by Maren Smith
Was she multi-orgasmic? He hoped so, not that he intended to let her come easily. Tonight was all about working her up to such a fevered pitch that she couldn’t stop herself from coming, over and over again, the sweetest of agonies repeatedly inflicted until she was too worn out even to move.
“I hope you’re hungry,” he announced as he strolled back into the kitchen. The noodles were perfect. So was the sauce. Catching Rylee by the nipple, he led her from corner to stove, to counter, to fridge, loading pasta onto two plates and then balancing them on her tray. He made her carry everything—plates, silverware, the grater for the parmesan cheese, and even a bottle of wine from the fridge. She followed at his heels, each step a mincing one as she struggled to deal with the burning effects of the plug still inside her. Walker suppressed a smile. He could already imagine the look she’d give him when he ordered her to sit and she realized he wasn’t first going to remove the plug.
He set his plate at the head of the table where Sophie so often sat. The other, he placed in front of the throne, giving Rylee plenty of time to protest if she needed to. Rylee stared, trepidation growing in the darkness of her eyes, chewing constantly at her bottom lip, but she never said a word.
Had she noticed the Hitachi yet? Surely, she had and she absolutely knew what this throne was used for. She had attended two parties that he knew of in which the chair had been used for this very purpose. In fact, for one of those parties, she’d been leaning up against the wall while he strapped another submissive into it for an extended two-hour session. And she must have been watching, because that’s what she did. Rylee watched.
The wine bottle was the last thing he removed. Popping the cork to let it breathe, he turned his attention to her. “Tell me,” he asked, as he unbuckled her wrists from beneath the now empty tray, “why don’t you ever play?”
He felt it, that little impromptu tug at her wrists that might have been nothing on any other woman but on her was as good as a retreating backward step.
“Oh, you know.” She averted her eyes, her attempt at a laugh little more than an indrawn breath with a whole lot of frustration hidden within it. “I just… There’s no one to play with.”
That was a bullshit reason if ever he’d heard one. “There’s a dozen people at least who would be happy to scene with you. Why haven’t you asked them?”
Her eyes averted even further. She took a halting breath, let it out, took another and kind of shook her head before she said, “There’s… There’s nobody for me to play with.”
There was a meaning in there he wasn’t reading right, and part of him knew it. Something that went deeper than the surface of what such a comment could reveal. “No one for you to play with, or no one who wants to play with you?”
He suspected the answer was going to piss him off. How was it that some of the most beautiful submissives always seemed to think of themselves as never being good enough?
A crawl of irritation moved up the ladder of his spine when she lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug.
“Oh, no. Uh-uh,” he said. “This isn’t a question a shrug can answer.”
She huffed another frustrated laugh before glaring at him.
Only half-amused, now it was Walker’s turn to laugh. “If you think those five little smacks with a wooden spoon are as bad as it can get, then go ahead. Give me that look again. I double-dog dare you.”
It was the double-dog that probably did it. Rylee backed down. “I don’t know,” she finally admitted. “It just never… felt right. I never knew what to say. I—”
“You didn’t want to be told no,” he interrupted.
The set of her small shoulders fell. “Does anybody?” she countered quietly.
He couldn’t for the life of him imagine anybody saying no to Rylee. “Not even me?”
Especially not him, Walker suddenly realized, watching the minute twitches of her eyebrows and the fine lines around her mouth quickly work together to hide whatever telling emotion was trying so hard to break free. Especially not him. And that was why she had run immediately after she’d won his auction. She hadn’t bid on him because he was the first pony Sophie had put the spotlight on. Rylee had come to the auction specifically to bid on him. Having won and suddenly realizing she’d locked herself into a situation where now she had to play, she’d gotten scared and bolted.
Setting her tray aside, no longer allowing it to bring distance between them, Walker pulled her closer, forcing her to look at him. “You could’ve asked me. Did you think I would refuse?”
He saw that in her eyes, too. If his dance card had been full, would he have said no? Absolutely, he would have. He didn’t know her; she was just another member of the CCC, and she knew it. That hit him low, but it was an honest blow. One he was a little ashamed to have to admit to. What a difference one week and a few conversations made. He didn’t care how full his dance cards were in future, there would always be a spot for her on them now. “Sit down.”
She glanced at the throne, breaking the spell and bringing him back to the moment. The future had time to figure itself out. Right now, all he had to do was worry about Rylee.
“Go on.” He waved her toward the throne. “Take a seat. It’s not like you don’t know what this is.”
She did, too, and knowing sparked an instant internal battle over whether or not to obey. Rubbing her hands on her thighs, she slipped a few inches closer, mentally eyeballing the hole in the seat before lowering herself to perch on the edge. She looked at him, her hands tapping out a nervous beat against her own knees. How endearing. He almost forgot the seriousness of the moment before.
“All the way back, Rylee.”
Stifling another sigh, she did. She slid all the way back until her hips nestled against the wooden back and her ass centered over the hole. He glimpsed the notch between her slightly parted legs, positioned exactly where it needed to be in order for the Hitachi to touch her just right. That throne looked as if it had been made for her. Awesome.
Walker buckled her in, first her arms at the wrists and again at her elbows, binding them flat to the chair arms. He did the same with her legs, ankles first, then knees, forcing her thighs wide open so she couldn’t squeeze them closed at the wrong moment. No matter what he did. And he had every intention of doing all the right things to make her wish she could.
“How does that feel?” he asked, when he was done.
“Very restricting.” A frown tugged at the corner of her mouth as she tested her bonds to see how far she could move. It wasn’t much, not in any direction.
Grating parmesan over each plate, he pulled his chair around the table and sat down next to her.
“Oh, that’s cruel,” she said when he lay her plate in front of her. She drummed her fingers on each of the arms she was bound to.
He chuckled. “No, not remotely.” Bending in his chair, he reached under her chair and picked up the Hitachi. She jumped when she felt the push of the bulbous head touch her from underneath, wedging the thin neck of it into the notch. “This is cruel,” he said, just before he turned it on.
It took very little finagling for the Hitachi head to make all the proper contacts, and he knew he’d hit the right spot when her body stiffened like a broomstick, her fingers clenched into fists and her toes scrunched against the floor. Not quite curling, but not far from it either.
“Uff,” she half grunted, half huffed.
Grinning, Walker snapped a napkin out across his lap, and then did the same for her. “So, tell me,” he said quite conversationally, and her eyes slid to him as she huffed again. “Why me?”
Panting a little, she shook her head. It wasn’t as much a refusal of his question as it was disbelief in the situation.
“Uh-uh.” He rejected that answer.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she panted.
He really rejected that one. Picking up a fork, Walker wound a hefty twist of noodles around the tines, dipped it in the sauce, and stuffed it in his mouth. “Mm, thi
s is good. Are you hungry at all?” The look she gave him then was so un-submissive-like, he laughed. “Don’t look at me like that, princess. That look’s a challenge. You don’t want to challenge me.” Reaching over her plate, he stabbed his fork into her noodles and wound her up a generous bite as well. One hand cupped underneath to keep the sauce from dripping, he brought it to her lips. “Open.”
“I can’t… with the wand… going,” she stammered.
He tsked. “That’s too bad. Open.”
Reluctantly, Rylee opened her mouth and in it went. He let her chew, squirm, and struggle to think while he took a second bite. Leaning back, he waited until she swallowed. “That was a freebie. Now this is the way this is going to work: I’ll ask you a question, you give me an answer, I’ll give you a bite and you’ll earn a point.”
“A point for what?”
“My, how suspicious.” He swallowed all that was left in his mouth, smiling a little as he said, “A point to earn a reward. If you’re a good girl, then when this supper is over I will treat you like a good girl. If you’re a bad one…” Shrugging one shoulder, he let that hang. A nod of his head said clearly ‘it’s out of my hands,’ but he let his smile say he’d enjoy every bit of it either way. “My first question is, what made you pick me? Out of all the guys up there, why me?”
Rylee closed her eyes, turning her head almost fully away from him except he didn’t let her escape that way either. He reached down to grab the front legs of her chair, pulling her all the way around, giving her no choice but to face him. She couldn’t avoid his steady gaze, no matter how badly she wanted to. And by the look of her right now she really wanted to.
Beneath the throne, the Hitachi hummed. Her face was flushed. Her eyes were semi-glazed; she was striving to hold her concentration and the Hitachi was on its lowest setting. He almost couldn’t bear to tell her that, especially when she leaned forward as if to ease the pressure. That only changed the angle from which the wand hummed against her, and she immediately sat back again. The restraints creaked as she pulled at them, but no matter how she shifted her hips, there was no relief. The throne fit her too well.
“Don’t come,” he warned.
She stared at him in disbelief, shivering and already on the verge of disobedience. “Wh-what?”
“You heard me. You will not like what happens if you come before I say you may. Now, answer the question.”
“Answer? What answer?” she cried back. “Because!” Only that wasn’t what he expected from her, and when he offered his best frown of disapproval, her face underwent myriad subtle shifts from frustration to dismay and finally settled on resignation. “Because of how you played.”
“When?” he demanded.
She groaned, her thighs shaking wildly in time with the wand’s vibrations and the minute gyrations of her hips as she struggled to find some way, any way in which to escape the effects. The chair protested, but her bonds held.
“Don’t come,” he softly sang.
Her belly was trembling now, too. She muffled a hum of agonized wanting between tightly pressed lips. “The first time I saw you,” she finally confessed. She hummed her next groan too, shoulders slumping in defeat.
He had no idea what night she was referring to, but he accepted the obedience of that answer. Picking up her fork, he wound a small bite. Just enough to satisfy the terms of their arrangement without creating a choking hazard. When he held it to her lips, she opened her mouth and let herself be fed.
“What did you see?” Tiny beads of sweat had popped out across her brow. He gently wiped them away.
“Mm.” Her knuckles whitened where she gripped the arms of the chair. She flexed her fists, gripping and re-gripping. “You were on the stage. And you had a girl over your knee, in that big red chair.”
So far, it wasn’t ringing any bells.
“The one that doesn’t have any arms.”
It wasn’t the furniture he cared about. “I know it. Go on. Who was it?”
“I don’t remember her name. She only came once or twice. But I loved the way you held her.” She flexed her fists before clenching her fingers tight. Her knuckles turned white all over again. “Mm! I don’t know what’s worse,” she moaned, and then shakily laughed. “The stupid wand or the ginger root.”
He was willing to bet both were pretty intolerable right now, at least judging by the way her belly kept flinching. Her legs held just the right amount of wobble, although she probably wouldn’t think so. Walker had yet to meet a woman who understood just how alluring the softness of her own flesh could be.
“I can’t,” she panted. “Please turn it off.”
Reaching down under the chair, Walker felt his way up the Hitachi wand. Instead of off, he turned it up. Two notches. “What were we doing? Describe the scene to me.”
She bounced in her bonds, throwing the cutest mini-tantrum that didn’t last even long enough for her to take her next groaning breath. Her hips were grinding; he wondered if she knew she was doing that.
“She was fighting you,” Rylee gasped, and finally that tickled a bit of memory. Walker seem to remember sitting on the stage with a girl pinned across his knee. A takedown scene was what she had asked for, but halfway through their negotiations he realized that wasn’t exactly what she had meant. She had simply wanted to be held down and made to take it. The hardest spanking of her life. One that wasn’t over until long after she had wanted it to be over. The sort that would have left her sore and unable to sit for days.
What was her name? Walker couldn’t remember, but it really didn’t make a difference. It was Rylee he was focusing on now, Rylee who he wanted to envision lying across his knees, with her legs pinned and her hands held behind her back while he peppered her bottom with sharp, hard swats. First with his hand, then with a paddle, the one modeled after an old bristle-less hairbrush that he’d found at a garage sale. Nothing more than a length of polished yellow oak, it fit comfortably in the palm of his hand, but that bit with wicked repetition against the buttocks of whatever lady he felt deserving of it. It was, without doubt, the best fifty-cent purchase he’d yet made.
“I wanted to be her so badly,” Rylee spat, almost tearfully as her tone rose in pitch and desperation. “Please turn it off.”
Reaching under her, he turned the wand up even higher and then, grabbing onto the wooden legs, pulled her chair even closer. Their knees almost touched. He could smell the garlic and pasta on each shaky exhale.
Her face was flushed, the pretty pink of it spreading down her neck onto her chest. The rosiness of her nipples swelled under the caress of his gaze and her breasts heaved as she struggled to breathe, panting through her pleasure. “Please, I’m going to come…”
“No, you’re not. Why did you want to be her?”
She bounced again, hips grinding for escape only to mash up against the vibrating Hitachi.
“Because,” she panted, gasping and huffing. He could hear the tears in her voice. Unfallen, her desperate eyes shone with them, and he wasn’t sure if it was what she was saying or that she was about to disobey him in the most intimately, explosive, orgasmic way possible.
“Because it was everything I wanted,” she whispered. “And I hadn’t had it yet. I just wanted to know what it felt like to be held like that.”
“Like what?”
Her breath caught all over again. She shook her head, utterly broken and only breaking further right in front of him as she confessed, “Like I mattered.”
“You matter,” Walker said automatically, but she was already shaking her head.
“No.”
“You matter,” he said again, firmer. “Don’t you shake your head at me again,” Walker warned, but her eyes were glazed, every inch of her shaking, vibrating along with the constant hum of the pleasuring wand. If ever he was tempted to turn it off and leave her hanging, this was that moment.
“Please,” she begged, her tone rising into pleading squeaks. “Please… Please… Please turn it off�
�� Please, I can’t… I can’t stop…”
He’d never been so aggravated with a woman and yet so utterly enchanted by her at the same time. She was beautiful; the twitching of her body surreal, and her begging melodic. It was a song he couldn’t get enough of, didn’t want to get enough of. He turned the vibrator up another notch just to hear her squeaks turn into wails.
“Please what?” he coaxed over the creaking and groaning of the chair.
“Please, sir!”
Dropping out of his chair, Walker eased onto his knees between her widely splayed ones. Cupping the head of the Hitachi, he rolled it, changing the angle of its pleasuring hum so she could feel the pressure all around her swollen clit. “Please, sir, what?”
She threw her head back, arching as she strained. “Please stop!”
“That is not your safeword.”
She wasn’t trying to use it, either. She rocked the chair with the strength of her tightly bound undulations. She sobbed, rolling her head until her chin nearly touched her chest and the long curtain of her dark hair obscured her face. She rolled her hips too, around and around, riding the humming waves.
“Say it,” he commanded. “I want to hear you say it.”
She thrashed her head no, but her body was locking down, tighter and tighter. Her toes were curled as fiercely as her fists. Her nails had to be cutting into her palms. He made a mental note to check them just as soon as they were done, but he couldn’t stop this. He couldn’t stop himself any more than she could stop it.
“Beg.”
He leaned into her, watching every nuance, every tear, every gasp she sucked in before bleating out another pleading wail, “Please, may I? Please, may I?”
