by Adira August
She pulled his zipper down slowly. Then flipped open the button at the waist. The soft fabric, weighted by the heavy belt, slid down over his narrow hips and pooled at his knees. He was wearing black sport briefs. Tight. Locking his erection against his abdomen. She moved her hand back to his rock hard cock and then down, cupping his balls through the stretchy fabric.
“You know what’s wrong with an SUV?” She asked dreamily. His gaze was fixed on her hand, hypnotized by her fingers tracing the twin curves of his testicles. “You don’t have a private place to masturbate.” She found the seat belt latch and released it. The device retracted smoothly. Luxury engineering.
Avia reached up with both hands and slipped them under the elastic waist of his briefs and started to push down.
“Avia!” He grabbed one of her wrists.
“Yes, Sir?” She asked. He didn’t speak, the look he gave her of … raw, animal lust. Anguish.
She pulled her wrist gently from his grasp and slid the restraining garment over his beautiful firm ass and down to join his pants. His cock sprang free, hard against his abdomen. She wrapped her arms around his hips and slid to the floor, turning him.
He followed, sitting, facing her. She slid his pants and briefs the rest of the way down and spread his knees with her hands.
Her palms caressed the tops of his thighs, following the long prominence of his quadriceps all the way to his body and returning along the soft, firm flesh of the insides of his thighs. His stomach fluttered under his t-shirt. She reached forward and pushed it up to his chest.
Shrugging her open blouse off, she unhooked her bra. It fell to the floor. She drew both hands along his erection and down to his heavy sac. “You’re so beautiful,” she murmured. Pressing her breasts against him, she wrapped her arms around his thighs, pressing them against her sides until she felt him respond, clutching her.
She caressed his cock with the side of her face, her cheek sliding over him, so amazingly hot and hard inside the velvet sheath of his skin. She heard the sharp hiss of an intake of breath. Felt his chest expand.
She pushed up further, wrapping her arms around his hips, pulled him forward, nuzzling his cock over and following the vertical line of hair leading up to his navel. He was hard against her face on one side, firm muscles of his abdomen tightening against her cheek on the other.
She bent her head to bury her nose in his thatch of dark pubic hair, inhaling his warm musky scent. Her fingers tightened on his hips, skating over smooth skin up and around his torso. He feels as beautiful as he looks.
“Avienne … ” She looked up at the sound of him whispering her full name. He stared down, eyes bright with wonder and need, his head back against the headrest, hands relaxed on the seat next to his thighs as if he had surrendered. She smiled up at him.
Avia lifted herself up higher on her knees and lowered her mouth to the wide head of his cock. She let her lips slide over and around the ridge, her teeth gently scraping him. He growled a moan and thrust and she rode him, pressing with her body, tightening her arms to stay with him.
Her tongue slid down and back, the tip teasing his frenulum as she applied suction just to the head inside her mouth. Oh, he is divine, she thought, as he trembled and groaned.
She pulled him more deeply into her mouth, feeling his smooth firm glans filling her, fitting the curved roof of her mouth, her tongue stroking him harder, sucking him, tasting a flow of precum she swallowed.
Her arms released him and she grasped the shaft of his cock with both hands, sliding them up and down, firmly, slowly. Her strokes reached all the way down, her thumbs following the hidden hardness partway into his sac and back up to her lips.
His hips thrust, trying to fuck deeper into her mouth. She moved with him, controlling him with the constant movement of her tongue, the suck and release, the fingers wrapped about him stroking.
She was relentless. But she was not teasing him to make him more aroused. She was only serving herself, loving his incredible hardness, scent and heat. The throbbing pulse she could feel with her tongue. She reveled in his size and shape and the animal sounds from deep in his chest. Her cunt heated and swelled.
His thighs against her sides tightened, the muscles hardening, quivering. Feeling his orgasm was imminent, she stopped. Relaxed her tongue, allowing the suction to recede. Her fingers loosened.
“Bitch!” He breathed, eyes closed.
She pushed up and slid over the top of his thigh, so she was lying along the bench seat, with his cock still in her mouth. Her arm over his thigh cupped his sac. Her other arm she flung across his abdomen, and brought her hand back to wrap around his erection. He thrust again to shove deeper into her mouth. She moved with him again, denying him.
She released him for a moment, found his hand and moved it up her hair. He grabbed reflexively. She felt up to his shoulder and down, finding the hand nearest her hip and slid it to her upper thigh. The bench too short for her to stretch out, her knees bent, thighs open, feet braced against the door.
He wrapped his long fingers around her. She felt his palm over the back of her thigh, slide up to her ass, kneading her cheeks and caressing her other thigh. His hand in constant motion, warming her.
She sucked him in earnest, now. Her hand back on his shaft, his fist in her hair tightened, keeping her head still as he rocked into her.
She kneaded his balls and sucked until he thrust hard and hit the back of her throat. She firmed her tongue and pushed back and felt his sac draw up and tighten. She imagined the great shaft in her mouth also in her cunt, opening her, slamming into her. Her clit burned. She pressed her pussy into the towel still across the seat.
His hand on her ass gripped tightly, squeezing, kneading as he fucked her mouth. She rode him still, moving with him, not quite letting him pound her, breathing carefully through her nose in great gulps of air.
And she realized she wanted him out of control, consumed with wanting her, insane with the need to come. She pulled back suddenly and flicked her tongue across his reddened over-sensitive cockhead as her other hand reached under his balls and stroked back along his perineum. Her middle finger found his anus and pressed.
“Fucking bitch!” he cried out, his voice thick with his arousal.
The fist in her hair lifted her mouth off of his cock as his other hand came down hard on the bottom of her ass just above her spread thighs.
WHAP!
She cried out. The force of the stroke would have pushed her forward but his grip on her hair was too strong.
She barely grabbed a breath against the stinging flare of heat, before his wide palm cracked across her ass in the same place.
WHAP! She cried out again, and came.
He pushed her, convulsing with her orgasm, down onto his cock once more, cutting off her cries as he fucked her mouth, deep and hard. Once. Twice. On the third thrust the cum poured from him in a stream so powerful she barely had to swallow as it rushed down her throat.
He bucked and held and his cock throbbed and pulsed. “Avienne!” he gasped and more cum flooded her mouth and she took it. Took it all, as her own orgasm consumed her.
And then they both went still and limp. She held him, but moved nothing. Not her tongue or her lips, knowing he would be over-sensitive now. Her hips did buck slightly with an aftershock orgasm and his hand, which had been gently stroking her ass where he’d spanked her, slid down between her legs. He pressed four fingers flat against her, to help her along.
She did love his fingers. She did love every moment of the amazing sexual experience she’d just had. One she’d never thought she wanted. In her post-orgasmic haze she loved that she had undone him. And he had let her.
She had goaded him into spanking her, amazed now at wanting it so badly and delighted with the result. Even though she knew he’d struck her quite hard, her arousal somehow transformed what should have been sharp pain into a sweet chastisement and heat that flowed down and into her and over her and slammed her into a stunning or
gasm.
Her lips curved up as she thought of bringing him to the point of orgasm and backing off - fucking, bitch - the memory of the words forced from him causing another lazy spasm between her legs. His fingers pressed and held again, giving her something to come against. Oh, he is a thoughtful lover.
She felt his cock soften and recede. She relaxed her jaw and let him back slowly out of her mouth, gasping a little as her soft lips dragged over the head. He lifted her up and cradled her across his lap, brushing her hair back, studying her face.
“That wasn’t what I had in mind for your first spanking at your first Session,” he said.
She ran a fingertip along the top of his t-shirt, amazed at some level that he was still wearing it. “We’ll call this a Prelude to the actual Session.” She said. "So you don't have to abandon your plan."
“You still trust me?” He asked.
"Of course.” She placed a hand flat on his chest, over his heart. She felt his steady heartbeat and the rise of his pectoral under her palm. Not a hard ridge sculpted in a gym. But a warm rise to a solid and substantial part of a living man.
“You gave me exactly what I wanted. Needed. Even though it wasn’t on your agenda and you had to let the Rules slide for a while. You’re very generous that way. Why wouldn’t I trust you?”
He searched her face and then closed his eyes. He was so still for so long she wondered if he’d fallen asleep. But he was frowning, too. When he opened his eyes and raised his head, he’d switched gears to Dom mode.
“We have a full night ahead, as I’m going to feed you, spank you and fuck you, in that order. We’re five minutes from our destination and you’re naked, Ms. Rivers.”
She sat up. They were crossing Speer Boulevard into downtown. “Yes, Sir,” she said.
Avia reached for her bra.
Ben Hart was nonplussed. And he was never that. Avia redressed in the confines of the SUV, still graceful, somehow, and he wondered at the state of contentment he felt. And, yet, nonfuckingplussed. It was an old-fashioned term, but the one that most accurately described his state of mind.
He reached into his pocket and brought out a pair of black silk panties he’d gotten from his stores in the Keep before he left.
“Wear these,” he ordered, handing them to her.
“Yes, Sir,” she said looking them over, with a glint of her crooked smile.
Every relationship he’d had for the last six years had been with an experienced submissive and every relationship had been based on the same goal: to attain ecstatic orgasm. And every relationship but one for the last fourteen years had been defined by his role as a Dominant. Only in Nepal, where his Teacher had assumed that role, had he not been in complete control at all times. As he had been with Avia. Until now.
He’d done what he always did when a Companion arrived, in the Keep or, sometimes, at a vehicle if he’d come along: asked the question. Will you obey me in all things immediately and without question?
This they had to reaffirm of their own will every time. This was the moment they submitted for the duration of a Session. This was the statement of trust, that gave him the responsibility to lead them, care for them, teach them, while he took them further and further along the path. This was the promise that gave him the authority to discipline them. His control of himself and them had to be complete, just as his Teacher’s had been.
And then she’d touched him. In all these years, no submissive had ever had the temerity to reach out and touch him intimately. Not without being told to. And he rarely did that. Yet, there she was, moments after an intense orgasm, limp, satiated. She’d pressed her palm to his hard cock through his clothes and set his being on fire.
He’d frozen, startled and monumentally aroused. As if a web of fine wire spread out from his groin, a frisson of energy raced along them, igniting every one. His balls tightened as her fingers skimmed over them. His cock swelled even more, impossibly harder, tighter against him, throbbing, aching to be free. To thrust and fuck and erupt inside of her.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her, the feel of him darkening her eyes again, her breaths coming faster. His cockhead only inches from her parted lips. He feared if he moved he would shove her down and fuck her relentlessly. And then she was opening his belt (“Avia”) and sliding down his zipper and he had to stop her before he ruined everything between them with his lust. He grabbed her wrist -
“Avia -”
She looked up at him, her eyes bright with sexual longing and still her gaze was calm, knowing and sure, “Yes, Sir?”
She wanted him. Before she had wanted her own orgasm, to feel all he was doing to her, feel herself rocked by her own heat. But now she wanted him. Wanted his orgasm for him. And she wrapped her arms around him and brought him to herself and … Oh, Avienne.
Ben Hart wasn’t a man who lied to himself or hid his feelings from himself. He had to know everything in order to make the best decisions, in business, in product development, in his personal life.
As the SUV entered the underground level of the parking garage, he accepted that she had made him feel cared for. He didn’t know how that could be, since she’d been right, yesterday. They’d only known each other a few hours. He wondered, as Eustace parked in front of the elevator, if he’d have to end it. If it was impossible to get where he wanted to take her, because he could not maintain the control he needed.
She turned her curious, expectant face toward him, waiting for his orders.
But not tonight. Not until I’ve taken a few runs on my wall and examined this from all angles. Not until I’ve been inside you … oh, Benedict you are in trouble. … Fuck it. We have tonight.
“We’re in the lowest parking level of the Coloradan Hotel,” he said, handing her out of the SUV.
THE COLORADAN
Avia looked about her. There were no other cars in sight. Or much of anything else. They had driven around a concrete wall into an isolated space. In front of her was a generous parking area for at least four cars, and what looked like a maintenance and car washing station. Near the SUV was a very modern-looking elevator for a building she recalled being built in the late 1800s.
Ben tapped a code into a security pad. The elevator slid open immediately. “The Rules remain in force, but I’d like to have a conversation with you, so for now, you may speak freely,” he told her.
“You don’t happen to own this hotel, do you?” She asked as they entered.
He inserted a barrel key into a slot and the elevator rose. “When Henry Devers built the hotel in 1889, he had a private residential floor added to the top. It was a wonder, a building with trees growing on top of it. It’s one of the reasons I bought my house. The Keep is built the same way, set back, so you can walk right out into the air. The penthouse of the Coloradan is my home away from home, when I’m in town.”
She blinked. “You do own this hotel?”
He nodded. “I do.”
This is the weird billionaire part. She waited to see if he’d go on. He did.
“During prohibition, Devers’ son, Martin, bought the mercantile next door and razed it, replacing it with one of the first multi-level parking garages that included a basement level, part of which was given over to a speakeasy. Liquor deliveries arrived in Rolls Royces during the day and customers for the Mineshaft at night. The Brown Palace and the Oxford had tunnels. The Coloradan had underground parking.”
“The Brown Palace still has tunnels,” Avia remarked, following him off the elevator which opened directly into a large, marble-tiled foyer.
“Thing was, Devers had no organized crime connections. He had to hide from the cops, the Feds, and the Mafia.” He led her through the foyer and into a huge square room filled with period furniture and dark carpets. The watered-silk covered walls held western landscapes by Moran and Bierstadt, though she saw nothing by Remington.
She approached one as he continued speaking. He joined her in front of a luminous painting of Long’s Peak at dawn.
“They came with the place,” he explained. “There were stacks of them, all the western masters mixed in with hacks, in the old Mineshaft. They’d been using it for storage for decades. The paintings were all the way at the back. Probably put there when they had the place modernized."
“Look at them! The quality of the light and the chiaroscuro. Intimate grandeur. How did they survive?” She asked, thoroughly entranced by their beauty.
“It’s Colorado. It was cool and dry. Like a perfect museum environment.” He said. “They were dirty as hell, of course, covered with old tablecloths. I had them appraised and cleaned. Sold the Remingtons quietly. Burned the hackery.”
“You sold the ‘Remingtons?’ Plural? How many?” She turned away from the paintings finally.
“Six,” he said, taking her hand and leading her across the room and into another large room, rectangular this time. It was more modern, with an open kitchen at one end and a sofa by the floor-to-ceiling glass wall that gave access to the terrace.
“Six? You’ve only been in Colorado, what? Five years or so? You found six unknown Remingtons in … holy shit, they must have paid for the hotel!”
“And then some,” he remarked, settling her on a tall chair at a wide kitchen island with a wooden countertop. When she started to part her knees, he stopped her. “I won’t see you, anyway,” he said, moving off to take serving dishes out of a dumbwaiter.
“They didn’t know about the paintings. The people you bought the hotel from. And still don’t?” She asked.
He placed dishes and flatware in front of her. Found a bottle of wine under the counter on his side. Avia realized there must be a wine cooler. He smiled, opening the bottle.
“You look awfully smug,” she said.
“Doing things the easy way is costly, sometimes. The previous owners never bothered to clean out the old club. Wouldn’t pay to have it done, didn’t use it for anything but to shove their discarded crap into. Me? I walked every inch of the place, personally.” He put a glass of pink wine in front of her.
