She wanted to watch as well, but she didn’t want to do it alone. She knew Leland was still at the bar. She felt his presence like the sun at the center of the galaxy. When she turned to see him leaning there, his eyes were fixed on her in a way she was beginning to understand and answer how they both wanted. As she moved across the room, the sensual atmosphere kept a firm grip on her, so that she moved in the sexy dress the way its designers had intended, her hips swaying, her posture straight. Her high heels gave her a pendulum walk. The gleam of the sheer stockings enhanced her legs. She was keenly aware of how every curve of her body was on display for him.
He didn’t move, just devoured her with his eyes, more so with every step she made toward him. His lips stayed firm and unsmiling, his gaze intent. When she reached him, she didn’t think. She acted on pure desire and intuition. She sank to her knees at his feet.
His gaze turned to flame. She kept her head up, her eyes meeting his, wanting to see what he wanted, needed.
He set aside his drink. For a time he just studied her, intensifying her arousal. Her heart was a deep drum thud inside her body, echoing throughout every cavity. When at last he reached out and touched her lips, she parted them with an erotic sigh. Ecstasy jolted through her from that simple touch. Watching her, stroking her mouth, he fished ice out of his glass to trace over that same path, then lower, nestling the ice in her cleavage. He left it there, leaving it to melt and work its way down her body under the dress as he ran another piece over the curve of one breast, up her throat. She tipped back her head at the unspoken demand and he put the ice in her mouth, watched her suck on it, melt it on her tongue. The ice melting in her cleavage was fire and cold, making her want to squirm, but she didn’t. When it melted enough to drop down into her lap under her skirt, it stayed there a few excruciating seconds before it slid down between her thighs, tumbling against the crotch of her panties, then dropping to the floor between her folded calves.
“Give me your hand.”
He lifted her to her feet, turning her to face the room. As he did, he leaned her back against him. She rotated her ass against his erection, steel against the fly of his black jeans.
“Nice. Keep doing that.” He slid his hands up and down her arms, played with her fingers, tangling them with his, lifting them over her head, holding her arms there as her body moved in a sensuous dance against his. She rocked down on her heels, slid back up, dragging her buttocks over his thighs, his cock, worked herself against it. She didn’t do impromptu lap or pole dances. But when every cell, every drop of her blood, was infused with erotic promise, promises she was making to her Master, she couldn’t stop her body from communicating those promises.
He brought her to a halt, his hands tight on her shoulders. That, as well as the increased size of his erection, told her she’d done what she’d intended. But he’d made his lesson clear earlier, and she wasn’t being pushy. Just offering herself to him however he wanted. He was as cognizant of the difference as she was affected and shaken by it now.
A few minutes later, she realized there was another reason the K&A men had decided to let play commence in earnest. A whir of gears heralded the lift returning, and Ben and Marcie stepped out of it, Ben opening the door for his new bride.
With session protocol now in place, there was no dramatic entrance or fuss to their arrival, obviously their preference. Celeste suspected Ben had wanted his wife to step into the dreamlike black-and-white world, saturated with the sensual play they both knew and embraced. Now everything was about Doms and subs, surrender and mastery, not about the two of them holding the spotlight. Each play in process was only about the players themselves, and the audience was like the shadows, part of the ambiance.
Ben wore black slacks and a white dress shirt, and he’d been loosening his black tie when he stepped off the lift. His coat was already folded over his arm, so he put both tie and coat over a rack provided for clothing. Marcie stood where he’d left her, watching the multiple scenarios unfolding before her. Her eyes and mouth were soft with arousal and Celeste suspected there’d been plenty of play between them before they arrived. Unlike all the other women here, Marcie wore white instead of black. It was a short slip of a dress, and she had on a pair of teetering high silver heels with ankle bands that appeared to be slim steel cuffs, padlocked so the shoes couldn’t be removed from her feet. Slim silver chains ran up her legs from her ankles and disappeared beneath the hem of the dress.
Ben returned to her. His expression was a complement to hers, fully set with a Master’s intensity, more amplified than what Celeste remembered. Marcie was already well into the zone where Ben wanted to take her tonight. From his reciprocal absorption, she expected he was in a comparable Dom space. The intensity of the energy around them said the loft could be empty, for all the awareness they had of others.
Under the hands of her own Master, Celeste’s reaction intensified as well.
Ben removed Marcie’s dress, hung it on the same rack. She stood on display, waiting for him, though her gaze was devouring everything happening around her. Whereas Celeste knew she herself had strong submissive tendencies, Marcie was that way down to the bone. She could live this way 24/7 and only desire more. While Celeste knew she couldn’t say the same, seeing it displayed in such a beautiful way between Master and sub was like being given a glimpse of something extraordinary and perfect in nature, a dynamic rarely seen as it was intended to be.
Marcie was naked beneath the dress except for her piercings. She had small silver hoops at her nipples, her navel and her clit. Tonight they were connected by one delicate silver chain that, just past the clit piercing, attached to silver bands on her thighs, and then down to the cuffs at her ankles, forming a glittering web of chain that kept her movements dependent on the guidance of her Dom.
When Ben turned Marcie toward him, Celeste saw more silver strands of chains ran down her back from her collar. She had wide, closely fitted cuffs on her wrists. Ben pulled her arms behind her and folded them, latching her forearms together with the rings on the cuffs and attaching them to the web of chains along her back to hold them there. Fixing a tether to her collar, he put a hand under her elbow and started to walk her across the room. She had to move in graceful, small steps, such that it was like watching a geisha move. The way Marcie stared at Ben, it was as if he gave her the power to soar. Despite having less than six inches of play between her ankles, Marcie could do no less than soar when her Master held her gaze like that.
For all that she’d experienced it only for a short time, Celeste knew that feeling well. She was holding her breath, watching the two of them. Most in the room were watching them just as intently. No matter their level of play or commitment as Doms and subs, Ben and Marcie were the embodiment of all of it, the ideal of all the different hopes and yearnings being realized here.
Celeste curled her fingers in Leland’s hands, folded low over her waist, and she let out a shuddering breath, a sound of joy as he kissed her throat, then kept his jaw to her temple so they could watch together, their bodies so close she felt his heartbeat against her back, the way his chest expanded as he breathed.
Ben took Marcie toward the canopy bed. He carried her up the two steps, setting her back on her feet at the foot of the bed. Bending her forward, he adjusted the chains and bindings so her collar was hooked to the foot of the bed, her chin resting on it as he spread out her ankles. Unhooking the chains from the thigh cuffs, he used that length of chain to hook her legs to the rails, then he did the same to her arms. They were all fragile threads she could break if she resisted at all, but she stayed motionless, except for a quiver that was as potent as a ripple through the firmament. Ben propped his Italian shoe on the bottom railing of the bed as he ran one hand down over her ass and cupped the weight of her breast in the other. Playing with the nipple ring, he tugged on it so she let out a moan. The act was purely proprietary. Proof of full ownership.
Leland caressed Celeste’s neck, and she shuddered at feeli
ng that same kind of touch from him. He stroked her neck underneath the thin chain of the necklace, and pushed the straps of her dress off her shoulders so he could explore her skin there unimpeded. This wasn’t like being near a climax. It was beyond that. She was trapped in the same kind of delicate web as Marcie. Every part of her was stimulated, her mind a still point in the whirling convection of her body’s needs.
“Look at all of them, Celeste. What do you like? What do you want me to do to you?”
She slid her gaze from Ben and Marcie, since he was now examining a very lethal-looking silver paddle with holes in it. She wasn’t sure if she could handle watching him use that on Marcie. She knew Marcie was a pain junkie, but knowing and watching it could be different. Instead, her attention fluttered over and alighted on Rachel. Jon had taken his wife to a padded St. Andrew’s Cross. She was sliding her hands along the sleek wood, pressing herself against it. Slipping a foot out of a high heel, she drew her toes along the sleek wood grain at the bottom of the X, toying with the cuff attached to the ring embedded there. Jon stood a few feet away, watching her. His ebony hair fell to his shoulders, the black slacks and matching shirt he wore making him an enthralling sight to any woman. His stillness added to the sexual tension weaving between the two. Rachel kept her back to him, as if oblivious to his presence, yet her every motion was an exhortation to come closer, to put her on the cross, to bind her and make her helpless.
Her rounded hips and generous bosom, her body toned from her yoga practice, gave her a Mother Earth type sensuality. As Marcie had mentioned, Jon was the leanest of all the K&A men, but the strength and power that emanated from him made him more than strong enough to Master and shelter the woman who responded to his every shift, the low commands he spoke to her.
Jon was a spiritual man, kind and compassionate. But right now he was also a sharply focused Dom who held every bit of control. Closing the distance between him and his sub, he ran his hand over her ass, tugged her to him with a firm handful of her skirt. Bending his head, he kissed her with hot intent, pinning her against the cross with his body as he shifted his hips to rub his arousal against her mound. Rachel dropped her head back, lips parting. The black dress she wore had a snug zippered top with a low neckline, her breasts spilling out of it when he clasped the tab and opened the zipper’s teeth a few inches to reveal her bra. As he trailed his fingers over her curves, Celeste felt heat sizzle along the same track between her own breasts.
“Keep looking,” Leland ordered in his quiet rumble. His hand slid down Celeste’s front, under her skirt, fingers teasing her thighs. They loosened automatically as his other arm clasped her waist, holding her up when her knees couldn’t.
“Please…”
“You want me to touch your cunt. Fuck you with my fingers.”
“Yes, sir. Please.”
“Not yet. I’m not usually this mean, darlin’, but seeing all this, I want you to do more than beg. I want you promising me your soul. I want you giving me everything. When that happens, no matter where we go together after this, every time you fight me—and I know you will, again and again—we’ll both remember this night, and know this was when you gave it all to me. No, don’t look back at me. You keep looking at all of them. Your lips are all wet and parted, and your pulse is racing. It’s making me harder, but I want to go beyond that. I want you so needy to be fucked that I’ll tear apart the world to be the one to spread your thighs and thrust into all that wet heat. The only one.”
Her fingers were digging into the forearm he had wrapped around her waist, her breath becoming more erratic as his voice deepened, vibrated through her. His grip tightened and she couldn’t move. She could only do as he commanded.
Keep looking.
Matt was on one of the short sofas, Savannah curled up next to him. His hand rested on her hip, stroking it as they watched the scenes happening around them. Like Leland, Celeste knew they didn’t play publicly, preferring to be voyeurs, so what they did next was pretty blatant for them. Matt said something in her ear, his lips and then his teeth capturing it as he put his hand behind her head. He loosened her hair from its twist, then tangled his hand in the thick strands as they fell to her shoulders. Bringing her head down so her cheek rested on his thigh, he kept his grip on her hair, holding it so her face was turned up toward his. Gazing at her intently, he slid his other hand off her hip and behind her. From her shudder, the sensual movement of her hips, he’d found her under her skirt, was playing and stroking her cunt.
When Savannah’s legs twitched in their folded position, Celeste saw Matt had bound her legs from ankle to knee with a nylon black-and-white rope. Savannah’s hand dropped, caught the fabric of his slacks over his shin as she reached up with her other hand, twisting her upper body in the throes of pleasure to grasp his shirt front, an anchor in the storm. Matt wasn’t in the mood to wait on her orgasm, any more than Lyda had been for Gen. It suggested what kind of night this was going to be, since it was still way early.
Savannah made a keening noise, her body arching. Matt leaned over her, shielding her face as he cradled her jaw, held her in place while he massaged her firmly through all of it. Though the position muffled her cries, Celeste could still hear them, and her own body was rigid as if experiencing that climax with her. Savannah jerked, rocked, cried out. Matt never let up on the rhythmic movement of his hand’s manipulations inside her. When his wife finally finished, he tipped up her flushed face and crooned to her while he continued to move his arm in what appeared to be a slow thrust and retreat. Celeste’s pussy was contracting on itself as if feeling that coital rhythm far more directly.
Savannah’s lips parted, eyes clinging to him. Matt gave her a look that was pure sin and all love, a Master’s devotion, as he slowly removed his hand from behind her and then pushed two of those fingers into her waiting mouth. She sucked on them, tasting herself, her hand still gripped in his shirt, her body shifting now so she was on her other hip, fully facing him. He gathered her up in a curl around his body, leaning over her once again as he stroked the narrow line of her back, her hip, the round shape of her buttocks and down to the backs of her thighs, the erogenous area behind her knees.
Since Savannah was in his lap, Celeste couldn’t see the physical evidence of Matt’s own arousal, but she was sure Savannah was feeling that engorged state directly. She wondered when and how he’d find release and wished they did play publicly.
A breath later, she got her wish. They’d joked about the pheromone-like effect Ben and Marcie’s chemistry had released upon the wedding attendees, but that, and the trusted nature of this group, seemed to be inspiring the most conservative public player of the K&A group to break protocol.
After succoring her through her aftermath, Matt brought his wife back to her feet, having her stand between his spread knees. Since her legs were still bound from ankle to knee, he kept both hands on her, steadying her as he prepared her for what he wanted. He slid her panties out from under the skirt and left them at her knees, then adjusted her flirty skirt in the back so it appeared he was tucking it into the slim belt that delineated her trim waist.
Though Celeste didn’t have a clear view of it, it was obvious Matt was freeing his cock from the slacks one-handed, because he kept one stabilizing hand on Savannah at all times. A good precaution, because Savannah still looked a little unsteady from the force of her climax. Now both of those strong, capable hands were back on her waist, and Celeste’s lips parted the same way Savannah’s did as Matt obviously guided his sub back onto his waiting cock, seating her with a little extra thrust that made her gasp. The filmy fabric of her skirt preserved her modesty mostly in the front, but it was still undeniably erotic, watching Savannah’s face contort, a mixture of pleasure and probably a good kind of discomfort from his size as he held her firm, made her take him deep.
He spread a palm over her back, bending her forward to give them both the right angle as she clung to his knees, gasping. He adjusted his grip to her hair and hip to
hold her where he wanted her as he began to stroke slowly, his gaze never leaving the nape of her neck. He was murmuring to her again. She saw the plea break from Savannah’s lips. Matt leaned over her, pushing her hair out of the way to put his mouth against her nape, band both arms over her chest. Savannah gripped his arms, held on, and the two of them rocked to a completion, a second orgasm sweeping the blonde when her Master released inside her, thrusting hard enough the couch was vibrating with the force.
When they came to a halt, breathing deeply together, Savannah lifted one of his hands, pressed her face into it. They were still rocking, only it was slow now, the rhythm of a cradle. Matt slowly drew out of her and adjusted, clothing himself once more before he eased her back into the cradle of his lap, turning her so her feet were up on the sofa as she wound her arms around him.
Celeste had been moving sinuously against Leland’s groin in an ever more insistent coital rhythm during Matt and Savannah’s lovemaking, and his hands were hard on her hips, so that grind rebounded right into her core, but he still wouldn’t let her turn. He cupped her breast, thumb passing over her nipple.
“Please…”
“Keep looking, sub. Remember, I want you beyond begging.”
What was beyond begging? A state of arousal so fierce it paralyzed the vocal chords and riveted every single sense on the object of her desire, what she needed more than anything else? Something she’d give her soul to have? Wasn’t that how he’d defined it?
She jumped at a sharp crack. Gen’s arms were bound to a vertical frame that kept them straight out from the sides of her body, and her Mistress had stripped her, except for one garment. Though she hadn’t been wearing panties earlier, Gen was now, a pair of ivory panties that rode up and creased in a sweetly vulnerable way over her pale buttocks. Lyda moved around her, fondling a breast, touching her face, letting Gen kiss her fingers. Then she adjusted to the right, nodding to Noah.
Soul Rest: A Knights of the Board Room Novel Page 42
