A pang of mortification speared her. Seeing it, he shook his head, taking her chin in firm fingers. “What did I tell you? Are you acting within my control?”
She nodded, then remembered. Damn it. “Yes. Yes sir.”
She was relieved he didn’t put his hand on his belt, but he might be the type of Master who’d store such infractions away, pull them out at a later time. “Then why are you embarrassed? When I first arrived, what were you thinking, sitting on that fussy little sofa in front of the door? You looked like you were about to bolt.”
“I was. I thought I might lock the door, run upstairs. Then I wondered what you’d do.”
“What did you imagine me doing?”
She couldn’t help flushing a deeper rose at that. His fingers tightened in her hair. “You’ll answer me immediately when I ask a question, Athena. No hesitation, no thinking the answer through.”
“I imagined you kicking in the door, following me upstairs and . . . pushing me down on the bed to . . . punish me.”
His eyes glowed in a way that made her ache. God, she wanted that mouth on her. Her body tensed, feeling every line of the ropes holding her to the griffin. The sculpture had been cool when he first placed her against it. Now her inflamed flesh had warmed the metal.
“If I’d done that, I’d owe you a door tomorrow. And that looks like a pretty damn expensive door.”
“What . . . would you have done?”
He stroked her hair, traced her lips. She parted them, eager to feel him on the moist inside of her mouth. He obliged her, sliding his forefinger partly inside, and she sucked on it. His gaze darkened as her tongue flicked against it.
“You’d like to be on your knees, servicing your Master’s cock, wouldn’t you?”
She nodded, hoping she’d be excused from saying “Yes sir” since his finger was in her mouth. She expected the look on her face gave him the answer, regardless.
“We’ll see whether you deserve that. I wouldn’t have kicked the door down, Athena. I would have sat on the porch, waited until you came back down. You would have gone upstairs, turned in circles, been scared, but then you would have come back down to me, because you’d know I was the one who could make it better, make that tornado happening in your head die down, get still again. Though before I did that, I probably would have tipped you over my knee and given you a sound spanking for making me wait.”
He gave her that half smile again, the one that didn’t dilute the truth of his words at all. He enjoyed giving out pain as part of pleasure. When he’d helped her up from the footrest, his cock had been a thick bar straining against denim. The way he had her tied right now, her face pressed close to the griffin’s neck, she couldn’t dip her head enough to see, but from his total attention, the way he touched her, it was obvious he was still stirred up that way.
“Time to explore these limits of yours.”
He left her, going back to the bag. She heard him rummaging, heard the unsettling clang of metal, then a rustling. When he returned, he stayed behind her, but then he deprived her of any sight at all, sliding a blindfold over her eyes. “You’re mine to look at,” he said shortly. “But you have to earn the right to look at me.”
“Yes sir.” She liked how he said “mine.” She wanted to wrap herself around it like a dragon guarding treasure. She knew what was happening to her, because she’d seen it happen to other subs. They might come in nervous, jittery, overly chatty. Then their Master or Mistress would start to bind them, and with every cuff wrapped or rope cinched, that negative tension would start to leave their bodies, their expressions getting both more vacant and focused . . . vacant of anything but their total focus on their Dom. When the physical chains were put upon them, the mental chains they wore outside the club dropped away.
Maybe she hadn’t expected it to happen to her so much the same, or so easily, but she’d always been a submissive. Now that her subconscious had released that news flash to the rest of her mind, every cell was embracing this. They’d just been waiting for her to make the step into that room. No, not a room. An endless amusement park, or a quiet meadow on the planes of Paradise where she could simply . . . be.
She thought of how she’d struggled with this throughout the week, her conscious mind clinging to the paradigm she’d always had. Would it return in full force when she was untied? She was starting to understand how someone could have a split personality.
His hand dropped, sliding between her thighs, tugging on the knot over her clit. She whimpered, hands opening and closing in the bonds. When his fingers furrowed between her labia, she tensed; she couldn’t help it. Every woman felt trepidation when a man first started probing her more tender crevices. Would he know how to do it right? Would he thrust his fingers in too fast or at the wrong angle? She had no way of stopping him except by calling out the safe word, and doing it before he even tried wasn’t very sensible.
She needn’t have worried. He eased in slowly, feeling his way, and she was so slick with arousal he burrowed into her cunt like he’d been there before. He withdrew, then slid back in again, setting a slow rhythm, emulating coitus. Her hips shifted, jerked, tried to move with his movements despite her restriction.
“Good. Hot and eager. You’re ready for this.”
When his fingers came out this time, the blunt head of an inanimate object replaced them. She had no time to worry about it, because he eased it in as smoothly as he had his digits, despite the fact it was a much thicker dildo that stretched her out as it pushed in deep. She’d used her vibrator inside herself periodically, and now she was glad she’d done so, else her channel would have been much tighter from lack of use.
As the dildo reached a certain depth, another piece, a smaller shaft, pressed against her anal rim. His fingers parted her buttocks, allowing it access. It didn’t go inside, merely putting delicious pressure on that sensitive ring. He slid his hand to her front, then down her abdomen to adjust another curved piece over her clit. He tucked it beneath the rope knot, the soft gel of the device pressing into that nerve bundle. A series of straps were used to keep all of it in place, and when he tightened them, she moaned, rocking forward. He popped her buttock, a hard smack on one of the belt marks. The pain startled her.
“No moving until I give you permission.” He wasn’t messing around. It was his way or else. “Just feel it, Athena.”
She nodded quickly. She’d be still. Still as a mouse. But it was so hard. She was quivering all over, and a fine sweat had broken out on her limbs. Another hard smack made her yelp. “Yes sir.”
“God, you have no idea how fucking gorgeous you look. Maybe I’ll sit on that bench over there and jack off, make you my personal pinup fantasy.”
A noise of protest was on her lips before she could stop it, and he seized her hair again, his heated breath against her lips. “You don’t like that, Athena. Why not?”
“I want . . . to see you. And you said, if I was good, I could do that . . . for you.”
“So I did. We’ll see. That’s a vibrator in your cunt and against your ass. I’m going to turn it on now. If you want to earn the right to suck my cock, you can’t come. No matter what. Got it?”
“Yes sir.”
She could do it. She would do it. But when he turned on the vibrator, she realized there was no way in hell she could stop herself from coming. It started with a low hum, but a building wave pattered against her clit with increasing strength, to the point she felt she was right on the cusp of an immediate, hard climax. Then it ebbed, starting over again. It was a diabolical rhythm, but she reevaluated, thinking that strategic ebb might keep her from climaxing, even as it destroyed her sanity.
The rope, the hard metal, the vibrator, it was all-powerful, physically overwhelming, but the higher she got, the more she noticed something missing. Visualizing Dale watching her helped, but it wasn’t enough. When he’d spoken to her, everything had
become more intense. Better. She needed him. She needed his touch to be part of this, so that the emotional reaction building in her chest, her stomach, her mind, bringing an ache to her throat, a sobbing gasp, wouldn’t shatter her when her body shattered.
She didn’t know if he knew it, or if it was just miraculous timing, but when her emotional response was close to overtaking the physical, giving it a sharp, painful edge, he stepped up against her, so she was no longer alone in the darkness. He put his hands on her hips, then moved up to her breasts, teasing the nipples.
The downside was that her body shot up toward that cliff edge as if his touch were rocket fuel. The rhythm of the vibrator no longer mattered. She couldn’t resist her need for him.
“I can’t . . . I’ll . . . sir . . .”
“Call me Master, Athena.” His voice was rough against her ear as he put himself full against her, pressing the rope into her flesh. “I want to hear you say it. Convince me you’re all mine.”
His. His slave. There were those at the club that called themselves that. For some, it meant a functional thing, a different form of service from a submissive. For others, in the way they said it, it was a desire to prove their devotion to their Master or Mistress with the strongest word possible. His harsh tone said he might be experiencing a need just as primal.
“Master,” she gasped. “I’m so close . . . I can’t . . .”
“You can. You won’t. I want you on your knees, sucking my cock, Athena. Are you going to deny me that by disobeying, by giving in to your climax?”
She shook her head, hard, even as her body was jerking, screaming at her to come. She clung to his command like the word of God. She could do it, she could make it through, even if the damnable man seemed to be trying to force her failure. He captured her taut nipples in his long fingers, beginning to roll and tweak, tug.
“Master.”
He molded himself against her curved body, forcing his erection against the crease of her ass. The weight of it pushed that piece deeper against her rim. She wanted him inside her. Wanted him in her mouth, her cunt, her ass . . . she wanted him to fill her everywhere.
She tried, she fought, she screamed in frustration, but then that scream became something else as the climax rolled over her. With the vibrator pulsing against her clit and her body immobilized, there was no reining it back, no easing the pulse or pressure. As the intensity built, she was crying out, begging for a mercy she knew she wouldn’t be given. She was flying, crashing, fragmenting. Tipping her face the small amount her bindings allowed, he captured her lips in a hot, demanding kiss. His tongue plunged into her mouth, absorbing the vibration of her screams. She sobbed harder, tears streaking her cheeks as her body bucked in tiny movements, telling him what it craved, even if they weren’t joined together.
He was kissing her. She recognized it after the fact, that she hadn’t tensed but had instead opened her mouth to him, welcoming the invasion, needing the strong stroke of his tongue, his teeth clashing with hers, as she moaned against his flesh.
It went on for quite a while. With the vibrator still going, she was writhing in her bonds, gasping, eventually begging for mercy again because it was too much, her clit pulsing and overly sensitive, her inner tissues clenching to try and shield her against the strong vibration.
He slid the blindfold off her head but backed away, his fingertips grazing her flanks. When he moved into her field of vision, it wasn’t to rummage through his bag. He sat down on the bench, his expression that of a man who was hungry for a woman’s cunt. But it also reflected his terrifyingly fierce control over himself, his complete command of her.
“Please . . .” She pressed her forehead against the griffin’s throat, her eyes clinging to Dale. She thought about how the creature’s head was tipped back, roaring to the sky. Perhaps that roar was his claim that, regardless of whether or not the man killed him, the fantasy would endure. That the man’s reality would always be a mere shadow, chasing the fantasy . . .
She’d closed her eyes, her wet lashes a reminder of her sobs. When Dale put his hand on her face, telling her he’d returned to her, she turned her lips to his palm in fervent plea, her emotionally raw state taking away any reserve. Had it always been possible for her to achieve this, or was it something he brought forth in her? All those months she’d sat in Club Release, and it wasn’t until she’d seen Dale that she’d had the will to reach for this.
Some tiny corner of her mind was sensible enough to realize she was overwrought. But he’d said within his boundaries she could be anything she wished. So she kept kissing his hand, his wrist, as the tips of his fingers caressed her brow.
“Time to untie you.” He removed his hand, stepped behind her and began to loosen her bonds. She didn’t want him to let her go. Was that usual for a sub as well? She realized she hadn’t really plumbed Roy’s mind on these things. She’d notice if he needed to take it slow, sitting up after a climax, sipping water, leaning against her as he came back to earth. Disorientation was part of subspace, but she didn’t really know what thoughts and feelings he had experienced.
The bonds loosened, the ropes tumbling off her, forming coils at her feet. Dale turned her, and she was a limp doll as he lifted her off her feet. She felt him pause, shift, and realized he’d had to make an adjustment in stance. This wasn’t the first time he’d carried her tonight, but should he be doing that at all with his leg? He had fabulous upper body strength, but even so . . .
“Should you . . . Can I . . .”
“No.” His forbidding countenance silenced her. “Don’t do that. If I require anything of you, I’ll tell you.”
She was to rely on his strength, his control. That was part of the deal. Perhaps that was part of what he desired and needed, as much as she desired and needed to feel it, a perfect meshing. But the edge in his voice told her she’d struck a nerve. Even in her muzzy state, it was a reminder that Dale was more than the role he was playing for her. She frowned. She didn’t like that term, role-playing. Being a Dom was an integral part of him. Obviously. She might as well say he played at being a SEAL, or she played at being Roy’s wife. Maybe they were all roles, but they were vital parts of their personalities as well, like being happy or sad.
While she was rolling over those thoughts, he’d carried her to her reading nook, to the easy chair there. Because it was a large chair, it was a comfortable size for Dale and her together, especially with her in his lap. He worked the afghan she kept draped on the chair around her. Then he wrapped one arm around her back. Her head was on his shoulder, his other hand beneath the covering, stroking her bare hip, the line of her thigh. “Part your legs,” he said. “You always keep your thighs open around your Master.”
Of course. She should have known that, but her experience was with a male sub, where leg parting wasn’t so much an issue. Her thighs loosened. She sucked in a breath as he pushed two fingers inside her slick cunt without hesitation, resting them there, while his other fingers stroked the outside like he might stroke a favored pet.
She listened to his heartbeat, inhaled the clean, male scent of him, pressed her face into his neck. She realized she was making little humming noises when she breathed, some form of self-comfort, a way of balancing. He shifted his arm so he could support the back of her head, tilt it back.
He met her gaze. “This time I kiss you and you accept it honestly, Athena.”
She knew what he meant. The previous ones had been heat of the moment. He kept his eyes open, watching her face, watching her for any sign of tension. She wanted him to kiss her, needed him to kiss her, and that made her throat thick with emotion. It was hard to accept this sign she’d let another man into her life, that he was in the intimate territory that had been Roy’s alone for so long.
But it was okay. The kiss was a long, slow fall, swirling in a soft wind. Everything steadied, the humming dying away. It went on for some time, him exploring her
lips, her tongue; fingers caressing her face, her neck, catching tendrils of her hair around her face. When she lifted her hands, he made a negative sound in his throat, an obvious command for her to stay in place, not to touch him. Though she was trembling under his touch, she was otherwise required to stay still, not expected to do anything other than obey him, allow him to take his pleasure. As a result, the warm ball in her stomach expanded. The anxiety was still there, but it changed composition, became a different kind of urgency.
He pushed his fingers into her a little more firmly and her lower body responded. Aroused wasn’t the right word, not exactly, because that suggested a progression from a nonaroused state. She’d gone straight from an orgasm into a state of . . . readiness. Her body was on a low hum, like what had escaped her lips.
“So you climaxed when I told you not to do it.”
He’d intended her to do so. The satisfaction about it was in his voice. He wanted to be able to punish her. She remembered the belt, the spatula, and wondered if this punishment would be discipline or pleasure. For her, that is, since either kind brought him pleasure. Of course, she’d come so violently from all of it, maybe it was the same for her. Even so, her sore bottom was hoping for a gentler discipline. Regardless, Athena knew she’d accept either from his hand, which was kind of disconcerting.
“You tried like hell not to do so, though. I like that. You don’t brat on purpose for punishment. You wanted to suck me off. I could punish you by denying you that, but I think you’d like to earn that reward, wouldn’t you?”
The body she’d thought was too exhausted to do more than lie in his arms, slack and open to his desires, prickled with heat at the thought of it. Kneeling before this chair, going down on him, feeling his seed jet against the back of her throat. When she sat here later in the week, reading, daydreaming, she would remember his big body here, his cock thrusting into her mouth.
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