WaitingforDessert

by Chastity Vicks

  Besides, Vivienne reflected with a fierce flare of ire boiling within, he wasn’t for them. He was hers. Hers, and no one else’s.

  As she looked at him across the polished pine table and watched the lamplight shade his lean, slightly uneven features, Vivienne was forced to admit just how possessively she wanted to guard him.

  Ash grunted with pleasure at the first mouthful of cheesecake, though his expression as he looked at her—spoon still between his lips, his cheeks slightly pink from the wine—grew boyish with tentative excitement.

  “Really?” he asked, digging his spoon back into the dessert. “You’d want me to come help?”

  Vivienne picked up a strawberry between her finger and thumb, genuinely surprised by his enthusiasm. “Well—”

  “Because I’m more than happy to,” he assured her, a glimmer of enthusiasm building in his eyes as he added, “Miss.”

  Vivienne tried to ignore the pulse of pleasure that word ignited within her.

  “Hm,” she said nonchalantly, rolling the strawberry gently in her grasp.

  “I-I’d like to,” he admitted. “Really.”

  She moved the soft, shiny fruit slowly and watched Ash’s gaze follow it.

  She had never told any of her colleagues she was in a relationship, much less explained the nature of it. Did she really want to start exploring that potential minefield now? Could she? Part of her—the part that took pride in Ash because he was hers and because he was beautiful—was just a little tempted despite her misgivings. Sometimes, after all, she wondered if she so jealously hid him away out of her own uncertainty.

  Would it really be so bad to show him off just once? Would it really be that difficult?

  Vivienne put the strawberry to her closed lips, tracing the fruit around her mouth as she stared at him, watching the way his throat bobbed and his fingers tightened on his spoon.

  She could do it, she supposed. Have him here, let him meet them all and let him help her prepare. Let him be her official “significant other” for the evening…or something. A fleeting and yet thoroughly beautiful vision of her boy in service moved through her mind. Some suitably pretty outfit—maybe that pair of mesh compression shorts that framed his ass so nicely—with a bare chest and bowtie, a plate of canapés balanced in his hands as he moved silently through a room full of guests. They would all look, all admire, but no one would be permitted to touch him.

  No one but her.

  Vivienne’s breath deepened as she pictured the scene and traced the berry down from the fullness of her lower lip to the point of her chin. Its shiny red skin felt so cool against the warmth of her face. She pictured herself sitting in her living room, surrounded by guests as Ash knelt naked at her side.

  They spent evenings in front of the TV that way sometimes. After a post-scene shower, both wrapped in snuggly bathrobes, she’d curl up on the couch and he would sit by her feet. She could play idly with his hair and feel the weight of his head as he rested his cheek against her thigh. He was so happy like that. So content…and so was she.

  All he wanted, she knew, was to please her, because pleasing her—fulfilling that role, finding that soul-deep solace in being the sub she desired—gave him everything he could need. He was hers, and though she could do with him what she pleased, it also behooved her to give him what he needed.

  Vivienne stroked the small, firm strawberry along the underside of her chin, moving the fruit in a slow, purposeful tease down the line of her neck. Slowly, so very slowly, she traced the curve of her throat, watching Ash’s gaze stay latched to her every movement.

  Can you taste it yet, pet? Taste my skin, my scent…taste the sweet fruit as you suck it between your lips?

  Fuck, but she wanted him. Wanted everything.

  Of course, Vivienne thought, correcting the way her mind had wandered, he wasn’t perfect. He could be demanding, prone to second-guessing her and—as was her responsibility to him—she had to check those tendencies.

  Tonight was a perfect example. His willingness to help her, sweet though she considered it to be…was that because he had assumed she meant she would publicize their relationship at the dinner party? Did he want that?

  He knew she needed to be discreet, but was his desire for validation so great that he wanted that badly to be recognized as her partner? An irrational jump of anger surged in her at the thought. That was not his place. He did not get to dictate these things to her. Who the fuck did he think he was?

  Vivienne’s lips twitched and she trailed the strawberry farther down between the twin hollows of her collarbones, onto the slender plane of her chest, shadowed by the thick cotton shawl of her robe. The little berry was warming up, but it was still cool enough to raise a light shiver against her skin. Ash still had his spoon poised halfway to his mouth, the last morsel of cheesecake perched perilously on it as he stared in rapt fascination.

  Abruptly Vivienne snatched the strawberry from between her breasts and popped it into her mouth, crushing its sweetness against her tongue. Ash made a small, soft noise in the back of his throat and blinked rapidly, which made her smile.

  “Finish eating,” she said, glancing down at the five berries she had left in her dish.

  “Yes, Miss.”

  He obeyed, though he glanced up at her curiously as she rose from the table, leaving her crockery where it was and moving with crisp grace across the kitchen to the cupboard in which she stored her clean dishcloths. The little glimmering worm of an idea had lit itself in Vivienne’s mind and, with the warmth of arousal unspooling like sunshine in her stomach, she lacked the patience to go all the way upstairs to her toy box.

  Besides, the best damn thing about pervertibles was the unexpectedness.

  She grabbed a short stack of the cotton cloths—all in various cheerful, kitchen-themed patterns—and took them back to the table, where Ash had finished his cheesecake and was sitting neatly with his hands placed palms flat on the pitted, well-varnished pine. She recognized that tiny, introspective smile playing at the corner of his lips. It was equal parts anticipation and apprehensive excitement, coupled with a happy kind of security. He ached for her to take charge, already teetering at the edge of the precipice from the moment he arrived, just waiting to yield control.

  “Sit up straight,” Vivienne said. She never needed to raise her voice, never needed to bark orders at him. If she had, he wouldn’t have been worth commanding. “Push your chair back five inches, then put your hands behind it.”

  Ash did as he was told, his gaze fixed on the far wall where there hung an Edward Hopper print of a small cottage and lighthouse in Maine, its soft, painterly style soothing against the warm cream paintwork. The chair feet scraped loudly against the dark slate tiles. He extended his arms, reaching around the carved stiles and spindles of the chair’s straight back, pressing his spine close to the wood and crossing his wrists, palms out and fingers relaxed, half-curled.

  His breathing was slow, his posture perfectly erect and the color shading his cheekbones had begun to darken. Vivienne smiled and selected a dishcloth patterned with pink-and-yellow cartoon cupcakes. With swift efficiency, she bent down and looped the cloth around his wrists. There wasn’t enough fabric for a proper binding, but it wouldn’t be for long and she trusted Ash not to struggle.

  She bit her lip as she cinched the dishcloth tight—just tight enough for him to feel the knot but no tighter—and complemented her handiwork with another two ties at his elbows. One cloth had red apples printed on it, the other a selection of oranges, lemons, limes and grapefruits. Vivienne smiled to herself as she surveyed the bindings and their absurd, comical cheerfulness, especially against Ash’s plain gray sweater and jeans. It was silly, but she still liked the way the position threw his shoulders forward, stretching the fabric of his sweater slightly and making his lean frame seem broader.

  Satisfied, Vivienne leaned down to whisper in his ear, knowing from the way his nostrils widened slightly that he could smell her perfume—gardenia, like
she wore every time she was with him because she wanted him to be able to pick her out of a pitch-dark room by scent alone.

  “Your feet will stay flat on the floor,” she whispered. “You will not move. You will not struggle.”

  Ash’s throat bobbed before he answered, his chest moving subtly as he took a deep breath in, shoulders tensing a little as he felt the binds at his elbows and wrists.

  “I will not struggle, Miss. I want this.”

  The words fanned a blaze of desire within Vivienne, all heat and need centered at her core. Wetness slicked her lips, the awareness of her arousal only heightening her anticipation.

  She kept her gaze on Ash as she moved back to her place at the table, hooking one pink-tipped finger over the edge of her dish and dragging it, with the greatest possible noise, the length of the table. Her spoon clanked against the china as it juddered across the well-used surface and she smiled as she watched Ash’s confusion unfold.

  He had no idea what she intended, and yet he consented anyway. He put himself in her hands so freely, so eagerly, and she loved that. His trust was a beautiful, vulnerable thing and, as he sat there in his street clothes, watching her in her white robe and vinyl undies, his face was so open.

  Vivienne set the bowl down in front of him and with her other hand untied the belt of her robe. She kicked off her leather slippers and, in a carefully controlled movement, raised her leg and planted one bare foot in his lap. Her robe fell back around the slender curves of her waist and hips and Ash’s eyes widened reflexively. She smiled, enjoying his attention and the warmth and solidity of the bulge beneath her toes. She rotated her ankle in a small, firm circle, pressing her bare foot against the denim and feeling him respond beneath it.

  “I’m never sure whether you eat well when you’re not here,” she said airily, leaning forward to select a strawberry from the small handful she had left in her dish. “I think I need to make sure you do.”

  “Yes, Miss,” he breathed, those lovely hazel eyes widening even further so it looked as though he was trying to drink in every moment for fear of losing it forever.

  Vivienne held the strawberry between her forefinger and thumb, toying delicately with it as she looked at him. Slowly, she let her free hand skim down from her bra, across her ribs and stomach, until her fingers rested gently on the edge of her vinyl panties. She ran her thumb along the waistband, teasing the fabric before she moved farther down, tracing her fingers along the crease between her thigh and her pussy. Delicately she pulled the panties aside, tugging the narrow, stretchy band of fabric clear of her lips and exposing her neatly trimmed mound.

  Ash gulped audibly, his cheeks burnishing to a deeper blush, and Vivienne cast a desultory glance at his lap, wriggling her toes for emphasis. They were painted the same shade of pink as her fingernails and she clenched them, hard, digging them into his crotch in a sharp—yet not completely cruel—investigation. Ash stifled a gasp, his cock pulsing to the attention, and Vivienne smiled.

  She extended the index finger of her right hand and traced a featherlight line between her lips. It was barely any contact at all but it still made her shudder and her clit beat frantically, screaming to be touched. Her wetness glossed the pad of her fingertip and as she withdrew it her scent threaded through the air.

  Ash’s mouth twitched, the movement an involuntary expression of desire, his face full of hunger as he watched her.

  Slowly Vivienne lowered the strawberry, bringing it to her pussy. He was watching her, watching every tiny movement so intently. That was good. His attention was all hers, just as it should be. He seemed to stop breathing as she carefully spread her pussy lips with the first two fingers of her right hand and traced the small, glossy fruit along the length of her slit.

  Vivienne suppressed a shiver as the strawberry touched her. Its chill and the roughness of every tiny seed that studded the smooth, shiny skin made her want to gasp as it skimmed across her flesh, but she was on a mission. She withdrew the little fruit, her juices slicking its surface, and held it out between her finger and thumb.

  “Open your mouth,” she said, though it was more permission than command.

  Ash clearly wanted nothing more, and his lips parted before she’d finished framing the first word. Vivienne brought the berry to his mouth and watched him inhale, his tongue flexing behind his teeth as he sucked at the air, desperate to take in her scent, her essence, the proof of her arousal.

  Only when I say so, sweetie.

  It made her smile to snatch the treat away, making him bob his head, his jaw wide and desperation staining his face. A whimper broke from his throat and Vivienne clicked her tongue, reminding him to remain in the proper posture as she pressed her toes into the denim-clad bulge of his hardening cock. He obeyed and she rewarded him, placing the juice-stained strawberry on his obedient tongue.

  Ash closed his mouth around a hungry groan, his green-flecked eyes meeting hers as he chewed, savoring her taste. Vivienne reached for another berry, toying with the little red sphere. Ash swallowed, his attention fixed on her, and opened his mouth expectantly.

  Vivienne smirked as she flicked the strawberry with her tongue, then traced it in a line down her stomach, circling and taunting until the firm flesh rested against her slit. Ash was breathing harder and he flexed his shoulders, tugging lightly at the cotton binds.

  “If you move a fucking muscle,” Vivienne said quietly, “this will be the last taste you get of my pussy tonight.”

  He stilled at once, though the tension remained evident in every line of his body. She could feel his cock twitch even through his jeans and she rubbed her toes lazily against it, taking devilish delight in his torment.

  “Yes, Miss,” Ash murmured breathlessly, raising his eyes to hers, his face flushed with pleading. “I’m sorry, Miss.”

  Vivienne adjusted her position, shifting her hips to keep her balance. Watching him squirm was more than worth the slightly awkward way of standing, even if it was a little like being back in ballet class.

  She spread her pussy wider, exposing her slit for him, taunting him with her wetness. He licked his lips, his gaze growing hazy as he hungered with such painful clarity to bury his face in her, to worship her with mouth and tongue and breath.

  Ash was a masterful pussy eater, Vivienne had to admit. He loved pleasing her, loved her using him for her pleasure…loved everything about her transforming his mouth into her own personal fuck toy.

  The mere thought of that made her quiver and she couldn’t resist teasing her clit with the berry, tracing it over and over her slit, pushing it between the tender wings of her labia until the little fruit was soaked with her juices. Ash was virtually trembling by the time she gave him the strawberry, and she could feel her own need building. She was hot, wet and, more than that, she was impatient.

  Arousal was one thing, but what she wanted was something deeper, something harder. It was the desire—not just to fuck, to use him—but to unsheathe the claws she kept inside, to stretch her paws wide and sink those sharp little blades into him. It was the hunger to take and take until he could give her no more, and both of them were spent in the taking.

  She tormented him twice more until the bulge of his cock was pressing at his jeans and he was trying his best not to squirm despite the fact it must have been growing increasingly uncomfortable. She didn’t help, of course. It was her prerogative to tease him with increasing cruelty, massaging his hardness through the rough denim until his thighs twitched with the effort of not moving, not bucking against her toes. Vivienne’s slick pussy pulsed beneath her fingers, every touch an insult when she wanted so much more than this teasing.

  She pulled the last berry from her folds, her scent drifting between the two of them as she pushed it into Ash’s mouth, smearing her fingers across his lips, his chin, his cheek, caressing his face with an open palm as he chewed.

  He gazed at her in rapt adoration and she basked in it, sunning herself in his desire. Lifting her foot from his lap—ignor
ing his soft moan of protest—she lowered her leg and snapped the vinyl panties back into place over her wet, aching cunt. She squeezed his cheeks between her fingers and thumb until his lips pursed and a light dribble of strawberry juice leaked from between them.

  Vivienne leaned in and licked it away, feeling the harsh expulsion of his breath as he struggled to hold still as she had directed. She molded her lips to his, sucking gently on them before she pulled away a fraction, just enough for her words to slice at the sliver of space between them.

  “I’m going to untie you now. You will go upstairs. You may use the bathroom if you need to. I will be up in three minutes and you will be ready for me. I want you ready for the hook. You know how.”

  Ash’s ragged breaths warmed her lips and she felt the resistance of his head as he attempted to nod, failed and settled on a choked murmur.

  “Yes, Miss. Thank you, Miss.”

  His gratitude—his eagerness—sent a fresh spike of pleasure through her and she moved quickly to tug away his binds.

  He almost broke into a jog as he crossed the room, scrambling toward the door as though his life depended on it. Vivienne waited until she heard the heavy tread of his feet upon the stairs before she exhaled.

  Chapter Three

  Vivienne dumped their plates and glasses on the kitchen counter, not bothering to rinse them under the faucet or stack them in the dishwasher. After all, that was the boy’s job when he was here. When she didn’t have other plans for him, naturally.

  She did pause a moment in the kitchen, however, breathing slowly and deeply as she acknowledged the want rising within her. Oh it was there all the time, of course. Not having him there, to reach out and touch when she wanted, to call and spend an unplanned hour with or just to meet for coffee on a whim… It made the time they did have together so much more potent and yet it made it imperfect.