When he stopped torturing her with his tongue, doing crazy things with his lips and fingering her, she was able to catch her breath.
He'd barely been in her apartment for forty minutes, and she was needy and raw, it was pathetic.
Everything about him overwhelmed her. He spoke, and her heart landed in her pussy. He looked at her, and her bones melted into warm honey, coating her entire insides in this euphoria she'd never experienced before.
How would she ever get anything right when he made her head so foggy, so full of nothing but wanting to be what he needed?
She snuck a peek at him as he was trying to catch his breath as well. He was hard as she'd ever seen him, but he was making no move to do anything about it.
He kept talking about fucking her, but still hadn't.
Would he ever?
Was she doing something wrong?
He took his index finger and swiped at the corner of his mouth and then sucked his finger in. "God, you taste like everything a woman should. So fucking good."
Her heart was back in her pussy again, making it heavy and almost manic for him. Had it ever throbbed this hard before?
Breath trapped in her throat. Oh God.
She brushed her hair back out of her face. He was sick with those talented fingers and tongue. She probably looked like she'd just been fucked hard, moments ago, and all he'd done was kiss and stroke.
His tongue roamed around his lips, extending past them to get every last trace of her inside his mouth.
No rush. This might take a while. That was the look he gave her.
She wanted to be embarrassed, but with the sexy moaning, and pleased sounds he was making as he cleaned his finger off like a cat or some other wild animal, it was all she could do but burst inside with giddiness.
He loves my flavor. He really does want me.
She raked her eyes over him, and as usual, her gaze landed and stopped on his stiff cock.
When Lord? She was going to die if he didn't fuck her soon.
"I could end my workday like this pretty much every damn day," he said, smirking at her.
"If Sir wishes . . . This girl is always available to him." She clasped her hands together and rested them in her naked lap, ignoring how wet her thighs were from his working her up to the edge, and now, she could probably add her drool to the reason for the moistness as well.
"Eating you is so delicious, little one, I have no idea why I bother with food," he said, his eyes wicked flames of desire.
Her mouth flooded, along with her panties, when he talked to her like that and looked that way. Well . . . her panties would get soaked, when she was wearing them.
Sir looked at her like he was ready for another round, ready to shove her back to the brink, but, honestly, as much as she loved the idea of one more, she was already feeling a little tender. He was gentle enough, but this was a lot more than she was ever used to having.
Breaking her in? Was that he was doing?
Did he think she'd do better with baby steps? Was that why he was holding back and not penetrating her with his cock?
If she was gonna be sore, she wanted it to be because his dick was doing the slamming and bruising.
"Time to get those clothes put away then we'll compare lists." He stood up then held out his hand. She took off the blouse; handed it to him.
He folded it neatly, and she stifled a snicker.
Why fold something they were going to be putting in the closet in less than thirty seconds?
She gave him the skirt next. He did the same.
So did she.
He gave a mock glare, and then helped her off the floor as well.
"Show me your closet," he said.
She smiled, pushed her gaze back to floor so she could think.
When she looked at those dark green, mesmerizing eyes, all she could think of was getting him naked, having his dick inside her, and him saying the nastiest, dirtiest things ever to her.
He never seemed to shy away from calling her his slut, talking about her wet cunt and what he wanted to do to her.
A series of waves like electricity, raced down her several times as she walked him to her closet, and all he was doing was placing his palm on the small of her back. But his fingers were still damp from being inside her and then alternately in his mouth.
Jesus, what was he doing to her? He was going to make her lightheaded at the rate this was going.
"This is my closet. I cleared out a section like you asked, Sir. I hope I made enough room. I wasn't sure how much you needed." She stepped inside her walk-in and waited for him to join her.
"Step out. I need to get a feel for this without you distracting me with those tits," he said.
She fought off another wave of sweeping adrenaline when he touched her arm and maneuvered her back out of the space.
Since he didn't say what he wanted her to do while she waited, she went to the foot of her bed, grabbed the throw blanket off the end, set it down on the ground and kneeled on it with her arms in box pose behind her.
The temptation was too great anymore to touch him. She didn't trust herself to have her hands in front of her body, and maybe . . . Hold on—he just said something about her tits. Maybe this would make them look better? More pronounced? Would he maybe finally capitulate and shove that dick in her?
She smiled at the dirty images her mind was conjuring of how he might end this torment for her.
But then as he cursed in her closet, stepped out, approaching her, she went stiff.
Shit. What if she was doing it wrong? She didn't really know what she was doing. And he hadn't said.
He sounded frustrated with her by the way he breathed so harshly and in sporadic gusts of what she imagined to be hot, angry air.
Her bottom lip sucked in and she gnawed on it, kept her head real low, so he couldn't see how her eyes were misting. Her stomach rolled and tightened.
What if he already thought she was a fuck up?
He cursed just now—didn't you hear him? You couldn't follow a few simple instructions and even get a fucking closet right. You'll never please a Dom. You can't even handle a vanilla man. Look at Doug . . .
She sucked in a breath through her nostrils, kept her head motionless but closed her eyes. Her head was spinning and she was edging on nauseous.
When she opened them a few seconds later, Sir's black shoes were right before her gaze, a few inches away from her bent knees.
"You're trying to make me come in my pants, aren't you?" He chuckled. "God—do you know how good you look like that? How much I want to tear into you and come in every hole of that body of yours?" There was a low growl and the sound of fabric moving.
She smiled, but it was a hesitant one. There was still this nagging voice, telling her he was only being nice, trying to help her—nothing more. He wasn't really interested in her beyond this Dom/sub kind of fuck-buddy situation.
Her gut cinched tight.
His hands petted her hair; a single finger of his parted through her tresses and roamed along the nape of her neck, stroking and making her lean into it. A wave of heat passed down her neck, back and breasts, then her toes went numb from the rush of feelings he evoked in her.
Blood left her extremities and rushed into her chest, making it sing and pound furiously.
"So beautiful, my treasured little sub. Never get tired of watching you," he whispered in a low husky tone.
Those feet of hers wiggled to get some feeling back, but her toes were lacking any feeling at all; that's what he did to her.
It was the oddest sensation.
Blood flow was fine until he was near and touching her.
"Stay here. I want to finish up something in your closet, and I want your gaze to stay where it is. When I return, I'll give you instructions," he said.
She nodded a little, but only enough that he'd know she'd heard him.
There was something about tuning in to him completely, and using words only when absolutely necessary that heightened everything. It was like it refined all her senses, plunging them into whatever frequency he was geared to.
After several minutes of hearing him shuffle about, grunt a few times, and hangers sliding about, she could sense he was growing more and more agitated.
"Goddammit," he groaned. "Fucking women."
She cringed, but held her posture, even if her palms were starting to sweat now, and it was becoming more difficult to remain so statuesque. Tears stabbed at the back of her eyes, so she blinked a bunch, hoping it would move air around and dry them out.
"Isabella. I love how obedient you're being, but I really need your assistance. Please, come to me now."
She rose with as much poise she could muster, but her feet were wobbly with a lack of blood flow, and with her nerves zinging over how something she'd done was pissing him off, she probably looked like a drunken vagrant, passing through, rather than a dignified sub, trying to win over her Dom's approval and affections.
What could be so offensive in her closet?
When she tripped a little, entering the space, he steadied her, and the warmth from his hands, was like a jolt to her now chilled skin. Her hands immediately clasped behind her back so she wouldn't grab at him.
"You wanna explain this to me?" He pointed up at the clothes.
Several pairs of men's clothes, in various sizes in random types of garments, hung in front of her.
"Uh . . . I . . . S-Sir, I . . ." She gulped; her eyes went wide. Fuck! She hadn't even realized these were all mixed in with her clothing.
"Tell me now, why my fucking submissive, has men's clothes that are not mine, hanging in her very personal, private space." He set his hands on his hips.
"I forgot they were . . . even in h-here," she stammered.
"Who's is this?" he asked, yanking down a pair of jeans.
"Doug's," she answered so quick, she almost bit her tongue.
"The prick that broke your heart?"
He chucked them over her head. Next a jersey came down off a hanger. "And is this his too? It looks about the same size."
"I can send them back to him if you wish, Sir," she blurted.
"Why would I give him the satisfaction of contact with you?" His eyes burned into her like a bitch slap, making her neck jerk back.
Her shoulders folded in on her ears and her chin was almost at her chest.
"Look at me." He exhaled. "I'm not disappointed in you; I'm only pissed at this situation."
She whimpered. "S-sorry, Sir."
"For what? Getting caught with this stash of past boyfriends; past mistakes? Or for not having enough confidence in yourself to realize you don't need these reminders?"
"I . . ." Her lips quivered. "I don't kn-now," she said, shrinking in on herself as her chest caved in.
"Dammit! You deserve better." He gripped her by the upper arms, but it was oddly sensual, like he was making love to her in that moment. "And I want you to see that."
Her bones went to jelly, and she almost collapsed. "I want to do right by you, Sir. I am trying." It was hard to breathe, hard to believe she was this big a fuck up.
"Trying is what you do when you're taking a test. This is not a fucking test, Isabella. This is your life. Your heart. Your breath. This shit—" he motioned over his shoulder with his head "—is pollution. It's toxic to you. It's you holding onto something that has nothing to do with who you really are. I want you to get rid of it, and you're not to return it to the original owners. They won't remember you even have it. Throw it out, burn it, or bury it. I don't give a fuck—but it's to be out of your house before you go to bed tonight."
She blinked twice and held her breath. Her nod was tiny, but it must have been enough since he released her arms.
She kept her gaze on his chest. Any lower, and she'd cry.
He was right before her, but even more out of reach than the men that owned these clothes she'd never see again and didn't even know where they were.
"I've set up a system here for you," he shared. "On the left are your work approved clothes. There's not much here I was able to salvage. So, each day, you'll be getting a box of clothes from me that you can add into the rotation. You're to try them on immediately when they come to you. Let me know if they don't fit. If they're the right size, then you mix and match with what you've got in this section I've provided. I'm going to treat you like a proper lady who is respected and respects herself, and you'll act accordingly. If you ignore me on this, you'll be punished." He pointed to the right side of the space. "These are your day-to-day clothes you can wear when I'm not around." Then he turned around, pointed at the drawers. "These are specifically what pleases me. These you'll wear when I'm here with you. If I want a specific color, you'll find it. If I want it slutty, you'll find the flimsiest, thinnest piece of material in there you own. If you defy me on this one, you'll find your ass naked almost twenty-four seven. Clothing around me is a privilege. Show me you deserve it." He exhaled. "The rest I've already thrown in a pile I'll be removing for you." He motioned to a bag in the corner of the closet, filled with her clothes he found distasteful.
Her back was stiff, her chest aching and her fingers curled into her palms—they wanted to touch him, to beg him to like her at least a little bit. "Yes, Sir, and thank you for doing this for me." She sucked in a quiet, stuttering breath.
"You're welcome. Keep it in this general order, and you should be fine with no confusion at all."
Her brow furrowed. Shit. He hadn't covered everything.
"What has you looking like I just dressed you against your will again?" He settled a hand on her shoulder, and then his other hand ran a few strands of hair behind her right ear. "I want to know what's going on in that head of yours. Have I already upset you?"
"Uh, no. I guess, um, I was just wondering . . ." Her jaw tensed. "Shoes, Sir? You didn't mention those."
He chuckled. "Well, unless you're into stripper heels, and I didn't see any of those, you should be fine."
She sighed, and her shoulders deflated back into a neutral position.
"Oh good," she murmured. "I'm glad you didn't have to worry about those, too."
He chuckled. "I'm not trying to be a hard-ass. I'm trying to take you to a very specific place in your life, and to do that, we have to get rid of your past stumbling blocks. The way you present yourself on the outside while in public, speaks volumes about who you believe you are on the inside." He grabbed the rest of the men's clothes and dropped them on the makeshift pile he'd been creating. "Gone." He pointed at them. "Tonight."
"I will, Sir. I'll take care of it."
He leaned in and kissed her ear. "I know you will, because you're a good submissive like that. And you're so good at trying to constantly please me."
She smiled, her lips puckered a little and she blew out an exhausted puff of waning air.
"Time to compare lists," he said. "Back out into the living room after you've put on whatever clothes you want. I'm going to give you the option of picking something that'll set you at ease. I want you relaxed as much as possible for this." He tipped her chin up. "And please stop worrying. You didn't do anything wrong. Actually, I'm glad that's all I found."
She swallowed. Okay, this wasn't as bad as she'd anticipated, and he wasn't upset with her. She could do this—the rest of this.
He smiled softly and left her standing before her closet, naked and feeling a little lost. She'd never be able to figure out what the hell to wear because, dammit, she still wanted to wear something he'd enjoy.
She blew a few strands of hair out of her face.
Why couldn't she pull it together?
Eventually she settled on some stretchy yoga pants, a fitted stretchy tee shirt and some socks, in case her feet went numb again from those heated looks he gave her.
The last time that happened, it was tied directly to him, not really having to do with the position she was in. It was her body's way of dealing with the intense reactions she got when she simply heard him respond to anything at all having to do with her.
With a sluggish, mortifying pace, she made her way out into the living room.
What was her problem?
She wanted this more than she wanted to breathe, yet she was scared half to death.
Eyes to the floor, girl. Call him Sir. Don't come on the couch simply by looking at his gorgeous face.
She chanted instructions to herself over and over again to keep her composure she barely held onto.
As soon as she sat on the couch, he scooted closer, and his warm hand felt almost like a branding iron on her thigh, especially the tips of his fingers that lightly squeezed her inner flesh.
"Hhh-hhhooo-oooh." Her stilted breath struggled to release with her stomach spasming like that.
"A little, Sir, but I'm sure you'll make this as painless as possible," she said, swallowing back a tight smile, and fighting off the urge to let a girly giggle escape.
Men didn't like it when women giggled. Hadn't her father pounded that into her?
Yeah, and he said they don't like dirty sluts either, yet Edward calls you that with pride.
Her gut felt stapled into place, like it was trying to flee this place; break it's bonds, but it wouldn't budge.
Bile tickled at the back of her throat.
"I need some water," she blurted.
"I have some for you already," he said, motioning to the end table next to the couch right next to where she was sitting.
"Oh . . . Uh, thanks," she said, but it sounded like a question.
Quit sounding like a timid, wounded mouse!
He chuckled. "Bella . . . I don't bite, not during this part anyway. That comes after." His dark seductive voice was like a danger sign, leading her into a pit she hoped to never escape from.
Her thigh twitched. He squeezed again and his laugh lowered into his belly and legs, making them move a little.
Did the heat in his hand go from scorching to pure fire? Because she swore it was stinging and throbbing, burning her like a motherfucker now. Everything inside her pricked and was contracting.
"Take a drink. Read while you're swallowing. I know you can do more than one thing while swallowing. I've seen you do it," he purred, his voice a thick raspberry swirl of chocolate mouse and sensuality, coating her mouth, making the wetness inside her pool. It traveled down her throat and landed in her pussy while she remembered sucking him off and doing anything else he wanted her to, simultaneously.
She squirmed for a second, grabbed the glass, and though her mind instructed her to sip, she was gulping that fluid down like she was deathly parched.
"Slow, down, sweetheart. I want you breathing when we're done with this. I have some things I wanna show you," he said. "Need you to stay alive."
Her eyes roamed over to his face, and his smile acted like a mouse trap on her heart, snapping it and keeping it snared in place, just like her stomach felt. It was like he knew exactly what to say, what look to give, to entrap her entire soul, her vital organs, and her tongue.
She could barely breathe at this point, let alone speak.
His hand caressed her thigh in a reassuring manner.
Or that's what she told herself.
Reassuring? Or taunting?
His brows rose.
None of his actions right then did anything to reassure her, because she was having a hard time holding it together.
"You're pale. Do I need to feed you first before we begin?" he asked.
"N-no, Sir. I don't think I could eat right now."
"That nervous?" he asked.
She nodded and her eyes fixated on his mouth. Oh, God, how she'd die to have that mouth on her slick, wet, waiting folds.
"What are you most nervous about?" He leaned forward, released his hold on her leg and grabbed the papers off the couch, set next to him on the other side.
The smooth way he moved, barely making a sound on her leather sofa, wasn't just impressive, it was mesmerizing. Did he have some power over leather, to keep it from making all sorts of obscene sounds? Because all she had to do was shift her leg, and it sounded horrendous.
Her toes curled at the thought of him bending her over the arm of the furniture, pulling her pants and panties down just enough to enter her. The idea was so hot, she had to go up on tiptoe, to force her feet to behave and keep the blood flow going.
"E-everything, and nothing." She rubbed the side of her jaw onto her shoulder, her eyes stuck on the paper he was now handing her. "Sir," she tacked on at the end. Inexperience . . . Not wanting to look like an utter idiot. And wanting you so bad, it aches deep down inside.
A white light of heat spread through the bottom of her stomach all at once. She'd remembered to say it—Sir! It came on its own. Wow! Did he notice?
He smiled. "Why? What does everything and nothing mean to you?" he asked, rounding his fingers under her chin, and tickling, teasing with the enticing appeal of one who didn't have to prove a damn thing in regards to skill and prowess. It just was . . . there. Always there.
And a torrential flood took place.
A wet spot on the leather couch?
That was gonna be obvious and very unattractive.
Her cheeks heated, and her lips quivered.
She bit her bottom inner lip and gnawed for a second, then thought better of it.
He'd see that.
She closed her eyes, let her mind go back to a place she used to always feel safe—her gymnastic classes, growing up.
Her teacher always praised her, yet he was hardest on her because he told her she had the most potential.
She smiled, until she remembered how her dad disapproved of the disturbing outfits and makeup.
That was the first time he called her a shameless, unforgivable whore.
She was twelve at the time.
In a rush, and a blink, her words came tumbling out. "I'm scared, not because of the words on that list, but because of exactly how much I'd be willing to do for you." Her chest concaved as she pulled in a fighting chance to breathe and to live. After a long, naked need to get it out, she managed to continue, "It hurts that you care, Edward. More so than the thought of you being apathetic, which I think sometimes maybe you are inside? But it's the idea that maybe I'm wrong. And I exposed myself so thoroughly on that paper, that now you'll know exactly how abased and disgusting I am. I want almost everything on there, with you, anyway. And though I don't consider myself a pain slut, but for you," her eyes shifted up, "well, I . . . Y-yeah, I found I was willing to do a whole hell of a lot more than I ever dreamed. You do something to me. I can't even describe it." He smiled. She tucked her hands under her rump, behind her and kept going, "It scares me that you have so much power over me, when men don't love me. They never have. I don't know what I do wrong. I love every damn little detail about them—the way they say my name. The way their Adam's apple bobs when they talk to me. The flex of a forearm, a thought they share about the weather. I want all of it, and the idea that you might actually want to be in my head at all—a crazy place to be—terrifies me to death, because I want to give you every last damn fucking firing neuron. And I worry you won't like it once you get inside there all the way."
"Breathe, little one." He smiled so warmly, that it made her almost hyperventilate, and her vagina actually flinched in response.
She tipped her head forward between her knees. "I'm a mess, Sir." Her voice echoed up between her thighs and trapped like a smoggy, polluted cloud at the apex of her eyes. "And I'm sorry . . . I don't like being this way."
He inched toward her and his hands rubbed up and down like an erotic dance on her neurotic spine.
"Why would you ever want me at all?" she asked, shaking her head for letting that comment slip.
That comment? How about the last thousand comments you made, moron? Of course he doesn't want you; hasn't fucked you yet, has he? You're a stammering, simpering mess and he—
"Stop. No more putting yourself down; I can't stand it. It sickens me, Bella. I know you're already beating yourself up inside." He grabbed the nape of her neck and shook her side to side a little.
She was so loose from his simple touch, it was ridiculous how she swayed about like a rag doll.
"God," she moaned.
"Kiss me. Sit up right now, touch me if you want, but kiss me. I want you to see exactly how I feel about you. No words will tell you that." His grip acted like a puppet string, ordering her where to go.
It brought her straight to him, and she shamelessly clung to his chest, climbing up his body and draping herself over him, cocooning herself around his long legs and broad chest.
Each gentle, insistent kiss from him, set her free.
Warm press of lips, translated into so many feelings for her.
I love you, they said.
I want you, they grated across her heart, making it rawer than it already was.
I need you, and I'll never let you go.
"Hhhhhiiiiiaaahhhh," she released a pounding, opposing breath to her still lingering self-deflating thoughts.
"Figure it out yet?" he asked, his tone husky and his hands curling around hers that were clutched to his shirt.
"I th-think so, Sir . . . Damn, I've never ever been kissed like that." Her eyes flooded, tears sprang forth and sparked her to confess, "I have this battle inside me, waging a war for my heart. I think your kisses are winning though." She cringed at how stupid she sounded.
He smiled. "So damn beautiful . . ."
"Me, Sir?" she squeaked, her head tipped back to soak up his attention, all of it.
"Yes, you. I dream of you. I think about you. You consume me every second of every hour of every day. There's something about you that pulls at me." He pulled her face toward him, kissed the tip of her nose then ran the tip of his up the side of hers, and he planted a deeply erotic kiss on her forehead. "So let's read these fucking lists so I can stop pussying around and touch you the way I want to."
He was holding back? She was right?
A light warmed up her insides, and flooded her soul with heat and a burning that erupted through her veins.
Her hands curled into his chest.
He pulled them off him and set her back in her seat.
"Read," he ordered, pointing to his list he'd filled out then set it on her lap.
She devoured it in less time than it took to say her nightly prayers.
He seemed to be doing the same with her list as well.
It was—holy shit! His words. Christ! . . . She was lightheaded.
"Nothing can stop me from having you now," he said. "We match, sweetheart. You don't like a lot of pain, and I don't like giving a lot of it. There's nothing here that screams at me that this won't work." His body almost rounded over hers. "Except that you say you have ultra-sensitive nipples and think that might be a problem." His hand, like a current, washed over her right tit, and he pinched her nipple so hard and so fast, that it knocked the breath out of her. "I think it's a very good problem to have."
Her head snapped back, and she bit back a cry of extreme pleasure.
"You know what happens when I touch them like this?" He held her with his powerful, hungry gaze.
"Nuh uh," she grunted.
"You come." He paused and shifted forward. "You come hard, and you don't just like it, you fucking love it," he growled. He tongued her earlobe then nibbled on it. "And you want it all the time."
His tongue plunged inside and did the most ridiculously lewd things ever.
Or at least that's what her brain told her because it was like he was fucking her ear, making her body succumb already.
"O-okay," she managed to choke out.
"And when I put clamps on them," he breathed and slid his tongue along the grooves and cartilage of her ear, "it's gonna send you straight back to heaven where you belong. Fuck—can't wait to see you soar like that, little angel."
"M-me either," she stammered.
Her palms sweat and her damn toes were curling again, forgetting they were supposed to have feeling in them.
"C'mon, sweetheart. Time to play."
"Here, now?" she asked, her head tipping back so far, she was bumping it into the top of the couch.
"Yes, now. I brought a few surprises for you. You're going to go back to your bedroom, lie face-down on the floor, legs and arms spread out in a wide X, but only after you put something else on. I set it in your top drawer in your closet. Put it on—wearing nothing else—then assume the position I told you." His hand roamed over her forehead then back through her hair.
Chills broke out across her zinging scalp.
"Yes, Sir. Can't wait to be yours." Oh, please don't break me . . .
Her eyes were half closed, and she soaked up that beautiful, heartbreaking face.
He already was breaking her.
There was no way he couldn't.
He was devastatingly, achingly perfect and everything a man should ever be.
Everything about him screamed unobtainable to a gal like her.
He prodded her up to standing, and her feet felt like dead weight as she shuffled on her own back to her bedroom.
Exactly as he'd said, in her drawer was a box that said slave harness.
Her stomach flopped and plummeted, landing in her toes, now digging into the carpeting.
What the fuck was she doing, thinking she could pull this off? Did he think of her as a slave?
She bent over, eying it cautiously. Then in a frightening speed, her fingers ripped through that fucking cardboard so quick, her heart was racing and ready to fly off at a moment's notice.
Holy fucking God and all his glory.
This was insane.
She pulled out the black leather-looking, strappy-thing.
This was supposed to go on her body?
It slipped along her fingers; smooth and shiny.
When she read the instructions and it said PVC, she thought she might pass out.
She was going to wear something made of a material she thought was only meant for plumbing?
Was this allowed? This was surreal.
She swallowed the fluids pooling at the back of her throat once more.
Without another thought, she stripped down and managed to get this contraption on. If she took too long, he might come looking for her, and who knew what that would mean for her.
She shook off a wave of chills.
The harness had three horizontal straps: one that went around the neck, one beneath her now trembling breasts, and one that hugged around her ample sized hips.
There were buckles and D-rings all over the place. And the G-string type of metal chain, the two of them, actually, running from her hips past her vaginal lips and hooking in the back, made her ass heat and tingle. Reminded her of a woman's necklace, decorating and pointing toward her breasts, only this one cut through the shit, and passed straight through her labia, making an almost gushing sound when she moved or shifted about.
What on earth did he have planned for her?
Her eyes glazed over as she put away the clothes she'd been wearing into the hamper then immediately went back into her room and prostrated herself on the ground, taking on the very vulnerable position he'd described. She wasn't sure where in the room he wanted her, so she tried to find an inconspicuous spot, in the corner.
Several moments later, he walked in, and it sounded like he was dragging something along.
She had purposefully turned her head away from the door, so she could stare at the wall and not be overwhelmed with his presence.
A low hum emanated out of him, and he sounded so happy, her entire body melted right into the carpeting.
This was what she'd never achieved before with any man—a sense of contentment from them.
This was opposite from the sounds he'd made when he'd been in her closet.
Had she done something right for once?
Her heart swelled and almost felt like it was overflowing. She was good. She could do this.
Her face contorted and broke into so many elated emotions, she could barely contain the tears.
"Comfy, little one?" he asked, sounding amused.
"Good, because I'll be a few more minutes here. I'll try to make it fast so you don't have to wait too long."
She heard the distinct sound of screws being threaded into wood.
Her room was large and spacious, but whatever he was working on, sounded huge and unyielding, and like it took a lot of effort to put together.
He sang as he puttered around, and his voice was unreal.
It was raspy, it was hard hitting, and made her heart flutter and her pussy clench repeatedly.
Was there anything about him she didn't like?
Suddenly, there was an unexpected shuffling of feet behind her, and his bare feet brushed up against her inner thighs.
"Sheer perfection—you spread out like this all delicious and not self-conscious at all," he said, and she could feel the heat of his stare, traveling up her body.
She somehow nuzzled her neck into the harness and ground it into the floor, as if she was begging it to keep her there and from having an out-of-body experience.
Her eyes were heavy when she blinked slowly and deliberately.
"Okay, little one, I'm gonna bend you at the hips so you're propped up into a V. I want you to close your eyes, and glue your hips to mine once I have you up," he instructed.
His hands went to her hips, and they gripped her tightly.
Her legs were weak from his touch, but she somehow managed to do what he'd said.
"How does that feel?" he asked, pulling her up into a bent position.
"Mmm . . ." she responded.
She got a nice blood rush to the head. It was amazing.
Then he had her standing up much sooner than she would've liked.
"Good, Sir. Green. I like it," she said, her eyes closed tight. He was flush up against her backside.
"I like to hear that." He sniffed at her neck, making goose bumps break out across her skin there. "God, you smell good and so aroused, it's almost impossible to concentrate with you this close to me."
She smiled so hard, it almost made her eyelids unfuse from each other.
"You like that?"
"Yes," she replied without delay.
"I'll keep that in mind," he said. "Now, do you feel steady? I wanted you up against my body until you've got your bearings. Do you think you can stand up straight on your own? I'm going to place something against your backside. It might be a little cold and jarring at first, but you should adjust rather quickly." His hands roamed over her ribs.
"Yeah, I can handle that, Sir. I'm excited to see what you have in store for me, too," she said.
"I can tell. Now, no more talking, unless you really need to communicate something to me. I need to focus, and it's not only your tits that distract me."
He slowly stepped away from her.
Her eyebrow quirked up, but she remained silent and blind with her eyes shut.
He gave a throaty laugh. "Yeah, it's pretty much everything, including that sexy voice of yours."
She thought she heard the distinct sound of him palming himself. He was still dressed when her body was pressed up against his—dammit. She wanted his flesh. When would he give it to her—all of it?
Was he still going to withhold and avoid actual intercourse?
She shivered at the thought of him pounding into her, forcing her to take his come inside her body by merely commanding she spread her legs for him.
Already her hips felt spongy, ready to shape and mold to his body.
"Keep your eyes closed." His steady, unwavering control was like a hit to her system, drugging her up.
Her mind was fuzzy, but she could keep her eyes shut no problem. She was so heavy and limp, yet her body somehow stayed erect because Sir told her to.
"Almost there," he said.
Drag, draaag, draaag . . .
Her ears perked up a little, but then the sound of his humming, almost comatosed her lazy brain.
His hands manipulated her center of gravity at will.
Before she knew it, her legs were up against a leather padded upside down V shaped piece of furniture.
The D-rings at her waist were deftly attached to the apparatus in question.
Was this some kind of sex chair with a dildo that would attach and fuck her to death?
She'd seen those before. Alice had sent her emails as jokes with crude attachments of women looking like they were dying as those nasty looking dildos had penetrated them over and over.
No thanks. So impersonal.
"Every girl needs a song to float to," he said a moment later, and her bedroom filled with Franz Liszt's music. She knew his piano pieces fairly well. The song Love Dream hovered around her, kissing at her ears and seducing her to fall further, and be even more transfixed by Sir and his way of lulling her into a dream land.
Love dream was right.
She already was caught in his world of dreams.
God, it was so romantic and almost unnerving the way Sir knew exactly what she needed to dissolve into him.
"Ready for the top half?" he asked.
"Yes, Sir. I'm ready," she replied, moistening her lips and rubbing them together.
"Such a good submissive—keeping her eyes closed and remaining ready for all I want to do to her."
She smiled through a sudden inhale that ballooned up out of her diaphragm.
Shhhhriiiiig, A hinge squeaked faintly.
"I made this furniture," he said out of nowhere. His fingers brushed up her navel, and then he had her top half bent back at a slight angle. She was secured to the same kind of padding up top, her body spread out like an X like she had been on the floor mere moments ago. "You're the first that gets to try it. It's on a hinge at the middle. Most St. Andrew's Crosses can only move at the bottom on a hinge, but it's all in one piece. I find it rather limiting." His lips ghosted over her shoulder, and snaaaap, snaaaap, snaaaap.
Her torso was glued in place, snug and attached to the furniture by the other D rings in her harness.
"Open your eyes, little one. I need to see you," he said.
The music swelled and transcended any fears she had pent up inside her.
Her lids lifted like a curtain being removed from her foggy mind.
"Still here?" he asked, smirking.
"Always with you, Sir, yes. There's nowhere else I'd rather be," she said, out of breath. He was so far away.
Touch me . . .
"Not anymore, Sir. Should I be?"
"Not if you trust me and like unspeakable pleasure, no." His lopsided grin turned up to full volume, and her legs were wet now.
She tried to nod, but even her neck was restrained. Her eyes traced down his body to his thick cock, also restrained behind damned fucking fabric—in the way of what she dreamed to be unimaginable, unspeakable bliss.
"Time to send you flying," he said.
He placed a blindfold over her eyes, and it began.
His lips sucked, bit and somehow tightened her nipples beyond belief. Once they were both cold and hard, and aching for more, he cinched them even tighter. Even though they did hurt, she loved the way he pinched and rolled them. Her pussy had never pulsated this violently from nipple play before.
Had Doug and the others been absolute idiots when it came to a woman's breasts? She bit her tongue to keep from screaming at the delicious torture.
Each time her neck tried to arch back, the restraint somehow tugged it back down.
"Exhale, sweetheart," he said.
And with a groan, her legs trembled, and something cold and clamped onto her right nipple.
"Mmmgggguuuuuhhhh," she moaned, and went up on her tiptoes.
"Oh, fuck, that's beautiful," he breathed. "I love seeing you like this—your nipples at my command."
She choked on a whimper.
Then the left nipple was pinched, and her mind about exploded with a million thoughts, engulfed by warmth and the vision of him finally fucking her into oblivion, a place she wanted so bad, her heart clenched harder than her nips, being bit.
He moved around her, circling, making a breeze pass over her body.
She wished she could see him.
Then he stilled in front of her a few seconds later.
Shit. That was amazing.
Something was touching her skin, flicking at it, making it pulse and heat and prickle.
Air swirled and rushed around her each time.
Was he flogging her?
Her head lolled, but only as far as the neck restraint would allow her.
"Relax into it, sweetheart. I want you to let go," he lilted.
Let go more? How? She was already slipping into some airy space where she could barely hear him anymore.
It was like being under water, only floating and so lifted, she was nothing but euphoric.
"Mmmmmnnn," she hummed.
Her joints melted.
She was tilted a little forward on her top half, her hands flopping.
Oh, please . . . Again . . .
Her lips parted.
Something wet dripped down her thigh.
"Mmm, there's that smell again I adore," he purred. His lips brushed over her cheek.
Music surrounded her, taking her to an even higher place in the sky.
Her legs tingled as the wisps brushed across her legs. The two chains surrounding her pussy were tugged and went snug, slipping up inside her folds.
"Ahhhh!" she rasped. Blows were raining down everywhere in rapid succession, moving to a different, unexpected spot on her each time. There was no way to anticipate any of them. Her skin was on fire, and it consumed her mind, turning it into a blazing piece of mush.
"Fffffffuuuuuck," he rasped. "Beautiful."
Her lips parted. Legs tried to spread further.
Her clit was so sensitive and being slowly slapped by something soft, yet hard, and so fucking yummy, she was seconds away from having her body explode.
Right there . . .
"Ffffffsssssuuhh," she sucked in a wailing gasp.
"Don't come yet," he warned, his breath pelting her face, then it was gone.
More. A little more.
Her swallow echoed in her ears so loud, it was hard to hear what he was saying at this point.
Something about holding her breath, because this was gonna sting a little for a moment?
She tried to shake her head, but her neck muscles were gone.
"'Kay," she murmured. Or did she?
Fuuuuoooohf. Fuuuuoooohf. Fuuuuoooohf.
Was he . . . ? Something was moving on her right breast.
"Ohhh!" she yelped suddenly when the pressure was released.
Her right nipple burned and she could feel it swelling with a rush of blood! It throbbed, and then traveled directly to her clit.
"It . . . Oh fuck . . ." She took a deep breath, when she felt the tug at her right nipple, and then a weight was gone.
Fuuuuoooohf. Fuuuuoooohf. Fuuuuoooohf.
"Gaaaawd!" she cried for a second, and her back tried to arch and pull her chest away from him, but he still had her leaning forward, bound in place, and the weight of the clamps due to gravity in this position, made them pull a little more when he was touching them and taking them off.
"Almost done, little one—deep breath," he said. "One more."
She could hear a smug smile in his voice.
"Again? Unngh!" she gritted.
He chuckled and smacked her thigh. "Now, now," he said. "It's gonna feel good; you know it will." He pinched around her areola a second later. "Be nice, little one."
"Nnnnaaaahhhh . . ." she groaned as the left nipple was freed.
His hands instantly warmed her nipples that were trying to come back to life.
Next his lips surrounded, sucked and quelled each misfiring nerve.
Oh that was good. Too good. Adrenaline spiked and massive amounts of endorphins washed through her body, making her high.
It all flooded straight down her center, funneled right to her groin.
"Don't. Come." His hands kneaded now at the inner curve of her thighs and her outer labia. "Not yet."
The muscles pulsated, beat in time to his ragged breathing on her body while his tongue circled and flicked at her left nipple.
"That's right, my fucking sexy little one." His finger ran through her slit, and suddenly . . . everything tightened and threatened to explode again. She groaned and tears slipped out. Why couldn't she come yet? "You wait for my permission," he insisted.
She tried to nod. Her head wouldn't move.
Oh Lord . . . His finger was gone.
Something slapped her clit hard.
Oh fuck, sexy and so wrong! She bit back a whiny exhale. How much more could she take?
Fliiiiick! Fliiiiick! Fliiiiick!
She was back to that head-filled space where she could barely function. Her knees gave out, and she sagged as fingers all of the sudden plunged furiously into her pussy, pumped inside her roughly, moistening and slickening her so much, she oozed bliss out of every pore.
"I want you to come . . . You're not to think about it. Just do it. Now," a soft, gripping voice said, and it was gravelly and thick, and made her want to come so bad, she almost did right then.
But hadn't he told her over and over not to?
Her stuffed head tried to sort it out, but nothing made sense.
Light drifted overhead, and she floated higher.
"Mmmooore," she managed to say through a leaden tongue.
Shit. The pressure was gone.
Her cunt spasmed.
"Then you better come, little one, when I give you the order this time, and give you this," he said.
Something pressed at her opening. It was bigger than what had been inside her before.
Her toes lifted her as high as they could go for a brief second as everything tightened and coiled.
That something at her entrance was cold and hard and so reckless; it pushed right into her vagina, and hit the spot that sang to the music, still hovering around her.
There was a tug on her left nipple, and she gushed so hard her head buzzed, slipping her further into a blur. She whimpered and tilted her hips as far as they could go.
"Again," he gritted, and bit into her collar bone.
His fingers twisted and bent her left nipple; whatever was inside her, rotated and kneaded into a spot that split her into pieces, forcing fire through her, pounding it's way down her boneless legs.
"I said, come now!" he hissed and shoved it further inside. "This is my come, and you'll give it to me this instant! My body to command."
Oh, please, oh God, I want to . . . Come!
Flying apart at every angle, crashing into a world she never really believed could exist, her mind exploded into a prism of colors and light.
He grunted like he was coming, and that's when her spirit soared.
Her body convulsed, and she thrashed somehow while being tightly bound in place.
"Ahhh-ahhhh-ahhhhhh God!" she shrieked, her voice escalating louder than the music, louder than the rushing of blood in her ears.
Swwwwiiiip, swwwiiip, swwwwiiiip.
"Breathe," he said, his tone tight. "Breathe and let go, little one."
Swwwwiiiip, swwwiiip, swwwwiiiip.
Heat and electric waves hit her clit as something pinched it. She yelped then grimaced with how sensitive it was, her body ricocheting. And when her entire body writhed harder as the grip tightened, she felt a swift motion sweep by her leg.
"Uuuungggghhh," she rasped and groaned, when her throbbing, engorged clit, was released then pinched once more.
Hot, spurts of some warm, thick fluid shot onto her hips, abdomen and her pubis.
"Isabella," a man whispered with the grittiness of sandpaper and then he gasped with stuttering breaths.
She could barely make it out, it sounded so distant and so muffled, but so right.
The hold on her swollen nerve endings released, her clit rushed again then her spine lost all rigidity. She slumped forward, even though at some point, he must've tilted the whole top half of the cross standing back to straight, because she was no longer hanging forward at the waist.
The mask was yanked free, and she watched, utterly hypnotized as the last dribbles of come rolled down his shaft. He finished stroking it and inhaled deeply, trying to catch his breath.
"You . . ." he started, still breathless, "are a magnificent creature. I'm so fucking proud of you."
And that's when she burst into a smile, and then followed it up with so many inexplicable tears and devastating emotions, that he tore her down in a rush and had her in his arms where he kept her until she could breathe again.
Until she knew she might possibly be loved after all.
If you want to see what the slave harness looks like here's the link (remove spaces): www . Stockroom PVC-Female-Slave-Harness-P2497 . aspx
Warning: not safe for work. Some nudity in the pic.
Sorry, I don't have a pic for Edward's St. Andrew's Cross. I'm not even sure if such a thing as this exists. I had a dream about it, and this is how you wound up with it. I'm no engineer, so I have no idea how realistically this would actually work.
You can all thank Shenani Whatagans and my pre-reader for getting me to go ahead and post this, even though I was feeling all insecure about this chapter in particular... *shrugs*