God, she could climax just watching him drink.
She’d reserved a different room that night, and feeling Olivier fall behind her close to her heels, after the annoying delay of needing to step aside so he’d open the door to the playrooms for her, she led him right to it.
The light in the playroom could only be seen at the edges of the dark blinds that had been let down.
She went to the door and put her hand on the handle, only to hear Olivier’s quiet rumble of, “New digs.”
She looked over her shoulder at him, not controlling the small smile that played at her lips, openly showing him her amusement at his terminology.
But she did hide the disappointment that the reasons behind her choice of this room would not be availed that night.
“Indeed,” she replied.
She pushed in, flipping the switch to declare occupancy, and he came with her.
He closed the door and stood at it because he had nowhere to go. She had only taken two steps in.
His eyes quickly took in the room and the variety of complicated apparatus. She saw disquiet enter them along with a tightening of his jaw as well as his entire frame.
Fear and excitement.
Oh, how she wished she could have carried out what she’d planned this evening.
However, friends making bad decisions you might be able to do something about before they brought those decisions to fruition always took precedence.
“Do not move from there, Olivier,” she ordered.
His focus cut back to her as she negated the space between them then lifted her hands to pull the suit jacket off his shoulders.
He drew his arms back for it to fall down and she felt the quickening between her legs just at that.
Yes, he was affecting her. Yes, he was affecting her intensely.
But she had no idea at this early point in their play whether to guard against it or let it fly.
Now was not the time to make that decision. Now she needed to take care of her steed and then look after her friend.
Therefore, once she’d divested him of his jacket, she leaned around him and hooked it by the door herself.
She then moved back, eyes to his face, lifting her hand to rest it lightly on his chest.
His total focus was on her. Neck bent, eyes darkening, she could feel his heart beating an accelerated, heavy beat.
“It sometimes startles me how handsome you are,” she said quietly.
“Amélie.”
Her name came gruff and, just as any way he’d said it, she liked it like that.
Slowly, she slid her gaze down his chest to see the bulge of his cock straining the front of his pants.
The gruff was still in his tone, but he’d controlled some of it, when he asked, “Can I touch you?”
She slid her hand down and her gaze up as she answered, “No.”
A flash of defiance and annoyance in his eyes that set the lips of her pussy quivering.
She engaged her other hand to tug his light-blue dress shirt out of his slacks.
Just that had him setting his teeth into his lip.
She took that in gladly, almost gleefully, knowing she affected him too.
She knew this already but now she knew just how intensely.
She lifted the front of his shirt and found what she was looking for. Trailing her fingernail through, digging in at the waistband of his pants, she followed the thick trail of hair nearly to the base of his cock.
“Do you know how wet it makes me, knowing you’re harnessed for me?” she asked.
“I’d like to check,” he said by way of answer.
She dug her nail in and his hips reflexively swayed back as a hiss of breath passed through his teeth.
Then he pressed back into the touch.
Being so good.
“My beast,” she breathed.
Turning her finger, she unlatched the hook of his pants and slowly slid the zipper down.
His chest started visibly moving with his breaths.
“I’d like to touch you, Mistress,” he requested, the unguarded gruff back.
“And I’ve answered that request, chevalier. If I change my mind, you’ll be the first to know.”
His jaw got hard, forcing a muscle to leap up his cheek.
He just kept getting more and more beautiful.
She again engaged both hands as she ran them along the waistband of his trousers, hooking her thumbs into his boxer briefs. Holding his gaze as his hips swayed at the unexpectedly quick, powerful move, she yanked both down to his middle thighs.
She looked down. “Hold your shirt up so I can see you.”
Quickly, his hand went to his shirt, yanking it up.
She quelled a smile at his readiness, both in pulling up his shirt and in the huge erection he had for her. She saw the harness beautifully banding his balls and licked her lips.
“Keep that shirt held up,” she ordered, reaching out and wrapping her fingers around his cock. She gave a gentle tug, looking up at him. “You’ve not touched this?”
“No.”
That was a near-to grunt.
She tilted her head to the side. “No?”
“No, Mistress. The shower, to get it out of the way to put the harness on, other than that, as you asked, no.”
“Very good, Olivier,” she whispered. “Now, keeping your pants where they are, turn and put your hands to the door. And I want your ass tipped up, please.”
She let him go and allowed herself to fully enjoy the emotions that flashed unshielded through his expressions—loss at her touch, indecision, excitement—and finally he turned.
She moved to her bag, the tug of disappointment palpable that some of the things in it that she’d intended to use that night would go unused.
But they’d have another night (and another, and more) and she’d make it up to him.
Oh yes, she absolutely would.
Repeatedly.
She found what she needed, slipped it from its wrapper, and came back to him.
Settling in to standing behind him, she reached around and expertly rolled the condom on.
She’d prepared. She had a variety of things now to fit his size, including magnum condoms.
“Amélie, what—?” he started.
She knew his question. In the variety of requirements of membership at the club, staying clean so nothing could limit play was one of them. The contract required that every member submit samples monthly to the club for testing (and, as undignified as it was for the Dominants, it was nevertheless mandatory that both Doms and subs gave these samples at the club so there was no cheating). Further, if you went elsewhere to have your fun, you were contractually bound to use protection.
“Your suit is lovely, Olivier. It wouldn’t do to get anything on it,” she explained.
She was now holding him tightly at the base of his cock, very tightly, so the gruff had turned to throaty when he said, “Right.”
She moved in closer, so he could feel her breasts brush his back, running her hand down the side of his hip, stroking her other hand down his cock.
His head fell back as she whispered, “God, I love the weight of you.”
“Good,” he grunted.
She slid her hand around the lower swell of his ass then engaged her fingernail as she glided it along the crease of his hip and thigh toward his balls.
She cupped them and gave a gentle squeeze.
He automatically stroked her fist as his hips jerked.
“I like the weight of these too,” she informed him.
“Good.”
That was close to a groan.
She tightened her hold, getting nearer, now pressing her breasts to his back, feeling him trembling.
“Would you like to fuck my fist, Olivier?”
“Fuck yeah,” he replied immediately.
“Is that how you answer your Mistress?” she inquired.
“Fuck yeah, Mistress.”
She felt her lips quirk an
d pressed closer. His body stilled then continued quivering.
“Ask, Olivier, and ask nice. You want my answer to be yes,” she ordered.
The response came immediately.
“Please, Mistress Amélie, let me fuck your fist.”
She moved her hands from his balls, retraced her path along the crease of his thigh and smoothed it over his buttock, one thumb running along the side of the crevice in his ass.
His hips jerked again.
“Please, Amélie, I need to fuck your fuckin’ fist,” he gritted.
“Then perform for me, my steed,” she allowed.
He nearly bucked her off with the power of his hips swinging back and he stroked her fist urgently. She held tight and incrementally held tighter, glad of the lubrication on the condom, making the glide easy for him, using her other hand to smooth, alternating with a light rasp of her fingernails on the skin of his hip, buttock, and upper thigh.
The strength and swiftness of his thrusts increased in speed, as did her grip, now not simply to give him pleasure but in order to hold on.
She heard his harsh breaths but the stubborn toy was holding back.
“Let me hear your need, Olivier.” She phrased it sounding like a request but he read it and he gave her what she hungered for. The powerful grunts detonated in the room, intensifying, becoming more and more feral.
She knew he was nearly there when he groaned, “Baby.”
That was when Amélie honed in with purpose, driving two fingers up his ass.
His spine and neck bowed, his head falling back, his legs spreading, caught by his pants gathered at his thighs, and he stayed in that position as he drove into her fist once, twice, three times, doing this meeting her thrusts up his ass.
“Yeah, fuck, Amélie, baby, fuck, give that to me,” and then he convulsed. Still assaulting her fist, taking his finger fucking, his sharp, savage grunts, climaxing without her permission (but in this instance, she didn’t mind), gushing heavy eruptions of cum into the condom with each drive.
After some time, he fell forward, his body spasming, now weakly thrusting, resting his forehead to the door between his hands.
When he settled, still shuddering, she milked him gently, now keeping her fingers still but firmly lodged up his ass.
She continued milking him, for her own pleasure and his, taking a great deal of gratification out of her powerhouse trembling in her grip, against her body, and asked, “How’s my steed?”
“Good.” The one word was deep and short because he was still fighting to even his breathing.
She went on stroking him until his breath became steadier, and then she moved her hand from his cock to cup his balls in their harness in a warm, gentle grip.
“You seemed to like me fucking your ass,” she noted.
She felt the sudden tenseness he struggled to control and failed, only slightly making himself relax, perhaps in that moment not realizing as his hole tightened around her fingers that this reaction was far more easier than usual to read.
What he didn’t do was respond.
“Olivier,” she prompted, allowing impatience to thread that word.
“Yeah,” he bit out.
“Yeah, what?”
The words still held a sharp bite when he said, “Yes, Mistress.”
She pressed closer, he tightened against her in a lot of ways, and she lifted up to her toes in a vain attempt to get to his ear.
“Thank you for that but what I want you to share with me in words is what, precisely, you liked.”
She sensed the struggle, pressed up against him she felt it, and she gloried in it and the length it took him to admit angrily, “I liked your fingers up my ass.”
She pushed. “So you enjoyed your fucking.”
“Yes,” he clipped.
“I’m pleased you’ve said it, Olivier, even though I already knew since you showed it.”
That got her a truncated rumble of annoyance that perhaps hid some discomfiture.
With his reaction to all she’d done to him so far, but particularly what she did tonight, something she’d wished to take much more time in breaking him into, she knew she could get him past the discomfort.
She’d done it before with him, delightfully and now repeatedly.
She’d do it again.
And she was very, very much looking forward to it.
She gently massaged his balls and he truncated the rumble that caused, too, this time only to be recalcitrant because he knew she liked to hear his excitement.
She smiled against his lat.
“I’m pleased, my chevalier, because these balls are mine.” She shifted her hand to his cock. “This beautiful brute is mine.” She slightly wriggled her fingers up his ass and he pleasingly came up to his toes. “This ass is mine.” She settled all movement and finished, “All of you is mine. All. And I’ll play with it. I’ll make you beg for me to play with it. All of it. And I’ll give you my promise that I’ll make it worth it for you to give that to me.”
Before she could get lost in that thought and move on to doing just that, she tenderly slid her fingers out of him, releasing his cock.
She began to move away, but her eyes caught the control panel, the lever lifted up and glowing green to indicate that the room was in use, and a thought flashed, others tumbling in around it, taking her attention.
That and the fact she needed to get back to Mirabelle before her friend did anything stupid.
With these things on her mind, she left Olivier standing there as she moved to the table, ordering distractedly, “Pull up your pants. Clean up. I’ll leave some wipes. The bin is under the table.” She pulled out the wipes, her back to him, and cleaned her own fingers swiftly, continuing, “Then you may leave. We’ll resume Friday night.”
“You want me to leave?”
His incredulous tone made her turn to him.
When she did she saw not only that he’d pulled his pants up, and even gloved with a spent condom, tucked himself away, though he had not done up the fly.
But what was on his face took all her attention.
“Yes, Olivier, I—”
“That’s bullshit,” he grated, and even though she did not know him well at all, it was abundantly clear his fury had been unleashed.
Amélie blinked in shock.
“I put this fuckin’ harness on for you every night, like you said. Made me hard as a fuckin’ rock, doin’ that for you, thinkin’ of you the whole time I’m strapped for you, which is the fuckin’ point and you fuckin’ know it, a whole lot more than me. Got me so hard, sheer agony, wantin’ to do somethin’ about it, but I didn’t jack my dick, like you said. I came here trussed up for you, like you said. You jack me off at the door, shoving your fingers up my ass, then dismiss me?”
She felt her shoulders straighten as her face got hard.
He might not be handling what she’d done very well but if he had issues, they discussed it. He didn’t lose his mind.
“Chevalier, you need—”
“Fuck that,” he bit out, interrupting her and pushing a hand in his pants. He prowled her way, doing it seething physically and verbally. “You get off on the struggle, baby, I see that. You know it tears me up and you help me push through. You fuckin’ know that and don’t pretend you fuckin’ don’t. So this shit is bullshit and you know that too.”
He tossed the spent condom in the trash then dove back into his pants. Even as he spoke again, she heard the snaps on his harness release.
“I get how this goes. I know I’m your toy.” He spat out the last word. “I know you got a fuckuva lot more experience than me and I ride that because you’re fuckin’ good at it, hell and gone, fuckin’ great. I put myself in your hands because I know you know what to do with me.”
He tossed the harness on the table, and the soft noise of the leather hitting the wood felt like a lash scoring her heart because both of them knew what his rejection of her symbol of ownership meant.
“You got a lot m
ore experience, Amélie, but we both fuckin’ know that this shit, all of it,” he threw a long arm wide, indicating the room, “is about courtesy. And it isn’t ‘yes, Mistress,’ ‘no, Mistress,’ ‘please fuck my ass, Mistress.’” He lifted a finger and jabbed it toward her face. “You are obligated to extend courtesy too. And, babe, you know exactly what I’m tellin’ you. I can see it on your face. And I do not have to stand with my hands to the door and my pants around my thighs like a naughty boy with your fingers shoved up my ass and take your shit.”
With that, he stalked to the door and Amélie struggled to pull herself together because he was right. She’d made a grave mistake.
It was her duty to read her subs. It was her duty to give them what they needed.
And it was her duty to take care of them.
As surely as it would be unthinkable that a Dom would continue with play after a sub uttered a safe word, it was unthinkable when a sub gave of themselves, communicating their requirements, that a Dom ignored them.
The bottom line was, a sub gifted their Dom with extreme trust, making themselves vulnerable in ways that would be unimaginable in the vanilla world, depending completely on their Mistress or Master to hold that trust precious.
It was the control a Dom found pleasure in, but that was only part of it. The beauty of play was earning the treasure of that trust and the honor of holding it precious.
He had not hidden the way he was and what he required of her and everything that happened in that room, no matter she was ordering it, it was her job, her fucking calling, to give it to him.
He controlled that room, they both knew it, and with the battle he constantly waged and didn’t hide, she knew that foremost in all her play with Olivier, much more than usual with her toys, she needed to handle him with care.
Not dismiss him with a used condom on his cock and his pants around his legs while she hurried to get to her friend.
“Olivier, stop,” she called.
“Fuck that,” he clipped, turning the handle on the door.
She just managed to keep the urgency out of her voice when she stated, “I have something to do. It’s important.”