from the lube table, and then they left.”
God, I’m so stupid.
She was going to start crying all over again. Fuck.
“Do you think I would ask anyone to share you,” he went on, trying to duck his head to meet her lowered eyes, “when you just got done telling me you didn’t like that?”
Violet floundered. Yes. Yes, she had thought that. Brian would have fucking done it. He’d pulled a blindfold off her one time only for her to find a cock—not his—in a jacking fist inches from her face, and seconds later a stranger’s cum was splattering her shocked open mouth.
It had been their biggest blowout, and he’d acted like she was being so dramatic to have reacted in any way other than arousal.
And this was why she couldn’t trust herself. She hadn’t chosen wisely with Brian; who was to say she’d be more perceptive with her next choice? Everyone had the potential to be a self-centered douchebag.
She sniffled and wished there were tissues nearby. Mister M knelt there, green eyes sincere and waiting.
He’s not like Brian. Not at all.
The man reached up to tug her wrist out of her armpit. He took her hand, gloved thumb pressed gently just above her bare knuckles, fingertips nested in her palm. It was too much. Over the top. Kierra had acted like this guy was a psycho, but so far he was the only one behaving like he gave a shit. Like he wanted to examine every single part of her with the utmost care and make sure each was polished to a shine and working in fluid motion with all the others, zero friction if he could help it.
“Do you want to stop?” he asked. “Altogether?”
His voice was quiet, but it parted the noise of the club like a blade through damp sand. His focus separated her from everything that tried to crowd. To oppress. Her shoulders fell as just the hold of his hand and his patient eyes sheared away tension.
“No, Sir.”
A squeeze of thumb and fingers came with a small nod. “Okay,” he said. “And how were you with the flogger? Was that a yellow, as well?”
Violet’s cheeks flushed. He’d had her so close until those people had walked by and her paranoia had exploded.
“That was… that was bright green. Sir.”
Her Dom rewarded her with his first full smile, and she felt her knees begin to fall apart. “I’ve never flogged anyone in latex before,” he said, stroking his other hand up the back of her calf. “I have no idea how red your ass is getting.”
The laugh he pulled out of her was weak, but recovering. Her backside definitely felt pink.
“Would you like to get back in this pillory and bend over for me again?”
Heat flared where the catsuit gaped open between her thighs. This was the same voice in which he’d declared her ‘wet.’ Asked her if she was afraid of the dark. His Dom voice was smooth and dark as limo glass. Her response fluttered like her pulse.
“Yes, Sir.”
His hold on her hand tightened. “Good.” The man lifted her wrist like he might kiss it, but stopped just short of contact to inhale, a long drag as though she were perfume, and then rose to his feet. She stood with him and, from the corner of her eye, saw Garreth backing off.
Again, Mister M guided her into the restraint of the wood. Latched it back in place. Again, an eye of latex framed her naked pussy for an audience, but this time the worry about it didn’t hang from her like a weight.
He wasn’t going to do that to her. It was just them, dancing this dance under a little spotlight. All the others were so many swirling leaves, like the parts of her tattoo that swept down her belly. They were present, but no longer a part of what was important.
Her Dom came to stand near her face. “No blindfold this time,” he said, running a knuckle down the latex bridge of her nose.
“I’m okay, Sir,” she said to his belt buckle. “I just panicked that first time.”
“Well I’m going to be the judge of what you can handle right now,” he said, “and I’d rather not risk it. We’re going to do something else.”
Why did words as vague as ‘something else’ make her nipples tighten?
He stepped to the left for a few seconds, and then his black slacks came back into view. Leather and metal dangled from one hand.
“Have you worn a gag before, Miss Payne?”
Could the people watching see her getting wet? Violet swallowed. “Yes, but …”
“But?”
“Only a ball gag, Sir.”
“Is there a problem with a ring, Miss Payne?” He ran the bit through his fingers. She knew what ring gags were for, and it made her want to press her thighs together.
“No, Sir.”
“Good,” he said. “Open.”
Vi
olet obeyed, and he stepped close to pry her jaw wide and to fit the circle of stainless steel behind her teeth. She could feel the heat of him, standing near as he worked the buckle at the nape of her neck. The latex squeaked in little creases where he snugged the strap of leather down.
“Do you know why I’ve chosen a ring and not a ball?” he asked.
Was this a trick question? She shook her head and made an ‘uh-uh’ noise like she was at the fucking dentist’s now. Her Dom squatted on his heels again to lift her chin with his touch and take hold of her eyes.
“Because I’m not trying to prevent you from making noise, Miss Payne.” Holy hell, she was ready to let him do whatever the fuck he wanted. Look at those eyes. So goddamn serious.
“You can make any noise you need,” he went on. “What I’m trying to prevent”—he took a firm hold of her chin—“is you having any control over what goes into and out of your mouth.” His grip shifted and two fingers pushed back with nothing to stop them over her lower lip, and then to flatten her tongue. “That’s for me.”
His fingers slipped all the way back, and she felt saliva pool down behind her lower teeth. Was it too soon to beg for his dick?
But now there was nothing in her wide-open mouth, and the man was bringing something into her line of sight with his other hand. “Do you know what this is?”
Violet got an eyeful of the palm-sized red foam ball. She nodded.
He stuffed it into her left hand and closed her fingers around it. “Hang onto it,” he said. “Tight. If you get to ‘red’ or ‘yellow’—or yellow, do you hear me?—let go. I’ll be right here to ungag you, and you tell me what’s going on. Yes?”
He hovered there, waiting.
Violet nodded, her ‘yes’ a weird drunken sound with the gag in place.
Mister M leaned close and traced the side of her hooded face with a thumb.
“Good girl.”
