by Tia Lewis
“I’m gonna come, baby.” He thrust once, twice, then grunted and strained as his warm come flooded my mouth and throat. His come went straight down my throat, and I swallowed it back. Just a little escaped the corner of my mouth, and I slurped it up after he withdrew. One more swallow and it was all down.
It felt powerful, I realized. Yes, he’d used me, but I’d wanted to be used. I’d wanted him to take his pleasure from me. And I got pleasure from it—granted, I was still aching and burning to come, but there was a deeper mental pleasure at stake. I felt like there was so much to learn, and he was my teacher.
“Get out of that dress,” he ordered. I slid out of it as carefully as I could seeing as how we were still in a moving limo, but he helped me. I laid it on an empty seat, careful not to wrinkle it.
“Bring me that pussy,” he grunted, taking me by the hips and practically throwing me to the long back seat. He threw my legs over his head and yanked the crotch of my panties to the side. “You’re soaked,” he murmured with a smile. “Do you like sucking my cock, baby? Do you like it when I fuck your mouth like a slut?”
“Yes, sir,” I sighed, and was rewarded with the feeling of two of Preston’s fingers slamming into my hot, dripping pussy. He didn’t waste time, pumping in and out in rapid rhythm. My body arched, my hips working as he fucked me.
“Who do you come for?” he grunted. “Who makes you come?”
“You do, sir.” I moaned, eyes closed, as my orgasm approached.
“And who tells you when to come?”
“You do, sir.” But I was so close, so close. I lingered at the edge, waiting to plunge off the cliff and fly when he gave the word.
His tongue darted along my pussy, finally reaching my clit. Ecstatic bursts of pleasure raced through me, lighting me from the inside out. I held my legs apart, giving him access to all of me.
“Show me what’s mine, baby,” he muttered nastily. “I rule this pussy, and I tell you when you’re allowed to let go.” A third finger joined the other two, stretching me out. The feeling of fullness was too much. I felt myself getting close to the edge as he punished me, slamming his fingers into my tender flesh.
“Are you ready?” he whispered.
“Yes… yes!”
“Good girl. You can come now.”
I threw my head back, letting out a low moan as I allowed myself to release all the pent-up tension. It was bliss. My legs shook, my pussy quivered and clenched around Preston’s fingers. Finally, everything eased, and Preston’s fingers slid from me.
“Lick them,” he muttered, holding them to my lips. I opened my mouth, letting my tongue touch my juices. It wasn’t bad—I wouldn’t actively try to taste myself again, but it felt raw. Wrong. Nasty. Dirty. And I loved it.
“Suck your come,” He surprised me by bending to lick my clit again, driving me to the peak quickly since I’d hardly come down. I sucked his fingers like I’d sucked his cock, groaning, whimpering, until I came again in a shuddering, shivering wave.
“Good girl,” He slid his fingers from my mouth, kissing my pussy lips before sitting up. I sat up, too, trying to get a hold of myself. My head spun from that sudden, unexpected pleasure.
“You should fix your lipstick,” he murmured as I slid the dress over my head again. I did as he suggested before accepting a glass of champagne—it would help get the taste of his come out of my mouth. Not that I minded it, but it was strange. There was a lot I would have to get used to including drinking alcohol for the first time.
“Are you ready for a night you’ll never forget?” he asked with a wink. He looked so handsome in his tuxedo, so put together and in command of himself. And of me.
I grinned. “I’m up for anything.” We touched our glasses together before drinking deeply of the sweet, bubbly liquid.
Chapter 22
I was not up for anything. It didn’t take long for me to realize I’d been playing in the kiddie leagues up to that point. I had no idea until we walked into the party just how seriously some people took their kink.
When we entered the mansion, sitting on top of a hill thirty minutes outside the city, I did everything I could to keep my mouth from dropping open in surprise. Preston walked around like he was accustomed to the grandeur—the high ceilings, marble floors, iron chandeliers, wood paneled walls with glittering sconces lighting our way as we walked. I wondered how many times he’d been to parties there. Or was he just that confident all the time?
“What is this place?” I asked. My mask was firmly in place, as was his.
“Questions…” he warned. “Remember: I wouldn’t bring you to a place where anything bad would happen to you. Just keep your eyes open. Enjoy what you see. And if you would like to participate, just let me know.”
Participate? In what?
I got my answer when we reached one large room which I guessed would be a library in its intended use. That night, at that moment, it played host to an orgy.
I stopped short when we walked in, stumbling a little. I didn’t know where to look. Everywhere my eyes fell, I caught sight of a sex act. It was like being inside a real, live porn video. There were partygoers dressed in formal clothing, the way we were. Others wore rubber, leather, latex—just the way I’d seen in my online research. For one absurd moment, I almost apologized and fled, sure we’d walked in on something we weren’t supposed to see.
“The entertainment,” Preston murmured in my ear, referring to those wearing what I could only think of as costumes. I tried to take it all in—a woman on a table, tied at the ankles and wrists, writhing as a man in black leather pants flogged her. I watched as red marks appeared in the wake of his leather flogger.
Not far from there, a man licked the thigh-high vinyl boots of a woman who wore nothing else. In one corner, a woman bent over a bench, submitting to spanking with a paddle. Her naked ass cheeks were tomato red. Her eyes were closed, and it was clear she was lost in total bliss. I felt like I was witnessing something very intimate, yet the faces of the others in the room—at least, the bits of their faces I could see beyond their masks—showed little surprise.
And they were the entertainment. Where did they come from? Were they paid to entertain the actual partygoers? I noticed in one other corner of the room a couple in formal dress who’d started making out, so worked up they couldn’t help themselves. So that was what he meant by participating? In front of everybody else? The thought made me a little sick.
Was this a normal thing? Did this happen all the time? I wondered if I should feel excited by what I saw. I didn’t. I felt surprised, stunned, way out of my depth.
And that was just the beginning.
We kept walking, Preston leading the way. The next room, a dining room judging by the long table, was lined with naked women whose wrists were tied to heavy, high-backed chairs sitting behind them. Men, both naked and fully dressed in all sorts of costumes, did things to them. The women writhed as the men licked their pussies, fucked them, fingered them. It was all rough, unforgiving. The women’s faces bore looks bordering pain and pleasure. Meanwhile, more couples watched. And not just couples—there were plenty of people standing alone. Some drank champagne while they watched the women on the tables take their punishment.
We moved on, my heart thumping like a drum. How often did Preston visit these parties? Did he participate? Did he expect me to participate in the BDSM aspects? He did mention that I could join in if I felt like it.
In the next room, a group of spectators watched as a man shackled to a wall was whipped. His back was to the wall, and it was clear from the size of his erection that he enjoyed the feeling of a long, leather whip stroking across his chest and abs. The whip cracked, and I flinched involuntarily. He cried out—I thought in pain, and maybe it was pain, but his cock twitched and oozed pre-cum. He loved it. I couldn’t stomach the sight of the welts on his skin.
I watched the woman with the whip, wondering how long a person had to practice to get so good with a whip. One false move an
d she would lay the leather across the shackled man’s dick or balls. She wore an outfit consisting of vinyl straps. That was it. There were just strips of vinyl covering bits of her, and not even the important bits. I could see her heavy breasts, perky for all their weight, her shaved mound, everything. I kept telling myself not to avert my eyes, since it made me look like a novice, but I couldn’t get comfortable with seeing so much nudity.
The thing that really got me was the way people watched. They didn’t do anything else but sit and observe someone being put through pain and pleasure. I wondered what they got out of it. I felt dirty, and not in a good way.
Moans of pleasure filled my ears as we entered another, darker room. Once my eyes adjusted, I realized I was looking at a woman on her knees, servicing five men at once. They mocked her, pulled her hair, smacked her boobs around so hard I winced for her. Tears rolled down her cheeks, yet she sucked one cock while stroking another two. Meanwhile, the man she straddled fucked her from below while another man crouched behind her and took her up the ass. They used her hard, riding her like animals, grunting and cursing as they thrust.
She started moaning in pleasure, and the men encouraged her to come like the slut she was. And she did, even as the man in front of her fucked her mouth so hard she gagged on it. I remembered Preston referring to me as a slut in the limo, but he hadn’t made me feel like trash. The men even spit on her, I realized, spanking her so hard the sound cracked through the room. Finally, the three who were fucking her came on her face, in her hair. And she beamed through the entire experience.
“She loves it,” I whispered, more out of disbelief than anything else.
“Of course she does. That’s why she’s doing it. It’s a scene—they’ve all decided in advance who will participate and what they’ll do.”
“So she knew what she was getting into before she did it?” I asked softly.
“Of course. She’s in control.”
I couldn’t understand it. To each their own, but I couldn’t see going that far.
And that was all I saw as we went from room to room. Sex in all forms, with all combinations of participants. My head spun, my heart raced. But it wasn’t arousal that made me react that way. It was anxiety. Was this what Preston wanted from me? To be his come slut in some fantasy scene, while dozens of people watched?
I got my answer moments later. “So, what do you think?”
“About what?” I whispered.
“About joining in.” He turned to me with a smile. “You don’t have to do any group work, of course. But this body shouldn’t be hidden from view.” He ran his hands over my curves in a proprietary way, like they were there for his pleasure, to use whenever he wanted them. Up to that moment, they had been. I’d dropped my dress the moment I got into the limo, for God’s sake. But watching what he was really into made me see him through different eyes. To say I was disenchanted would be an understatement.
“I thought I was the one who was supposed to be in control here,” I murmured, looking back and forth to make sure we weren’t overheard.
“You are. So it’s your choice. I’m just giving you the freedom to explore your fantasies.”
I looked around again. A woman walked through with her wrists shackled to a bar stretched across the back of her shoulders. A ball gag stuck out of her mouth. A man crawled by on his hands and knees, a collar around his neck. A woman held a leash attached to it. I looked away. It was all too much.
“I don’t think my fantasies include any of this,” I whispered.
I didn’t want to disappoint Preston, but I couldn’t see myself participating in anything I’d seen. Especially not in public. Doing it out in the open or in the back of the limo was about as spicy as I could see myself getting. With other people watching? No way.
Preston’s mouth settled in a firm line. “I misjudged you,” he murmured.
“I don’t want you to be disappointed,” I whispered, desperate to please him.
“I’m not. Not in you, anyway.” He took my arm. “Come on. Let’s see if there’s anything that appeals to you.” I wanted to tell him to stop wasting his time. Nothing, absolutely nothing, about where we were or what we were watching appealed to me. I wondered who owned the mansion. For all I knew, it could’ve been Preston himself. He wouldn’t tell me, at any rate. I wasn’t supposed to ask questions.
Room after room, and it was all the same. Humiliation, submission, dominance. Sex, sex, sex in all positions, all combinations of participants. And it made me feel sick to my stomach. I wondered who the people in the masks were. As the night went on, more and more of them joined in. I saw women in evening gowns in the center of gangbangs. I watched pairs and threesomes fucking with wild abandon in corners, on couches and chairs. It became one massive orgy, with me at the center of it. And it didn’t strike me as the least bit sexy.
What really made me wonder was the masks. If everybody was okay with what they were doing, why wear masks? I never saw the full face of a single partygoer.
I was in too deep, I realized with a shiver.
There I was, thinking Preston would never want to take things any further than we already had. I thought it was all fun and games. He’d tell me when to come and I’d come and we’d cuddle. He’d make me say yes and no, sir. I’d do things to please him, and my pleasure would be the result.
That wasn’t enough for him. He liked it dark. Even potentially dangerous, I realized, as one woman stood in the center of a room with her hands suspended above her and a knife to her throat while the man holding the knife took her from behind. One false move from either of them could end in tragedy. I understood on some level that the act represented the ultimate in trust, but all I could see was a bloodbath waiting to happen.
I didn’t want any part of it. I hated to even think thoughts like that, but it was true. I had no desire to be there, much less involved. And Preston thought I might want to join in somehow? Did he know me at all? I was beginning to think the answer to that question was no. He didn’t.
It was the longest night of my life, and the least sexy since Preston and I first started our physical relationship. It had started off so well, too. As long as it was just the two of us, things were great. I wanted to keep it that way. He didn’t. I could tell—he tried to hide his disappointment, but it radiated off of him like the scent of his cologne. He wanted me to do those things, to let people watch as he made me submit to him. I couldn’t see myself ever getting comfortable enough with our power exchange to allow something like that to happen.
I’d never understood until then how serious the world of BDSM was, either. The image of the man with the knife burned into my brain. That was no joke. Being led around in public on a leash, being whipped until welts and thin lines of blood appeared, spanking until a woman’s ass was bruised. That was way beyond where I wanted to go.
By one o’clock, Preston was clearly bored. Probably because I didn’t want to let him play with me in front of people. What did he really think of me? What did he really want? I asked myself these questions as we left the party, as we sat in silence while Frank drove us back to my house. I sat in the corner of the back seat of the limo, trying not to remember the nasty fun we’d had earlier in the night. Things couldn’t have been any more the opposite.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered when we turned onto my block.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” His voice was tight, cold.
“I feel as though I do.”
“How many times do I have to say it?” He sounded bored. I couldn’t understand him at all. I was beginning to wonder if it wouldn’t be better for him to find a woman more suited to his tastes. As much as I cared for him—and I really did, more than I ever had for anyone else—it was starting to become clear that I couldn’t meet his desires. I had limits, and what I’d seen went way beyond them.
“Thank you for the dress,” I whispered. “And the shoes.” When all he did was nod, I got out of the limo and fled up the steps, into th
e house. The limo pulled away moments later. I watched, heart in my throat, as he rode away.
Would I ever see Preston again?
The walk upstairs was a long one, my shoes in my hands. No sense in wearing them anymore. I slid the dress over my body after locking the door, letting it drop to the floor and stepping out of the puddle of satin.
I needed a shower and risked taking one while my parents were asleep. If they woke to the sound of the water, they might wonder. I would tell them I had trouble sleeping. That wouldn’t be a total lie. I balled up the dress with the shoes and mask, tucking them into the back of the closet before leaving the room.
Images of what I’d seen at the mansion flashed before my eyes as I washed up. It was the sort of thing a girl didn’t forget. I felt like I’d jumped into the deep end of the pool before I was ready. Hell, I might never be ready for the sorts of things I’d seen and heard and tried to avoid watching. I hoped I was never that desensitized.
For a while there, I’d tried to tell myself that the world of BDSM was where I wanted to be if that was where Preston wanted to be. I was starting to see the error of my ways, to put it mildly. As long as things were fairly vanilla, which they were when compared to what I’d seen earlier, it was fine. But Preston wouldn’t be happy to stay the course. I could tell. He’d walked into the party hoping I’d be turned on, eager as ever. He’d misjudged me, just like he said.
Maybe I’d misjudged myself, too.
I went to bed wondering where the night left me. Would he still want to be with me after that? Would he drop me as a lover, but keep me on with The Alliance? Would he cut ties with me altogether? And how did I feel about that? School was coming up, after all. But I hadn’t planned on leaving The Alliance if I could help it. There was no reason why I couldn’t keep hacking even at Harvard, as long as I covered my trail. Right?
