His Name Is Sir (The Power to Please, Book 3)

by Ward, Deena

  I said, “You still haven’t delivered on the dessert. I haven’t forgotten.”

  He half-grinned. “Did I promise dessert?”

  “You said ‘later,’ I’m pretty sure.”

  “No, I think that was you.”

  “So you just brought that plate back here to taunt me?”

  “Would you like some?”

  “I would, thank you.”

  He opened his eyes and gave me a level look. “Since you say I promised, then I’ll have to deliver. If you recall, I also said we’d be exploring pain tonight.”

  I was decidedly less enthusiastic about pain than chocolate desserts.

  He said, “I think we can take care of both things at the same time. Come over here and sit on my lap.”

  Okay, I liked the idea of being on his lap. I straddled him, enjoying the smooth solidity of his bare thighs under my rear, the squeeze of his fingers around my waist.

  The extra height brought my breasts up above the water line, and Gibson leaned forward to take one of my nipples into his mouth. He sucked and tongued my flesh until my nipple tingled and stood out hard and firm.

  After a final flick of his tongue, he reached for a small black box he had brought along with the cake. I’d been wondering what it was. When he opened the box and I saw the pair of shiny silver gizmos inside, I was still none the wiser.

  Gibson removed one of the pieces and held it in front of me. It was about an inch wide and maybe a half inch longer in height. There were two flat parts facing each other, with tiny connecting rods at top and bottom. On one side, in the center was a miniscule screw-looking thing, and on the other, a sort of button.

  He said, “It’s a nipple clamp. You’re going to be wearing it.”

  I was surprised. It didn’t look anything like the nipple clamps I had seen before at the adult toy store with Michael, or the few times I’d spied one online.

  Gibson fitted the small clamp over my hardened nipple, then began to twist the screw on the side, slowly closing the jaws. I could see now that the inside of the clamps had a rough surface, undoubtedly to improve traction. I shuddered.

  Every twist of the screw made a little click sound. I wondered at how Gibson’s large fingers could manage turning such a miniscule object. But manage it, he did. The clamp squeezed tighter and tighter around my nipple until it was snug in place.

  It didn’t hurt. It was mildly uncomfortable; that was all.

  Gibson admired how it looked on me. “Beautiful, don’t you think?”

  I had to admit it was an erotic sight, the bright metal surrounding the base of my slightly bulging nipple. I swallowed hard and made a sort-of nod.

  He smiled, danced a few fingers over my nipple that increased the discomfort. “Doesn’t hurt much, does it?”

  “No.”

  “You did well with that,” he said. “You’ve earned a bite of cake.”

  He dried his fingers on a towel before pulling off a small piece of the tort and bringing it to my lips. “Open,” he said.

  I did, and he popped the chocolate in my mouth. I closed my mouth and savored the bite. “Mmm,” I moaned. It was delicious. All creamy smooth and chocolate perfection.

  I eyed the plate, hoping for more.

  He said, “Turn the screw on the clamp one click and I’ll give you another bite.”

  Well, now, that was a devil’s offer if I ever heard one. I closed my fingertips over the tiny screw and turned. The pressure on my nipple increased slightly. Click.

  I opened my mouth. Gibson seemed pleased, and fed me another piece of cake.

  He said, “Again.”

  I twisted until the clamp clicked. Once more, Gibson gave me a taste of bliss.

  Then again.

  And again.

  My nipple bulged out above the clamp that was now biting harshly around the base. For such a delicate-looking device, the clamp had a terrible strength. My nipple stung. And I didn’t think the cake was worth one more click.

  Gibson tweaked my nipple and I sucked in air at the stabbing pang the movement caused. He leaned forward and pulled my other nipple into his mouth, and I groaned as he worked it until it hardened into a peak.

  He took the second clamp and tightened it onto me. Tugging the clamp gently, he said, “This one now. One click.”

  I took a deep breath and turned the screw. Click.

  A bite of chocolate lusciousness.

  Another click.

  Another bite.

  Click.

  Bite.

  I sucked the chocolate off his fingers, both because I wanted to, and because it delayed, for a moment at least, the inevitable.

  He pulled his hand away from me, his eyes half-lidded and dangerous looking. “Again.”

  My fingers trembled slightly as I reached for the screw. Click.

  I shut my eyes and groaned. Both nipples throbbed now, sending piercing stabs over the surface of my breasts with every breath.

  Gibson said, “Look at me.”

  I opened my eyes, met his fierce gaze.

  He said, “I want you to try to think of pain in a different way. Feel it without labeling it as pain. Feel it as a sensation alone. Try.”

  His hands stroked my sides as I focused on the pressure caused by the clamps. I tried to shift my thinking, to feel what the pain felt like, as something other than hurt.

  He said, “Breathe deeply, slowly. Focus. It’s just a sensation like any other.”

  I blew out a long breath. Then a slow inhale. Sensation. Sharp. Intense. Centering on my nipples, radiating in tendrils through my breasts as a whole.

  His hands rose up under my breasts, cupping me, lifting, spiking the ache. I concentrated on shifting the ache into an unnamed thing. It was working, slowly, but it was working. It did not hurt as badly.

  Gibson’s eyes never left mine, lending me his strength of will, it seemed to me.

  He said, “Touch yourself. Stroke your clitoris. Give yourself pleasure. But don’t come.”

  I reached between my legs and played my fingertips over myself. I shuddered.

  Gibson tugged on one of the clamps and I cried out, my body tensing with the shock of another harsh burst of pain. Then his hand was between my legs, his fingers entering my pussy.

  He said, “This time, I want you to feel the pain as both discomfort and pure sensation, and I want you to send it all down here. Imagine that you are driving it down into your clit, into your pussy.”

  I gazed into his eyes as he tugged on the other clamp and sent a fresh spike of agony through me. I gasped, willed it into motion. Nothing.

  His fingers slipped in and out of my pussy with slow, deliberate speed. I circled my clit with increasing urgency.

  He said, “Try again. Visualize it as something you can move, a packet that can travel through your body, can go where you want it to go.”

  He pulled on one of the clamps.

  I bit down on my cry and focused on his eyes, forced the pain to become something else, something like a crackling ball of energy that ran on a conduit down my body to between my legs. I felt it move, a flash of burn as it traveled, hurtled down into my womb and blended with the pleasure.

  I cried out when the forces collided, my muscles twitching in spasms from the onslaught of pleasure.

  The corners of Gibson’s mouth turned up, just the tiniest bit. “Good. I knew you could do it. Don’t come, though. Just feel it. Don’t come.”

  He said, “Your left breast. Turn the screw one more click.”

  I told myself to trust him. But, God, I didn’t want to do it. My hand shook and I had a difficult time closing my fingers over the miniscule screw.

  His gaze bore into me. “You know what to do.”

  I nodded, breathed deeply. Then ... click.

  I clamped my jaws to prevent a yell. Pain, bright and fierce speared through me, then tore straight down into my clit. I shuddered violently all over.

  He said, “Do the other one. Now. Quickly. Don’t come.
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  I found the other screw, twisted it. Oh God, the pain stole my breath, then it surged down my body and burst inside of me. I was going to come.

  I panted for air. I managed to say, “Can’t stop.”

  Gibson pulled his fingers out of me and shoved my hand away from my clit. “Do not come.”

  I gulped air, tried to find calm in his eyes, but they were lit with a fire that was anything but calming. Nonetheless, after some deep breathing, the need to come diminished.

  He placed my hand back on my mound, then slipped his fingers inside me again. With his other hand, he squeezed the side of my breast, then closed around the clamp. “Here we go.”

  He twisted the clamp. A spike of pain that I rapidly sent where it belonged. Exquisite pleasure bloomed inside me.

  When it dulled, Gibson twisted the other clamp. A sharp intake of breath and I sent it home.

  Each time he repeated the process, it seemed to get easier, and the pain moved quicker, became a thrill with little price to pay for it.

  I would come any moment, I was sure. It was impossible, I thought, to take much more.

  Gibson’s voice was practically a growled command. “Put both hands on my shoulders.”

  I immediately obeyed him. He removed his fingers from my pussy, but kept them pressed against my opening. His thumb lay lightly over my clit.

  He said, “This time, I want you to feel the pain, all of it. Don’t change it to pleasure. Don’t come. Know it for what it is.”

  He continued, “And I want you to understand that you suffer because I asked you to. You freely did as I asked. Know that your submission excites me.”

  I shivered, nodded. Yes. I could do that. For him. A little voice inside me said that I had been waiting for this, that I had been waiting for this for a long time.

  His eyes were darker than I had ever seen them. “This will be the worst yet.”

  And with that, he pushed the little button on the side and released the clamp from my left nipple.

  I was speared with pain unlike anything I had felt so far. I cried out, loud and long, my body shaking, sending the water in the Jacuzzi sloshing wildly around me. I didn’t know something so small and insignificant-looking could hurt so much.

  Gibson said, “Yes, take it for me. Take the pain, Nonnie. Remember why you do it. For my pleasure. Remember.”

  I fought for air, and I took it for him, felt everything, let nothing escape. Because he wanted it. And I wanted him more than I wanted anything in that moment.

  He said, “Again.”

  And he released the other clamp.

  Another ferocious bite of pain. The sound of splashing water from my undulations.

  He said, “Take it for me.”

  I quivered, panted, and said, “Yes. For you.”

  His lids lowered to slits. His fingers drove inside my pussy and his thumb pressed down on my clit. “You’re perfect. Now come for me.”

  He broke our gaze and leaned forward to close his mouth over one of my tortured nipples. I clutched his shoulders and threw my head back, shutting my eyes and crying out while his tongue worked over me.

  His other hand slipped around my hip, behind me, between my ass cheeks, and he pressed a finger against my asshole. I pushed back with my muscles as he entered me.

  Oh God. So much. Too much. No, not too much. Everything. His mouth on me, his fingers inside me, his thumb playing over my clit. Stroking inside me, finding that spot of purity.

  Then his fingers were gone from my pussy and his thumb left my clit. A second finger shoved its way past the tight ring of my asshole. I arched my back. His hot mouth closed over my other tortured nipple.

  His free hand splayed across my lower back and pulled me forward on his lap, mashing my pussy and clit against his rock hard erection. He ground his groin against me and I understood what he wanted.

  I pushed with my legs and rode my slit up and down his cock, moved back and forth, stimulating my clit. He groaned and sucked on my breasts, his tongue working at the swollen flesh, exquisite sensation.

  His fingers fucked my ass and I opened for him, relaxed myself there, so he could have what he wanted. The high pulse of pressure building inside me with each stroke. With each pass of my clit over his cock. With each flick of his tongue over my breasts.

  I shuddered, thought only of Gibson, of his excitement, the sound of his harsh breathing, the muscles in his sturdy thighs shuddering underneath me. The dark power in his eyes when I accepted his desire for my pain.

  And I came. My cries of release echoed through the tiled room, bouncing back from the glass walls. On and on it went, the waves breaking over me, one after another after another, all on a higher pitch than what I knew before that night.

  Gibson wrapped both arms around me and pulled me tightly into his embrace. His cock pressed hard as ever against my belly, and twitched occasionally. I laid my head on his shoulder and breathed shakily, my heart pounding. Or was that Gibson’s breath and Gibson’s heart? Impossible to know the difference. One and the same, I thought. Both of us at that moment.

  His fingers dug into my back, and his kisses were fierce on my shoulder.

  I could feel the tension in him, the power held in check by the force of his mighty will. Why, though? Why not release it? On me. I wanted it, whatever he wanted to give me, whatever he wanted to take.

  I turned my head and looked to him, sent the unspoken question with my expression.

  He didn’t respond, only continued to fight for control from everything I could tell. His breathing began to slow, and his hands gentled on my back.

  I wouldn’t argue with him. If this was what he wanted, then that, too, I would give him. I laid my head back down on his shoulder and accepted. Emotion swelled within me.

  The more gentle Gibson became, the more emotional I became. It was like some kind of mental aftershock. Tears came from nowhere, it seemed, and trickled unwanted from the corners of my eyes.

  My nose started to get stuffed up, forcing me to breathe through my mouth. I was going to cry. I was horrified at the same time that I sought this different kind of release. My breath stuttered. I hiccuped.

  Then I quietly began to cry in earnest.

  Gibson stroked my hair, nuzzled against the back of my neck, made little “shh” sounds. He said, “You’re okay. Let it out. You’re overwhelmed, that’s all.”

  I hiccuped again. “It’s stupid.”

  He held me tight. “No, it’s not. It’s natural.”

  “Not for me.”

  He pulled back from me, lifted and turned my head to face him. He held my face in his hands and said, “How do you know?”

  “I’ve never done it before.”

  “That just means it’s a first, not that it’s not natural.”

  I sighed and sniffed. “I’d argue, but my brain’s not really working right now.”

  He smiled and softly kissed me. “Don’t worry about it. Cry if you feel like it and you can work out what it all means some other time, when your brain is working again.”

  I nodded, and he pressed my head back down on his shoulder and held me while I cried quietly. We sat there together until whatever it was that had overtaken me was finally finished.

  Gibson helped me out of the Jacuzzi, dried us both off, removed the clips that had been holding up my hair, then carried me to bed. I was lethargic, my body limp, but not so out of it that I didn’t notice Gibson still had an erect cock.

  When he lay down on the bed on his back and I snuggled up next to him, I sleepily ran my hand down to the smooth silky skin of his cock. I didn’t even have a chance to close my fingers around him before he pulled my hand away and placed it on his chest.

  I sighed, but didn’t argue. I didn’t have the energy to argue. Part of me, though, had enough energy to imagine him shoving me over onto my back, climbing between my legs and fucking me hard until he came. A buzz of heat shot through me.

  Oh yes, I knew where that was coming from. I didn’t te
ll Gibson my quickie fantasy. I wasn’t sure why. Only sensed that I couldn’t make him understand.

  I soon drifted off to sleep, held snugly in his arms, hearing the steady beat of his heart under my head. I woke briefly, began shivering, realizing the residual warmth from the Jacuzzi had worn off. Gibson shifted enough to pull the covers over us both, and I soon warmed and fell asleep.

  But I had a last thought. Another mini fantasy, where Gibson wasn’t reaching for covers but was instead going for his little black bag. Another flicker of energy low in my belly.

  I idly speculated about the possibility that I was a nymphomaniac. I didn’t care. I fell back asleep.

  I woke in the morning light, alone in the big bed. A glance at the clock on the night stand told me it was only eight o’clock. I smiled, and stretched out like a cat. I felt wonderful.

  The crisp sheet moved over my breasts, setting my nipples to tingling, sending them instantly into peaks. All the stimulation from the clamps was causing that. How long would it last? A few more hours? All day?

  I pushed the sheet down and ran my fingers over the sensitive flesh, remembering the sweet tortures of the night, relishing the tenderness and how the most delicate of touches set my breasts to throbbing.

  I sighed, closed my eyes. Tried an experiment. I squeezed a nipple just hard enough to make me catch my breath. I focused on the discomfort, tried to send it down to my clitoris. I felt a small twinge between my legs. Not bad, but nothing like the night before.

  I reached a hand down to rub my clit, then tried squeezing my nipple again. I concentrated. Find the pain, send it down there. Add to the pleasure of what your fingers are doing.

  It kind of worked, but not really. Mostly it just hurt. I sighed and returned to stroking my breasts, appreciating the sensitivity. I licked my lips, thought it would be nice to wake up every morning feeling this way.

  Gibson’s deep voice jerked me out of my reverie. “I was going to surprise you and tell you I’ve made coffee. Instead, I get the surprise.”

  “Uh ... good morning,” I said, embarrassed, not knowing what to do with my hands. Covering myself seemed foolish, so I just kind of let my hands lay where they were.

  “Definitely a good morning.”