Setting the beer aside, he rose. He came to her, and the shadows resolved themselves into his forbidding, handsome expression. He unbuckled one thigh cuff, slid it around, refastened it, then he did the same to the other. Then he guided her wrists behind her, crossed them. He’d adjusted the D-rings so they were beneath the fullest point of her buttocks, so now her hands were cuffed behind her, the position and crossing of her wrists pulling her shoulders back to a more severe arch of her back.
He hadn’t said she had to look down, so she watched him with hungry eyes. She thought the olive-green coat and crisply ironed slacks, the gold buttons and insignia on the sleeve, the braiding and polished shoes, just added to his look of total command.
As did that intent gaze, that Master’s absorption that said he was seeing, thinking everything. Her thoughts might have the randomness of autumn leaves spinning in a storm, but in a way it meshed, that submissive chaos orbiting the Master in the center. He had strategic focus, each point on the line to his goal marked with every action.
She’d vaguely registered her surroundings. The screened porch, the chair where he’d sat watching her, but now she detected a different scent. Heated water. He gripped her elbow, turned her, and she saw the hot tub in the corner, steaming. He had the bubbles turned off.
Unbuttoning his coat, he shrugged out of it, hung it up on a coatrack. Then he loosened his tie, removed it, and rolled up his sleeves. Casual movements she found unbelievably sexy, such that when he bent and scooped her up as if she weighed nothing, she wanted to curl her arms around his neck, press her face there, feel the strength of his body against her breasts through the thin shirt. But he had her bound, denying her.
He sat her on one of the benches in the tub, the heated water coming up to her waist. Reaching below the water’s surface, he lifted her legs and wrapped two straps around her ankles, spreading and attaching them to the bench across from her, her feet curled over the edge of it. Her thigh straps were hooked to steel clips on the bench she was on, limiting the mobility of her hips. He fastened the chain to her collar to a hook on the side of the hot tub, taking up the slack enough it pulled against the side of her throat, but it was a psychological reminder, not restrictive. Easing her head back against the wide, flat edge behind her, he strapped her forehead down. In this position she was arched back, her breasts thrust up at him, legs spread beneath the water.
Then he turned on the jets.
One hit her on the labia and clit, a direct, solid hit, the force enough to have her gasping and trying to writhe right away.
“You keep yourself positioned right in front of that. No wiggling away.”
“Yes, Master,” she managed in a desperate rasp.
He loomed above her, watching as the water stimulated her already overwhelmed tissues. She was caught in a permanent state of arousal, almost where she couldn’t go higher or lower, just had to stay in this mindless needy mode. Where she’d beg to be fucked, just like he’d said. She kept her eyes latched on his, knowing the plea was in her gaze. He was watching the reactions of her body, those stern, detail-oriented eyes covering every response.
Picking up one of the candles, he brought the flame close enough to her exposed breast that she felt the heat. She quaked but didn’t draw back. He put a hand on her shoulder to steady her regardless, and then tipped it over her skin, already glistening from the steam off the water.
She gasped again at the heat of the wax, a fast sear of the flesh that turned to liquid heat, rolling over the crinkled ground of her areola and her nipple before beginning to harden. He did it to the other, and she arched further toward him, not away. Setting the candle aside, he placed the blindfold back on her, lacing it more tightly than Troy had, so the darkness was absolute. She doubted any light could filter through, even around the edges.
His hands framed her neck, thumbs resting on her collarbone, then they made a slow upward stroke over her windpipe, to the base of the collar. She raised her chin as his mouth touched hers lightly, tongue tracing her lips. She made a soft plea which he answered by tightening his grip, indicating he expected her to stay utterly still, passive. It made things all the more combustible. The water was stroking her, pummeling her, and she cried softly into his mouth. He didn’t respond to that, instead taking his time playing with her lips, while she shut her eyes tight behind the blindfold, the contrast helping her keep her mouth slack, which only intensified the sensations.
“Mine,” he murmured, leaving her mouth to speak against her ear. “My devoted slave, my treasure. Your sweet cunt is all mine.”
Those were the words she’d told Logan she’d imagined her soldier saying, when all this— everything he’d brought to life for her tonight—had been merely a masturbation fantasy to keep her company in her lonely bed.
Before tonight, she would have said she’d been fantasizing about a Master who couldn’t possibly exist. But those words Logan spoke against her flesh didn’t feel like mere imitation to fit her fantasy. It was as if he’d sent them to her dreams long before she met him. Logan was the Master she’d dreamed about, and he was here, incredibly, overwhelmingly real.
She was going to come. Oh fuck . . . She whimpered, conveying the desperation in the plea.
The cry caught in her throat, a near miss. He’d reduced the water pressure, the diabolical man. The water now flowed over her swollen tissues in a languorous stroke that in some ways made it harder to be still. But as Logan moved his mouth back to her cheekbone, the corner of her lips, her lifted jaw, things slowed down, the throb of her body becoming more like a heartbeat, pounding and sure, irrefutable.
Images filled her mind, riding that rhythm. Their first session, where he’d tied her to Troy, her “helping” him train the male sub. Sitting on the tailgate of his truck with her, Logan letting her see his sadness over Veronica’s situation, as well as his adamant desire that Madison should never fear him the way the abused sub had feared her Dom. The way he’d backed down Veronica’s Master, he and Troy ready to protect them both, with a great deal of violence if necessary. Such things stirred a woman’s blood, no matter how barbaric it might seem.
His expression when he made her smile, as if he was the one who’d been given a gift. She thought of the many times she’d visualized Logan at Alice’s bedside, caring for her, her primary caregiver, doing what Madison should have been doing. And would have, if her sister had let her know she was sick, or if Madison had paid closer attention to the signs. Except now Madison realized maybe Alice had wanted to go out on her own terms, and part of those terms had included helping Madison find what she’d never been able to find for herself.
Now, in the touch of Logan’s hands, in the way she was sure his eyes rested on her, she realized that hadn’t been a gift for only one person. If Madison believed Logan, Alice had given him something he hadn’t been able to find for himself, either. Just one more time, could she risk her heart? Trust that she’d finally found what she’d always been seeking?
Tears burned in her eyes under the mask. When Logan’s thumbs moved over her throat she swallowed beneath his touch, his collar. “I love you,” she whispered.
His hands stopped but she shook her head. “Please don’t take off the blindfold. I want to be yours . . . I want the fantasy to become the reality.”
Would he understand such a strangely worded request, since keeping the blindfold on would seem to be promoting the fantasy? In the end, he was a Master, wasn’t he? He understood that some things became far clearer while within the session, things that escaped when they were outside it. If she stayed within it long enough tonight, she could brand it on her soul, so she never lost it. She hoped. There were truths to be found here, and she’d just stepped over the threshold, saying she was willing to accept them, find them in his ownership.
“When I’m done tonight, you’ll feel like you’ve been fucked by ten men,” he said, after a long pause, making her breat
h sigh out in relief. “But they’ll all be me. I’m not going to share you. It will always, only, be me. Say it.”
“Only you, Master.” Her lips curved in tremulous answer, and his hands dropped to her waist. For one blissful instant, he was up against her, his lips at her temple, telling her he understood. That he knew what this moment meant to them both.
He unhooked the thigh straps. “Hold your breath,” he said quietly. “And trust me.”
“I do.”
He pushed her beneath the water, into a thundering world of bubbles. Her knees bent, the ankle straps holding her feet against the opposite bench. The chain pulled against the collar, reminding her of her connection to the world above, but it had enough slack her head came to rest on that bench where she’d been sitting, her backside now suspended in that open area between the two benches. One second, two seconds . . . He caressed her, hands sliding over her breasts, dislodging the wax, rubbing her nipples. She tried to hold her breath rather than strangling at the incredible sensation. Then, slowly, he brought her back up.
She’d trusted him entirely for that, for holding her underwater, and her response to that was powerful. She’d been shaking for a while, but now the feeling had doubled in intensity. He removed the tether attached to her collar, freed her ankles and pulled off the thigh straps, but left her hands cuffed behind her back. Then he scooped her up and brought her out. As he set her down and drew back, she assumed to find a towel, he had to remove his hands from her, step away.
It was then she realized all these revelations were too unsettling. Her knees buckled, a tree without roots.
She didn’t even have a chance to call out. He was back in the space of a heartbeat, his body providing her support. He bent and lifted her again, cradling her back so even with her arms pulled behind her, she felt secure. She was soaking wet and against his dress shirt, but he didn’t seem to care. Taking her a few steps across the room, he laid her down on her side on a thinly padded table.
He spread a towel over her, gently dried her, head to toe. The sculpting clay had done its job: even after her dunking, her hair still firmly held in that topknot on her head, but he patted the area above the collar, her face, then all over, careful and thorough as if drying a child. She quivered under his touch and thought thoughts no child ever did.
When he was done, even down to rubbing the soles of her feet dry, he unhooked her wrists and turned her on her back. Her ass was on the table’s edge, but then she heard a sliding sound, and her legs were fitted into bendable cool metal brace pieces that came out from beneath the table, like stirrups in the doctor’s office, only for a far more sexy use. He strapped her ankles, calves and thighs to those brace pieces. Then he bent her legs to a more severe angle, her knees pushed up toward her body, but spread out so her anus and cunt were completely exposed to him on the edge of the table. She was supported and helpless at once, from the waist down.
Of course he wasn’t done. He strapped down her upper body as well, her forehead, hips, and above and below her breasts. They were wider strips, padded, so they didn’t cut into her as her weight redistributed. He stretched her arms out on braces as well, held them there like bent angel wings.
He had her completely immobilized, at his mercy. She was a little teary, and so aroused she could barely speak. Fortunately he wasn’t asking her to recite poetry, though she had a feeling by the time he was done, she’d be speaking in tongues.
He moved away from her again, and she heard him open a drawer, remove something. The tear of foil, possibly a condom being rolled on. Then another scent, the squirt of a bottle. Lubricant being added to the condom, to augment what was already there. The sound of something being snapped in place, and then rolled across what had to be a wood floor, based on the sound of his shoes on it earlier and now.
Touching her pussy lips, he pushed an oiled finger into her to tease her channel with tiny caresses that had her trying to lift up to his touch. She could manage some movement, but her restrained legs kept it to a limited wriggling that seemed to please him, because he put another hand on her breast, gently thumbed the nipple.
“That’s my gorgeous slave, all wet and eager for me.”
His fingers withdrew, but only to replace them with something else. He began to ease a dildo that felt like flesh into her. Thick, very thick flesh. “This is my friend with the sizeable cock. The one that I would have had stretch your mouth, push down into your throat until he made you gag. Looking at you all tied up like this, he can’t resist. He wants your pussy, and he’s such a good friend, I won’t deny him the gift. No, don’t you tense up. You keep moving your hips. He’s dripping with lube. You can take him.”
It was a credit to his skill, that he could use that mesmerizing voice and her subjugated position, the way it scrambled her brain, to revive the fantasy, despite the fact she knew he was alone with her. She heard the murmur of voices, wondered if he’d turned on a recording, but it didn’t matter. Like the auction, there were erratic air currents, as if there were more people in the room, and now it was as if he was talking to his friend, not her.
“She’s trained to do this. You can go balls deep in her. How does that feel? Tight as fuck, right? Look at her face. Lips parted, practically begging to take another cock down her throat. She loves serving her Master.”
He bore down, kept working it, working it, as it stretched her impossibly, filled her. When she thought she couldn’t take a millimeter more, he stopped, strapped it in place.
“My other friend wants your ass. What do you say to your Master?”
“Yes . . . sir. Please.”
She let out a startled breath as the table was elevated, her hips at a higher angle than her head. The reason for the supportive, wider straps was now apparent. Once she was in position, he began to work a plug into her anus. This one was as thick as the one in her pussy, though perhaps it wasn’t, because she couldn’t imagine taking two of that size without splitting in two.
“Master . . . I’m not sure . . .”
“Are you afraid your Master will let someone hurt you in a way you won’t like?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have I ever done that before?”
“No, sir.” She swallowed. “Please . . . I’m sorry. Please, keep going?”
He did, working the other one into her until it was seated and cinched in place. Moving upward, he stroked her temple, then adjusted another hinged piece to tilt her head back, toward the floor. A ring gag was lodged in her mouth to hold it open wide. As he buckled the strap for it around the back of her neck, the ring made her jaw ache, but the idea of a thick cock being thrust between her immobilized lips made her tremble more.
“My friend wants you to suck him off while the other two fuck you. You’re being such a good slave. I’m very proud of you.”
Her pussy got even wetter, just from her hearing his approval. She adjusted her jaw so she could take the ring gag deeper, make her mouth wider. He growled in response. “Are you pleasing them or your Master?”
“You,” she said, despite the ring holding down her tongue. “Only . . . you.”
He fit another dildo into that, a firm, flesh-like one with testicles that were so lifelike, it just took her further into the fantasy, the way they squashed against her forehead, the bridge of her nose. She was twitching, so aroused, her nerves so wound up, her emotions started to spiral everywhere, a perverse reaction to being so restrained.
He trailed a hand down her body as he moved back between her legs, a firm caress that reassured. When he moved the two dildos slightly, working them in and out, greasing her up further, she moaned against the gag. There was no direct contact with her clit, but every other erogenous nerve ending was on high alert, including her mind. She could envision the way she looked, spread out and impaled for his pleasure. Because of the pictures he’d painted, she could imagine his three friends there, all military men
like himself, with muscles, tattoos and short, shaved hair, eyes intent and serious, filled with lust and need. Wanting to take pleasure from her bound, helpless body. It was her fantasy and more . . . by making it only him, he’d made it the reality she craved as well.
A hum and she let out a cry as the dildos in her anus and pussy started moving in a synchronized way. The rolling and snapping sounds made sense now. The dildos were attached to one of those machines she’d seen in the clubs she and Alice had visited. A fucking machine, one with a dual attachment, adjusted to the right angles. Slow push inward, then withdraw, then repeat. It made the idea of two males fucking her all the more real in her mind. One beneath her, thrusting up as she lay upon him, the other pushing into her pussy, standing between her spread knees and straddling the other man’s legs.
The next change nearly shattered her. The dildo in her mouth was removed, as was the ring gag holding it, and instead she got the real thing. Her Master’s flesh and blood cock between her lips. She sucked him in with all the eagerness and desire she could convey, to the point she was almost a little too enthusiastic. He tightened a hand in her hair, a gentle reproof to tone it down. Oh, but it was so difficult to do so, especially with those other two pushing in, pulling out. His testicles pressed against the bridge of her nose, his scent filling her like his cock.
“There you are. You serve me with your mouth as your ass and cunt are taking care of my friends. My sweet, sweet slave. Worth every dollar I paid for you. I’m going to keep you naked in a pretty gilded cage when I’m not fucking you, let everyone see my gorgeous pet, walk you around the grounds with a leash, remind you who you belong to every day . . .”
God, he was driving her even crazier. She heard the mutter of other male voices now, while the scent of his cock and seed absorbed her, along with the heat and aroma of the candles, making it all come to overwhelming life.
“Damn, Sarge, she’s a beauty. She’s so bloody tight and wet . . . I could bugger her ass all day long. We’ll switch after this and have another go at her. I want to fuck her to death . . .”
Naughty Bits Part IV: The Highest Bid Page 8
