The Dom of My Dreams: A BDSM Novel (8 page)

           
“Is this what you want, my pet?” he asked, his voice hoarse and thick with arousal.

           
I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, trying to control my aching desire for him, without success.

           
“Is this what you want?” he asked again, voice harsh.

           
“Yes,” I breathed out.
 
“Please.”

           
Slowly, he unzipped his trousers and pulled out his engorged shaft.
 
My mouth went dry at the sight in front of me.
 
His cock was thick and long—stretched taut until it almost reached past his navel, which peeked out of his shirt.
 
The purplish crown was thick and very round.
 
A small drop of moisture crowned the tip.
 
He lowered his trousers down to his hips, showing me the entire package.
 
He had a beautiful set of balls, pink and tight with arousal.
 
My pussy tingled, my nipples puckered all the more painful as I stared, hypnotized, at the masculine beauty standing in front of me.

           
“Do I meet with your approval?” he asked huskily.

           
I closed my eyes briefly and let out a strangled moan.

           
He laughed.
 
“I’ll take that as a yes.”

           
I watched, enthralled, as he slowly began to move his hand up and down his cock in a languid motion, his fingers squeezing his long shaft while his thumb worked a slow, teasing circle beneath the crown.
 
The tiny drop of come that had been bubbling at the tip had finally wept, trailing down over the round head and landing on his well-hung sac.
 
Seton momentarily closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as his strokes became harder—his cock disappearing and reappearing in a faster, more vigorous motion in his fist.

           
I squirmed in the chair, wincing whenever I accidentally pulled on the nipple chain, and tried to move closer to him, to touch him, feel him, taste him.
 
I leaned forward as far as I could, which wasn’t very far, wanting his cock in my mouth.
 
But I couldn’t reach him.
 
My tongue flicked out and had barely made contact with the flaring tip when Seton stepped away from me.
 

           
He let out a husky little laugh.
 
“You wish to suck me off, my pet?”

           
“Yes,” I cried out, trying to reach him with my tongue again.

           
He took two steps away from me.
 
“Or would you rather fuck me?”

           
I whimpered and looked at him with pleading eyes.
 
My body trembled, my pussy wept and my nipples ached.
 
I was so ripe, so ready for him, that I thought I would come if he merely teased my passage with just the tip.
 
I had become a shameless wanton, unabashed and unafraid of begging him to fuck me.
 
So I begged.
 

           
And begged.
 

           
And begged.
 

           
Then I begged some more.
 

           
But the carnal glint in Seton’s eyes, and his sexy, amused smile, suggested he had no intention of obliging me.
 
He found more pleasure in seeing me in this pathetic state.
 
My capitulation sharpened his arousal.
 
He continued to pump away while I sat there, horny as hell, quivering with the need to have him deep inside me.

           
Groaning, I cast a heated glance at the rest of him.
 
He must be gorgeous underneath his clothes.
 
If only he would take it all off.
 
If only he’d let my eyes feast upon his masculine body.

           
Our eyes met.
 
His were still half-closed, looking pained and in control at the same time, a light sheen of perspiration beaded on his forehead.
 
His lips remained parted, the tip of his tongue peeked out of his luscious mouth.
 
I licked my lips and, once again, longed to kiss him.
 
My one wish was to be able to kiss him and touch him like he’d allowed me to earlier.
 
Why was he torturing me this way?
 
Why wouldn’t he let me near him, to kiss him, caress him and fuck his brains out?

           
I looked down to see the progress of his ministrations just in time to see his hips buck jerkily forward and the head of his cock turn into a darker shade of purple, the tiny hole at the tip gaping at me.
 

           
Before I knew it, Seton closed the distance between us, grabbed me roughly by the hair, pulled me toward his shaft and shoved his cock into my mouth.
 
His body tensed as thick fluid spurted into my mouth.
 
I barely registered his raspy, strangled growl as I hungrily tasted and swallowed his salty essence.
 
I pressed my lips against his cock and milked him from every drop.
 

He hadn’t recuperated well when he crouched in front of me, grabbed me by the hips, and quickly slid me down toward his face, applying pressure to my cuffed ankles.
 
I felt the hot, silken stroke of his tongue slide inside of me to lave at my clitoris while two calloused fingers reached inside my silken folds, dipping them into my wet, aching passage.
 
I gasped in surprise and delight at how amazing it felt.
 
Every time his tongue flicked over my clitoris, I strained against the cuffs and a moan escaped my lips.
 
Seton chuckled softly, his hot breath caressing my sensitive flesh, as he dug the fingers of his free hand tight into my hips, to keep me from thrusting up to him.
 
He continued to deliver hard tongue strokes against my aching nub, making me loll my head back and let out animal-like growls of pleasure.
 

Rapture almost overtook me.
 
As achingly close as I was to coming, I wanted to prolong the heady sensations for as long as I could.
 
So I closed my eyes and sat there, trying to think of England, but it was impossible.

           
Seton’s clever tongue moved faster as he tightened his mouth over my clit, making me draw all the tighter against my restraints.
 
I cried out and arched my back as I turned my gaze toward a slightly opened window.
 
I wondered if some of the neighbors could see or hear what was going on and secretly wished they could.
 
The exhibitionist in me longed for an audience.
 

I turned my gaze back to Seton.
 
Looking down at him and seeing the top of his head moving between my thighs was my undoing.
 
No sooner had he switched gears and began to stab his tongue deep into my pussy in hard, furious strokes than my body lost control.
 

The orgasm was intense and my entire body tensed and shuddered.
 
I arched toward him and rubbed my pussy against his face and hands—riding out the hot, mind-blowing spasms that wracked my body in staggering waves.
 
My screams of pleasure were probably heard throughout the entire neighborhood.
 
All lingering inhibitions, if any, left me at that moment, and I embraced my wantonness with joyous abandon, twisting and moaning and weeping and trembling.

I was still quivering and panting many seconds later and long after Seton moved away from me, which he hadn’t done until the last spasm had left my body.
 

           
Our eyes met when he got up and stood in front of me.
 
He looked like the cat that ate the cream (pun intended), and I shivered at the sight of his smile—a smile that dripped with smugness and pure male satisfaction.
 
Then he leaned toward me, his arms stretched out on either side of the chair, and brushed his lips gently against mine before claiming them in a deep kiss that took what little remained of my breath away.
 
I could taste myself in his delectable mouth.
 
I would have collapsed had I not been cuffed to the chair.

           
Once he had gathered his wits, Seton went back to his desk, where he again began to type away at his computer.
 
I sagged in the chair, ignoring the fact that the restraints and sitting position were making me uncomfortable again.
 
At least Seton had removed the nipple chain.
 
My breasts felt numb—the clamps must have cut off the circulation—but I was too happily sated to care.
 
Sighing in bliss, I lumped down onto the plush leather chair and closed my eyes.
 
The only thing I longed for at that moment was to lie in a warm, cozy bed with Seton’s naked body pressed against mine.

“Marjorie!” a velvet-rich voice whispered in my ear.
 
“Wake up.
 
Time to go home.”

           
“What time is it?” I half whispered, half yawned as I squinted and tried to make out my surroundings.
 

The room was dark, save for the subdued lighting of a small wall lamp nearby.
 
I moved to stretch and remembered where I was.
 
I was at David J. Seton’s house, where we had engaged in the most incredible and unique sexual experience I’d ever had in my whole adult life.
 
I was still lying back in the same chair Seton had cuffed me to.
 
The handcuffs were gone.
 
I was now free to move.

           
“It’s three in the morning,” Seton informed me.
 
“I’ve just finished my work for the night and forgot to wake you sooner.
 
My apologies.”

           
He offered me a hand and helped me up my feet.
 
Then his eyes ranged at my dress—all wrinkled and gathered at the waist—and frowned.
 

           
“You can’t wear that anymore,” he said.
 
“Here, let me help you remove it.”

           
Removing the dress became an impossible task.
 
Seton tried sliding it up, then down, but it wouldn’t budge.
 
He swore under his breath and went to the kitchen, returning with a large kitchen knife.
 
He was careful not to hurt me as he cut through the rough fabric.
 
The black leather dress ended up in pieces on the floor.

           
“Be right back,” he mumbled, then moved to the foyer.

           
For several seconds I just stood there, crossing my arms over my naked chest to ward off a slight chill.
 
My skin still tingled from our intense encounter, and the scent of sex seemed to linger in the air.
  

           
Seton emerged from a hall closet carrying a long black raincoat.
 
“Put this on,” he said.
 
“I’ll have my driver take you home.”
  
His eyes traveled slowly over my body as I donned the long, heavy coat.
 
“I had a wonderful time, my pet.
 
Thank you.
 
And don’t lose the jacket.
 
I may want you to wear it another time.
 
Perhaps I shall order you to do something quite shocking with it.
 
Wouldn’t you like that?”

           
His words made me shiver with excitement.
 
There were so many promises in those words, promises of erotic experiences beyond my dreams.

           
I may be a cut above most women in the sensible, don’t-ever-expect-anything-from-a-man department, but a woman I was nevertheless, one that craved reassurance.
 
I had to know if he desired me as much as I desired him.
 
So, in a defiant tone, I asked, “What makes you think there’ll be a next time?”