The same with the other.
She moved to the end of the bed, took in his magnificent beauty, and cooed, “So beautiful.”
It was an understatement.
He was simply glorious.
“Mistress, fuckin’—”
She set the vibrations to high and watched with great delight as Olivier humped the bed, all that power leashed except at his hips, his fingers fisted around his bonds, the bed creaking, his tail swaying, his hips thrusting violently.
His grunts came fast and deep, his movements jerky and desperate, and she turned the vibrations all the way to low.
“Please, God, fuck, baby … Mistress, jack my ass. Let me come. Fuck.”
“I’ll be back, Olivier.”
She watched the bed jerk with his nonverbal denial.
Glorious.
So again, Amélie was smiling when she left the room.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, she walked back to the room, stood outside the door and turned up the vibrations.
She heard his groan of pleasure and fury.
So she was once again walking away smiling.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, she did the same, heard no groan but a warning rumble and again wandered away with a grin.
* * *
Half an hour after that, she walked into the room and felt the shudder roll up her pussy at the sight of her beast, his entire body slicked with sweat, lashed spread-eagle on her bed.
She turned the vibrations down low and even though he was prone, she saw his large, powerful frame slump into the bed.
He saw her, too, and begged, “Baby, please, fuckin’ let me come.”
“You’ll come, my steed,” she assured.
“Now, Amélie, in you, loosen the ties and slide under me.”
She sat on the side of the bed and held his eyes.
“Mm,” she purred. “Perhaps another time.”
His eyes tilted to the side and locked on her, the heat there, the fury she’d heard, the deep, dark, delicious need shadowing him, her, even dimming the sun in the bright room, he growled, “Let me have your pussy. I won’t eat it. Just hold my face to it.”
“Another excellent suggestion, mon chou, but today I’ve decided on something different.”
“Mistress, I’m beggin’ you—”
Suddenly, she darted a hand between his legs, gripped his balls, and rolled the remote all the way to high.
His head jerked back.
Top to toe a thing of beauty.
“Perform, beast,” she ordered.
She didn’t have to order it. Holding tight in order to keep hold, Amélie watched as he fucked the bed.
“Come at will, Olivier.”
“Yeah, fuck yeah, fuck, fuck, squeeze my balls, baby.”
She squeezed.
And he blew, his grunts thundering through the room, the entire bed shaking as Olivier ejaculated his seed into the soft towels under him.
When his noises subdued and his thrusts weakened, she brought him low.
Then it began.
She took him up and took him there, listening to his words—angry, pleading, challenging, threatening, desperate. She did this touching him, stroking him, gripping him, squeezing him, his tail jacking his ass low and high, Amélie watching the entire show, glorying in all that was Olivier.
On his third orgasm, less powerful than the first two, she set the plug to low, took her toy from the pocket of her robe, lifted the robe up to her waist and moved to straddle his back, facing his lower half. She dropped the robe and felt his whole body twitch powerfully and magnificently as the silk slithered over his skin.
Rubbing herself against him, pressing her toy to her clit, Olivier emitted low frustrated snarls, yanking at his lashes feebly, and Amélie loved every fucking second, eyes to his beautiful, filled ass as she made herself come against the small of his back.
He’d been so marvelous, this didn’t take long.
And her orgasm was not as glorious as watching him have his, but it wasn’t far from it.
When she caught her breath, she swung off him, turned off and carefully extricated his tail, and set it aside.
Only then did she turn to his head, doing this shifting astride him again, this time facing his upper half. She lowered her body to his.
She got close and smoothed his hair away from his temple, bent deep, and touched her lips there.
“You please me,” she shared gently.
“Next time I fuck you, gonna split you in two,” he muttered, his deep voice drowsy and muffled by the pillow.
“Something to look forward to,” she whispered as she stroked his hair and watched his eyelids flutter.
He was fighting sleep.
Amélie had a lot of patience so she saw it when he lost.
OLIVIER
Olly woke up and the first thing he saw was the glass of ice water on the nightstand.
Then he realized he was no longer tied to the bed or lying in his own cum.
He was on his side and under the covers.
Fuck, she jacked it all out of him, he didn’t even feel her take care of him afterward.
He pushed up, reached for the water, downed it and knew he needed food.
Seriously.
He rolled out of bed, went to the bathroom, saw his duffel and looked back to the nightstand.
He didn’t hear her or see a note.
This meant, he assumed, he was at ease so he grabbed a quick shower, got out, toweled off and bent over his duffel, pawing through it. He nabbed underwear, clean jeans, a tee and tossed them to the counter, starting to get dressed when he saw his shaved cock and balls and stopped dead.
It wasn’t like he checked his brothers out but it still was not lost on him God saw fit to grant him a great dick.
But fuck, he liked it shaved and he could not fucking believe after she worked him over and good, he felt himself start to get hard, remembering the feel of Amélie gliding the razor there, more of her dragging her tongue there, and her whispered “pretty.”
His Mistress knocked it out of the park every time and he hoped her imagination never dried up because she rocked his world each time she did it.
He stopped staring at his dick, dressed, and went in search of two things in a specific order.
Amélie and food.
Fortunately, he found her in the kitchen.
As she’d once said, two birds …
Her eyes came to him as she watched him walk her way.
She was in another pair of jeans, hair down, no jewelry, but a sexy, slouchy green top that looked like it had wings under the arms and it also fell off her shoulder, exposing a white tank under it.
Hot.
She was facing him and he moved right into her. Lifting a hand to scoop her hair to hold it in a tail behind her neck, he slid his other hand from waist to the small of her back, drew her to him and bent, kissing her bare shoulder.
“How are you, darling?” she asked.
He lifted his head but held on to her. “Hungry.”
Her mouth quirked. “I’ll bet.”
“Looked like you had enough to make ten sandwiches. You do that, I’ll eat ’em all.”
She gave him a full grin. “I’ve got the Foreman heated up, waiting for you, so in but a few minutes, I could give you a burger.”
“Better,” he grunted.
“Pull a stool around to the side of the island and I’ll get cracking,” she ordered.
“Got only about that in me to do, sweetheart, until you feed me.”
“Then I best get cracking.”
Even saying that, she rolled up on her toes and he took his cue.
He bent and gave her his mouth.
She took it and Olly took hers too. Even starving, he took his time to explore it with his tongue before he ended it and lifted away.
“Burger,” he muttered.
“Right away,” she replied.
He let her go and got his stoo
l.
She shifted to the Foreman and got cracking.
Cleopatra came out and wove around the foot he had on the floor, tilting her kitty head to sniff the one he had on the rung.
“Water, beer, Coke, Sprite, something else?” Leigh asked and he looked from her cat to her.
“Water, babe. And a Coke.”
She nodded and brought both to him.
“Cheese selection, Olly,” she said after he’d downed half the bottle of water she gave him.
“You got American?”
“Alas, no.”
He grinned at her. “Cheddar.”
She nodded and he decided to buy a Foreman because she wasn’t wrong. She had a double burger with double cheese in front of him in no time.
He didn’t hesitate to lift it up and dig in.
“No condiments?”
He saw her at the opened fridge. “I’m good,” he replied with his mouth full.
“Onion? Tomato? Pickle?”
“Good, Leigh.”
She nodded again then asked, “Chips?”
“Whatever your hand grabs.”
She brought him whatever her hand grabbed, sour cream and chive. He broke the bag open and dug in.
“I’m seeing I should feed my beast before I test him,” she noted.
He shook his head, swallowing a huge bite. “No, baby. You go your own way. You got your shit tight. I can recuperate when you’re ready.”
She leaned a hip into the counter and remarked smugly, “I take it you enjoyed your morning.”
He lifted eyes from burger to her, saw Leigh was cute when she looked smug, but when he spoke Olly dropped his voice to a rumble.
“Next time I’m inside you, gonna drill you and keep doin’ it until you come for me … repeatedly, beggin’ me for more until you beg me to stop.”
Her lips parted and her eyes went half-mast.
His tone changed when he finished, “That said, how you worked me was staggering. And I mean that in a good way.”
Her grin came back. “I’m pleased, Olly.”
“Leigh,” he called even though she was looking at him. But she got his tone and he knew it when her body locked and her gaze riveted to his. “Disappeared,” he whispered. “That thing fuckin’ with my head. Gone. Thank you for that freedom, sweetheart. If you didn’t struggle with it, I’m seriously fuckin’ glad, but if you didn’t, you can’t know what it means. And it means too much to say, Leigh-Leigh. So I hope you get how deep I’m givin’ that gratitude because it’s really fuckin’ appreciated.”
She got close and put a hand to his thigh. “So nothing fucking with your head as I took care of you this morning?”
“Outside wishin’ I could get free to spank your ass, not knowin’ if I wanted to do that before or after I fucked it, that is whenever I wasn’t totally focused on what was happening up my own ass … no.”
Her smile came back. It was softer, but happier.
“Good.” She slid her hand up nearly to his dick. “But no one spanks me, Olly.”
“Mm-hmm,” he mumbled, tossing a chip into his mouth.
Her eyes sparkled at him before she bent in and touched her mouth to his cheek that was working the chip.
She moved away, doing things, tidying things, but Olly focused on eating.
He was downing the Coke when she came to whisk his empty plate away.
He put the Coke on the counter as she told him, “Dinner needs simmering so even though you just had lunch, I’m starting it now.”
“You had lunch?” he asked.
She looked to him, having grabbed a yellow onion. “Yes.”
He grinned at her. “So one meal this weekend we’ll eat together.”
She grinned back. “Perhaps. I do hope to have a few with you tomorrow, though.”
What Olly hoped was that she worked him in the morning. Even if she did the same exact thing, he didn’t care.
Though if it was up to him, he’d change one nuance of it.
He didn’t share that. He looked to the onion she’d put on a cutting board.
“You need help?” he offered.
She turned to him and tipped her head to the side. “What I need right now, my sweet beast, is for you to stand up, pull your jeans down to your thighs, rest again on your stool, and let me see my pretty groomed cock while I work.”
Her “pretty groomed cock” jumped at her words.
“Amélie.”
“Now, Olivier, if you please.”
“This servin’ you all day?” he asked.
“Absolutely,” she answered.
He held her eyes, not struggling against that thing that fucked with his brain.
Now battling the man he was who wanted to take control. Spread her on the counter and eat her until she begged him to fuck her and then fuck her hard until she came, crying out his name, rather than stand at command and give her what she ordered.
But this was the game and she knew how to play it, how to take him there at the same time keep the man he was intact. So he won the battle, accepted the challenge, stood up, and carried out her instructions then sat back down, bare cock semi-hard but not there yet.
“Gonna drill you ’til you beg me to stop,” he whispered, his gaze still locked to hers.
“Stroke yourself leisurely, please,” she replied.
He did.
She went about her business with the onion.
He kept stroking as she cooked. Filling the air of the room with good scents. Sautéed onions. Seared steak she cut up into cubes. Spices she dashed into the lot.
He watched her while she did it, liking seeing Amélie in a space like that, doing normal shit.
Getting off on seeing her do that while he was exposed for her, stroking his dick.
But his Amélie, she was hands-on. She didn’t leave him be, ignore him, make him feel like a piece of furniture.
She looked to him a lot while she cooked. And his cock. Her face getting hungry. She’d often come to him and touch his jaw. Kiss the side of his lips. Run her finger along his that were fisted around his dick.
Oh yeah.
She knew how to play the game.
It occurred to him vaguely—because jacking himself, even leisurely, exposed to her eyes and touch, he was getting hotter as the minutes wore on—she was making steak chili.
“Chili?” he asked.
“Nachos,” she answered.
She was making him her nachos.
Fuck, even that felt good.
“Baby,” he murmured.
She looked to him.
“Will you come here?” he requested.
She came to him, getting close and putting her hands to either side of his neck.
He didn’t know how to share this with her.
He just knew after that morning he needed to share it with her.
And she was his Mistress, his Amélie, his Leigh, she’d listen.
“You got a cock?” he asked.
Her brows drew together and her hands gave him a squeeze. “I’m sorry?”
“What we saw, in the hall, that Mistress—”
She swayed even closer, her movement cutting off his words, her face dipping to his, her eyes showing she was surprised and intrigued.
“Would you like me to fuck you, Olivier?”
“Was alone today, Leigh.”
Something washed over her face, understanding, maybe regret, and through her lips, she breathed, “Sweetheart.”
“You’re up my ass, you take me there while you’re there and my guess is, that’ll take you there.”
“Did you not like being alone?”
He couldn’t say that. Not with the way she’d worked him.
Olly did not lie, it was staggering in a good way. Torture, pure and sweet, and in the end, she’d made every second worth it. He’d never come so hard as that first time she’d made him come that morning.
Which was what he felt in every new scene she gave him.
So he explained
what he was feeling by sharing, “No one has spent that much time on me.”
She nodded. “Just to say, what we did today is not unusual in play.”
“Never had it.”
“Did you not like it?”
“Didn’t say that.”
“You prefer me close,” she stated.
That was where he was at.
“Yeah.”
“I know that but I thought here, in my house, the two of us alone, you’d know I wasn’t far.”
“I knew that but—”
“We’ll have prolonged play again, Olivier. But I’ll have more of a care. You’ve always shown you don’t like me far. When it happens again, we’ll work up to it and see where you are.”
“Thanks, baby, but just to say, where I am right now is needin’ not to jack my junk leisurely.”
She looked down then up and before he knew it, her hand was in the back of his hair, tugging it so she could drop her mouth to his and kiss him hard.
When she was done she ordered, “Up, mon chou, jeans where they are, hands to the counter.”
His dick jerked in his hand, he felt it.
And he got up and did as she said.
His head turned to her, he saw her assessing his position before she looked to his eyes.
“Legs wider apart, my steed, and feet farther from the counter, please.”
He felt his balls get heavier thinking she was in the mood to knock it out of the park again.
And Olly was always in the mood to let her.
He did as told and the second he was done, she ordered, “Tip your ass.”
Fuck yes.
He tipped his ass.
She studied him again before she purred, “Perfect, mon chou. Now stay in that position, don’t move or alter it until I give you leave.”
He not only heard but felt the rough in his voice when he replied, “Yes, Mistress.”
She gave him a small smile, hooded eyes, and he felt his balls grow even heavier.
Then she went back about her business, finishing with her chili.
But she was much more hands-on with Olly this time.
She came often to cup his balls, gently massage them, reach through and stroke his cock.
But after she tended him, she’d go back to what she was doing.
Through it, Olly didn’t know if it was better, holding position, knowing she was acutely aware he was there, available for her to tend to, take from, give to, or if he preferred when she was actually there tending to him, taking from him, giving to him.