She smiled up at him. “And black box?” she prompted.
“Accidently found my parents’ toy box. It was black,” he told her.
“Ah.” She moved her hand out of his pants to start stroking the long, thick length of him as she said, “And from there you realized there were other worlds out there, that some people hide and are ashamed of, but even your parents participated in, if perhaps to a lesser degree, depending what was in that box. So that opened your mind to who you are and brought you to a place where you could explore it.”
He looked disconcerted.
“Olivier?”
“I just thought they were fucked up,” he told her.
She smiled, stroking him deeply. So deeply, automatically, he dropped his forehead to hers and she felt his breath escalate.
“And now what do you think?” she asked.
“Amélie, you’re jackin’ me, talkin’ about my parents,” he warned her that wasn’t in his comfort zone.
And it was a comfort zone she couldn’t push, but she did want to push to know more about him so she shifted around it.
“Yes. Parents who I hope you know now are not fucked up and neither are you.”
“Mistress—”
She kept stroking him, doing it harder. “You do know there’s very little vanilla in the world. Men who like to wear panties under their suits. Couples who enjoy erotic movies. Having sex in public places where the threat is real they’ll get caught. Having multiple partners during play. Being deprived of their sight with a blindfold or their ability to communicate with a gag.”
“I know all this, Amélie.”
It was nearly a groan.
She stroked the length of him, swirling the tip with her thumb and went on like he hadn’t spoken.
“And I’m going to enjoy you tucking that brute in your pants and walking with me through this room with a massive erection to get to the place I will give you the punishment you earned then take care of you the way you know I will.”
“Jesus, baby,” he whispered, the untamed beast stark in his eyes, fear and hunger at war.
She wanted that but closer, where she could give him the tools he needed to win that war.
So she let him go.
“Tuck yourself away, Olivier. We have things to do,” she ordered.
“Christ,” he muttered, not moving.
“Do not delay. You’ll only make it worse,” she cautioned.
That got him moving. And when he’d pushed his cock back into his pants and zipped up, she slid out of the booth.
He was at her heels when she walked through the room, all eyes on them, and it took a lot not to toss her hair in triumph and smile like a teenager.
She didn’t dally in the halls mostly because she couldn’t wait. It had been too long.
She missed him.
They hit room seventeen, the blackout blinds down, the lights on, and when they entered, she flipped the switch that declared the room occupied and moved into it.
He stopped at the door he’d closed.
“Remove your clothing, Olivier. Deal with it as usual,” she commanded. “Then stand by the center table.”
She was moving to the side table, the only thing outside a sink and its vanity in the room.
Except, of course, for the centerpiece in the middle that even a novice would know its use.
Olivier knew and Amélie sensed him not moving, staring at the table, knowing, partially, what he would get that night.
“Again, my chevalier,” she said quietly, sifting through her bag. “I would not delay.”
She found the things she wanted, brought them to the top, but didn’t pull them out. It would not do for him to see some of them too soon.
She grabbed what she needed right then and turned to find him where she’d told him to be.
He was naked, hard, balls harnessed in a very nice set of straps, and watching her warily.
“Turn around and put your hands to the table, please,” she ordered.
He hesitated only briefly before complying but she noticed his breathing go unsteady.
“Legs apart,” she said when she was close behind him.
“Jesus, fuck,” he muttered but did as told.
She made her way to him and once there moved economically, ring to his cock, straps leading from it up to his upper hips, one around his hips, she buckled it securely. Then she bent and reached between his legs to grab the other two straps.
“Right, Olivier, hands to your buttocks, open them for me.”
Another hesitation, this one longer, as he puffed out a breath, two, then his hands went from the table to his ass.
He opened for her.
She clenched her teeth to control her reaction as she lifted the straps and fastened them to the hip strap, tightening them, spreading him further, strapping him open.
He’d had them before, but even so, the puffs of breath came out faster once she’d finished.
“Lovely, mon chou,” she whispered, gliding a hand up his inner thigh. “You may let go then please position on the table on your back.”
She stood back and watched as he did it. He did it slowly, but he did it.
She went to the control panel that, in this room, had a number of other controls.
She hit some switches and watched his chest heave as his gaze followed the apparatus trundling mechanically through the air, dangling from the ceiling.
She moved back to him. Coming close to his head, she laid a hand on his chest and stroked him there.
“You’re pleasing me greatly, my beast,” she said gently.
And he was. It was early in their play and she was already soaked.
“Fuckin’ thrilled, Mistress,” he replied, going for the cheek but the wild was in his eyes and she had to assuage it.
“Breathe, Olivier, deep, and look at me. I’m here. Right here. All for you.”
“Yeah.” A gust of breath. “Yeah, Amélie. Yeah.”
“I’m not going anywhere. You’ll see me or you’ll feel me close. Tonight, like every night, every time we have together, is all about you.”
He bit his lip, let it go, and said, “Yeah.”
She nodded. “Good?”
He nodded back.
“Good,” she replied softly and bent to touch her lips to his. She lifted away and asked, “Now, would you please lay your arms along the lengths?”
He swallowed, his throat convulsing, and did as asked.
She made light, but tender, work of it. Strapping him wrist, forearm, elbow, biceps, and shoulder to the long arms that led out from either side of the table. As she did, she touched him, stroked him, kissed him, ran her lips along straps, then moved on.
The same to the thicker, heavier straps that she pulled from under the table. One at his chest. His rib cage. His waist.
She moved back to his head.
“Now, Olivier, I need to ask you to give me more,” she shared quietly.
He nodded, the wild still there, knowing what was coming, but she sensed he was beating it back, there to prove to her he’d put their last session behind him, just as she was there to prove to him he could trust her to make that worth it.
And with all that, she thought he was never more beautiful than in that moment.
“I’ll guide you,” she said gently. “Go where I’m guiding you. I’ll be patient but don’t take advantage of it.”
“You got it,” he rumbled, perhaps bravado, perhaps psyching himself up.
She bent over him again. “After this, you’ll request this room from me. I promise you, my beast.”
It took a moment for him to get there but he made it.
“Okay, baby,” he whispered, staring in her eyes.
She gave him another smile, another brush of the lips, and soothed his hair off his forehead.
Then she moved to his legs. Lifting one at the heel, she set it in the padded stirrup cuff, tightening it around his ankle.
She did the same to the other so he
was resting, his knees bent, ankles in stirrups.
She folded the table down in order that his buttocks were at the very edge, slightly hanging over.
She also saw his erection was hard and heavy, lying on his stomach, his balls bulging at the sides of his harness. She took needed time to pay attention to him there, too, with licks and strokes, giving it enough his cock was distended, looking like it was aching, his legs trembling in their stirrups.
She moved back to his head but reached out a hand to stroke his cock.
“First your punishment, mon chou,” she informed him.
He nodded jerkily.
“Then your reward,” she promised.
“Great,” he gritted out.
She smiled and stood back, his eyes following her.
It was then she put her hands into the material on either side of her hips, pulling the clinging jersey of her cobalt blue dress up and yanking it off.
“Fucking hell,” he breathed.
She was wearing a black lace bustier, sheer black panties that shadowed her but also exposed her, ties on the sides, black thigh highs with lace tops and stiletto-heeled black platform pumps.
“Amélie.”
The need.
He liked what he saw.
She smiled inside, not allowing herself mentally to admit that she was relieved he did, and went to the control panel.
“Fucking hell,” he grunted as the electric pulleys lifted his ankles, up and up, until his legs were straight. She hit another button and they moved out, spreading them apart. When she noticed him straining, his jaw clenching, she gave it another inch and then hit another control, lifting him even farther so his bottom half was slightly raised, his legs stretched wide and taut.
She studied him, his chest now heaving, his hands in fists, his cock, Amélie fancied, was visibly throbbing, and decided she could watch him in this pose, at her control, giving her all control, making him vulnerable to her for anything, everything. Giving her access to hand him the world.
But she couldn’t stand there forever.
It was time to hand her steed the world.
She went to the table, coming back with her crop.
He eyed it, the beast at the surface.
“Do not come, Olivier,” she ordered firmly.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
“Did you hear me?” she pressed.
“Yes, Mistress,” he pushed out.
She nodded smartly and turned to his backside.
And there she cropped him, fighting back her own orgasm, one she knew would be extreme, as he took it magnificently. Legs and hips, indeed his entire body jerking and lurching against the restraints as she cropped his ass, his back thighs, his inner thighs, and again to his ass. She avoided his balls with her blows but stood at the end of the table, and with the folded-over leather tip of the crop, lightly slapped them side to side.
That was when she got him. He let loose his pleasure for her to hear, groans this time, not grunts, long ones, shearing through the room while his legs strained, his fists clenched and unclenched. His hips bucked in ways that she didn’t know if he was free, if he’d push forward for more or rear away.
“Baby,” he growled, sharing he was at his end.
There it was.
She smiled.
He’d push forward for more.
And he was going to have to take more. She’d say when it would end.
She gave his balls more.
Then she cropped him more.
His head was digging into the table, hard jaw totally exposed, body nearly inert with the effort to hold still when she went to the other table again, prepared her next and walked back to him.
His eyes shot wide.
“Amélie—”
“Do I own all of you?” she asked.
“Yes,” he clipped.
“Then, as it’s mine, I’ll enjoy what’s mine,” she declared, moving to the control panel.
She hit the control and the blinds started sliding up, both white … and black.
She heard his rumble but ignored it as she moved to the table.
And she held his eyes when she put her foot still in its platform pump on the little step, lifted up to a knee at the table by his ribs, and hauled herself up.
She positioned, settling with her pussy over his face, her face to his privates.
His body kept straining.
“You do not even lift your head to get to me until I give myself to you, yes?”
“Yeah,” he gritted.
She reached down to pull the ties and then tugged her panties away.
“Torture, Amélie,” he whispered. “Fuck, so pretty.”
And so wet. He wouldn’t have to eat. She’d drip on him.
Time to get to that; he needed it and so did she.
She grasped his cock, lightly stroking as she set the tip of the liberally oiled plug to his hole.
“Tell me when you’re ready for more,” she ordered.
“Fuck,” he bit off.
“I’ll need you to tell me, my beast. My mouth will be busy and I won’t be able to ask.”
“Fuck,” he groaned.
“Will you tell me?” she prompted.
“Yeah,” he confirmed immediately.
She took the head of his cock in her mouth as she slid the tip of the plug in an inch.
It said a good deal that even stretched taut, the stirrups and their chains rattled violently.
She gave him another inch.
“Fuck, shit, Christ,” he chanted.
She stroked him with her mouth, not taking him deep, and stayed still.
She gave him time.
Then she twisted the plug.
“More,” he blew out.
She gave him more of her mouth and he learned quickly the more he took the more he got.
She watched as he widened for her, accepted her, in the end lifted for her as she bobbed on his dick, taking as much as she could get, and then she took his plug home.
“Blow me, baby, fuckin’ hell, I need this pussy, God, fuck, please,” he begged. “Give me your pretty pussy.”
She blew him, moving faster, stroking the parts of his cock she couldn’t get to with her mouth in a tight fist (because she had a good control on her gag reflex, but as sad as the fact was, he was an impossibility), she went back to the plug and started gently fucking him with it.
He was bucking, trying to fuck her mouth and get his plug.
“Fuck yeah, Mistress, fuck … yeah, Christ.”
She fucked him harder.
“Fuck, baby, fuck that. That’s it. Fuck it for me, fuck,” he grunted.
She gave him more every way she could give.
“Fuck me, Amélie, fuck my hole. Harder, baby. Suck my dick. Jack my ass. Please. Fuck me,” he begged.
He was ready.
She rammed her pussy on his face.
He started eating immediately, laving his tongue from back to front, dipping it deep to pull out her juices, pressing it flat and hard against her clit, then rolling, then flicking.
He was good at that, too, a sub who was a master.
Ecstasy.
She rode his face, sucked his dick, fucked his ass, and the table shuddered as she shoved herself deeper into his face and he accepted, gratefully, eating her savagely.
She had to pump his dick with her fist, shoving the plug home to feel his grunt of acceptance reverberate up her cunt as her torso came up, her spine arched, her head flew back and she came.
She’d been right and wrong.
Her orgasm was not extreme … but instead extreme.
Rocking on his face, jacking his dick, crying out quiet, short, but constant mewls of pleasure as it rolled over her, everything her beast had offered, everything he’d built, everything they were.
Magnificent beauty.
He ate her through it, not stopping, not gentling, consuming her.
Still in her glow, she sat farther up, tugging on his dick. “Come for me,
Olivier.”
He blew at her command, his cum splicing up his chest, some splashing on her thigh.
And then he continued to blow, his body convulsing in its restraints, hips curling up as much as they could to fuck her fist, cum gushing and gushing and gushing.
She stroked him through it, gentling when his eruptions started easing, milking him to the end as he lapped at her, eating her clean.
She bent over him, kissing the underside of his cock, his balls, the insides of his thighs, before she said quietly, “I’m climbing off, mon chou. But I’ll be back.”
She lifted off his mouth so he could say, “Okay, Mistress.”
She climbed off. Moving to her panties, she positioned them and tied them.
Then she moved to the control panel.
Down went the blinds to Talia putting her hands in prayer position, silently begging she not stop the show.
Amélie shook her head but did it with a slight smile on her face.
Stellan was there again, still watching her, still looking peeved.
Whatever was up his ass, he could communicate it. Frowning at her through a playroom window was ridiculous.
The blinds whirring down, she quickly went about the business of lowering Olivier’s legs, elongating the table, cleaning his cum from his chest and her wet from his face and unstrapping him completely.
He didn’t push up or ask to, especially when, right away, she mounted him again, lowering herself, straddling his hips, chest to his chest, eyes to his face.
“And how did you like your reward, Olivier?” she asked.
To her (delighted, it must be said,) surprise, his arms flew around her, holding her tight, squeezing the air out of her as he burst out laughing.
That filled the room, too, the deep resonance of it echoing through the air, gliding across her skin, a sound almost too delicious to be real.
She grinned at him and was still grinning when he got enough control to ask, “I don’t know. Do you mean finally getting to eat your very sweet, seriously pretty pussy? And baby, your pussy is very pretty and very sweet. Or you blowing me while you fucked my ass?”
“All of that,” she answered, still grinning.
“Then I liked it, Amélie, it fuckin’ rocked.”
She was still grinning so couldn’t quite pull off an authoritative tone when she replied, “I’m pleased.”
“I got the sense you came hard for me, Mistress, don’t know. Too busy tryin’ to keep my dick from exploding. But my guess would be I’m more pleased.”