by K D Grace
‘Exquisite,’ Fenton said. ‘Elsa, you are absolutely stunning. I’ve always had such a crush on you, you know?’
Nick bristled.
‘I’m flattered, Fenton, but I’m not your type.’ Elsa turned her attention back to Nick’s wounded arse.
‘Wait. I’ve changed my mind.’ Fenton scooted forward on the sofa and began unbuttoning his shirt. ‘Elsa, forget the lotion. I’m sure your warm, wet tongue would feel much better on Nick’s sore bottom. I want to see you bathe those welts and kiss them better. I want to watch while you make the man squirm with something other than pain. Perhaps not your forte, darling, but I’m guessing you’re extremely versatile.’
If looks could kill, Nick was pretty sure Fenton would be way dead. And there was that little hitch again, the little jerk in his cock at the disturbing yet intriguing thought of Elsa dealing out pain along with pleasure as easily as she did cards at the blackjack table.
Nick’s cock went from half-mast to full attention, and Fenton heaved a happy sigh. ‘There, you see. The man likes that idea a lot, Elsa. Now, you, Nick, stay bent over. Spread your legs a little more. I want to see the reaction of your tight asshole when Elsa goes to work on those muscular buttocks of yours.’
Nick did as he asked, feeling way more exposed than he had with just his cock waving for attention.
It was uncanny how Fenton seemed to catch his thoughts like he’d fished them right out of his head. ‘Don’t worry, Nick. I’m not going to fuck your ass. But I do love to watch the way that filthy sphincter responds to foreplay. You’d be amazed at just how telling an asshole can be. It’s nearly as much of a giveaway to the state of arousal as a hard schlong.’ He waved a hand. ‘Now go on, Elsa, make our Nick’s poor, wounded butt feel better.’
Nick had expected to feel Elsa’s anger translated into the way she touched him. He couldn’t have been more wrong. First she placed strong hands on each of his hipbones and drew him back until he could feel the feathered humidity of her breath low on his spine and down the parting of his buttocks, like a warm breeze over his anus. Then she pressed a very soft, very tender kiss where his back met the swell of his buttocks and, Jesus, he was undone! Somewhere a long way off, he heard Fenton sigh. Another kiss settled at the intimation of each butt cheek and he felt her breath travel the valley in between before her tongue pressed flat and wet just where his left thigh ended and the swell of his arse began. Then it slid like warm silk all the way up and over his buttock. Nick shuddered, shivered, fighting a feeling somewhere in his chest that migrated down low in his belly then rested tight and urgent against his heavy balls.
‘Oh God,’ he cried out. ‘Elsa!’
‘I know,’ she whispered as the next laving of her tongue came up his right arse cheek. ‘I know, Nick.’ She reached around him and sheathed his cock in her fist, pressing her thumb hard against the head, which was already slippery with precome. ‘Just hold it. Hold it all down low and tight, and I promise you, it’ll be so worth the wait.’
There were ten stripes across his arse. Five on each cheek. Nick had counted, Nick had felt every single one of them as though they had been branded into his brain as well as carved into his backside, but this, this was far more intimate, far more frightening and, God, he didn’t know how he’d be able to hold back the flood, but he wanted to, he needed to for Elsa. He shivered as another long lap of her tongue traversed his backside, ending in a tiny nip of a kiss that he felt all the way to the crown of his head. Christ! How could he endure? How could he survive Elsa Crane unleashed against his wounds, unleashed against the depth of his need? He hadn’t even known that need was there until Elsa.
The next trail of her tongue curved back on itself and shivered teasingly down the crack of his arse, accented with a little press just above the gripping of his anus, and this time he grabbed the head of his cock, thumbed it as though he were holding on for dear life, and that’s exactly how it felt.
‘Elsa,’ he whispered. And, honestly, her name was the only word in the English language he could recall when the tongue kisses were joined by the tip of her little finger worrying its way into his arsehole ever so slightly.
Nick heard Fenton’s fly opening, heard the man gasp and curse softly. But none of that mattered. None of that existed at the moment. He was lost in the hypnotic lavings of Elsa’s tongue. Ten long, leisurely, unbelievably tender laps, while her finger wriggled and teased just at the boundary of his grudging anal knot.
‘Will you hurt me, Elsa?’ It took all of his breath and all of his brain to ask.
‘She will if I tell her to.’ Fenton’s interruption felt like a slap. ‘And you’ll hurt her if I say.’
Nick had the sudden urge to do a little hurting of his own to the man watching. But Elsa’s stroking of his flank calmed him; it focused him on her, on her touch, on her scent, on the thick heaviness of her breath as it spilled down his spine and over his arse. He didn’t give a shit about Fenton. He was there for Elsa; nothing else, no one else.
‘Your ass feels better, doesn’t it, Nick?’ Fenton didn’t wait for an answer. ‘And now, I want you to take off Elsa’s bra.’
As Elsa turned her back to allow his efforts, he was stunned by how empty he felt without the small intrusion of her finger. He made an awkward attempt to unhook her bra, then she laid her hands over his and guided him. As he released her, he followed the waistband around to cup her fullness and the hitch of her breath was almost a little sob as his thumbs found her plumped nipples. She leant back into his embrace and turned her head to offer him her mouth, her throat, the cradle of her collarbone and, God, he was in heaven, with his cock pressed up tight above the pillows of her bottom, with her well-muscled arms lifted to stroke his hair, to pull him closer to her.
‘Yes,’ Fenton whispered, ‘I was right about the two of you. Raw heat. Nick, pick the bra up and bring it with us to the bedroom. You’ll need it.’
Nick hoiked up his boxers and trousers, holding them over his arse just enough that he could walk, then he followed Fenton and Elsa.
The bed was an enormous four-poster with room for the whole Mount Vegas team to wallow about. With a flick of a switch, the room was flooded in soft strains of R&B, but before Nick could take in more of the surroundings, Fenton spoke. ‘Elsa, I want you face up in the middle of the bed. Good, that’s good. And now, Nick, I want you to take that lovely bra and tie Elsa’s hands.’
When he balked, Elsa nodded her consent.
‘Oh, and for fuck’s sake, Nick, lose the trousers and boxers.’
Nick did as he was told, then followed instructions that resulted in Elsa’s hands tied to the bedframe, wrists together, arms stretched above her head.
‘Now then, Nick, I’m assuming that Elsa’s been calling the shots so far in your relationship, and even if she didn’t give you the welts on your arse, she gave permission. I know what a controlling bitch she can be.’ Before Nick could respond to the insult, Fenton continued. ‘But for tonight, I want you to take control, Nick.’ He pulled a straight-backed chair close to the bed. ‘As you can see, Elsa Crane is helpless before you. What I want you to do is torture her.’
‘What?’ Nick came up off the bed. In his mind, he already had a stranglehold on the bastard, but Fenton raised both hands and offered a back-pedalling laugh.
‘It’s not what you think, Nick. There’ll be no whips, no belts, no flails. Nothing so unsubtle. What I want you do is see just how much self-control our Elsa has when you pleasure her.’
It was the moan from Elsa’s throat that surprised Nick, the look of – was it panic? – that crossed her face. Fenton’s chuckle was positively wicked. ‘Oh yes, Elsa Crane, you are going to lie there completely helpless and let Nick have his way with you while I watch.’ He nodded to Nick.
With his heart racing and his brain barely able to believe what he was about to do, Nick placed a plump white pillow under Elsa’s arse, then he shimmied her lace panties down over her hips and off. With them, he lashed one of her
ankles to the bedpost. Fetching her tie from the lounge, he bound the other with that. It was hard to concentrate around the tug of his heavy load, but he secured her spread-eagle, the heavy swell of her pussy displayed atop the pillow like some extravagantly expensive piece of jewellery in one of Vegas’s exclusive boutiques. Then he practically fell tongue-first into the delicious breach of her, slick and sticky and sweet for him.
Christ, her pussy was wet for him! That did things to him. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how to make a woman moist when the rare opportunity arose. But somehow making Elsa Crane wet for him, just for him, was a whole different level of foreplay. And as much as he wanted to unload into the heat of her, he wanted to revel in her own desire, to bask in her need, her need for him. His tongue took the lead, dipping and lapping between her labia while the rest of him, on an almost uncanny level, tuned in to the way she breathed, the beat of her heart, the heat of her skin, the blush crawling over her breasts, the stippling of her areolas as her arousal grew. The rich, midnight scent of her flooded his nostrils and sharpened his own ache. Just when she found the rhythm that he knew would get her there, just when her little grunts and mews intensified with purpose, he gave her clit a nip and pulled away. She growled her frustration, making a worthless effort to raise her pubis off the pillow to get closer to him.
He turned his attention to the impatient bulge of her nipples, giving each a hard suck and a sharp bite between his front teeth.’
‘Fuck,’ she whispered. ‘Oh fuck, Nick! Fuck.’
Oh yes, she wanted. She needed. ‘I know, Elsa,’ he whispered. ‘I know.’ He ran his tongue down between her breasts and over her belly to penetrate her navel in sharp little thrusts, and he felt the shiver climb her spine.
‘How long can you hold it, Elsa?’ Fenton’s voice sounded like it had been rubbed with sandpaper, breathlessly forcing its way into the room. ‘I want to know, darling.’
Fenton was only background noise as Nick kissed and nipped down over Elsa’s mons, resting his chin for a moment in the soft spring of pubic curls, looking up her body at the rounded rise and fall of her. Then he continued his migration south to the place where she needed serious pressure, serious tongue action. There he breathed only whispers of kisses before opening her engorged, dark folds with two fingers to see the deep, tight hole, shimmering in her mother of pearl juices, juices that were there to accommodate his cock, to ease his penetration, to welcome him into her anxious depths. And Christ, he so wanted to go there now, but instead, he swirled a finger and then two into the silky wet of her, and her moan was belly-deep, animal harsh as every muscle of her tightened, gripped and strained toward him.
‘You want to get closer, don’t you?’ he whispered against her clit, and she jerked and whimpered. ‘You want to get closer to me.’ He slid his fingers deeper into her tight grip and nibbled on her labia. ‘I want you closer, Elsa. I want you more than close; I want to be inside you.’
Her response was a convulsive sob.
‘No whispering, Nick. If you’re talking dirty to our Elsa, I want to hear.’
Nick ignored him, going down deep into her once again, then wriggling and thrusting his fingers while he slurped and licked and nibbled his way up over her clit. She tasted of salt and metal, of honey and butter melted on hot bread. She tasted of everything that would sate a man’s hunger while driving him insane until he could totally devour her. Then, just when she found her rhythm, just when the labouring of her breath, the grinding of her hips assured him she was close, he pulled back again. She sobbed and cursed and struggled against her restraints as he nipped and licked his slow way down her thigh, then he sat back carefully on his haunches, making sure that he was in her line of sight. He ran his open palm up between her drenched folds until she bucked off her pillow and whimpered, until his hand glistened with her juices. Then, with his eyes locked on hers, he began to stroke his cock, easing the friction with those lovely juices, thrusting into his fisted grip, imagining how her tight pussy would feel around him. It was his rhythm she caught, breathlessly grinding and humping as best she could in her bound position, her pussy gripping and releasing, gripping and releasing, darkening the pristine pillowcase with her flood.
‘How long can he keep it up, Elsa?’ Fenton’s voice rasped into the orgy of heavy breathing. ‘How long can you hold back? I’ve always wanted to know. I’ve always wanted to watch your control shatter.’
Nick gave her just enough time to catch her breath, just enough time to plateau before he began another tongue dance across her slippery, tasty, fragrant pout. Her head lolled from side to side, lips parted, breath coming in desperate gasps. Her breasts rose and fell and undulated beneath the high rise of her nipples and, God, she was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.
He pulled away and slid up her body until he straddled her lovely, perspiring face, then he pushed his cock into her mouth. She took him with such enthusiasm that she gagged and sputtered, before he cradled her head, fingers tangled in her hair, and guided her until she got used to the length of him. Then she opened her throat and worked her tongue and drew him in until he was caught up, until he was almost lost in her, until he almost forgot his role in this whole fantasy. With an effort that felt as though it ripped him open, he pulled out and slid back down until his mouth met hers, until his fumbling fingers found their way back to her slit. He strummed her clit with his thumb and tugged at the swell of her labia until she half moaned, half cried into his mouth.
‘Nick, fuck me. I need you to fuck me, I need you to …’
The deep-chested moans coming from Fenton told Nick that he wasn’t going to hold out much longer. ‘Fuck her, Nick. I need you to fuck her,’ Fenton managed between gritted teeth, doing battle with his cock like he was riding a bucking bronco, making the chair skitter and shake beneath his arse.
Nick was ready, more than ready. He could barely remember his own name, so lost in Elsa Crane was he, so enthralled by every curve, every slope, every rise of her. He shifted and manoeuvred, feeling her hard nipples graze his as he swallowed her words down into his throat. ‘Fuck me, Nick. Please. I need you to fuck me.’
Running a hand over her soft curls and opening her with a couple of fingers, he positioned himself. Then he whispered against her ear, ‘I won’t fuck you, Elsa, but I will make love to you.’ Then he took his weight on his knees and let his desperate cock lead the way. A single thrust. That was all it took, and he was sheathed deep and tight in the pillowed jewel case of her pussy. That he could contain himself at all was stunning. That he had any control of any kind seemed an impossibility, caught and captured inside her body as he was. And yet he held himself, held his load, held everything back in the leaden weight of his balls until he could take her with him. He could sense the building of her need, need that felt like it would burst her bonds and devour him whole. With each thrust, Elsa writhed and growled helplessly beneath him, unable to do anything he didn’t allow. She grabbed at his cock from her depths and sucked at him in a grip that made him surge and tense and thrust and rake against her. It was a grip that demanded everything of him, even bound as she was, until all of his senses overloaded. As orgasm exploded over her body like a living thing, he fumbled to free her hands, tossing the bra aside as her arms encircled him, her fists clenched tight against his upper back, as she buried her face against his neck and howled. The constricting spasms of her release sent him over the edge, and he spilled himself into her, spilled himself in harsh, oxygen-deprived grunts, spilled himself into the warm, tight depths of her while she held on as though her life depended on it. From his beleaguered chair, Fenton unloaded his wad across the plush pile of the carpet.
Under the circumstances, Nick couldn’t imagine that they would doze, let alone fall asleep, yet they did. He had a vague recollection of Pike undoing the rest of Elsa’s bonds and gently laying a blanket over them. Then, with his still cock deep inside her, Elsa curled her body around him. Nick was sure he must be dreaming at that point. Surel
y falling asleep with Elsa Crane wrapped around him had to be a dream.
Chapter Thirteen
It was Beetle who delivered the breakfast trays from room service, settling them quietly on the dressing table. But it was the weight on his chest that roused Nick from sexy dreams of Elsa Crane to the flesh and blood reality of the woman wrapped around him like a second skin. The softness of her hair tickled his chin, her breasts pressed up tight against his chest. With a surge of testosterone, he realised that his hard cock was still buried in her fist-tight grip, and the wet stickiness against his thigh was a reminder of how hot last night had been. The shifting of his hips was almost an involuntary thing, a thing that caused Elsa to moan and grip even in her sleep. Nick’s balls tightened at the thought that Elsa might actually be dreaming of him.
When Beetle saw that he was awake, she placed a finger to her lips, nodded to the trays, and left. There was no sign of Fenton. At some point the blackout drapes had been drawn, cocooning the room in heavy shadows. Elsa moaned again and wriggled in his arms, the clench of her pussy causing him to grunt and catch his breath. He was torn between ravishing her where she lay, filling her dreams with sexy heat, or just lying there with his cock nestled inside and watching her sleep. He slid a hand down her back to rest on the swell of her bottom, and from her dream space, she ground her pubis against him. He held his breath, trying not to wake her and willing himself not to hump like some damned dog after a bitch in heat.
She had never answered his question – if she would hurt him. Somehow she didn’t have to. Hell, the woman didn’t even look harmless in her sleep. She was totally a take-control sort of person, and last night must have been hard for her. Fenton had known that and had delighted in taking away her control. Nick’s cock surged again as he thought about what might have happened if it had been him tied to the bed and Elsa given free rein to torture him. How would she have done that? Would it have involved pain? Would he have seen her differently in daylight if she had administered pain with his pleasure? He became aware of the subtle ebb and flow at the place of their joining, almost thrusting, but not quite, almost humping but not quite. Surely she had to be awake. He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head, and she sighed.
