“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 oill 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.” 50
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“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 oill 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.
51
Joey W. Hill
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 52
Natural Law
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 oill 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.”