by Shandi Boyes
“Smart woman,” I mutter under my breath.
Marcus angles his head to the side and arches his brow. I remain quiet, acting like I didn’t say anything. With a roll of his eyes, he draws me back to his chest. I adjust my position so I can listen to the thud of his heart, loving how it thumps in the same rhythm as mine.
I don't know how much time passes before I pop my head off Marcus's chest. It's long enough my jealousy has entirely subsided, but not long enough for me to forget our conversation. "If Melanie didn't get sick, do you think you would have ever become her sub?"
Marcus shakes his head. “Melanie was beautiful, funny. . .” His smile enlarges. “. . . and crazy as hell. But there has only ever been one woman I’ll kneel for.” He stares straight into my eyes, letting them finish the remainder of his sentence.
The back of his fingers trace the invisible bruise on my cheek only he can see. "Is that what you want, Cleo? My kneeling before you?"
“No,” I reply without delay. “Loving someone is accepting them for who they were, who they are, and who they will become. It isn’t about changing them.”
My eyes drop to Marcus’s chest, panicked I’ve disclosed my feelings too early. When he places his hand under my chin to lift my head, I peer past his shoulder for a few moments, taking some time to gather my bases before drifting my eyes to his.
"Every action has a reaction; every word has a meaning, and every reason has a purpose. Just like every soul has a mate. Don't hide your feelings as though you're afraid of the repercussions, Cleo, because sometimes it's the unspoken words that cause the most harm."
20
“Are you ready, Cleo?”
Leveling my breathing to calm my excitement, my eyelids flutter against the satin material draped over them. I angle my head in the direction Marcus’s voice came from before slowly answering, “Yes, Master Chains.”
The shuddering of my voice gives away my heightened state. After our dinner on the balcony of the master suite was interrupted by a sprinkling of rain, we decided to have our dessert inside—in the one room that causes my insides to jitter with an equal amount of euphoria and fear. Master Chains’ Playroom.
I am bound and blindfolded over a spanking bench similar to the one Marcus had made for me, but this one is constructed from metal instead of wood. The soft leather cushioning on the middle bar is sitting just above my aching core, and my hands and legs are secured tightly on the four little nooks. My position simulates being on my hands and knees, but I'm at least three feet off the floor. My back is level like a table, and my ass is thrust high into the air. With Marcus's intention of using my body as his dessert platter, my hair has been braided to the side to keep it away from the sticky supplies we arrived with. The spanking bench is the perfect height for Marcus to access every inch of my body.
My ears prick when Marcus asks, “What's your safe word, Cleo?”
I pant with anticipation, my mind spiraling with endless possibilities. For the past two weeks, he has only prompted me for my safe word when we are stepping outside of my comfort zone.
“Pineapple,”
“Repeat it.” he commands, his clipped demand rolling through me like liquid ecstasy.
Every muscle in my body tightens with eagerness as I mutter, “Pineapple.”
“Good girl,” Marcus praises, his tone alone enough to tell me I’m in the presence of Master Chains. I ate dinner with Marcus. Now I get to have dessert with Master Chains. Aren’t I lucky?
“We are going to try a few things we’ve been discussing the past week. If anything becomes too concerning for you, say your safe word,” Marcus directs me.
I nod, advising I understand. I swear, my insides are shaking with so much excitement, I’m already on the verge of combusting.
“You're free to use your safe word at any time, Cleo, but do not use it unwisely. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master Chains.”
He groans, appreciating my eagerness to please him.
A small stretch of silence crosses between us. It enhances the crazy sexual tension firing the air with heat. Without my eyesight, my other senses pick up their slack. My hearing is super sensitive as I carefully listen to each subtle move Marcus makes, and my sense of smell is so amplified, I can taste the almond syrup drizzled over the cherries sitting in a bowl on my right.
I exhale sharply when hot, sticky goop unexpectedly trickles down my spine.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Until the final drop slithers down the crevice of my erotically staged backside. The liquid pools around my puckered hole when Marcus stops it from running into my aching sex with his index finger. Excitement mists my skin with a fine layer of sweat when he rubs the sticky liquid into the sensitive skin between my ass and my pulsating sex. A stream of wicked thoughts bombard me as I recall the many things we’ve discussed the past week. The most dominant: my desire to experience anal play.
Although I'm apprehensive about anything penetrating an area that has been previously untouched, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited by the prospect. Nothing Marcus has done to me in this playroom has been unpleasant, so I do not doubt that logic will continue when we tiptoe into the unchartered waters of anal play.
Some of my wicked thoughts come true when the rough bumps of Marcus’s callused finger follow the trail of sweet goodness layered on my skin. He weaves his finger past my collarbone, over the swell of my hips and along the two dimples in my lower back before gliding past an area clenched with both excitement and unease, dipping ever so slightly into the virginal hole before it continues on its journey.
“Not yet,” Marcus murmurs when a disappointed huff leaves my lips before I have the chance to shut it down. “If I don’t prep you, the experience won’t be pleasant.”
My disappointed moan switches to an excited pant when Marcus's tongue follows the same pattern his finger just took, although at a slower pace this time around. Goosebumps form in its wake as he weaves his tongue over my shoulder blade and down the bumps of my spine. When it slides between the globes of my ass, my thighs attempt to hug the metal bar braced between my legs. Unfortunately, the restraints on my ankles stop me from fully clenching my thighs together.
“Relax, Cleo” Marcus instructs, his warm breath bouncing off my goosebump-riddled skin.
I loosen my clamped thighs at the exact moment his tongue flicks my creased hole with three quick-fired hits. I meow a throaty purr, surprised by the sheer wickedness of his briefest touch. Although his tongue soon continues tracking the almond oil drizzled on my skin, the wildfire in my stomach has reached a point it can't be constrained. It's the touch of naughtiness to our exchange making it so thrilling. You know the ones I'm talking about? Where you know you shouldn't be doing something, but you just can't help but try it. That's the best way of describing my desire to try anal play.
“I’m going to start small and build you up, Cleo,” Marcus updates.
As his tongue gathers the sweet goodness dripping between my legs, his thumb rolls in a circular motion around my puckered hole. For every stroke his tongue makes to my soaked sex, the more pressure he places on my untouched orifice.
My wrists fight against the restraints curled around them when he sucks my clit into his mouth at the same time his thumb dips into my ass. He continues thrusting forward until the entirety of his thumb is inside me.
“Oh. . .” I garble, unsure if it's a moan of pleasure or pain. I think it's a bit of both.
“Don’t fight the sensation,” Marcus murmurs, his deep voice vibrating against the folds of my pussy. “Take in how it feels. Enjoy knowing I now possess all of you.” My thigh muscles loosen just from the way he growls out his last sentence.
As Marcus devours my pussy with long strokes of his tongue and playful nibs of his teeth, his thumb works in and out of my no-longer-virginal hole. The sensation. . . I don’t know how to describe it. It should feel wrong, but it feels oh-so-good.
The coils continue tightening, sweeping a cluster of excitement from my dripping core to my erratically panting chest. It grows and grows and grows until the need to climax overwhelms me. Sensing my impending orgasm, the pace of Marcus's thrusts increase, closely followed by his index finger slipping into my dripping core. From the way his thumb and finger move in sync, I wouldn't be surprised to discover they are attached to the same hand. Their rhythm is perfect, a mind-hazing combination of speed, pressure, and naughtiness.
When Marcus grips my hip to calm my dangerous rocking that could send the spanking table toppling over, my unasked question is answered. My eyes roll into the back of my head as the tingles dancing in my sex multiply. I moan huskily, fighting not to charge straight for the finish line. I want to enjoy the feeling—to relish it.
I’ve learned many exciting things the past few weeks, but one of the more significant is delayed gratification isn’t a myth. The tension, the buildup, the absorbing every thrust, bite and lash, it equals nothing less than brilliance. The climaxes I have after letting them build and simmer time and time again are out this world. Better than I would have ever believed.
“Good girl,” Marcus praises, noticing my effort to stave off my climax.
If I could control my body with one tenth of his control, I wouldn’t have to put in so much effort, but considering the chances of that happening is practically zilch, I continue to grit my teeth and slowly ride the swell of the ocean instead of catching the first wave to shore like my body is demanding.
My orgasm climbs to the summit before trekking back down to the valley another three times before the sensation becomes more than I can bear. Sweat is misting every inch of my skin, and my pussy is so wet, evidence of my arousal coats the insides of my thighs.
“Please, Master Chains.”
Marcus doesn’t answer my voiced plea. He doesn’t need to. The withdrawal of his contact is the only sign I need to hear his rejection.
Through my pulse roaring in my ears, I hear his bare feet pad across the wooden floor. I count his steps. One, two, three, four, five. Since he walked five paces to my left, I know he is standing in front of his chest of goodies positioned under the drawers where his D/s contracts are stored. If he'd walked eight paces, he would have reached the wall of floggers, whips, and canes. I don't want it to, but a dash of disappointment dampens my eagerness. Although the idea of being hit with a cane frightens me, I have fond memories of the times we've used the cat o' nine tales and a riding crop.
I return my focus to listening to every movement Marcus makes when the sound of the wooden chest dropping shut booms through my ears. He paces back to me, his steps quicker than the ones he used earlier.
"Normally, I reserve spankings for discipline, but since you associate spankings with both pleasure and discipline, I'm going to spank you for pleasure today, Cleo," Marcus instructs, his usually smooth voice gravelly with lust. “I’ll spank you five times. On the fifth spanking, you can come. Do you understand?"
“Yes, Master Chains,” I reply, my excitement unmissable. “On the fifth spank, I can come.”
The air thickens with heady yearning when Marcus adjusts my position so I am erotically staged in front of him. The air-conditioning vent above my head gives cooling relief to my heated core when he thrusts my ass higher into the air. Lust hangs so densely in the air, I can taste it on the tip of my tongue. It has a rich, tangy flavor, much like Marcus's ravishing chocolate skin.
My excitement reaches fever pitch when a faint buzzing noise trickles into my ears. It's similar to the way a cell phone vibrates on a desk when in silent mode, although it's nowhere near as loud. The shuddering of my legs ramps up a gear when a cold, latex material prods the puckered hole of my rear.
“Relax, Cleo,” Marcus demands as he swivels the foreign object around my clenched hole.
I lick my dry lips before doing as instructed.
“Good girl,” Marcus praises as he slowly inches the unknown article inside me.
Although the device matches the width of Marcus’s thumb, its vibrating sensation is so strong, it hurdles my orgasm to within an inch of the finish line. I grit my teeth and loosen the clench of my ass globes even more so Marcus can slip the pulsating instrument deeper inside me. I’ll be honest, it's another unexplainably odd feeling. It's peculiar but erotically delicious at the same time.
Once the small latex toy is positioned in place, Marcus moves to stand at my side. How do I know this? I can feel the heat of his heavy flesh on my right thigh. He is thick, jutted and extended halfway up my thigh.
“Five spanks, Cleo,” Marcus confirms, ensuring I remember his rules.
I’ve barely nodded my head when he inflicts his first slap. His hit is perfectly precise. The base of his palm smacks the vibrating plug stimulating my rear, where the tips of his fingers spank my engorged clit. My knees shudder as the crest of a wave rapidly builds in my core.
“One,” Marcus says while soothing the sting heating my skin with a gentle rub of his palm.
I call out when he spanks me for a second time, loving the sensation activating every sensory outlet in my body. I’ve never felt something so perfect, so unreal, so out of this fucking world.
“Two.” Marcus’s grunts display he is enjoying this as much as I am.
My eyes pop open with his third hit. It was a little firmer than the first two. It enhances my excitement to a never-before-experienced level. My clit is throbbing with need; my breathing is ragged, and my body is heightened beyond reproach. I’m close to the edge, drunk on lust, incapable of nursing a single thought.
"Three. Say it with me, Cleo."
“Three,” I mimic. I don’t recognize my own voice. It's husky and raw, exposing the stranglehold of excitement blazing my veins.
“Four,” Marcus growls through clenched teeth when he spanks me for a fourth time, hitting me in the exact same place his first three smacks landed. My ass clamps around the device stimulating me into an untamed, reckless mess. I’m panting so wildly, I’m practically growling like a feral animal.
“Last one,” Marcus huffs, his words as breathless as my lungs.
I dig my nails into my palms in preparation for his next spank, knowing without a doubt it will be the most blinding of them all.
My intuition is proven without doubt.
A ferocious orgasm shreds through me hard and fast when Marcus spanks me for the fifth time. His slap is as perfectly placed as the four before it. My body pushes against the restraints tying me down so fiercely, I'm certain they are moments away from snapping. I quiver and shake while shouting my excitement in the lust-fueled environment without hesitation. My mind is shut down, completely oblivious to everything around me but the man dominating every morsel of my soul.
It takes numerous minutes for me to come down from orgasmic bliss. Marcus never once leaves my side. He guides me through the blinding experience with the knowledge that displays he truly is a Master. After removing the vibrating contraption from my backside, he toys with the bud of my clit, allowing me to ride the intensity of climax with a gentler approach. He praises my willingness to try new things while explaining I’m not the only one caught off guard by the brilliance of our exchange. His words add to my excitement, extending my orgasm to a point of sheer exhaustion.
Once every orgasmic shudder hampering my body has been exhausted, I slump onto the bar designed to hold me off the ground. My body is lifeless, my mind, shut down. Marcus quickly works on removing the leather cuffs binding me to the spanking bench before gathering me in his arms and striding to the other side of the room. As he glides across the room, his pec muscles drag off the blindfold covering my eyes. It slips off my face to gather around my sweat-slicked neck by the time he is halfway across the room.
The softness of silk cools my overheated skin when Marcus lays me in the middle of his four-poster bed. I hear his feet padding across the wooden floor, but I'm too sexually sated to do something as simple as count his steps, much less move my head
to see where he is going.
“Open up,” Marcus croons, startling me as I didn’t expect him to return so soon. “I need to refuel you for round two.”
A smirk stretches across my weary face when he rubs a pitted cherry over my bone-dry lips. It's covered in almond oil, giving it a slippery feeling. It's also a swift reminder of what we were just doing.
Smiling a lusty grin, I accept the cherry, playfully nipping Marcus’s fingertips in the process. When the rich flavor of cherries fill my taste buds, a muffled moan simpers through my lips. It's truly delicious, nearly as scrumptious as Marcus’s mouth.
When I tell Marcus that, it ends his refueling mission in an instant.
Round two has officially begun.
21
"What do you think? Tuck it into a tight bun so it showcases those beautiful eyes and appallingly high cheekbones, or leave it draped down?"
I quirk my lips while peering at my reflection in the massive mirror in Marcus’s master bathroom. Gerard, the hairdresser/makeup artist Anna hired to help me get ready for the gala tonight, is holding my wavy mess of hair off my face. There is an occasional stray tress floating down my exposed neck, but for the most part, my hair is slicked into a low, glossy ponytail that hangs halfway down my back.
Although I’ve never seen my hair so shiny and smooth, I’m still not convinced the slicked back look is for me. Excluding our session in the playroom last night, Marcus always requests for me to remove anything pinning my hair back, so I think he’d prefer for me to wear it down.
Before I can voice my opinion to Gerard, Marcus enters the bathroom. My pulse quickens as my eyes drink in his midnight black tuxedo pants, white pleated dress shirt, and satin vest. A black bowtie is hanging open on his impressive chest, mere inches from the two buttons of his shirt he hasn’t yet fastened.
When his eyes lift from the cufflinks he is pinning to his cuffs, he catches my perverted gaze. The corners of his lips tug high when I give him a flirty wink. When the visual of his half-dressed tuxedo-covered body and lusty grin becomes too great for me to ignore, I return my eyes to Gerard. The expression on his face tells me he didn't miss my obvious ogle of Marcus's delicious body. His brow is cocked, and his lips are pursed.
