by Leah Braemel
Okay, let’s take it the next step, see how she responded. “When I ask, I’ll expect you to stick that pretty ass of yours up in the air and let me fuck it without a murmur.”
She shuddered. “Ugh. I’ve tried anal before, Sam, and it hurt, so I don’t think I can agree to that.”
He frowned. “Didn’t your partner prepare you first?”
“Do you mean use a lube? Yeah, he did, but it still hurt like hell. Since you’re way bigger than he was, I’m not about to let you stick that bad boy of yours up my ass.”
As much as he was flattered at her assessment of his size, he’d had the same concern. Even when he’d fucked her pussy, he’d worried about tearing her. At least she’d taken that matter into her own hands so he hadn’t had to worry for very long.
The anal play being put on hold was a definite—he forced himself not to snicker—bummer. But she hadn’t completely ruled it out at least. Maybe she’d allow him to slip an inflatable butt plug into that beautiful puckered opening, gradually increase the size, let her body adjust to the intrusion.
“Let’s start with the blindfold and restraints for now.” He decided not to tell her that he’d want to spank her or even flog her one day. He’d have to work her up to that idea.
“You can choose a safe word if you want, but I don’t think you’ll need it.” Not tonight. But one day soon she might.
“Cochino,” she responded before he could finish his sentence.
He snorted. “Is that your safe word or an assessment of my character?”
She grinned, a bright mischievous smile that lit up the room.
Dayam, his apartment had been so dull without her in it. So had his life.
“Could be both. But for now we’ll say it’s my safe word. So do you want me to undress before you blindfold me? Or do you want to undress me?”
“Ditch your blouse and pants, but leave your bra and thong. I want to take them off myself.” He pulled a red silk scarf from his drawer.
“Okay, so it’s a little kinky, but it’s still pretty vanilla.” But despite her protests, she shivered when he tied the blindfold in place. He had others he could have used that would be more effective, but he figured she might freak if he brought out his leather hoods at the get-go.
“Stay there. And don’t remove your blindfold.” Once she’d given him her assurance she wouldn’t peek, he ducked into the walk-in closet and opened the panel concealing the safe room he’d had privately constructed and outfitted for his personal needs. He’d been thinking about his plans all day, so it didn’t take longer than a minute or two to select the restraints he’d require, along with a couple other toys.
When he returned, Rosie was sitting in the chair by the window. Her legs were sprawled open, allowing him an unimpeded view of her stroking one finger beneath the thin matching thong. The sight of her pleasuring herself nearly had his tongue hanging on the floor and his dick ready to shoot a load prematurely.
Should he tie her face up on the bed? Or should he have her standing, her hands tied to the upper ring of the bedpost so he’d have access to more of her body? And oh, man, did he want as much access to her body as he could get.
Lying down—because he was definitely going to fuck her and that way he wouldn’t have to move the restraints later. Even if he wanted to put a wedge pillow under that tiny ass of hers, the restraints would move up the iron posts with little problem. Yeah, that still left him a whole range of possibilities. He dumped his equipment on the night table, then flipped off the duvet and lifted her to her feet.
“Lie down on the bed, Rosie. Face up.”
“Yes, Master,” she said in a breathy Marilyn Monroe impression. He palmed the hard-on that throbbed at the title. If she only knew how he’d fantasized about her calling him that.
Once she was in place, he ran his hands down her calves, gently massaging her tiny feet. Hmm, ticklish. Interesting. Normally she was only ticklish after they’d made love. He fastened the restraints around her ankles and spread open her legs so he could attach the cuffs around the iron end posts. He stepped back and examined his handiwork, admiring how her lips glistened on either side of the thin black string of her thong. “You’re already thinkin’ about what I might do to you, aren’t you?”
He sure was.
“I’m guessing,” Rosie said with a beatific smile, “that it’s going to end up with you riding me, pounding Big Sammy into my pussy and making me see stars the way you did last night. And if I’m really good, you’ll let me ride you, the way I did yesterday morning. Which, by the way, was extremely enjoyable.”
He smiled at her new nickname for his dick. Definitely better than Sam Junior. And she’d guessed correctly; he was intending to end the night that way, but not before he’d driven her to her own fulfillment once or thrice.
Should he have her arms stay straight over her head or spread out in an X? Straight for now, he decided. “Stretch your hands above your head, Princesa.”
Looping the other ends of the restraints through the iron bars of the headboard, he buckled the leather straps around her wrists. Although they’d hold her for now, the bands were loose. He’d have to buy some slightly smaller. Or add extra padding inside.
Finished, he sat on the bed and waited. Watched. Appreciated.
Her hair spread in wild abandon over his pillows. It would leave her wonderful scent embedded in them so he’d be reminded of her when he slept. Though her eyes were covered by the silk scarf, her mouth formed a natural bow, her bottom lip protruding slightly more than her upper lip. He bent over and brushed a light kiss on them. She arched up, attempting to capture him, but he pulled away without saying a word.
With her arms over her head, her back was slightly arched and her breasts lifted in invitation. Should he take her bra off now or wait for later?
Decisions, decisions.
Later, he decided. There was a lot to be said for delayed gratification.
“Well?” she said after he’d sat there for a few minutes more. “Aren’t you going to do something?”
Vixen.
He stood and prowled around the bed, planning each move he’d make.
“Sam?”
Impatient vixen.
Picking up the ostrich feather, he dragged it up one bare foot. As he’d expected, she squirmed, trying to move her foot away. So he treated the other foot to the same attention.
“Sam! Stop dragging things out and fuck me, damn it!”
Very impatient vixen.
“You have been told not to speak unless I give you permission.” He spoke sharply, as if he were commanding one of Hauberk’s new recruits who had just screwed up.
She stuck her tongue out at him. He had to swallow a snicker, nearly choking himself in the process. God, she had such fire.
For the next twenty minutes he teased and tickled every exposed inch of skin with the feather. If any other sub had cursed him and pleaded with him and tried to top from the bottom the way she did, he’d have ball gagged them long before. But he couldn’t do it. There was something so refreshing about her. So intriguing. So challenging.
He switched the feather for a flogger, and let the leather tails trail over her shoulders, then down her breasts. He flicked open the front clasp on her bra, then enjoyed watching her nipples pebble at the cool air, he swirled the leather straps over her until she was panting. To her credit, and his disappointment, she didn’t twitch or make a sound.
Goose bumps raised down her arms when he slid the thin tails along her stomach. Her hips arched when he dragged them across her mons and let them dangle over her labia. The artery on the side of her neck betrayed her rapid heartbeat when he touched the tip of the braided handle between her thighs and rubbed against her thong. She gasped when he slipped it inside her, rubbing the balled end so it would caress her most sensitive spot.
“Oh, and Rosie? You can’t come unless I give you permission.”
“Bas—” Her teeth clenched together a she swallowed the insul
t.
Her fingers wrapped around the straps holding her in place, her hips arched up as she tried to move with the whip handle, press it deeper. He drove her until she was about to slide over the edge. Just before she could orgasm, he removed the faux dildo.
“Damn it!” she snarled. “Let me come.”
“Nope. And you talk again without permission and I’ll leave you tied up without touching for the rest of the night.”
He stepped away, letting her consider his threat as he stripped off his clothes. Taking his time, he poured some oil with a light coconut fragrance into one palm then coated both hands with it. Starting at her toes and slowly sliding up her legs, he gently massaged. If he’d done this first, she would have been completely relaxed, but now she was a quivering mass, her breath short desperate gasps.
He slid one finger along her labia, causing her hips to jerk off the bed. Damn, she was so ready. With a quick motion, he snapped the string on one side of her thong and stripped it from her.
“Lift your hips up, Princesa.”
When she did, he slid a wedge-shaped pillow beneath her and knelt between her thighs. The moment he touched his tongue to her, she exploded, cream running down her sweet slit and pooling on the pillow.
He shook his head in mock dismay. “Oh, baby. You’re not allowed to come unless I give you permission.”
“Fuck. That,” she panted. “Why on earth would I ever need to stop an orgasm? Most guys are happy if a woman has one at all.”
“I’m not most guys.”
Before she realized what he was about to do, he was seated hilt deep inside her. He groaned as the last of her orgasm caressed his rigid cock.
Damn it, when he had lost control? He’d planned to make her come at least three times before he allowed himself inside her. And yet here he was, buried balls deep in the little spitfire.
Right. So they’d both have to exercise some control. Which he’d never do in this position from the way his hips were working in concert with his now pulsing cock. Damn it!
Using every ounce of determination, he pulled from her.
“Saa-a-am!” Yup, three syllables. “Fuck me, goddamn it!”
In less than twenty seconds, he’d released her from her restraints. Before a minute had passed, he’d picked her up and sat in the chair, settling her knees on either side of his thighs, his erection trapped between them.
She didn’t need to be told what he wanted, she wanted it just as much. With a wiggle, she impaled herself on his cock.
“Lord almighty,” he groaned, sliding his hips a bit further along the chair’s pillow and then arching them. He grabbed her hips, stopping her from moving, then pulled her so she was resting her head against him. When she protested, he shook his head. “Don’t move. Not yet.”
“Did I hurt you?”
“God, no.” How could he explain? If she’d wrapped his cock in a Tensor bandage it wouldn’t have been as tight as her pussy was around him. He could feel her heartbeat pulsing against both his cock and his chest.
Despite his request, her body undulated, in tiny motions at first. Then she pulled back and grabbed his shoulders, grinding her pelvis over his. She was so beautiful, her eyes closed, her hair hanging wild about her shoulders, her nipples hard buds sticking out proudly. The tiny sensual ember he’d sensed in her blossomed into a full conflagration of sexuality.
He dipped his head, and caught one of the taut buds in his mouth, suckling hard. Her pussy immediately clamped on his cock and her movements doubled in their fury. His fingers caught the other nipple between them, rolling, tweaking until she shuddered her completion once more.
It took every ounce of his control not to take the leap with her, but he managed to stop his climax. Just.
“You didn’t…” She looked at him in confusion.
“I will.”
As she relaxed against him, he held onto her hips and held her in place as he began to move inside her again. A long slow stroke until her pelvis met his. He pulled back until only the head of his cock was within her. Another slow stroke had her panting.
She lifted her head. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she matched his movements, lifting herself when he pulled out, and lowering when he plunged deep. Joy and pleasure filled her beautiful eyes, mesmerizing him. They moved together, in wordless communion, their tempo growing faster and faster, the walls of her pussy caressing him, kissing him.
And then she leaned down and did the unthinkable. She whispered, “Come for me, Sam.”
His cock exploded at her command, his hips bucking as his brains fled along with his come.
Chapter Sixteen
“What’s the matter, not sleeping well?” Chad asked. “I only ask since that’s the fourth time you’ve yawned in—” he checked his watch, “—oh, a whole twenty minutes.”
Sam held up three fingers pressed closely together. “Read between the lines, buddy.”
“I take it things are going well between you and Rosie?” Chad leaned back, lifting his leg so one ankle rested on the opposite knee. Why was he looking so smug?
“Oh, yeah.” When she was around, he found himself unable to take his eyes off her, his hands off her. His cock out of her. He still hadn’t figured out how she’d managed to turn the tables on him and make him come on command like a goddamned sub. For the first time in his life, he realized how little control he had in a relationship. Rosie held the power. She would forever be his mistress, with him the submissive. The slave desperate to be allowed entry to his mistress’s glorious realm.
He’d never been so terrified. Or so aroused.
“Earth to Sam. Come i-i-in, Sam.”
He opened his eyes—when had he closed them?—and saw Chad watching him, smirking.
“Why are you here buggin’ me anyway?” he grumbled, pushing his chair further under his desk to hide his erection. Damned thing was jutting so high his pants looked like a circus tent.
“Thalia phoned me—she’s worried about you.”
“What’s she worried about this time?”
“She’s worried because she sent you the final list of initiates two weeks ago and since you’re supposed to have returned them a couple days ago, she’s worried the Gala may have to be cancelled if you don’t get your ass in gear.”
“Oh, shit.” He grabbed his mouse and scrolled through his emails. Yup, there it was. His brains were so scrambled from this affair with Rosie that he wondered what else he’d missed. He opened the document she’d attached and scanned the short list of names. “Only five initiates this year?”
“Hey, times are tough—besides, there are only so many people who can afford the initiation fee.”
“True.” He tapped his finger on the mouse again.
Joseph Loudon was sponsoring some woman from England as a casual member. Didn’t matter how often they used the damned place, they still had to fork over the full million. He just hoped the woman wasn’t a gossip or a looky-loo. He made a note to check out the security report his people had done.
Plastic surgeon Peter Harrison was sponsoring his latest mistress, and had received his wife’s blessing. Considering he’d agreed to let her sponsor her lover at last year’s Gala, it wasn’t as if she could object.
Congresswoman Janssen’s husband, the host of a reality television show that had past its peak a half dozen seasons ago, was forking over his million to ensure unlimited access to his wife’s publicity assistant. Why Janssen didn’t just come out of the closet and admit he was gay, no one could figure out. Lord knew, it would probably help his ratings these days. Then again, maybe the good congresswoman knew her husband preferred men and preferred to open her reportedly tight fist on her pocket book to keep it quiet. Especially considering her platform during the last election had targeted alternative lifestyles. Hmm, maybe her husband’s preferences had fueled that fire. It didn’t matter one way or another to Sam—his share of the money would help the women’s shelter open another house in Alexandria.
; Ms. Kinson was sponsoring her latest boy toy, some faded rock star she’d met in Bermuda. This was her fourth initiate, wasn’t it? Nope, her fifth—he’d forgotten the half-her-age actor she’d brought in two years before. You’d think she’d caned him from the way he’d burst into tears the first time she’d used a deer skin flogger on his pasty white ass in the grotto during his initiation. She’d retracted her sponsorship immediately, to all the other club members’ relief.
And lastly, Lee-Anne Bennett was sponsoring Greg Tompkins. Who, if Sam’s suspicions were correct, might also find himself tempted by the congresswoman’s assistant, with or without Lee-Anne’s blessing.
Would he be sponsoring Rosie at the next Gala? She’d enjoyed the bondage he’d used on her the night before, but she still thought it was a game, not realizing it was his lifestyle. And considering the end result, if he took her to his private suite, who would ultimately end up shackled to the St. Andrew’s cross? Her? Or him?
“By the way,” Chad interrupted, “Thalia’s still under the impression you’re going to be at the initiation Gala. You forget to cancel?”
“Aw, crap!” He picked up the phone and stabbed the speed dial for the club.
—
Warm water pounded Rosie from four sides as she stood in the shower. As her aching muscles attested, living with Sam Watson for the last couple of weeks was better than any exercise in a gym.
The threats had slowed down, they’d only received two more the week she’d moved in with Sam, and a single photograph the previous week. She’d started to wonder if Sam would disband the team since it had been so quiet. But then another photo had arrived the week before, and there’d been two more phone calls, threatening Sam if he showed up on several events he’d planned on attending. Luckily enough, he’d listened to her recommendations that he cancel and had spent the evenings hanging out with her in his apartment. Until tonight’s party, which he refused to cancel. But it was in a security-controlled building and Chad said he’d been through the guest list and there’d be no security risks amongst the guests.
