Natural Law

by Joey W. Hill

  Violet ran her fingers through his hair, brushed it from his temple, slowly, meditatively, as if she were calming him as much as herself. "I think it's time to give you some attention," she said.

  "I don't deserve it. You should let me take care of your needs."

  It felt uncomfortable to be at the center of her focus, particularly after she'd so ruthlessly and efficiently stripped away a couple of his outer layers. He had more, but that wasn't the point. On the first night, he had told himself that she was not the type of Mistress he typically sought. His body didn't give a rat's ass. His surly subconscious was fast losing control of the situation.

  "I was cruel to you, to make you sit here so long waiting for me," she said.

  "You were punishing me, as I deserved."

  "Yes. Yes I was." There was a smile in her voice. "But I also know how to be kind."

  She moved away from him to a cabinet. Mac watched the movements of her hands as they withdrew a bottle. She had a light dusting of freckles on her bare shoulders, like a person who spent time in the sun on a job, not a tanning bed. What did his slim pixie do when she wasn't here?

  Whoa, boy. He almost winced at the horse reference. It was dangerous to start thinking about what a Mistress did outside club walls. Here is where their relationship belonged, especially since he was here for another reason.

  *

  Violet turned. He was quick, but she could tell he'd been watching her, studying her in a way she could feel in her bones, deeper than the surface, seeking what she was, who she was. That was what she'd said she wanted, wasn't it? A man who was not a one-nighter, but could go further with her. When the need to sexually dominate a man figured prominently in one's search for a lover, the relationship pretty much had to start within a club like this. Otherwise, she could find herself neck deep in a relationship with a man who had no interest in that, and then how would she handle it? Yes, he might be everything outside the bedroom she wanted, but he would be missing the one key ingredient, the one it had taken her several failed relationships and a couple of therapists to find out she had to have.

  Of course, that hadn't been the therapist's diagnosis. According to him, her need to serve as a Mistress was a product of a past she must overcome to enjoy a normal, healthy sexual relationship. He'd also been free with the prescription pad, pushing a list of mood drugs on her to "moderate" her behavior. She wished she could have strapped him to a rack and modified his behavior, with a very different mind-altering experience.

  Sometimes, you just were what you were. Unfortunately, this was one of those things that only those who felt it would understand. Tyler had helped her see that, understand and embrace it, integrate it safely into her life. She knew that it would be difficult and tremendously dangerous to translate a relationship outside these walls. If it always had to stay here, she had thought she could live with that. Until now.

  She wasn't quite prepared to say that Mac was Mr. Forever, of course, but she could say that she had experienced a stronger reaction to him in twenty-four hours than any man she'd ever met, in or out of these walls. It hadn't been anything he'd said or done, exactly, but something emanating off of him that had hit her hard the moment she looked at him, something that interacted with her own energy and compelled them to this moment. Thrilling and terrifying at once.

  She pointed to an upholstered bench of heavy wood, about three feet in length, that was equipped with a variety of restraining straps. "I want you on your stomach on this." At his wary look, she raised the bottle. "I want to rub this into your back."

  The bench was long enough that when he complied, it accommodated the length of his torso from the top of his head to his pelvis. He moved carefully, and she noted the relaxing of his features when he took the pressure off his legs and back. It told her the effort it had taken him to maintain the position she ordered. It also told her he hadn't cheated, which did wondrous things to her stomach and all the tingling parts of her.

  "Be still," she ordered, and buckled a strap around his waist. She also utilized the ones provided on the front legs of the bench to hold his wrists, effectively binding him to the bench and in his prone position. His knees were on the ground, and she had him lift slightly so she could slide a folded fleece blanket beneath them, ensuring his comfort, and strapped his ankles down to the floor bolts provided for that purpose.

  Being restrained had tensed up that powerful back, but she pretended not to notice and ignored the question in his expression. Instead, she poured some of the liquid from the bottle into her hands and worked it in her palms, lubricating them and her fingers. "This is going to go on warm," she said, "And then it gets warmer. Not painful. It's a liniment that should ease muscle strain."

  "Mistress does not need to see to my comfort," he protested again. "I am here for her pleasure."

  "Taking care of you gives me great pleasure," she assured him, laying her hands on the broad rack of his shoulders. Oh, yes. Great pleasure. She curved her fingers over them, rubbed, circling her thumbs.

  He forgot to suppress a grunt and she smiled. "Tell me something about yourself, Mackenzie."

  "I like pasta." He cleared his throat. "Alfredo sauces in particular."

  Violet shook her head. "You just can't put a sock in that smartass streak, can you? But you'd taste good, flavored with a cream sauce." She spread the liniment lower, working behind the shoulder blades. God, he was built like a linebacker, only leaner and tougher. "How'd you acquire this body of yours? It's not just from a gym. You do something else."

  "Yes, Mistress." His arms relaxed further, and she kneaded some more, loving the fact she was giving him pleasure, easing his pain. "I do cross country, survival course competitions. Military camps, things like that."

  She watched the ridges of his torso take on a gleam, kept a peripheral sensor on how much he was relaxing beneath her touch. Picking up the bottle, she worked more oil in her hands, then poured a thin stream of the viscous fluid down the valley of his spine. It headed toward the seam of his muscular buttocks, where she knew it would seep in and lubricate him. She saw a tremor go through him, sensed that he knew where her mind was headed.

  "It doesn't surprise me to hear that. You like to test yourself. That's what you've used your Mistresses for. They're just an extension of your workout, testing your skills to resist weakness." She kept her tone neutral, but he stiffened up under her touch.

  "No. It's not like that."

  "This is like going to the gym for you, Mac," she continued, ignoring the protest. "Go to the gym, do twenty reps, go to the D/s hangout, get jerked off by some accommodating Mistress. You're not invested. You're high power, so high power you've never been topped. Because nobody sees those shields you maintain in such a charming way, nobody has tried to go beyond using that beautiful body of yours and reveal what's underneath. I'm going to make you beg."

  "I don't beg. I serve."

  "Well, it serves me to have you beg. You won't use me or survive me, Mackenzie." She rose so she stood at his shoulder, where his face was turned toward her, his mouth inches from her thighs. Shrugging out of the dress, she let it fall all the way to her ankles, leaving her in just the hose, heels and nipple chain. Violet stayed there a moment, watching his silver eyes course from her ankles to her face and back again, and appreciating that he looked at all of her, not just her breasts or the pussy so close to his face. She leaned forward, whispered in his ear, staying out of range of his mouth.

  "When I'm done with you, you'll belong to me. Heart, cock and soul."

  She straddled his hips in an economical move, slid her oily hands down to massage his sides, feel the expansive rib cage, the stretched muscle over them, and back up to those shoulders that suggested he was descended from Atlas. As she ran her hands down him again, she leaned forward and pressed her body up against his naked back, spreading the oil with her breasts, their hardened tips and the slender nipple chain dragging across his slick skin. His cheeks clenched beneath her spread legs, and she ben
t her knees, running her pussy down along the crease of his ass, kept sliding down so she took the oil from his bare back to his buttocks, moving in slow circular movements to grease those powerful haunches, her now oily thighs rubbing his hips from her astride position.

  She came back up, but didn't put her full weight on him, just enough to get the job done and let him feel a hint of her, the press of her thighs around his hips, the slide of her pussy over his spine, the soft give of her breasts caressing his shoulder blades.

  "The nice thing about this is that the oil of my cunt is being rubbed into your skin with the liniment," she murmured, enjoying being astride her steed, feeling his power bunched and coiled between her legs, knowing his cock had to be stiff against his belly, and pressing against the restraints of the harness again. She ran her touch down behind her, one hand sliding down the channel of his buttocks, fingering the strap that ran behind his scrotum, holding the contraption in place. The muscles rippled beneath her and she heard him exhale as she fingered the soft skin, probably the only soft place on him. She cupped his sac, spreading the heated oil, and he groaned as the heat and stroke of her fingers took effect.

  "You like that, hmm?" She slipped off his back and took her hands down his thighs, down the muscles she had abused by purposefully keeping him waiting. She followed one column with both hands, stroking the long length to the knee and back up again, finding a crevice between testicles and leg, and working oil in there before dropping her touch to cozen him again, kneading the thigh muscles, earning another sound of appreciation and desire.

  "Do you make good pasta, Mackenzie?" She switched to the other leg, appreciating the gleam of his body, the polish effect of the lubricant. She lifted one hand from her task and drew a nail down his lower back, between his cheeks, playing lightly around the opening there. His buttocks tightened, capturing her motion.

  "Please don't make me come that way, Mistress."

  "You said please. That's progress. Why not? Tell me why."

  "Because..." She almost heard his teeth grind as she probed, tested the tight ring of the opening. "...I'd rather bring you pleasure."

  "We already discussed this, Mackenzie. Your pleasure is my pleasure. And you'd rather not make yourself vulnerable. That's the issue. What will you do, now that I have you tied on this bench? You can fight me, make it tougher on you." Her other hand reached up between his legs, circled his restrained cock. "Of course, I'm not sure that's possible."

  He made a noise of futile protest as she eased her fingers into him, deep inside, the lubricant making it easy to slide into that heat. She was soaked instantly by his clenched reaction on her fingers, the power of lust and fear quivering through him. "But why don't you try honesty for once? Or you can spend the rest of the night scrubbing this room after I make you get yourself off with no condom."

  "It makes me feel like some pre-pubescent geek fucking a wet dream."

  "But aren't I a wet dream, Mackenzie?" She made her voice a silky purr.

  Violet stood, straddled him again, keeping her fingers in him, her arm stretched behind her, testing that bundle of nerve endings that in a man was almost as sensitive as a woman's clit. She leaned forward, rubbing her breasts against his slick back again. Whispered in his ear, caught the lobe in her teeth. "Aren't I?"

  "Sugar, you are the wet dream of all wet dreams," he growled, turning his head to rub against her. When she pressed her lips to his cheek bone, he lowered his head like a proud stallion in truth so she could touch his brow with her kiss.

  "So what's wrong with that, Mackenzie?" she said, turning backwards on him, her bare buttocks and pussy at the base of his neck, her thighs along the lengths of his arms. She worked her fingers deeper into his ass, wriggled. "Ah, there we are."

  "No." His breath bellowed out, fighting her, fighting the inevitable.

  "No, what, Mac? My God, you are sexy." She sank her teeth into his ass, tightened her legs on his body as he jerked, bucked. Held close by the wrist and ankle manacles, he could not dislodge her.

  "No. Just no." Panic was real in his voice now, but she heard the hoarseness of lust as well. "I don't want to lose control. Mistress, please..."

  "You say 'no' and 'please', but still you're not thirsty."

  "Goddamn you," he hissed. With a quick movement of her spiked heel, she slid a nearby pail under the bench. She tilted the edge of the container to get it under his long, erect cock, enclosing it on all sides where it was suspended in its cage of straps just at the end of the bench.

  "You finally gave me a truthful answer, Mac," she said softly, watching his buttocks clench and push, pull against her now as she fucked him with her fingers ruthlessly, brought her other hand around to feel the tightening of his balls. She loosed the harness at the base of his cock a notch, enough to let him go where she wanted him to go. "But you're going to lose control with me. As often as I wish it. Let go now, spill your seed into that pail, or I swear I will find the biggest strap-on on that wall and fuck you blind with it before you get a single taste of my pussy again."

  He didn't growl or snarl this time. What came out was more of an enraged and frustrated roar. His knees lifted as much as they could, slammed back into the floor as his body heaved and rocked and gave up the fight, shooting jets of semen into the bucket even with the restriction of the harness, which she knew would prolong it, make it even more excruciatingly pleasurable.

  "That's it, baby," she crooned. "Show me how much you want to fuck me." She couldn't tell where the wetness of her pussy ended and the oil of his back began, but she didn't care. She rubbed both over him, marking him, working her body with the delightful plunging rhythm of his.

  He fought against the inevitable so hard that the strain of the powerful muscles was art in motion. She enjoyed it, every convulsion and tightening, every grunt and moan. When his head dropped forward on the bench at last, resting on his arm, she slowly withdrew her fingers, teasing him as she went so he shuddered even more. She freed his arms, but bade him keep still with a hand to his back as she picked up a towel and lifted herself off him.

  Violet took a moment or two to clean herself, conscious of his eyes upon her. She kept her expression cool and indifferent, the picture of control, until she squatted and lifted his head with her hand.

  His much larger hand seized her wrist, dragged her forward and his mouth fastened over hers. Not gentle, not practiced, just raw, brutal strength and desire. She felt his teeth as much as his tongue, felt his frustration, fury and lust all there, felt her bones melt under his strength.

  She could have yanked away, punished him for his roughness and breach of etiquette, but she knew that was what he wanted. He wanted her to act like an enraged Mistress. Punish him, not because that got him off, but because it would establish emotional distance, the familiar territory where he was comfortable.

  So instead, she raised her other hand, stroked the side of his face, balancing his brutality with gentleness. She stroked his hair around to the back of his neck, gentle, tender loving touches that were an equal answer to his violence, until his kiss eased into a groan of need that pulled her heart into her throat.

  She put a finger between their mouths, separating them, then brought her lips back to his still ones with a feather soft touch, tasting him. A cinnamon flavor, wrapped in the surrounding smell of his aftershave cologne, the scent of sex and sweat underneath that. She loved the way a well-groomed man smelled after sex, a mixture of the civilized and the primal, both offerings of respect to her. One scent indicating his desire to groom himself for her pleasure, the other indicating that he had exercised his desire for her. Trailing her lips down his cheek, she brushed his shoulder, then she lowered her hand, unbuckled his cock harness, rubbed her thumb over the deep red impression where the point of the buckle had dug into him earlier. "Idiot," she murmured, stroking him there. He was soft, spent in her hand, but she could feel the little twitches, see the flare of his nostrils as she fondled him, all indications of how quickly he could
be roused again. He had a fast recovery time. Good. He would need it. Because she wasn't done with the lesson.

  She rebuckled his wrists to keep him still as she rubbed the towel over him, cleaning him up. He said nothing, and she did not draw him out. She could tell a thousand thoughts were chasing themselves through his head, and the foremost might be that he'd had enough, that this was more than he wanted to give. Well, he was here now, she had him for tonight. She cleaned him with wet towelettes left in every room for the patron's hygiene needs. She wiped him down; head, shaft, scrotum. He roused under her touch, but still he said nothing, and her nerves were starting to vibrate with anxiety, even as her fingers itched to continue slowly stroking that cock, which was rising to life again.

  She had her head bent close to his, drying the oil from his back with the towel, when she felt his lips brush her cheekbone. Suppressing the urge to turn her face to him and devour him in joy at the simple victory, she kept quietly to her task, let him nuzzle her, nibble her neck.

  "Mistress, let me go, let me make you come," he whispered against her ear.

  She closed her eyes as his nibble on the lobe dropped, became an open mouthed strong pull on her throat.

  "No. You can't trust a new pet off the leash until you're sure he'll obey your commands. You're a new pet, Mackenzie. My new pet. So you'll be on that short leash until I'm sure that stubborn head and big cock of yours both understand who their Mistress is. It's too soon." She pulled back from him, stood to establish distance, and for the added psychological benefit of standing over him, which she knew would piss him off. "I'm going to go home," she met his gaze squarely, her eyes impassive, though there was a spring of tension in her lower belly, just looking at him laying there naked before her. "I'm going to put a vibrator in my pussy and imagine it's your cock."

  His jaw tightened, but he kept his voice controlled, at odds with the flash in his eyes. "Take me home. Let me do it for you instead."

  She shook her head. A grim smile touched her lips. "I suspect I'll have to come a dozen times before I'll be calm enough to sleep."