by Joey W. Hill
He tugged the leotard off the lowered shoulder, baring the round, pale curve beneath. He cupped it, thumbing the nipple slowly, watching her reaction in the mirror. She had her gaze fixed on his hand, and when he shifted his support so he could cup her pussy fully beneath the skirt, she let out an erratic breath, dropping her head back on his shoulder. He swung her body up into the cradle of his arms.
She turned her face toward his neck. “I don’t want to leave yet.”
“I know.” He intended to snag a yoga mat from the stack in the corner, bring it back to the center of the floor, but she stopped him before he could head that way.
“I want to feel the floor beneath me.”
Nodding, he lowered her to it. She stretched out on her back, lifting her arms above her head, sliding her fingers along the cracks of the wood. “Where I first learned to dance, I knew every groove in the floor, every worn and polished place, every sanded-down knot. I can still smell the pine. After a dance class, if you laid your cheek on the floor, you could see the scuff marks our shoes had left.”
“You loved it.”
“Yes. But I was Debbie. I had the passion, the love for it, but I was only good enough to be one of the company, not the star. That was all right though. Since I was good enough to do that, I got to dance on a stage, in front of an audience.”
Since he knelt above her, he saw her come out of the past, sharpening on the present. “I want my stick.”
He retrieved it, laid it next to her. Then he eased the leotard down to her waist, exposing both breasts to his gaze. Untying the wraparound skirt, he removed it and the leotard fully. The shoes and tights followed. He took his time and she watched him closely throughout. Though her lips tightened, she didn’t stop him.
He sat back on his heels. Now, without him wearing a blindfold, without her covering her legs with hosiery, he saw them. Two circular scars on each limb. At some point in her life, they’d both been broken, compound fractures. The age of the scars seemed similar, suggesting they’d happened at the same time.
He understood her enough not to ask, not tonight. Like his sister’s story, that was territory they’d have to learn at a careful pace. But he bent, pressed his lips to one of the scars and earned a tremble. She feathered her fingers through his hair. When he lifted his head, he had the pleasure of sweeping his gaze up a lovely female form clad only in her jewelry. The pendant was a charm, a tiny ballet dancer.
He shed his T-shirt. He’d never thought too much about his body from an aesthetic viewpoint. It was a tool, a weapon to keep honed, but he found he responded strongly to how much she appreciated it. Her avid gaze said she wanted to touch, so he came down to her, closing his eyes as those demanding fingers caressed and scraped his upper torso. They lowered to the jeans, tugged on the belt. As he was unbuckling it, she dipped into his back pocket to retrieve his wallet.
Bemused, he sat back on his heels, watched her open it. She flipped past his commercial license, his concealed carry permit, his single credit card. Then she dug into the interior pocket and retrieved a condom, giving him a sultry look she did much better than Tasha—the benefit of true experience. “Always prepared?”
“Always. There are a couple more in my coat.” He nodded toward where he’d left it hung on a hook on the wall.
“Hmm. And ambitious. When was the last time you had sex, Max?”
“Not so long ago that I don’t need that.” He regretted having to say it, but though it had been infrequent, there’d been the occasional hookup with other lonely people. Always protected, but he wouldn’t risk Janet for the possibility of error.
She handed the wallet back to him with a reserved expression that made him wonder if he needed to make up for lost ground, but then she dispelled that concern. “Get tested, and you won’t need to use it while you’re with me. My tubes were tied long ago, and sex…” She paused. This time, he wondered if her imperious look covered something more vulnerable. “You’ll be the first in quite a while,” she said at last.
“Then I’m honored. Mistress.”
He pushed the jeans to his thighs. She didn’t object to him not taking everything off, her eyes dark and lips parted, eager. Though urgency beat between them like a bass rhythm, things had slowed down as well. He lowered himself down onto her, and her legs slid around his hips, heels caressing the backs of his knees beneath the jeans. She put her hands on his chest like bird wings, spreading her fingers wide and making him feel like she was learning him, tugging his chest hair, tracing the shallow indentations between ribs as she worked her way downward.
He took care of the necessary evil of the condom, but he was going to do as she’d said. He wanted to feel her without that barrier. When he guided himself to her wet cunt, he led with two knuckles, rubbing against the labia, feeling the slick give before he moved his hand out of the way and pushed inward, lifting his gaze to focus on her face.
She was staring at him. In that hushed silence, his gradual progression into her body, he felt something indescribable. With every inch he sank into her, it was as if he’d found something he’d lost. She’d unclipped her hair and it waved around her face, softening it. It gave him a momentary pause, her parted lips, the yearning expression. Then he was all the way in and her eyes closed, her body lifting up toward him in reaction.
He caught the back of her head, bracing his weight with his other hand as she moaned softly against his lips. The feminine noise set him on fire, the hushed moment giving way to something more edgy and dark, needy. He parted her mouth with his own and plundered, taking over with tongue and teeth. He lifted his hips, partially withdrawing, but only to increase the friction, push into her harder. This time when his eyes opened, hers did as well, and he saw the challenge in her gaze. He dove back into that kiss.
She reached for the stick, sliding it across his upper thighs to grasp the other end, notching the length of it into the crease between his buttocks and thighs. When she tightened her grip on it, he surged back into her, plunging deeper, harder, feeling the insistent pressure of the bar as it pushed against his ass, urging him on.
“Fuck me,” she muttered against his ear, taking a sharp bite. He caught his fingers in her hair, tightening enough to pull on the scalp, and her nails dug into his flanks. He plunged forward again as she met him, impact for impact. Pressing his mouth against her temple, he pinned her down with his body, working himself in her like a man determined to stake his claim. He had no idea when the need to possess her had taken root in him, but now it was here in full, raging glory.
He kept kissing her even as he thrust and she urged him on with the pressure on that stick, but then her mouth broke away. “Stop,” she whispered.
Complying with such an outrageous request was like sawing back on the reins of an eight-horse stagecoach heading full tilt toward a cliff. He was enough in tune with her that he managed it, however, pushing his body up off her with one arm, breathing heavy, everything tight with lust. When she lifted a hand to his face, he sucked on her fingers, kissed them, nipped.
“After you went down on me in your truck, did you jack off?”
“No.” He adjusted deeper, not a thrust, but a response of its own. When she swallowed, he locked on to that reaction. Did it again.
“Stop,” she said, a bare whisper of reproof. “Have you given yourself relief since?”
“No.” He could tell that surprised her, because he wasn’t what she was used to having, and she’d expected him to act according to his nature, not hers. But just because he wasn’t a sub didn’t mean he didn’t understand what she wanted, needed. “I wasn’t going to come until I was inside you.”
“What if I commanded you to pull out now, tonight, before that happened? What if I don’t want you to come inside me until there’s no condom between us?”
“I’d say you’re a sadist.” His cock pulsed inside her, rebelling against the idea quite adamantly. A quiver ran up his arms when she slid her hand over one of them. The edge of the stick now
followed the back of his thigh, to his knee, his calf. She tapped him there, lightly, then harder, making him flex in reaction.
She let it roll away with a clatter, replacing it with her hand on his ass, her nails scraping him. “I’m imagining you being flogged while you’re inside of me,” she whispered, her pupils dominating her dark eyes. “A Mistress is standing behind you, striking on every thrust, the strands of the cat sliding off your gorgeous back and ass. It would be a barbed cat, but I know you wouldn’t even feel it, Max. You’d only feel my cunt, squeezing down on your cock. You wouldn’t notice the people watching, everyone in the dungeon coming to watch this magnificent, muscular male animal fucking his Mistress.”
He dropped back down on her, elbows on either side of her face, his fingers curling into her hair to hold her. He worked his hips in deeper, earning a parting of those glossed lips, a tiny, shuddering breath. “Does that idea excite you?” he rumbled, teasing between them with the tip of his tongue.
“You know it does. The question is, does it excite you?”
“Yeah. Because while you were talking about it, your pussy rippled around my cock and your nipples got tighter, harder. I want to see you fucking mindless, Janet. If being a Mistress gets you there, sends you flying, I’ll take that trip with you. But it’s you, everything about you, that gets me hard.” He paused, locking gazes with her. “And if it keeps you from doing it with other men. Fair warning, I’m moving into that zone. I’m not the sharing kind.”
“You want to see me mindless? Then pull out of me and take that thing off. I want to see you jack off over me.”
He shook his head, moved his mouth down to her throat. “No. I want you too damn much like this.”
Janet let out a cry as he covered her breast with his lips, pulling on the nipple hard, even as he thrust into her again, underscoring the point. He could take over a woman’s senses. He was good at it, could overwhelm her, take her flying, and he wanted her helpless, screaming his name and raking his back with her nails.
That had been the goal with every woman he’d ever had beneath him. Giving them both what they wanted. At least for that one moment.
As that thought sunk in, he let go of the nipple, but gave it a teasing lick before he lifted his upper body once more, bracing his other hand on her hip. Her skin was flushed, breath rapid, but her eyes hadn’t changed focus. She wouldn’t fight him. She understood that this was a give-and-take game between them, not the prescribed boundaries she had at the club. But his expanding knowledge of how her mind worked in moments like these, what she might truly want, was a potent form of self-restraint.
Still, he had his own desires, and he wasn’t yet ready to withdraw. Sliding a hand beneath her waist, he put a palm on her buttock and brought them into a sitting position, her straddling his lap and him still inside her. It changed the angle and thrust, winning him another gratifying gasp, a lovely shudder through her toned body, but he forced himself to focus, cupping her face.
“How about a compromise? You want to use that stick on me, I can tell. How about you do your worst with it, and then you can sit me down on my sore ass in one of these straight chairs, and ride me until you climax.”
She arched a brow. “How about you?”
“My Mistress says she wants me to come inside her without a rubber.” He lifted a shoulder, gave her a tight smile. “Sounds like I won’t be coming tonight then.”
“And if you do anyway? If you can’t hold back?”
“Then she gets to dish out another punishment sometime in the future. That’d be a win-win for her.”
Janet managed a wry chuckle, but when he tightened his arm around her waist, holding them even closer together, her face folded into a more serious expression. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing her face into the side of his where he couldn’t see her face. Brow creasing, he cupped her skull, holding her with cock throbbing but heart tilting at the sudden desperate measure.
“You’re a rare combination, Max,” she whispered. “You’re caring for me, even as you offer to serve me. Protector and servant both. You’re a new experience.”
“Same goes, Mistress.”
She smiled against his temple. “You’re also the first man who’s ever called me that as an endearment instead of an honorific. I can tell the difference, you know.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“If it was, I would have told you. I’m not shy.”
“I’ve noticed that.” Turning his head, he caught her lips, drawing them both into a slow, spiraling kiss, working himself inside her until she was making those lovely feminine noises of distressed pleasure. Her arms were locked around his shoulders still, their hearts thundering together. When she pushed him away at last, hands flat against his chest, her eyes were sparking with fire and challenge.
“Deal. I’m getting up now.”
While they’d been kissing, she’d folded her legs beneath her, so he had to let go of her hips before she could lift off him. As she started to push herself up, he saw the grimace she tried hard to cover. He put his hands back on her waist, taking over so he lifted her onto her feet. She nodded with aplomb, then pointed to one of the straight wooden chairs along the wall. “Get rid of the condom and take that chair to the center of the room.”
* * * * *
Janet was shaken and energized at once. She hadn’t been kidding. He was such a curious mix, and a very arousing one. She’d barely had the willpower to stop them. Actually, during that last kiss, the desire to let them both go over had been so strong she almost hadn’t. Except the Mistress in her loved the power of denial, for herself as much as her sub. Yet Max wasn’t her sub. At the moment, she’d call him a woman’s deepest fantasy. He’d understood her need enough to resist that overwhelming compulsion to completion as well.
Though a Domme loved a sub, many of her sisters in that nature loved the idea of teaching a strong, non-submissive, alpha male the pleasures of surrender. It was a treasure rarely discovered, let alone offered, as Max had offered it.
He’d placed the chair in the center of the room as she requested. Now she retrieved the stick she’d released. It wasn’t flexible, not appropriate for what she wanted, but he’d correctly recognized her desire to leave marks on him.
“Take off the rest of your clothes. Then lean over the back of the chair until your stomach touches it. Grab hold of the seat with both hands. Spread your legs shoulder width.”
She circled him, response from her pussy trickling down her legs, not only from him being inside her but from the vision he gave her as he worked off his shoes, shucked off jeans and briefs. He was utterly mouthwatering. She saw more scars, nicks and remnants of serious injuries, but nothing that marred the sheer beauty of a male body honed to warrior fitness. She’d have to join him on one of his workouts, see what he did to stay looking like this. She had a feeling she’d likely need a golf cart or boat to keep up.
When he complied with her order, spreading his legs, she moved behind him, licking her lips at the heavy testicle sac, the curve of the aroused cock that disappeared to brush his belly. She could see it when she shifted to view his profile. Very nice. His buttocks were taut, begging for teeth, strap, tongue.
She dipped to pull the belt from his jeans. When she moved close enough to trail her fingers down his spine, he lowered his head, that attractive quiver going through him again.
“You’ll tell me if it gets to be too much.”
“I had to go through interrogation training, including waterboarding. Do your worst.”
“The physical isn’t what can get to be too much.” Not for someone like him. When her meaning sunk in, he nodded.
“You’re beautiful,” she said. “I could beat your ass all night long.”
He gave a half chuckle. “Is it crazy that I understood that?”
“No. But don’t talk anymore until I say so. Feel.”
She rolled the stick over his ass a few times, let him feel that. She thought about sli
ding it vertically between his buttocks, making him tighten those luscious cheeks and hold on to it while she strapped him, but in the end she put it aside. She liked keeping it simple. Plus, if the muscles stayed loose, the nerves were more sensitive. She rolled her shoulder, let the belt dangle from her hand then folded it over, tucking both ends into her palm.
The first several strikes were to get him used to the feeling, but then she started ramping it up. She loved the red prints left by the strap, loved knowing he’d put the belt back on tonight but never look at it the same way again. He shifted and flexed from the blows, but otherwise held still. When he started lifting to them, she knew he was responding to her obvious arousal, the way she passed her hand over his tortured flanks, cupping his balls and squeezing, pressing her thumb deeper between his ass cheeks, against his rim, teasing him there so he jerked. But he didn’t say anything, didn’t warn her against that part of him, an intriguing potential.
He was right. He had an enormous capacity for discomfort, but she saw the body language change as he got deeper into his head, letting go of whatever analysis he was doing of what was happening between her and him. Lust started rising up, hot and hard, his cock getting stiffer, the tip getting glossy with thick fluid. The rippling of his back and ass muscles made her hungrier and hungrier, and she started hitting harder and faster, ignoring the ache in her arm and back, shifting on her tired feet, willing to go on until they were stumps.
When she circled him, he lifted his head to look at her. She was completely naked, sauntering around him with the brazen sensuality of a siren. She stopped in front of him, cupping her own breast, idly fondling it as she considered him.
“Come here,” he growled. “I’ll suck on that for you, Mistress.”
She allowed it, coming close enough her knees brushed his knuckles, locked on the edge of the chair seat. Then his mouth was on her nipple, his hands remaining in that restrained position, his ass available for more punishment. She was glad she’d had him take off the condom, because the floor was marked with the drip of his pre-come.
