Mac lifted his hand without permission, but it was an automatic gesture to curl his arm over her leg just above her knee to steady her so she didn’t fall. She appeared to have perfect balance, but it certainly gave him the excuse to feel the texture of those 39
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sheer hose and the hint of smooth skin beneath. The heel dug into his flesh as she shifted her weight forward, but the discomfort only heightened his body’s response in that odd way that certain levels of pain could do.
A small frown line puckered her brow, made him want to kiss it. “This pair of hose has a tendency to roll, but I do like the color of them,” she murmured, then flashed him a small smile. She straightened, lifting her foot clear of him, not dragging it down his skin. The motion gave him a quick glimpse into the shadows beneath the skirt, a fleeting image of the pale petals of her pussy just beyond the silk of the stocking and the garter. She wasn’t wearing any underwear, and the brief exposure brought the scent of her arousal to him. He wanted to seize that leg, bring it back to his shoulder, bring both of them to his shoulders. He’d scoot her forward with both hands gripping her soft cheeks and hold her waist to make her ride his face, work his mouth up between her thighs until he reached the heaven he had just seen.
He knew he could, knew he was ten times stronger than the little pixie, but he also knew what happened in these rooms wasn’t about physical strength, not always.
She did not tell him to lower his gaze again, so he had the full pleasure of watching her walk across the room, the shift of an ass he now knew was buck naked beneath that skirt. It had to be a stretch material, because otherwise she had to be sewn into that dress. But it was classy, the dragon pattern across the blue, the soft flutter of ribbons as she moved. She knew how to tease a man to insanity and yet keep him back at the same time. Like a goddess. A tiny fairy goddess.
She brought a wooden chair over to face him, the kind a stable hand might tip back against the wall to draw on a length of straw and catch a nap, but this one was not old and scratched. Like all the accoutrements of this room, it was a finished expensive dark wood, a valuable antique.
“Not your usual barn chair,” he observed.
“Because this isn’t a barn,” she said. “It’s a suite for thoroughbreds to be petted and pampered by their Mistresses or Masters. Or disciplined as needed.” She sat the chair less than two feet from where she had him kneeling, tethered by his cock.
“Let’s take care of those hands now.” Violet moved around him, touched another control, and he heard the eyebolt in the ceiling engage, lowering itself on a wire. He didn’t look up, he knew better than that. This was the challenge, every time, and he had learned not to show the fear, but it was there, nipping at his vitals. He’d gotten to the point he could be anyone’s sub, allow any woman he chose to play Mistress to him. To him, but not over him. The similarity of the thought to what she had expressed to him last night struck him, raised his trepidation.
“Lift your wrists above your head,” she said. “And put your hands through the cuffs.”
Mac obeyed, his heart thundering in his chest. She pressed another control. The cuffs tightened, a hydraulic control like the powering of a blood pressure cuff. She 40
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stepped forward, her knees brushing his back, and tested the fit. She’d got it right on the first try. He couldn’t get loose, but the blood still circulated, pumping with a vengeance.
“I’m going to take you up, now,” she said. “You tell me if you get thirsty, Mac.”
“It won’t happen, Mistress.”
“I’ll remind you of that when either your arms are dislocated or your cock gets ripped off.”
“You won’t let that happen, Mistress. You have plans for the latter, at least.”
“Yes. Yes, I do.” Her tone was slightly amused, in a way that made him somewhat ashamed of the desperate attempt at charm, though he didn’t know where the shame came from.
“Spread your knees for me, Mackenzie. I need them about three feet apart.” He moved his legs apart, feeling the cock harness strap that ran between his legs lift and divide his balls. A moment later he felt the straps of the ankle restraints bolted onto a slide rack on the floor tighten on his flesh. She added a second set of restraints to his calves just above the knees and tied them to rings in the floor parallel to the outside of his legs, leaving just a touch of slack. He didn’t have long to wait to find out why.
The gears whirred, and the cable above him began to retract, taking his arms up higher and drawing his upper body into a straight, stretched line. He’d obeyed her orders and made sure he was back far enough from the ring in the floor that there was little slack in tether between his cock and the harness, so when she anchored his legs to the floor and began to raise him up, the line between cock and floor became even tighter. His knees left the floor a half inch, pressing against the knee restraints, and he grunted despite himself.
The switch locked him into position, and she came around and ran her hand over his scrotum and bound cock, testing the tension of the line between the harness and the floor. It was taut enough to cause him apprehension, but not painful. With his ankles spread and shackled to the floor behind him, his body suspended in the air by the ceiling tether, his calves bound and his cock tethered to the strap pulled taut to the eyebolt in the floor, he was counterweighted on all sides. Gravity would not twist or pull him in any direction that could injure him. However, the position itself was excruciating and left him vulnerable, and there was a knot of tension low in his gut that he had not experienced since his first time being trussed by a Mistress. He was also hard as steel and getting harder, his desperate lust and the emotions she was somehow driving in him giving him one of the most enormous hard-ons he’d ever had. In odd contrast, she was methodical, gentle in the way she touched him, her fingers brushing his naked body lightly as she passed him, fondling his shoulder, his throat. He tried to nip her fingers as she passed, but she just smiled at him and went back to her chair.
She sat down like a lady at tea, crossing one ankle over the other, folding her hands in her lap. She took a long moment studying him, erect and suffering.
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“I know making you sit there and do nothing while I look at you may not do much for you,” she observed. “Men aren’t very psychological when it comes to stimulation.
Suggest the erotic to a woman in a voice rough with passion, or on the written page, and she’ll become wet. But a man needs visuals.” She uncrossed her ankles, and inched up her skirt with a finger following the line of her thigh, tracing the garter. She put the middle finger of her other hand to her mouth, wetting it. He followed that finger as if it were the last crust of bread for a starving man. Her knees spread wider, displaying those soft pink cunt lips again. With barely a hesitation, she slid the wet finger deep inside herself, up to the last knuckle, and he heard the sucking sound of her eager pussy, soaked already, taking her in and craving more. Craving something he would kill to give to her.
She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, her gaze still on him. “Now what are you thinking, Mac?”
He stared at that finger, wet his lips as it came out and went back in. “How much I want to fuck you.”
“How crude, Mackenzie. Where’s that polish? Your control? The charm you wield so easily?” Two of her other fingers got involved, started rubbing her clit in slow circles.
Her hips lifted, accommodating her, starting to move in sinuous circles, building with her reaction.
“I think I might just keep doing this until I come. Would you like that?”
“No, Mistress.”
“No?” She arched a brow. “You don’t want me to feel pleasure?”
“I want to give it to you, Mistress.” He bit back a groan as her finger came out, glistening with her juices. He could smell her strongly now, in his nose, in all his senses, coursing through him like the effects of an illegal street drug. Mac struggled to summon a rational thought. “I can give you far more pleasure, Mistress. With any part of me you desire.”
He’d rip someone limb from limb just to win the right to put his smallest finger inside her, feel that heat and silk clamp down on him. He gasped as the harness buckle bit into his cock, ruthlessly pinching the engorged flesh between the stiff strap and the metal.
“Mackenzie –” Her sharp eyes went from his face to his cock. “Ask.”
“Let me make you come, Mistress.”
Her pretty jaw flexed. “Stubborn son of a bitch. Ask.” He shook his head. His Mistress stood, withdrawing her hand from herself and straightening her skirt with a quick shimmy of her hips. She raised her fingers high, brought them to his eager mouth. He latched onto them without hesitation, drawing them in, sucking her taste off them and making sure he made it enjoyable for her too, taking care to slide his tongue smoothly along the line of her knuckles, the tender web of skin connecting her fingers, rather than slobbering over them like a Saint Bernard like he wanted to do.
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“Ask,” she said in precise, angry tones. “And I will let you make me come with your tongue, let you bury your face in my pussy and eat your fill.” As bribes went, it was the best he’d ever been offered, but there was more at stake than that, a wall he didn’t dare go over. The pain was lessening the size of his erection.