“Yes, Mistress,” he said roughly.
“Good.” She moved around to his front, stepped back five paces and then simply stood a moment, enjoying him. “You’ve got a beautiful chest,” she noted. “Those incredible shoulders, the cords of muscle at the neck. Long thighs, impressive cock.” Standing in the shadow of his body with her spike heels, she was a bit taller than she wanted to be. She bent over, her back to him, to lift the hem of her short skirt and take down the back zipper of the first boot, well aware that he was seeing her thighs all the way past the top of the thigh high. The posture revealed the elongated almond shape of her pussy in the green satin thong, the base of her ass cheeks.
The rings clanked as he tested how much slack he had, and she hid a smile when he came up just short, as she knew he would. She unzipped the other boot, stepped out of them and kicked them out of her way, turning before he could get the bright idea to try to use his legs to rub a knee up the seam of her thighs. She wouldn’t put it past him to be so impudent.
Taking up the brush with stiffer bristles again, she ran it down the center of his chest, tugging the bristles through the curly hair there, down the abdomen, tickling the waistband of his jeans, her fingers playing in the area between denim and hard muscle.
She placed the brush at the juncture of his shoulder and neck area, and this time brought the brush down over the nipple. The area drew taut immediately, and she felt his muscles clench against the pain as the hard bristles scraped over the sensitive skin.
She alternated as she had before, going down one side, then the other, letting her fingers trail behind so the harsh scratch was followed by the soft caress of her fingertips, soothing him.
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It also allowed her to note the increased rise and fall of his chest, the thunderous pounding of his heart beneath her palm, the instinctive moistening of his lips, the shift of his body to relieve the pressure between his thighs.
“Be still,” she commanded. “Keep your eyes down.” His lids flickered. “But I like looking at you, Mistress.” She ran a hand along his jaw, the smoothly clipped line of his beard, wondering how it would feel against her most sensitive areas of skin. “I’m glad to hear it, but I’ll decide when. Are there things you’re not comfortable doing I should know about?”
“With respect, same answer as before, Mistress. I’ll do all you ask of me, or I’m not worthy to be your slave.” His gaze briefly flicked up to hers, then quickly back down before she could chastise him. “You choosing me to serve you, bring you to the highest level of pleasure, those are my only desires.” It was so close to what she wanted to find in a lover, she barely managed to control the shiver of reaction that went through her vitals at his words. She knew of subs who would let a Dom do anything to them. Most clubs revoked their memberships once they found them, because the wrong Dom would push them past physical and emotional endurance, and could cause them serious physical harm. But Mac didn’t strike her as that type. He had limits in there somewhere, he had just somehow managed to keep Mistresses from running up against them. The strength of her concern surprised her, as did the wave of protectiveness that barbed her words.
“That’s stupid, Mackenzie. If I have you gagged and decide to ram a railroad spike up your ass, it’s going to be a little hard for you to change your mind.”
“I trust you’ll do what’s best for me, Mistress. Whatever you feel is appropriate.”
A good kick in the ass for being that unsafe. However, she suspected now was not the time for a lecture. Maybe if they spent more time together.
Whoa, hold on, girl. This might be just a one-night flirtation for him. She knew subs who played 100% in the dungeon, but once they walked out, they didn’t look back.
They had no plans to pick out curtains with their Mistresses. Ever.
“Well, I’m giving you a safe word. Water. You ask for water, I ease off.”
“I’ll die of thirst first.”
This time he met her gaze square on, and she felt the impact of it to her toes. He didn’t just look at her; he ravished her. She’d always thought it was a cheesy word, but the way his attention moved over her, dragging her into him, making her weak, made her picture Victorian heroines swooning in a lover’s eager arms. Ravished was exactly the right term for it.
“You’ve been a sub for a lot of women, haven’t you, Mackenzie? No, I don’t want an answer to that.” She placed a finger on his mouth, held it firm there for only a moment, so he’d get the message, but she wouldn’t be putting her sensitive knuckles within prolonged proximity of those clever lips. “But I don’t think you’ve ever had a 26
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true Mistress. You’re still setting the rules, holding up the shields. Let’s start by removing some. The rest of your clothes first.” That surprised him, she could tell. He hadn’t expected her to move that quickly, and truth be told, she had not intended to do so.
“Your shoes,” she said coolly. “Toe them off. You don’t expect me to remove your shoes.”
“No, Mistress.” He awkwardly managed it, using the leverage of the tethers binding him, grunting a little at the increased pain on straining tendons.
“And the socks.”
He stepped on the toes of his thin dress socks, worked them off his feet. More bare skin. She was eager for all of it, but she kept the pace slow, teasing, as she approached him. As she stepped directly in front of him, she saw the angle would give him an excellent view of her cleavage. There was an incentive to keep his eyes lowered, she thought with satisfaction.
Violet forced her fingers not to tremble as she reached for the button of his jeans.
She deliberately let her touch slide over the hard length of him, nearly groaned at the steel heat she felt. “I hope you’re not one of those who can’t hold back,” she observed.
“You’re pretty hard now. I’m not sure you’ve got the stamina for what I have in mind.” Mac brushed a smoldering glance over the top of her breasts. “You’re hard to resist, Mistress, but I think I can please you.”
The taunt was there. Oh, he had pride. She delighted in it. She firmed her lips.
“We’ll see,” she said indifferently.
She slipped the button, took the zipper down. Slow. She was hyper-cognizant of his breath on her neck, the tight tension of his body, the muscles pulled back to restrain his movements. She reached in, slid her hand beneath the waist of his dark underwear, leaving the jeans open in front but otherwise unadjusted, and closed her hand around him.
He made a noise, a catching of his breath, but she had closed her eyes, inhaling him through all her senses. The powerful organ in her hand, pulsing against her palm, the wetness at the tip like a tiny kiss against her wrist. She was aware, even if he was not, that he had moved impossibly further against his restraints, straining toward her, toward her grip.
She had small fingers, and she used them to good advantage now, sliding them down his length, finding the base where the curve of his testicles began, her fingers tangling in the soft hair on them. Then back up, caressing him, stroking him, easing her grip, tightening it.
“Violet…” he said. Her head lifted, tilting at an angle because they were so close now, her thigh pressed against his, her lips no more than a finger span apart from his just above her. He had cut himself shaving this morning, she noticed, just a tiny nick on his neck.
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“Don’t move,” she said. “Not an inch.” She rose up on her toes, placed her lips there, sucking on the closed cut gently, kissing him. Her grip on his cock tightened as she did, and his body quivered against hers, holding back, when she could tell all he wanted to do was disobey.
Violet took her lips away.
“Don’t hurt yourself like that again. I’ll have to shave you,” she warned. “I expect you to take care of what’s mine.” She dug her nails into him, just a bit, and he flinched, but did not twitch under her tight grasp.
“What do you want, Mac?”
“Whatever my Mistress wants.”
She tightened her grip. “Don’t patronize me. Tell me what you want.”
“To make you come.”
“Try again.” She worked her hands beneath his waistband, took the jeans and underwear down to his thighs, freeing his cock and giving her an unimpeded view of his bare, muscular ass. She ran her nails over it, scoring him lightly, then reclaimed his cock, starting a slow rub, up and down his thick, long length.
“Mackenzie,” she measured her tones, matching them to her strokes. “I’m going to make you come in my hand, and it’s going to be very messy and displeasing to me, if you don’t stop the bullshit and tell the truth.” He shifted. She might not have caught it, except her knee was pressed against his leg and she felt it, that subtle attempt to change the effectiveness of her strokes with the angle of his body so he would sustain himself, resist her pressure.
She made the same minor adjustment, followed him, and brought her thumb into action, stroking the tight vein beneath the base of the head.
“Violet, stop.”
“I’m sorry, Mac. That’s not the safe word. You’d die of thirst, remember? But you don’t have to die of thirst. Just ask for water.” In a movement so quick she couldn’t follow it, he dipped his head and fastened his teeth on her throat. “Why waste it, sugar?” he muttered around his grip. “It could be jetting into you, or I could be attending to your pleasure, eating out your pretty cunt.” His jaw had the strength of a pit bull in truth, and Violet felt a moment of panic when she could not immediately jerk back.