She continued to do this as Mira slid in the booth opposite her.
Amélie blinked at this new surprise.
“I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight,” she noted.
“Well hello to you too,” Mira replied on a happy smile and Amélie smiled back because she knew why Mirabelle’s smile was happy.
Suffice it to say, the first date—as well as the three after it—had gone well for Mira and Trey.
Putting new meaning to that “well,” Mira turned her head and ordered, “On your knees, please.”
Trey, standing at Mirabelle’s side, dropped to his knees beside her.
Without hesitation, Mira shifted so she was straddling the end of the booth, put her hand to the back of his head and shoved it between her thighs.
“Hold it there. I’ll let you know if I wish your tongue,” she commanded.
She looked up from her sub/new boyfriend to Amélie and Amélie couldn’t help the fact her smile was huge.
Mirabelle smiled huge back.
Neither of them noted why they were smiling, as they wouldn’t with the two male specimens (one of whom would be the topic of that discussion) right there to hear, regardless of their submissive postures.
“So, of course, word spread wide about two seconds after you led this beautiful brute into the halls that social was the way to go tonight,” Mirabelle noted. “Beware the doors opening and we’re treated to the Honey’s version of the bull run at Pamplona in this room.”
Amélie felt Olivier tense again but she ignored it, didn’t look to his face, and kept stroking, widening her range as best she could without reaching, her touch as light as she could make it.
She did this grinning at Mira in response to her quip.
But she shared, “We won’t be performing,” doing this for Mirabelle’s information as well as to assure Olivier.
“Too bad,” Mirabelle replied, her lips twitching. She looked down and pulled Trey’s head from between her legs using his hair. “Would you like to perform for me tonight, my handsome slave?”
“I’ll enjoy doing whatever pleases you, Mistress Mirabelle,” Trey answered.
She slid her fingers along his jaw. “You always do,” she whispered affectionately. She then slid her fingers back up his jaw to his hair and tenderly pressed his face between her legs again. “As before, my slave,” she ordered adoringly.
Ah, yes.
Things were going very well with Mira and her Trey.
The server brought Amélie’s drink and asked Mirabelle if she wanted one. Mirabelle declined and by the time her friend looked back to Amélie, Amélie could not contain the glee she felt at witnessing Mira’s tender handling and Trey’s seemingly easy shift from Mistress and submissive to more, that more still including Mistress and sub.
“Stop grinning like a goof,” Mirabelle ordered.
“Make me,” Amélie retorted, taking hold of her drink and then taking a sip.
Mira rolled her eyes but focused on something beyond their table as she rolled them back.
“Mm, Talia’s taken a shine to that big boy and he’s performing beautifully for her,” Mirabelle noted.
Amélie put her drink down and looked over her shoulder to see one of the stages was taken up with four players, but two more were standing at the edges.
In the middle was Bryan on his back, his legs up the chest and over the shoulders of another male slave, his ass being fucked by that slave as another male slave had his weight in his hands over Bryan’s head, fucking his face.
As for Bryan, he was stroking his dick madly, clearly finding pleasure in what he was getting and putting on quite a show.
The two slaves’ Mistresses were standing close to the stage, enjoying that show, while Talia stood on the stage, calling the shots.
“She’s finding interesting ways to keep him from speaking,” Amélie remarked, her eyes on the stage, her bottom sliding slightly down the booth so her hand had more access to Olivier.
With this access, she cupped his balls.
“Indeed he is,” Mirabelle agreed.
Amélie barely heard her.
Moving her attention from Talia and her sub to Olivier, she ordered quietly, “Legs wider, mon chou.”
He did not look amused and he did not look desperate when he immediately acquiesced.
He very much liked his Mistress paying attention to his balls.
He was hers, only hers, and she his, only his, right there in a room full of people.
She gave him a smile that told him precisely how much she liked that.
She also gave him more.
Moving from his balls, she went to his plug and gave it a slow twist.
His lids lowered and he came up on his toes.
“Beautiful,” she cooed.
He bit his lip, not scoring it with his teeth, pulling it in and keeping it in.
Performing well, doing as told, keeping silent, her sweet beast.
She went back to his balls, taking her eyes from his and sensing something.
She looked to the room and noticed Stellan across it, standing, no slave in attendance this time, back to the side of a booth, arms crossed on his chest (again, what a bore), his attention on her.
She didn’t give him hers for very long but she did give it to Olivier.
“Slide closer to me,” she ordered on a light squeeze of his sac.
He slid from the center of the table her way.
When he did, she switched positions with her hand, reaching under the table to cup his balls in one hand and she manipulated them while stroking the skin of his ass and thighs with the other.
She looked from her fascinated perusal of Olivier’s face turning languid with the slow build of lazy desire, delighted at the ease with which she’d been able to guide him to a just them, even in social, to Mira when she felt her friend’s gaze.
“I suspect I’m grinning like a goof now,” she declared.
“Please shut up,” Amélie requested, any bite of her words not there due to the smile infusing them.
“I think I’ll do that since I’m feeling some alone time coming on with my handsome boy,” Mira returned, pulling Trey’s face out from between her legs. “On your feet, handsome. Time to eat.”
Amélie watched Trey’s face grow hungry and she liked that so much for her friend, she squeezed Olivier’s balls tighter than she meant to.
She heard his low noise and looked to his face.
He’d lost the wild. It was gone.
He was hers. In her hands in every way he could be.
That meant so much to her, Olivier settling in so beautifully, she tore her gaze from his, having just enough courtesy to look up to Mirabelle and bid, “Enjoy.”
“You, too, my lovely,” Mira replied, yanked on the leash she had attached to Trey’s cock harness, and led him out of the room.
Amélie looked back to her steed.
She shifted her attention to the inside of his straps, light, so soft, and he again went up on his toes.
“God, you’re amazing,” she whispered in a tone she knew was just as adoring as Mira’s had been, maybe more so, doing this leaning toward him.
Olivier licked his lips.
Amélie leaned closer.
Suddenly, looking through the dim at her tamed beast with his sultry eyes, she wanted to know everything on his mind.
And since she could, she set about learning that.
“You have this moment to speak freely, Olivier,” she granted.
He didn’t hesitate.
“Is he here?”
She felt her brows draw together.
“Who?” she asked.
“Baby, you know.”
It came to her that she did.
“Master Stellan?” she queried to confirm.
He jerked up his chin and it was alluring, masculine, magnetic, even with his head down on his arms.
“He is,” she shared. “Why?”
“Is he watching?” Olivi
er asked.
“I only glanced at him but yes, as usual, he was, chevalier.”
“Then make me perform.”
Amélie blinked.
“Sorry?” she asked.
“I’m yours. Make me perform.”
“Onstage?” Her voice had risen for this surprised her.
She would not expect Olivier would want to do that.
And further, she herself never made her toys perform in social. This was because she was also performing and that was something she didn’t fancy.
She actually didn’t often go to social for she rarely had a toy who she wished to display. She happily lifted the blinds but she preferred the barriers and the intimacy the glass provided, and the undistracted closeness of what she could offer her toys behind it.
“No,” he grunted. “Unless, do you—?”
“Absolutely not.” She made her feelings clear on the subject.
“Then here.”
She didn’t understand.
“Olivier—”
“If you claim me here, Mistress, then I’m claiming you. Right?”
With that, she understood.
“Fuck me,” he ground out. “You wanna make me come, make me. But I want him to know where we are, you and me, but also fuckin’ him, and I can do that my way or you can make that crystal right now.”
His way, she was sure, Stellan would dislike immensely and even Aryas might frown on.
Amélie, however, wouldn’t mind witnessing it.
Though she was absolutely certain it would be worth the headache it might cause, it wouldn’t be worth it if Aryas frowned on it significantly.
Even with these thoughts, his request (which was more like a demand), was beyond titillating and not because she wished to make him serve her right there at the table.
But why he was making his demand in the first place.
A declaration of possession, through her of him, to him of her.
All this to Stellan, and due to their locational circumstances, to everybody.
For Olivier might not know that she’d never, not once, done such with another toy (this was when she wasn’t training with another Dom).
So everyone who was in the know through history, and it would spread by word of mouth, would get the message Olivier wished to send.
She got closer and she actually felt the sparkle in her eyes even as she felt something much more lovely between her legs as she cupped his balls and covered his plug with the palm of her hand.
“You do know, my steed, this isn’t topping from below. This is actually telling your Mistress what to do.”
“You don’t wanna do it, up to you. I’m just telling my Mistress what I want her to do.”
“I see the difference,” she murmured sardonically.
“Your call,” he stated the obvious.
“Stop speaking, Olivier, and no more, unless they’re noises you can’t control.”
She saw his expression darkening.
He was getting what he wanted and he liked that.
And so did she.
“If you need to adjust to hold on to the edge of the table, please do so,” she invited. “And please be aware that you’ll need to retain some stamina for I intend to ride your face when we return to our room. And it would please me greatly for you to offer more of your seed while I stroke you when I do that.”
“Baby,” he growled.
With that, Amélie had him where she wanted, not because he had a statement to make to Stellan but because he wanted what she was going to give.
She moved to his cock and started unbuckling the harness, her eyes searching the space. Avoiding Stellan’s, she found a server and inclined her head.
The server approached.
“Please bring me a receptacle,” she requested.
“You got it,” the girl replied, moved quickly away and Amélie removed the harness from her toy.
She again gave him her attention.
His face was dark, his eyes riveted to her, his jaw clenched, a muscle jumping up his cheek.
“Now, you serve me, my Olivier,” she said softly.
As his show of submission, he again lifted up on his toes.
And at that show, Amélie felt a tremor between her legs, gripped his cock, took hold of his plug, and she made her toy serve her.
She fucked him with his plug, stroked his cock roughly, and didn’t even notice the server setting the pail under to the table to catch Olivier’s cum.
Amélie’s eyes were glued to his and his to hers, giving her all the communication she needed.
Then his head came up, his arms slid out, and he gave her everything.
Arching his back, flat stomach pressing into the table, hips tipped up, he came up to his forearms, fingers curled around the edge of the table, but his head dropped down in a submissive gesture that had her clit buzzing.
“You may express your pleasure audibly but quietly, only to me.”
His burning eyes cut to hers and he hissed, “Fuck me, baby. Take my ass. Jack my junk and goddamned fuck me.” Before she could demand it, her training kicked in, and he finished in a way that was so … deliciously … Olivier, “Motherfucking please.”
Her clit and womb spasming, she took him there and nearly came, sitting in the booth beside him, wondering if he’d rip the table right out of the floor as he bucked violently, lifting up to arms outstretched, head bent back, hips pistoning, and shot into the pail, thrusting through her fist to do it.
She slid the plug in gently, milked him as minimally as he needed before she slid out of the booth with more than a little urgency.
“Up, Olivier,” she ordered huskily.
He lifted up, sated eyes, face soft, all that for her, all that she’d given him on show to the room.
She moved in, hand back to his cock, and he bent his head down.
She kissed him.
Then he kissed her.
After she pulled away, she led him out by his semi-hard cock to their room, kept the blinds down, pushed him on his back on a bench, and climbed on his face.
He ate her wet pussy ravenously as she stroked him in order to get him hard yet again.
She was so primed, she came before she could take him to climax and collapsed on his chest and stomach, her face nuzzling his hardening cock (regrettably hardening because she was spent, Olivier had made her come exquisitely (as usual), and she didn’t have it in her to do anything about it).
With a noise of surprise, she found herself moved, turned and rolled so they were face-to-face and he was on top.
She looked into his eyes.
“I think that made my point,” he declared, his deep voice rolling through the room, coating it and her in complete and utter possession.
The feel of that was warm.
Amélie still shivered under him.
He was right. He had. She’d had no control, barely allowing him to recover from his orgasm before she dragged him from the room to get him to herself.
To give herself to him.
That was not her modus operandi. Amélie was in control at all times. She gave. She took. And always, she did so with attention and affection, but still with an air she could take it or leave it.
She did not smooth her toy’s jaws as Mirabelle did, not in the hunting ground, definitely not in a prolonged scene in social.
She most certainly didn’t make a mad dash from the social room so she could ride her toy’s face.
But with Olivier, she’d shown much affection, as Stellan had accused, holding hands and cuddling with him openly wherever she felt like it. Indeed, doing that for hours with him just the night before.
And obviously, she’d made that mad dash from the social room so she could ride her Olivier’s face.
But she didn’t care.
He may well be her Shane. Her Trey.
Just hers.
Completely.
In fact, everything they shared made that seem more and more real.
G
od, she could not wait for their weekend.
To that end, she lifted a hand and smoothed it over Olivier’s jaw and into his hair.
“You do know he’s no competition,” she noted soothingly, for there was a new beast to be tamed, she could see it in his eyes, and she enjoyed this one just as much.
But he wouldn’t so she had to do something about it.
“I know he wants you and he wants that bad,” he returned.
“He’s a Dom, Olly,” she told him something he knew.
“He wants you to bend him over a table and he wants to take his fucking from you, Leigh-Leigh. He wants to thrust his cock in your hand. He wants you riding his face. He wants you to string him up and jack his ass so deep, he spews across the room for you. He wants to fuck you senseless. He wants,” he dipped his face close, “what’s mine.”
Oh yes.
There was a new beast to be tamed.
She melted under him even as she shook her head. “I’ve known Stellan a long time and I don’t think—”
“He wants what’s mine and it’s mine,” he bit off, interrupting her. “He can’t fuckin’ have it.”
Amélie fell silent.
“Fuck,” he ground out, nudging her legs open with his knee. “I need to fuck you, Leigh.”
“So fuck me, Olly,” she invited.
The heat of possession in his expression only intensified as he positioned, brushing his mouth against hers, before he drove inside her wetness, filling her full.
Then her Olly proceeded to fuck her.
Senseless.
* * *
Thursday evening in the bed in the red room, Amélie collapsed on top of Olivier after she rode him to a stunningly gorgeous simultaneous orgasm.
When she did, Olivier did not wrap his arms around her.
He couldn’t. His wrists were cuffed to the bed over his head, as his ankles were cuffed, legs opened wide down below.
When her breath again came easy, as did his, she nuzzled his neck.
She’d had book club Wednesday night. He’d had plans with his friends that night.
He’d ditched (his words) his friends and came to her.
“You got the text with my address?” she asked.
“Babe, wanna hold you.”
She lifted her head and looked down at her bound steed.
“I like you at my mercy.”