by Christa Wick
"Lean back," he rasps, "and let me show you."
I obey. My head rolls toward the mattress and my eyes close even though I’m equally possessed with the need to look at him.
Luke starts with kisses to each knee. From there, he picks a favorite, my right, and slow marches with gentle bites and sucking toward my panties and the wet pussy hiding behind the black lace.
I can't restrain the wiggles and squirms building in my ass and hips. My bottom lifts, offering him my fleshy mound and thick thighs.
Framing my pussy with both hands, Luke sneaks his thumbs beneath the bottom panel of the underwear. Their first stop is my wet center. He slides one in then the second thick digit joins the first. His process is slow, simple and effective. Push in, pull out, press repeat until I groan and drip. From there, he wicks up the thick cream and spreads it along the length of my clit, lubricating his persistent rub of that swollen spine and its sensitive pearl.
With my head still rolling back, it takes more energy to keep my eyes shut than to let them fall open. When I do, my upside down gaze lands on the nightstand. I remember the objects he pulled from the drawer my first night in the room. A flogger, a long leather crop, and the big latex toy with its three balls of increasing size from tip to base.
"Love?"
I lift my head, meet his gaze.
"Marie, you're shaking, but it's the wrong kind of shaking."
He's right. My thoughts derailed. I’m afraid to be happy, afraid nothing will last because nothing good in my life lasts without getting damaged or destroyed.
"You have certain…tastes…" I begin. "What if…"
I can't bring myself to consider the possibilities.
"What if you don't share my tastes?" he asks.
I nod, the gesture reluctant.
His gaze moves over my body. Lust glazes the dark brown eyes and olive-gold skin.
"Baby, all you have to know is that I have a taste for you, for this sweet pussy. Everything we’ll do together will be to bring us both enjoyment. Nothing else."
Despite everything he’s said tonight, I'm still afraid this will end with my heart broken.
"I need to know," I say, unwilling to clarify what it is I need to know. If I can handle his desires, I guess. And, if I can't, will it be the wedge that separates us.
Luke closes his eyes, but I know by the subtle flexing of the muscles in his face that he’s fighting with himself. After maybe a minute of this internal struggle, his features grow still and he pulls away.
He flicks a finger at the bathroom door.
"Shower. Pussy shaved."
I swallow hard but nod.
"There's lotion, a lavender bottle, that'll soothe your skin. Then I want you to go to the room at the other end of the penthouse. The one with the double doors. The security cameras will be off throughout the penthouse. I want you to come to me naked, but with the heels on."
"Yes," I agree.
He captures my face, kisses me first on the forehead then softly glosses his lips across mine.
Half a minute later, I’m alone and staring at the bathroom door.
23
Marie
The double doors are closed. I knock once with a double tap, then I clasp my hands in front of my bald pussy, drop my chin and stare at the floor.
Luke's footsteps sound from within the room. The doors open, the swiftness with which he pulls them inward causing a breeze to play against my back.
"Fuck, Marie—" He draws a sharp breath in.
His words make me want to run, but his tone is pure appreciation.
Moving behind me, Luke guides me into the room.
"Look around."
The second I obey, my breathing gets weird. Pre-panic. I have no doubt what kind of room this is. The sole purpose of the space is pleasure. Mirrors cover every surface, even the floor.
It's a plus size girl's nightmare.
At least, it would have been my nightmare a week ago. Now, instead of screaming in horror and fleeing as quickly as my thick thighs will carry me, I grow wetter, burn hotter.
Luke walks me to the center of the room then stands behind me. In the mirror, our gazes meet. His eyes hold a question I don't want him to ask.
"Love, you lied about the number of lovers you had. You've only had me. Now you want to go from zero to a hundred miles an hour."
Luke's gaze sweeps the room and then he shakes his head. "Two-hundred miles an hour."
"You know what's worse than going from zero to two hundred?" I ask.
When his brows crinkle, I answer.
"Going from two hundred to zero in the blink of an eye."
Acquiescing, Luke closes his hand around my wrist and lifts it to where cuffs hang from the ceiling. He secures the wrist then moves to the next. Then he picks up a bar that seems to telescope and lock. My knees turn to jelly and, for a second or two, only the cuffs keep me upright.
"You need to pick a word, love. One you won't forget, one that means you need me to stop. It's the only word I'll obey."
I think on the task as Luke secures the bar to my ankles.
That the word is supposed to keep me safe doesn't matter. I don't want to surrender to my fears. I want to know and be known by Luke as intimately as possible.
"Queenie," I say as he rises to his full height and nails me with that nearly black gaze of his. "That’s my word."
His brows furrow for a second. "Are you sure, love? You don't have to do any of this."
"Queenie," I repeat resolutely, afraid that if I say more I will retreat.
Luke nods, moves across to the dresser against one wall. He returns with a strip of black silk and a set of headphones. Seeing the headphones, I guess that the silk is intended to serve as a blindfold.
Immobilization. Sensory deprivation except for what I can feel, smell and taste.
Accepting his conditions, I lift my chin. Luke puts the blindfold on, then the headphones. I see nothing, hear nothing. He isn’t touching me anymore and his body has moved too far away for me to feel its heat.
Then I feel him in a rush, his beard brushing softly against my stomach as his hands seize my hips. My throat constricts with a short cry I can only hear within my head.
From Luke, there’s only silence, silence and touch, the tickle of his beard, his hands moving over me. His head dips, his nose and mouth landing halfway down my thigh. Keeping contact with my flesh, they move up toward my bald and unclothed pussy.
He touch me there, not with lips or nose. His hands take rough hold of my fleshy mound with its plump outer labia that hide the delicate inner folds. He squeezes, pushes, pulls, kneading me while I cook from the inside out.
I struggle against the bar and the cuffs. I know his thumbs are near my wet hole, know from the way his breath falls hot and hard that his mouth is not far from my clit. I want him thumbing me to a hard climax while he sucks and swallows the spine of my sex.
A dirty word leaves my mouth, a filthy one follows.
Only then does Luke begin to suckle. Fingers sluice into me. He says something, but I can only feel the vibrations against my flesh, the pattern words and not groans.
It doesn't take long for me to climax this first time. I soak his fingers, soak his face. I jerk like a marionette staked to the ground. Luke keeps sucking and thrusting.
Feeling the soft tissue inside me swelling, I moan at the pressure. I lift onto my tiptoes, my mound straining forward with the need to come again.
His tongue dances against the slow rocking waves of my body. My thighs flex, my mound pushes forward. Small tremors wrack my torso. Fluid seeps from me to run warmly down my thighs.
Bound, I can still ride his face and thick fingers. So much fills me. Four fingers, buried to the bottom knuckle. His thumb takes over for his tongue. With guttural cries leaving me, I rock toe-to-heel-to-toe until I’m coming and collapsing at the same time.
The bar is removed, then the cuffs. Luke flings me over his shoulder, his palm smacking hard against m
y ass before bracing me.
He carries me toward a corner. I can't sense which one, so I try to remember what each corner held. One was a pegged stand with objects hanging from it. Paddles, suede tails, clever cup holders that had a plethora of latex shapes peeking above their rims.
One corner was empty and the other—
I take a rough swallow. Near the other corner is a chair that isn't a chair, at least not in this century. Maybe three hundred years ago positioned next to an Iron Maiden or a hundred years in the future when the world only fucks for pleasure and not for procreation.
I had less than minute to study the chair while Luke retrieved the blindfold and headset. But I remember a center beam rising up from a large metal base. From that beam, two more bars spread out to end in thick pads. These pads would be where my knees go. Higher up on the other side are two more padded bars, perhaps to rest my arms and upper body weight. At the base, I remember foot controls.
Luke guides me onto the chair/not chair. The piece of furniture forces my legs apart, keeps my ass held high. My back is exposed and my breasts hang unencumbered. No chairback or seat exists to block Luke, leaving all my holes—mouth, ass, and pussy—available to him.
It’s a chair meant for flogging, sucking and fucking.
Contractions from my earlier climax continue to ripple through my pussy. The chair forces my body into a position that magnifies those ripples. My hips and ass perform a little dance of need.
Still blind and deaf, my other senses tell me that Luke is not near. A minute or more passes and then I feel the handle of the suede tails against the small of my back. The leather strips flow down my bottom, their soft ends tickling my swollen flesh.
I sense Luke bend, as if placing something on the floor.
Pussy flexing, I moan. He lifts the flogger from my back then his hand grips me. His thumb presses against my anus. He squeezes then rubs, ripping a heavier moan from my throat. Thumb still tight against that other hole, his fingers invade my pussy.
When his thumb stops pressing at my ass, I know the tails of the flogger are only seconds from landing against my back. I feel a rush of air and then a dozen stinging tips.
My pussy locks around his thrusting fingers and I feel the tails again. I wiggle my ass, aching for the insertion of his thumb.
He doesn't give it to me. Another whoosh of the tails and my skin begins to heat in earnest. My head dips lower to rest against my arms. A light perspiration coats my skin from the sensual torment and strain of holding the position.
With my head down, my ass pushes higher.
Luke steps back, his fingers withdrawing from my pussy before a flurry of strokes pattern across the back of my thighs and my thick bottom. When they stop, his fingers stroke a repeating line from clit to cunt. Against my anus, I feel not a thumb but his tongue.
A tremor rolls through me. I need this badly—not just the flogging and the fucking of his fingers deep into me, but the placement of his mouth at this exact second. I cannot imagine doing that to a lover destined to be discarded. The act is too intimate and accepting.
I’m all too quickly brought to the edge of another orgasm. His hand drops down to my calf, his heat penetrating my flesh as his tongue continues to gently trace and probe that other hole.
I mewl and whimper, the sounds small pleas with my body to wait. His hand finds my pussy again. His thumb strokes my clit, starting with the small pearl beneath the hood and pushing upward.
His mouth leaves me and I feel him contort so that his thumb still plays with my pussy as he reaches down for the objects he placed on the floor. He straightens and I feel something about six inches long and incredibly smooth as he places it on my back. A tube runs from it to connect with another smooth, smaller object.
Groaning, I try to relax my ass for the inflatable probe. Feeling the squirt of lube, I tighten involuntarily. Grabbing the probe and its pump, Luke presses a soft kiss against the small of my back. He fingers my anus, his fingers slick from the gel. I bite my lip to keep my hips from jerking. Nothing I can do will control my moans.
When he has me fully lubed, he begins to insert the probe. One hand slowly fucks it into me while the other spreads my cheeks. When he has it halfway in, the hand holding me open momentarily abandons me to remove the headphones. Then his fingers thrust into me so that Luke is penetrating both holes at once.
"I imagined this all day, baby."
After the forced silence of the headphones, his soft voice shatters me. I buck, the muscles of my ass pushing and sucking to quickly draw the last of the probe inside me. I cry out, climaxing and trying to ride his fingers and the toy before the sensation cuts off.
"That's it, baby."
Luke waits patiently until my hips cease their wild jerks. I feel him searching for the pump. He finds it and places it in my hand—letting me control it. I hear him squirt more lube. Anticipation cuts deep into my skin. I’m more than wet enough for his cock. No lube is necessary.
Or so I think. Fingers—not his cock—ease into me. Three at first, then a fourth. He’s knuckles deep again. His palm narrows and then it’s more than just his four fingers inside me. I suck a deep breath in and a shudder rolls through my body.
"Can you handle more, Marie?"
I whisper a shaky "yes," nodding wildly as I do so. He’s pushing me toward something sensation by sensation. I don't know what it is, but I trust him.
His fingers rotate inside me. Another tremor wracks my body. I have not squeezed the pump in my hand—not once. I don't know if I can. Another rotation and a throaty sob leaves me. I can cry all I want—I know this. He will not stop until I say my safe word.
A final rotation and he’s all the way inside me—fingers, thumb, palm. My clit pulls tight and refuses to relax. The tension increases with each contraction.
"The pump, baby."
The pump—fuck yes. I give it a small squeeze, pushing only half the air in the bulb into the probe. Pleasure contorts through me—ass, clit, cunt, even my nipples. My breasts hang heavy and swollen, sweat drips from my flesh, gathering at the tips of my nipples before it drops to the floor. I give another pump. My stomach tenses, the tilt of my ass shifting ever so slightly higher.
Inside me, his hand pushes forward like a plunger being depressed. Deeper and deeper he goes. His knuckles brush against something and I dissolve. My climax convulses through me. Pleasure, hot and liquid, squirts from me, wetting my thighs and the chair and the floor.
I cry, laugh, squirt again until I’m barely conscious.
Slowly, Luke eases from me. The probe follows. I doubt I can walk but I don't have to. He wraps an arm around my waist, lifting and moving my body until I’m cradled in his impossibly strong arms.
He carries me to the room's bed and places me center of the mattress. He kisses and strokes my body, his touch gentle everywhere it lands.
"So beautiful, baby. So fucking beautiful."
His admiration echoing inside my head, Luke leaves the bed. I want to remove the blindfold, but it’s not mine to remove. So I strain my ears to take in every detail I can.
I hear water running. When he returns, I hear him open a bottle of water. He brings it to me, holding the bottle and cradling me as I drink. Where his body touches mine, it’s flesh on flesh, both of us naked since he’s shed his clothing at last.
When my tremors die down, he cuffs me. Right hand, then left, the process already familiar and comforting.
Bound and blindfolded, a weight begins to settle on my chest. He finishes securing my ankles. I hear the drawer slide open then shut. His weight pushes at the mattress as he settles next to me. His hands gently tease over my slick mound then move down one thigh.
He secures a velcro strap around it. His hands work at something and, when he releases the strap, I can feel that two small, rubbery attachments have been clipped to it.
A second later, he secures two more clips. I can’t see what he’s doing, but I can definitely feel the gentle pull on the swollen
folds of my sex. I realize then that my lower lips are being held back by the clips and the fact that my legs are spread wide.
The next object to touch my skin is flat and hard, but smooth—a contradiction of sensations. Like the cuffs around my legs, this is new.
He had told me my first time in his bed that he would show me the rest of the contents in that drawer gradually, when I was ready. My ass surrendered first to his toys, then my flesh to the soft flogger, but nothing else since.
Though I trust him, still, I’m relieved to feel that it’s leather against my skin and not metal, though I am just a tiny bit apprehensive to feel the brush of a long, thin rod-like surface against my skin.
As if reading my mind, he murmurs softly, “The metal switch is no longer in my home, love. It’s a riding crop, nothing more.”
Rising from the bed, Luke works his hand beneath my head then removes the blindfold. I look at him, my eyes slowly adjusting. His skin glows with a thin sheen of perspiration. His cock runs thick and rigid up his lower stomach to an inch below his navel. The muscles of his torso and arms ripple as he subconsciously flexes for my benefit.
He’s sculpted perfection and the ache I feel when I see him like this hasn't lessened a single degree.
Slowly, he lowers the riding crop until I can just feel it against my nipple. "Do you feel in control, Marie?"
I’m cuffed to the bed, every limb bound until he frees me. It takes only one word, but I cannot use it. I want him too badly, want to please him and take pleasure from him. The need holds my tongue from saying the word that will release me.
"No," I confess.
"Are you afraid?"
"No," I answer, surprised to find I mean it. Because Luke is the one wielding the crop, and to an extent, all the power over me at the moment, I’m not afraid. Not even a little.
With that important truth revealed to us both, the time for question and answer is over.
The crop, when it strikes my flesh, will bring more than just the harsh sting of impact. Like the flogger did earlier, it will make everywhere it touches more sensitive. My muscles will heat from its bite, my nipples will constrict. Everything will draw tighter to increase my pleasure.
